Date: Thu, 16 Mar 2000 08:42:09 -0600 From: "Joe Prusaitis" Arkansas Traveller Trail 100 Mile Run 2-3 Oct, 1999 We stood in the middle of the road, half-naked, wearing all sorts of outlandish outfits and attachable gadgets: hats with lights, backpacks and waistpacks, multi-colored shoes, shorts, and shirts, headbands, bandanas, and gaiters. The air's buzzing with many different sounds: laughs, giggles, grunts, snorts, and conversations. It's pretty dark at 6am in the morning, yet I recognize many of the faces, voices, and silhouettes. Some, I haven't seen or heard in many a moon. Everybody's talking at once, and then a gun is fired and everyone takes off like a heard of turtles, a comedy of bumbling pachyderms, thumping and bumping down the road. The Arkansas Traveller 100 Mile trail run has begun. The talk continues, as does the laughter, and the buzz. The start cannot interrupted this joyous family reunion, as our far-flung family spreads out, and the buzz continues on down the road. Like usual, I fall in with Peter Moore(VT), and then Angela Weatherill(TX) joins us. We carry flashlights, but don't bother to turn them on. The moon's bright and the road's smooth, so we really don't need the artificial light. Paul Schmidt(CA) is soon with us, then Butch Allmond(TX), Charlie Dermody(NY), and Kevin Sayers(MD). We begin with a seventeen-mile loop, which includes ten miles of dirt road, followed by seven miles on the Ouachita Trail, some of the most wonderful single-track trail you could ever hope to run. We slowly roll along in our loose pack of friends until we hit the trail. I just love to fall forward down single-track trails, and like usual, I bomb every downhill section of this trail. It's rocky and hard to follow, winds left and right at random, falls off the sides of hills, and climbs back up again. It's not strait and it's not boring, and I just love it! By the time I find the end of the loop, only Kevin's still with me. Three hours after the start, I'm back at Lake Sylvia (17mi), feeling great and smiling like a Cheshire cat. Damn that was fun! My wife Joyce and good friend Neil Hewitt crew for me while a few others gather around just to watch. Everybody's coming in all clumped up in bunches, so all the crews are gathered right here to wait and watch for their runner. I remove my long sleeve shirt, put on my Team Texas singlet, drop my water bottle, and am helped into my Camelback water pack. I squat on my haunches to wrap a Velcro pocket filled with GU and electrolyte caps around my ankle. While I'm hunched over messing with the straps, my buddy Phil asks, 'What's that bulge in your pants, Joe?' and I shoot back, without even thinking, like usual, 'Well, what do ya think?' 'It's my thang.' I figure he's just messing with me anyway and I don't think about it any more. Kevin's gone on while I'm changing my gear, but I connect immediately with Mike Suter(CA) and Max Roycroft(TX) right after leaving the Sylvia station. We climb a long uphill dirt road for two plus miles and then descend a rough road for a ways. Five miles later, I'm cruising down a rough trail with Mike, when I notice a large lump just above my left knee. And then it hits me, and I start to laugh. I had gloves on when I started, but it was warm, so I simply removed them, tucked them into the bottom part of my spandex shorts, and forgot them. That's what Phil was talking about. So I explain to Mike about the gloves and what I said to Phil. Mike just gives me one of those long looks out of the corner of one eye, without turning his head, but never says a word. Hell, I thought it was funny. Soon enough, I'm running by myself again. Small wonder! Who the heck wants to run with a madman? The temperature feels like it must be in the high 50s, and there's a nice cool breeze occasionally sneaking through the trees. It feels pretty good and I'm enjoying the ride so far. Butch and Charlie are with me again and we hang together for a bit before they move on by. I'm still pushing the downhills and taking it easy on the ups, while many of these folks are holding steady on both sides of the hills. I end up running by myself most of the time, but it's ok with me, as I planned to not get caught up in anyone else's run anyway. I'll just run what works best for me and stay away from going too fast, or too slow. >From Lake Sylvia to the 212 Station, we run the perimeter of the Chinquapin Mountain Turkey Hunting Area. Its mostly jeep road, but too rugged for most vehicles to navigate, and there's even a few blow downs to make it almost impassable for vehicles. The trail from Electric Tower (25mi) down to 212 (29mi) is probably the most rugged since the Ouachita trail. The rocks will eat your feet on this course, and especially on sections like this one. After 212, I leave the rugged trail for a well-maintained dirt road that leads me into Lake Winona (32mi). Unfortunately, it has a lot of traffic on it. Today's opening season for deer hunting with bow, and some of the hunters appear to be upset at us for upsetting their plans. A few of the trucks that pass me on the dirt road speed up and spin their tires just to raise more dirt into the air. Sure does make it tough to breathe. I pull my bandana over my nose and mouth and ignore them. I focus on getting to Winona, where Joyce waits for me with an ice-cold bottle of iced tea and a turkey sandwich. She refills my empty Camelback bladder with ice and water, hands me a small bag of salted potatoes, and sends me on my way. Neil warns me that the next section is the toughest. 'Be smart', he says. This section from Winona to Powerline is mostly uphill, it's the hottest part of the day, and there's precious little shade. Also, the rough and tumble section over Smith Mountain is going to be quite an adventure as well. So, I continue to walk the uphills, and more than a few people pass me on these hills as they run on by. I figure it's early and I still have a long way to go, so I'm saving my energy for the downhills, and the shade. My buddy, Paul Schmidt loves to run uphill and true to form, surges on by in quick time, with a smile on his face and looking strong. A welcome downhill awaits and allows me to run on down into the Dropoff station (40mi) where I meet some odd men wearing grass skirts and coconut bras. The dirt road leading from here to Smith Mountain is a roller coaster of ups and downs. I continue to walk and roll as the hills allow. Smith Mountain station (43mi) is owned by Mickey Rollins of Houston. I've run a few races back in Texas that he directs, so we know each other somewhat. I sit down for some broth and a chat, but he quickly kicks me out, tells me to be on my way. Mickey's such a sweet talker. With all the tact and diplomacy of a crocodile. Jan Ryerse(MO) passes through while I'm visiting with Mickey, and I roll out just after he passes and catch up with him in just a bit. Within a half-mile of Smith Mountain, we're off road again and back in the woods on a butchered up jeep trail. The trail's been bulldozed for about a mile, with large dirt speed bumps every 40 yards that we have to scramble over. Sure makes for an odd pace. These tank traps eventually disappear into an even more rugged trail, with loose rocks piled on more loose rocks, ankle twisting holes in the ground hidden by leaves and scrub, and low hanging branches to keep you from looking down all the time, searching for the next obstacle. Keep your eyes down and you'll get whacked in the head. This should be even more fun in the dark on the return trip. This maze of rocks and holes leads us right up to and into the BM Rd station (47mi). It's usually manned by a very salty crew of Vietnam Vets, but only one fellow is here today. I ask about the others and he says they're probably in jail. The drunken crew and their dog from two years ago are what I'm expecting. Instead, I find one quiet fellow who's helpful and pleasant. Two miles later is Powerline and I'm halfway there before I realize, I've left behind my tin of electrolytes and Ibuprofen. Too late to turn back now, and I'm not going to be back here for many hours. Hopefully, the tin will still be there when I get back. I've managed my run well up to this point and I'm feeling pretty good, so I run the last uphill going into Powerline (49mi). The Powerline station is a major psychological point for me. It's about halfway and Joyce joins me here for the duration. She's dressed to kill when I show up. Not only is she damned good looking, but she'll run my butt into the ground if I'm not up to it. She's fit and she's ready to go, but I stall her as I relax in a lawn chair and sip on some coke. We remove my Camelback and put it away. But first, Neil removes the bladder, fills it with ice and water, and drops it into the ice chest, ready for my return trip. I trade in my sunglasses for two water bottles, and lastly, I remove my shoes and change into fresh clean socks, before putting back on the same old shoes. The Montrail Vitesse is the only choice for this rocky mother of a run and I don't need or want any other shoes. Quite a few of the others must have the same belief, because I've seen many pairs of this same shoe today. Kelly, Scott's girlfriend, decides to join Joyce and I as we leave the station. She craves a bit of a run and asks to join us for the journey down to the next station, where she'll wait for Scott. He's well in front of me and she expects to catch him on the return trip. We run up the hill leaving Powerline and charge down a long decline before easing off to a much more sensible pace on the next flat. I repeat this pattern all the way into Buffalo Gap, passing Tim Neckar(TX) on a long downhill, and him passing me when I slow. 'You runnin' fartleks', he asks? I attempt to explain my big butt theory, about heavy objects rolling downhill fast, but I don't think he's impressed at all, and quickly moves ahead. Buffalo Gap (53mi) is jammin' when we waltz in. Rock music is playing, fajitas are cooking, the Texas-Kansas State football game is on TV, and plenty of loud cheerful people are making lots of noise. I feel like I've just stepped into Cheers to have a beer with Norm and Cliff. As a matter of fact, I do have a beer. The crew is a bunch of young guys and they get pretty excited when I come running in with two gorgeous women. I introduce them as 'The Bud Girls' and we get immediate first class attention. Actually, everyone here is getting first class treatment. As much fun as this place is, we don't stay long. We check the football score (Texas 14 - Kansas 9) and we move out. Kelly waves good-bye as we escape the party. The next section seems to go on forever. I suppose it's because we're just going to turn around and come back the same way, but it just feels so endless. It's fun to watch all the runners in front of us as they start passing us going back the other way. We yell our encouragement to each of them as they pass: Stan(AR), Joe(IL), Chrissy(AR), Glenn Hamilton(TX), Scott Eppleman(TX), and so on. There are a lot of folks in front of me. Like ducks in a row, they file past us, and it's a pleasure to see so many that we know. Kevin's serious and Tyler Curiel(TX) is sick. Mike's steady as ever while Paul's still laughing and having fun. Paul's a real treat to run with, especially at night, because he sings so well. We take the last little dogleg up towards the Turn Around station and it feels good to finally get to the end of this thing. I've been ready for a long time to turn around and start back the other way. The last half mile is uphill and we walk the hill on into the Turn Around station (58mi), feeling good. I sit down while Joyce gets my drop bag and refills my water bottles. 'Joe Prusaitis of Austin' I hear. 'You're the race director of the Motorola Marathon!' Yes, I am, I reply. How do you know that? 'Glenn Hamilton just told me.','Didn't you drink a beer here two years ago?' Now, how would you know that? 'I gave you the beer', she says. 'A Lone Star'. Wow! What service! And to remember what I drank two years ago, also. Do you have any left, I ask? Next thing you know, I'm drinking another cold beer. Of course, I have some warm potato soup also, but the beer is exactly what a madman needs. A local reporter is shooting pictures and asking questions while I sit and BS, but we manage to escape eventually and head back up the road. I collect my flashlight from my drop bag before leaving. It's 6pm and it'll be getting dark soon. As we move up the road, we pass more runners coming in to the Turn Around, including Tom Crull(TX) and Angela. It's mostly uphill, but we manage a staggered run/walk as the sun quickly fades to darkness. We elect to navigate without flashlights so we can enjoy the stars and crescent moon for a bit. The woods grow load with crickets and an occasional runner approaches and disappears past us quickly. Funny how the darkness has suddenly changed the run into an entirely different look and feel so quickly. Like diving off a sunny riverbank into a favorite swimming hole, we slip from the bright hot day into a calm warm night. Coming back into Buffalo Gap (64mi) in the dark, we are greeted by welcome voices and loud rock music. We check the score (Kansas 35 - Texas 17) and drink some water, but leave quickly, in a rush to get back to Powerline. The run is going well, but all the uphill coming back has made the return much slower than the going out. It feels good to be back at Powerline (68mi). I swap my water bottles for the Camelback again, which is already loaded with ice and water. It should be getting a bit cool, so I take a jacket as well. I start to walk out, when suddenly, I feel ill. My stomach begins to churn and I tell Joyce I'll be right back. I step off the road just as my stomach rises up and empties. Damn! I didn't even feel it coming. After just a few minutes, I'm done and I walk back into Powerline and sit down again. I drink some water and sip some broth. I take my time and then head out again. With the temperature a bit cooler, I was planning on getting in a bit of good running in the cool night air. Oh well! The best-laid plans unravel so quickly. It's time to adjust my plan, to a 'see how it goes' and make my changes accordingly. I go slowly, not wanting to bring it up again. I need to keep down what I just ate and drank. After awhile, I walk faster and then I try to run. Walking fast feels ok, but running is out of the question until my stomach settles. So, I walk! We connect with Pat Stewart(SC) and he appears to be in a walking mode also, so we walk together to BM station. I find my tin of pills right where I left them. We continue walking on up and over Smith Mountain, which may have been wise anyway, due to the pits, holes, and loose rocks scattered everywhere. I attempt to run on a few of the downhills but my gut's still queasy, so we stumble slowly through the maze of rocks on into Smith Mountain station (73mi). Mickey greets my wife warmly, but then sees me and emits an odious string of syllables not worth repeating. I try some more broth, chat a bit, and escape with my wife. On we trudge, the three of us, content to moving forward, while realizing our pace is god awful slow at about 30 minutes a mile. This may take awhile. Pat begins to feel better and we tell him to go for it, and he does, leaving us alone with each other. We walk into the Dropoff station (77mi) and they offer me all kinds of food and drink but nothing sounds good, so I skip most of it and settle for hot broth again. We move on. Soon after leaving Dropoff we calculate our slow pace and the time it will take us to arrive at Lake Winona only to realize we may not have enough battery power for our lights. Joyce turns off her light and I move up next to her so we can both use my light to find our way. We are moving so very slowly now, due more to my stomach than the lack of light. My light starts to go and we quickly switch to Joyce's, but it should be enough to get us in to Winona. We had hoped to borrow some batteries at Pigtrail (80mi), but all they have are jugs of water and some cokes. I thought this station was unmanned, so it's a pleasant surprise to find a few folks here. Lake Winona (85mi) is a welcome sight, as we eventually do roll in, with plenty of power still left in the flashlight. Also, my stomach is beginning to feel a touch better. Joyce takes my Camelback, puts it in our drop bag, and hands me a water bottle for the final fifteen. I also change my socks one more time while Joyce collects our spare batteries from the drop bag and reloads all our lights. We are all set now and should be good to go. As we say good-bye to our new friends, we find Max Roycroft walking back into the station. I'm not certain what his intentions are, but we ask him to come with us. We promise to get him in, if he'll come with us, and he agrees to join us. It's always easier at night when you're with someone else. The three of us head out of the station again, walking. After a short time, I try to run again and I can now, but Max cannot. His ankles are shot and he has a bad rash. We stay with him as we slowly move into the woods again. This section is very rough and we stumble about in the dark, but we're enjoying each other's company, telling jokes and lies. All we need is a campfire and some marshmallows to make it complete. We find the Electric Tower (92mi) just as the sky begins to lighten and I check my watch. It's been 24 hours and change since we began. We sit down for a moment just to visit the lady who has sit in her chair right here in this one spot all day and all night just to keep track of us, and I can't help but thank her for what she's done for us. But, now it's time! We are eight miles from done and it's morning. We say good-bye to Max as he tries again to run but cannot. My gut is fine now, so we begin to run. We go faster and faster until I feel the old downhill-crashing Joe is back and we really begin to roll. We land at the Pumpkin Pie station (94mi), but don't even leave the road. They bring us out a coke, which I sip, but no more. There is no one else around as we continue on down the road and then turn onto the last rugged section of rutted and rough jeep road. This is the only section of trail that has any standing water on it that we must navigate around, and we dodge left and right as we scream through here in mad fashion. We continue to move quickly and pass a fellow and his pacer who are walking slowly. He says something about how fast we're moving and I reply something about saving up for this by walking for so long, but we're past him so quickly that I'm sure neither of us heard all of what the other said. We see a sign that says 95 hanging on an old rickety bridge and it makes me go even faster. We are both enjoying the quicker pace after so much walking, and also, I want it done quickly now. Going over an embankment, we leave the rutted road and enter a more improved dirt road, and then a long climb. But, I'm feeling it now and continue to run all the way up the hill, passing John Hargrove(OK) about half way up. A truck is parked in the road near the top and the driver applauds our energy as we approach him. He offers us some lemonade and it sounds so good that I stop long enough to guzzle a 12oz can. John motors by while I drink. We reach the top in just a quarter mile and enter the main road, only two and a half miles from done, and mostly downhill. We accelerate as we descend, picking up speed as we go. I can see John about 200 yards ahead, and we close on him. He looks behind to see how close we are and picks up speed also. I don't think he wants us to catch him, but it is inevitable now. The road weaves left and right, while we run the strait line tangents, and pass him quickly. Our pace remains constant now as we roll on down the hill, and then something very odd begins to occur. I start to hallucinate. I see a flash of something bright purple in my peripheral vision and reason that it must be more of those beautiful flowers we had seen yesterday on the trailside. Then I see another flash, and think it's odd that there are so many of them, so I turn my head to look directly at them. But, there's nothing there. I see more flashes of purple in my peripheral vision, on both sides now, high and low, and I start laughing. As we continue to pound downhill at a pace we hadn't done in days, I tell my wife, 'Joyce, I'm hallucinating like a big dog'. It scares her and she tells me to slow down, which I don't really want to do, but agree to, after the next turn. But, the flashes continue as we motor on down the hill. What's causing it I wonder? Lack of oxygen to the brain, sleep deprivation, extreme exhaustion, lemonade (with orange sunshine). The hallucinations disappear as soon as we hit the bottom of the hill and slow down. We see Pat up ahead and exchange greetings as we pass. We haven't seen him since Smith Mountain. He's running well, but we're still moving pretty quick, and move past him. We hit the paved road and I know that it's only a half-mile to the finish now. We get to the base of the last hill, push on up to the top, accelerate into the last turn, and charge on down into the campgrounds under the banner. It's done. 26:06! I'm feeling much better than I did most of the night, and Joyce, like usual, looks fresh as a daisy and gorgeous as ever. All things considered, it was a good run. I just love this stuff. When and where's the next one? Monday morning, I walk over to the Coffee Creek Fish Camp and try to buy a newspaper. I have high hopes of seeing the complete results and storyline before we leave Arkansas for our long drive back to Austin. I lose ten quarters in the rusted news trap before I'm awarded the only remaining Arkansas Democrat Gazette. Prize in hand, I walk back to our room and pull up a chair on the patio. With practiced efficiency, I surgically extract the sports section and dump the rest of the paper on the floor. Like most men I know, who are not looking for a job, the rest is just bad news. And there I sit, looking at myself! On the front page of the sports section, I'm sitting down drinking a beer. And Joyce is right next to me. What a surprise!