THE BEAR 100-MILER SEPTEMBER 27-28, 2002 This was the year I was going to redeem myself for "wussing out" two years ago at the Angeles Crest 100. That all went up in smoke with the Southern California fires, which eventually caused the closure of the whole of the Angeles National Forest. With 3 - 4 weeks to come up with an alternative 100-miler (not running a 100-miler was not an option), I came up with two possibilities, both of which I had for some time wanted to run – the Arkansas Traveler 100 and the Bear 100. The Bear was my final choice, one good reason being that the Monday after the Arkansas Traveler, I would be on a plane to England. Let's see – run a 100-miler, fly the same afternoon from Arkansas to California, and then fly the next morning from California to England? I've been on a plane from CA to England immediately after Western States once before – my feet and legs below the knees swelled up to elephantiasis proportions and I was saved only by the precaution I had taken of wearing loose-fitting sandals. So no more long-distance air flights straight after a race and Arkansas Traveler would have to wait for another year. One reason for wanting to do the Bear 100 is that it lies at the other extreme from most of the 100's I have done. Western States and Leadville are both highly organized races with lots of runners, volunteers, etc. Angeles Crest is close behind in that respect. I love all three of those races, but I was also looking forward to doing a 100-mile race, which did not have many years of evolving into a "well-established" event. Looking at the Bear website, I saw that the most starters they had had at their race was 27. Sounded good to me. It turned out I wouldn't be disappointed. I got my entry off, eventually received confirmation of its acceptance and arranged flights and motels. One considerable piece of good luck was that my friend, Bob Read, offered to crew me. Bob is an inveterate explorer and spends as much time as he can persuade his wife, Margie, to allow him away, to wander around the canyons of Southern Utah. It turns out that he would be near Escalante in Southern Utah just before the Bear; and also that he had always wanted to spend some time checking out the Bear Valley range in South-Eastern Idaho, just over the border from Utah, where the Bear is held. So it was agreed he would drive up just before the race, pick me up at Salt Lake City, crew me and drop me off at the airport after the race. I had heard from Kathy Hamilton, who had been one of the "pacer chicks" the previous year for Tropical John at the Bear, that trying to find the aid stations as a crew member was maybe worse than running the race and that a compass would be needed. If that was to be the case, Bob was the best person to have attempt that task. The Bear is unusual in that it starts on a Friday morning, not a Saturday. I flew into Salt Lake City on the Wednesday and arrived at my motel early in the morning. The weather forecast said rain for the race days. Oh well! I had plenty of time so I assembled my drop bags and generally got well organized. Bob arrived and we enjoyed a good Mexican dinner. Next day we drove north from Salt Lake City and then branched off towards Logan and Preston. This was the first time on this trip we were to see the lovely fall colors of red, yellow and green on the maples, oak and aspen. The trees are not as large as they may be in New England or the North Woods, but their contrast to the dry, tough conditions on the Bear Valley range more than made up for that. They were stunning, especially this year. We booked into the motel, the only one in Preston, nearest town to the race start and then went to the start/finish line to explore the first and last bit of the course. Next came the pre-race briefing, which was held in the garden of Leland Barker, the RD, several miles away. I was pretty happy to see how the briefing developed - again, remember, from the perspective of looking for something different from the highly organized and supported 100-milers I had run so far. It appeared there were two people who were in charge – mainly Leland, but also Phil Lowry, who added the structured side to Leland's freewheeling direction. The first hint that this may not be an over-organized race came with Leland's sheepish admission that something had happened to the scale for weighing runners. We therefore would not have to go through weigh-ins, but were cautioned to be sensible out there in the run. This was closely followed by revelations that there were no radio communications (clashed with some other big event, but the race would have them for next year), nor were there any medical personnel at the aid stations. Excellent, I thought, we runners are actually going to have to be accountable and responsible for our own actions and not use race personnel as a crutch! Responding to questions, Leland said there "might" be Coke out at some aid stations (expected, as remember this is Mormon country) and he made an educated guess as to what the sports drink would be at the stations. More importantly, Phil gave us the latest weather forecast, which promised rain and cold weather. After dinner, Bob and I retired to the motel and I actually got a good 6-7 hours of sleep, most unusual for the night before a 100-miler. We had found good maps of the Forest Service and other surrounding lands and Bob developed his plan of attack for meeting me at as many aid stations as possible. It was a quick drive in the morning to the race start at 6.00 a.m., held out by the Deer Creek Inn. There were a record number of 43 starters this year, still a great contrast to the 384 or 450 or so of WS and Leadville. Even though I had ponchos or trash bags tucked away in drop bags and in my fanny belt, I started just in polypro top with a singlet and shorts. It was relatively warm and I chose to go without gloves. I did however, use my new Princeton Tec Aurora 3 LED headlamp, which worked wonderfully. As the race started I deliberately tucked myself into the back of the pack. As a 58-year old, I had no goals of any particular time or finish place. We had 35 hours to complete this run and I intended to take it easy and enjoy myself, with plenty of time to appreciate the wonderful scenery. After a short stretch along a gravel road, we turned right to go through a campground and then started climbing steeply a little way up to a mesa, where we stayed on and off to the first aid station. I ran much of this with Tom Gallagher and Ed Demoney, RDs of Silver State 50/50 and Mountain Massanutten 100 respectively. It was quite interesting with most of the trail obvious but with a few parts needing close attention as we crossed sagebrush meadows and ran around gates and fences. I had read the trail directions from the race package – they sounded complicated, but in "real time" things were much simpler. Only once in this stretch did a bunch of us get off course (lead by me, of course), but we soon realized and recovered. At the first aid station (8.7 miles), they had a delicious looking breakfast of sizzling potatoes going, but I decided to stay with my own mundane food. I disposed of my polypro top and spent hardly any time there. The racecourse does go out and back about ½ mile to this aid station, so you have the opportunity to see other runners. I saw several of my friends here, including Chuck Wilson (who was busy taking photographs) and Jim and Louise Wholey. All three of these had run Cascade Crest Classic 100 just 4-5 weeks ago and were back for more. After this out and back stretch there followed an interesting trail that crossed a streambed several times and eventually took us up a steep climb of nearly 3,000ft, probably the steepest or longest one of the whole race. I did this on my own. Again I reflected that at miles 9 - 13, there would be no way at WS or Leadville that I would see no other runners for 4 miles. At the top of the climb, I eventually caught up with someone and ran along with Randy from Salt Lake City, who was hoping for his first 100-mile finish after a couple of DNFs at Wasatch and (I think) Leadville. We stuck together for several miles. The top had taken us to the 8,000-foot level, where we stayed pretty much until mile 90. The rest of the trail to the second aid station (15.8 miles) was easy and pleasant. Bob, my crew, wasn't planning on meeting me at the first aid station, but intended to at this second one. No Bob, but no big deal. In fact, soon afterwards as we ran along a fire road, Bob drove up, saying he had had difficulties with road construction and misleading directional signs. He drove on to the next aid station (further down the same road) after confirming neither Randy nor I needed anything. It was somewhere along here that Hans Dieter passed us and also Jim Miller. By the time we came to that next aid station (Danish Pass, 19.5 miles), we came in with Hans Dieter. Bob was here and had things well organized. Suzi, Hans's wife, had everything down to a fine art, obviously the result of crewing at many 100-milers. She would arrive in their luxury mini-motor home, (shipped over from Germany), into which Hans would disappear if he wanted to use its amenities in comfort. As he left the aid station, Suzi would accompany him with his bowl of her special stew. When he had finished eating, she came back with the empty bowl. All very efficient. We were to see each other at many aid stations along the way as she repeated this process. The trail now went on a 19-mile loop which would take us back to Danish Pass. As we left Danish Pass the first time, up a very steep hill, more mundane matters called and I took a pit stop off the trail. This gave me a great view of the surrounding scenery, but unfortunately gave anyone on that side of the ridge great views of me! Since that would only be crewmembers driving to the next aid station, I reckoned they would have more interesting things to do with their time. The course took us over 9,000 ft to the highest spot on the run. We went through some beautiful scenery with great fall colors as I ran through Beaver (mile 27.5) and Fish Haven (mile 31.9) aid stations. Bob was at both aid stations and had everything perfectly organized. At the latter one, we started to bunch up and I came across Chuck Wilson again and also found myself just behind Hans Dieter, Duncan Orr and Julie Nelson. Chuck started some spectacular barfing, which was to bother him awhile during the run, and I proceeded on my way. We were all pretty much separated from each other, but within eyesight. A lot of the trail from Franklin aid station at mile 16 to where we were now was rolling, nothing too steep, mostly on fire roads but also some trails. I walked anything resembling an uphill, not at all eager to get wiped out by uphill running so early on the course. We eventually came back to Danish Pass aid station (38.4 miles), which we had visited some 19 miles earlier. Bob was back again and he got me in and out quickly. It was by now 4:05pm and I was a mere 3 Ό hours behind the leaders! Now we ran along the Highline Trail, all single track. We moved more or less as a group of five with Julie, her pacer, Duncan, Hans Dieter and myself. Julie's pacer was pushing her hard. At one stage, Hans was at the back with me and he said in a pronounced German accent "Her pacer – he is killing her…….And he is killing me too!" This was a spectacular part of the course with great views either side of the ridge. We eventually came to the point where the trail does an out and back to the Bloomington aid station (mile 44.4). The only problem was that the trail dropped down steeply to the aid station and we all knew we had to climb back. The couple manning it were very pleasant, the man insisting he saw me at last year's Bear 100. I must have a twin out there! I dithered here trying to decide whether to put on a polypro as it was now 5.45pm and it would be dark before the next aid station. By the time I had decided to put it on and got my cold hands to cooperate, the others had gone ahead. Once I got back up to the ridge, I was way behind them. I struggled on this portion, running what I could but walking a lot, and every now and then thinking I'd lost the trail. But each time I would eventually catch sight of the other four some way ahead of me and all would be okay again. By the time we got to Paris aid station (mile 50.1) it was getting dark. Bob was waiting and he was a godsend as I struggled to change belts and move items from one belt to the other. I got my 7 LED flashlight out and set off northwards along the trail. The next stretch, to Dry Basin aid station, is somewhat of a blur in my mind. I know it was pretty hilly, both up and down and went along a ridge. After a few miles I came across a lady who had been putting out glow sticks. She was going back to Paris. I hoped this didn't mean no more glow sticks to the next aid station. Soon afterwards, I was startled to see someone running towards me, going very fast and using an LED headlight. He was running uphill on a trail rocky enough for me to be walking downhill. At first, I couldn't believe it was the race leader, some 28 miles ahead of me. After reflecting on this a little more I knew it had to be. For crikes sake, who else would be out here running so fast? It wouldn't be anyone just on a training run! I was really slowing down. As I neared the Dry Basin aid station (57.2 miles) I was thinking there was no way I should be feeling this bad so early in the race. Bob was waiting and took one look at me and saw trouble. He told me later that I looked ghostly white in the face. He immediately started pumping food and liquids into me. All I saw was this huge bonfire, an empty seat and some friendly faces. I didn't want to leave. Hans Dieter tried to get me going, but I wasn't ready to forsake the fire. Duncan took off – same response. I spent 24 minutes there (Leland was good enough to send us detailed time splits after the race, down to "in and out" times at every aid station). Bob told me that the Rocket, Errol Jones, was prone at this aid station in a sleeping bag and in a tent. Errol is famous for pulling this stunt at the Bear, getting up after a long sleep and running like a crazed man to finish just under the cutoff. Bob worked in vain to get the Rocket fired off. I left alone, walking in the dark along a fire road. The course was now to take us on a 25-mile loop, returning us to the Dry Basin aid station. What was interesting on the road here were some enormous puddles in the road. I was having a hard time working out where dirt and water separated. At one stage I dropped my LED into the muddy water, but these lights seem indestructible. I was expecting the Rocket to catch up with me on this stretch and sure enough someone jogged up to me. However, it was not Errol, but Duncan, who had taken a pit stop off the trail. We walked along happily and soon a vehicle came up. It was Bob, who timed things well enough to use his headlights to make clear where our course took a smaller trail (or road) left from the main one. Both Duncan and I realized quickly that we were quite happy to walk and not run. We talked a lot, as only 100-mile runners can seem to talk. What is it about this sport that we happily tell tales about ourselves which we would otherwise never dream of sharing with someone who we had only met a few hours ago? Duncan is a multi-time Wasatch finisher and in fact, lives near the start of the Wasatch course (I think I have that right). Even though he is finding new sports to obsess about, he was still smarting at not finishing Wasatch the previous month in the infamously horrendous conditions I had read about. I sensed the Bear was to be his redemption for this year. He proved to be a wonderful trail companion and we spent much of the next 15 hours together on the trail. Eventually we came across the Danish Flat aid station at 65.6 miles; this had been a long haul from the last aid station, but pleasant company makes the time go quickly. Again there was a huge bonfire roaring away and some empty chairs that had our names on them. And again, I had a hard time leaving the fire. It took us 22 minutes to drag ourselves away from that fire and the pleasant aid station volunteers there. Hans Dieter surfaced from his motor home and the three of us walked off. A youngster at the aid station told us that it was only five miles to the next aid station. Even in my incoherent state, I knew this was wrong. It turned out to be 8.4 miles a meaningful difference, particularly with the terrain we would cover. On reading other runners' race reports in earlier years, this next stretch had got quite some press. I was soon to realize why. We hiked along a main dirt road and then, I think, branched off left on a lesser road. It was however, time for nature to call me loud and clear for the second time on the race. Curses! I told the others I would catch them up quickly. But it wasn't to be that easy. Firstly, once I took my gloves off, my fingers were too cold to operate normally. And then, having changed fanny belts and not determining what items were in what pockets, it took me several minutes to locate TP. And then several minutes to take care of business. Jeez, I said to myself, as I went off along the trail, that was a pretty inefficient use of time. Things did not improve. I came to a creek, but I couldn't see where the trail went. No ribbons or flour marks visible anywhere. Some smaller trails came off the main one, or so I thought. I didn't want to cross the creek unnecessarily. So I putzed around on the other trails hoping each was the correct course, until I finally rock hopped the creek and found a ribbon staring me in the face. You dumbshit, I thought! At least I was moving again and as I set off, now steeply uphill, I thought that if I put on a spurt I would soon catch up to the others. Duncan told me later he had waited for me a long time and finally took off! I didn't see them on this stretch at all. The course now took on a seemingly endless series of steep climbs and drops on what looked like an ATV trail. Not only that, but there were lots of other roads and trails coming off. Ribbons and glow sticks were scarce here and I lost track of the number of times I thought I had missed the trail, only eventually to see a ribbon or light and say to myself, "Thank God!" A couple of times, I stopped to suck down some Gu and I put my flashlight off and looked around. Damn, I couldn't see my hand in front of my face. There was no moon because of cloud cover and there were certainly no city lights around. I think that was the darkest night I've ever witnessed. Cool! But a little spooky. I moved on quickly. More climbs and drops. Man, this was getting old. But eventually the course took us past an archery range and then soon afterwards, I came to a paved road. I have to admit that felt a little surreal. Not like the paved roads at Western States or Leadville at all. Perhaps it was because there seemed to be no one around for miles and because it was so dark and solitary. I think if a vehicle had come along that road, I might have seriously freaked out a little. Finally, the trail took off on a smaller dirt road and a mile later, all walking, I came across the Copenhagen Basin Road aid station at 74.3 miles. It was now 4.21 a.m. Who did I see at the aid station, again around another roaring bonfire, but Duncan and Hans Dieter. But wait, there's Rob Byrne, RD at Ohlone along with his pacer and co-RD, Larry England. Rob is much faster than me – what gives? Turns out he is sick and has been at the aid station for 2 ½ hours! Larry, of course, looks fine but is being patient with his charge. He jokes around as he always does. But Rob soon feels better and they take off, along with Hans Dieter. Duncan and I are happy to wait awhile. At least I have my bonfire stay down to 15 minutes, even though this is another excellent aid station with great soup and everything I could want. Duncan and I take off, still determinedly walking. We see no reason to try to run. In any case, we start climbing very steeply up a fire road, on and on. Soon we pass Hans Dieter, probably still recovering from Wasatch last month. After what seems like an endless haul, we come to the Copenhagen aid station (what's with all the Danish names here, anyway?). Another huge bonfire and Hans joins us. Again, this seems surreal. It's 5.48 am, still pitch dark and the aid station volunteers are two men and a bunch of teenage boys all wrapped up to keep the cold at bay. Hans Dieter says, "You need some women here!" After a gap of silence, one of the kids does a humungous fart. Another silence and one of the men says, "That's why there are no women here!" We all collapse in helpless laughter. Well, it seemed hilarious at the time, which just shows how twisted your mind gets covering 100 miles and missing a night's sleep. Duncan and I bid the great volunteers farewell. Hans has left already. The trail now goes downhill and Duncan is feeling his oats, off jogging. Maybe it is the dawn that is calling his body awake. For my part I follow more slowly. I am feeling something terribly wrong with one of my ankles. It is very sore, but I can't figure out what's happened. It's not a sprained ankle, yet it feels very unstable and painful. I'm wearing long black pants so nothing is visible from a quick inspection. I try to jog downhill but end up walking most of this section. At the next aid station, I tell myself, I'll check it out. Luckily, it's a short stretch of just less than 4 miles. Bob is waiting – it must have been over 8 hours since we hit this aid station last time and it's great to see him again. The course has done a 25-mile loop and returned here to Dry Basin, this particular aid station. This was the one where the Rocket had been sleeping earlier, but I'm so tired I forget to find out what happened with Errol. And I see Rob and Larry again. Rob is not looking good. In fact, he's looking quite green. He doesn't seem interested in conversation. I wonder why? He spends most of the time leaning elbows on knees and staring into the fire as if he could find solace there. At least I remember about my sore ankle. Actually, I just whine about it. As I roll my black pants up, others point out what had happened. I always wear some "tubigrip" material because of a great propensity towards calf muscle strains. If everything is okay, I roll these down around my ankles like garters, so they are out of the way. If my calf muscle acts up, I roll that one up to cover my leg from ankle to just below the knee. It gives great support, compression and warmth and works immediately. Of course, it looks pretty ugly and I put up with some negative comments, but hey, I've never been accused of being a fashion fop! Anyway, I had just got some new tubigrip especially for this race and it is nice and strong. In fact, it is way too strong and too tight, so tight that it has been acting like a pretty efficient tourniquet around my ankle, cutting off circulation to my foot. As soon as I roll it up, my pain goes away! Duh! Anyway, we're down to only a 16-minute stay around the fire. I leave with two salty bars of hot hash browns cooked up by the aid station saviors. Man, that tasted so good. The three of us take off, but soon Hans drops behind. This stretch to Paris aid station is a repeat of what we did earlier in the opposite direction. We know it's going to be a pretty hilly 7-Ύ mile section. Soon we pop some No-Doz, my third of the race, to keep us more alert. Once again, I reflect on how good company helps so much on such long, strenuous sections. That and the great scenery, although our foggy minds are much less aware of the beauty of the area than the previous day. We're just glad the rain has held off for the night. In fact the sun soon rises and the day looks glorious. We get into Paris aid station at mile 90.3 at 9:59 am. I've been looking forward to seeing Paul and Wasatch Fred, who run this aid station. I've known Paul for several years as he has traveled to California to either help out or to run various races. Soon after I get there, Mark Swanson, "Midas" to those on the Ultra List, pops out of a tent. Appears he has been hit with either HAPE or some other high altitude sickness. The aid station people have held him there for his own sake and want him to remain a little longer. But he seems pretty confident and looks okay. There is no bonfire at this aid station and Duncan and I don't wait too long. Hans is surprised we leave so quickly. The course now goes down a bigger gravel road with ATV's driving up and down. It's a quick 2 Ύ miles down to the next aid station, German Dugway, but Duncan and I have absolutely no desire to run it in. We know we are going to finish well before the cutoff and we know that we're not going to get under 30 hours. So why run? Soon we hear someone running fast behind us. It's Hans Dieter barreling down the road with hiking staffs in hand. He shouts as he goes by, "I'm going to run the last 10 miles!" We just look at one another and say, "See you at the finish line". In any case, we have Leland's Ledge coming up and we know that whatever good intentions Hans has, he is not going to run that. Everyone likes to talk about Leland's Ledge. This is a stretch of just under 2 miles (at a guess) that apparently, the RD Leland adopted to respond to a complaint from some runners about having to share the road with ATV's. We think Leland scratched this section out of the dirt with his hands. Our recommendation is for Leland to tell the complainers to stuff themselves and take the course back to the road. But that makes us complainers as well, I guess! In any case, all good races have some parts that people can whine about. The Bear's is definitely Leland's Ledge. There really is no way to describe it other than to experience it yourself. One suggestion is for Leland to store a cassette recorder 2/3 of the way along Leland's Ledge and to invite participants to provide some feedback on their thoughts about this section. It would be interesting to see how many curses and obscenities appear. Suffice it to say that it circumvents a hillside and that you need both hands available to pull and drag yourself along. It is most decidedly not what you want to have to cover at mile 94 in a 100-miler. My feet were thankfully in good shape. If I had any blisters, I would have tried to commit hara-kiri. After what seemed like hours, we finally got to a cow trail, which seemed like a highway in contrast. This took us downhill to a dirt road, but we continued whining about Leland's Ledge. We were still in our hiking mode. Julie Nelson and her pacer came trotting by us, looking chipper. I didn't feel chipper. The sun was out, it felt hot and I was wearing too many clothes. I wanted this baby over in the worst way. Eventually, we got back to the paved road and continued walking. I kept looking back for the Rocket to come by, but no sign. Soon we got to the side road taking us down the last hundred yards or so to the finish line and Duncan and I ran it in, only just ahead of James Miller, who had arisen from the dead – at one stage, he had been ahead of us and then had gone through a bad time and later, trailed us by 2 ½ hours. He finished 12 seconds behind us! Aren't 100-milers great or what? The best thing about hiking so much of the last 43 miles, well actually almost all of it, was that I felt so much better than on most of the 100-milers that I had pushed. No blisters, very little soreness, just tired. At a best guess, I think if I had pushed this race, I would have been just under 30 hours (versus the 31:49 we did), but I would have finished in much worse shape. There was still some 3 ½ hours to the cutoff, so Bob and I drove back to the motel where we showered and I napped awhile. Back to the Deer Creek Inn and the finish line, to see the last runners come in. I was delighted to see Randy Andrews finish his first 100-miler, along with Steve James. But still no Errol! Heartbreakingly, just a few minutes after the cutoff, he appears sprinting in. Close, but no dice. The several hours he had spent sleeping and recovering at a few aid stations were his downfall this time. Well, he probably got the biggest cheer of the day, anyway. I felt sad for him. It was Errol, who has run every Bear 100 race, who first got my imagination captured by this race following his glowing description of the course. I'm sure he will be back to avenge it. What are a few minutes, anyway? He covered the course, but just took his time.. Very little else to say. Leland had provided coupons for our post-race dinner at the Deer Creek Inn. Mine was magnificent. The awards were held at the same time and were very low-key and fitting. All finishers got a buckle and a plaque. The buckle is nice, but the plaque is really cool. As I said before, Leland provided us later with detailed splits. He even calculated the "run time" as opposed to "race time". The difference is of course, the time spent lounging around at the aid stations. Mine was 2 hours and 26 minutes – and I'll guarantee most of that time was spent by the wonderful bonfires through the night. Which reminds me to say again, the aid station volunteers were just great. The course markings were great – I only got lost the one time, before the first aid station and then only for a few minutes. I enjoyed everything about this race – well, except Leland's Ledge – and I thank Leland and all his volunteers for their countless hours of hard work in putting on this magnificent race. I heartily recommend it to all those who want to run a low-key 100-miler in beautiful scenery. And many thanks firstly to Bob Read, my invaluable crew person. He did countless things to help me along, the greatest of which was to get me going at Dry Basin aid station at 10:30 at night when I was definitely heading to a permanent spot by the bonfire. And secondly to Duncan for so pleasantly sharing the trail with me all those hours. Barry Fisher