From: RDJT76A@prodigy.com (MR RICHARD J LIMACHER)
Date: Wed,  6 Aug 1997 10:32:34, -0500
Subject: Legend of Pecos Phooey at WS100, Part 6

                               TEST CLIMB

Ah shur iz sawrrie, frendz, but Ah hedda innerrup disshere wurk widda lodda
udder wurk.  So fer, Ah haint bin habbel ta givvup ma day job fer whut dey
pays me fer bein' a troobaddoor.

This could be some kind of record, you know.  Writing five whole "parts"
about a race, I mean, without ever starting to write about the RACE.  And,
well, I can't start today either.

First I have to tell you what happened shortly after I first arrived in
Squaw Valley and ordered my first ill-fated sandwich; and, of course,
finally found that official monument to Gordy Ainsleigh at the official
start line.  (Interestingly enough, there never really was an actual start
LINE.  It remains to this day:  only a concept.)

Anyway, when I actually did digest the ham & cheese and whip out my camera
for a quick close-up photo of the monument, the next thing I did was look
up.  At the, you know, MOUNTAIN.  And I resolved, then and there, (just as
you should resolve, here and now, NEVER to take that cheap camera your Olds
dealer gives you for test-driving a new car with you to photograph an ultra
of any significance...those pictures are TERRIBLE!) to climb that mountain.

Unfortunately, I stashed that same camera in my pocket and started out on
my "test climb."  Immediately you are confronted with a choice:  there are
TWO easily discernible trails--a steep "high road" and a much-more-level
"low road."   Hmmm, I reasoned.  This is Western States.  Runner's World
rated this THE toughest race in North America.  Must be the high road.

So, I started climbing the STEEPER trail.  And also almost immediately I
come upon these nasty red signs attached to stakes driven in the ground
which I simply could not read before setting out on the trail.

The signs all said:  "STAY OFF THIS TRAIL.  MOUNTAIN CLOSED.  DANGER.
HIGH, uh, VOLTAGE.  DO NOT EVEN THINK OF CLIMBING HERE."

I think, hmmm.  Ain't never heard of a mountain being closed before.  Maybe
mountains only work "bankers hours."  This was Wednesday, after all.  Maybe
if I come back on Thursday the mountain lobby will be open.  Maybe even the
drive-thru, huh?  Do I suppose I could come back and get a cash advance?
How 'bout a 30- or 40-mile advance?

But then, I gaze off into the distance and see a couple of other...hikers,
apparently.  And so I reason that, if they're farther up the mountain and
haven't been arrested yet by the Slope Patrol, then I guess I've got a
chance.  I can always say to the arresting officer, "Lookit THEM, officer!
They started their trespassing violation long before I did!"

But then he'd say (just like they all do), "Yeah, son.  But the radar
caught YOU."

Radar.  Ha!  More likely the exact opposite:  Unable to maintain minimum
speed.  One mile per hour is simply not acceptable.

Anyway, I ignore the nasty red signs and climb.  I figure, how in the heck
does Norm expect us to be able to practice if he allows these people to
close their mountain?  Of course, I also figure--human nature being what it
is--those signs were put there at the close of skiing season, and somebody
has just "never gotten around to" taking them down for the opening of
hiking season.  (I even saw later, in the, what, "Squaw Valley Olympic
Once-in-Awhile Gazette" that they even have a four-mile mountain run in
July sometime...so, hey, I could always tell "The Powers That Be" that I
was really practicing for THAT.)

I hike up and up and up.  I go, hmmm.  We're supposed to RUN this?

I finally come upon another hiker...going down.

"Hey," I say, "is THIS the way to Emigrant Pass?"

"Yep."

"Thanks."

"It's a loooooong way up there."

"Yeah.  Thanks.  I already figured that."

It turns out, of course, the guy was dead wrong.  The way I was headed--and
he was coming from--was NOT the way to Emigrant Pass.

No, again there was a choice.  You could turn right and go across this
concrete slab bridge and, I dunno, disappear over yonder amid some windy,
twisty trail that looked like it went nowhere; or, you could go straight
and deal with some of the rockiest, rottenest terrain you've ever seen--and
that's the path I was on.  Again, because of WS's baaaaaad reputation.  And
that's where the guy was coming from...so I kept going.

Pretty soon I came to the Siberia Express ski lift (yes, it was closed, so,
no, I couldn't ride) and hiked past some recreation complex which, I think,
was also closed and then kept going past a couple guys way up high in a
cable car-bucket-type thing fixing the cable above their heads.  I stopped,
disbelieving.  I immediately whipped out that cheap camera and took their
picture...before it was too late.  I mean, consider:  If they're hanging
from a cable--and they're fixing the very same cable--what happens, you
know, IF THEY CAN'T FIX IT???

(Well, again, no matter.  The picture didn't turn out anyway.)

So, I wind my way up and up and up and pretty soon I'm on this STEEP
precipice covered with SNOW looking up at what I think is the trail, but,
having to climb this snowslide to get there.  I go, hmmm.  Runner's World
ain't kiddin'.

Then I find myself backwards on my butt trying to inch my way up about a
hundred feet of SHEER, SLICK SNOWSLIDE, thinking all the while that this,
in winter, is precisely how avalanches start.  If I wasn't careful, I knew
I could wipe out that non-existent start line.

"Boy, if we have to do THIS on race day!  Man," I mumbled, "We are ALL in
serious trouble!"

Well, after more than one vision of ME crashing down the mountainside and
eventually wiping out the non-existent start line, I finally survived the
climb...and made a couple of snowballs and actually tried to start that
avalanche, but, of course, the guy who steered me wrong was out of sight by
then.  So it probably wouldn't do any good.

Then (well, maybe after another hour or so) I finally arrived at the
summit...of what I THOUGHT was Emigrant Pass.  I was tremendously curious.
What was on the "other side"?  What lay in waiting for me on race day after
I finally, finally got here?  (And I checked my watch.  It took OVER TWO
HOURS to get here!  Hmmm, I reasoned.  Come race day, I AM SCREWED!)

Imagine my surprise when, once I got to the top of the mountain and looked
out to the west or southwest or towards any other direction in the opposite
direction, all I could see were MORE MOUNTAINS!!  Hmmm, I reasoned.  Come
race day, I AM DOUBLY SCREWED!!!

So anyway, when I finally got to the top, I was so happy (and so confident
that NOBODY else was anywhere in sight--nor could they be for at least two
more hours) that I stripped off all my clothes and thought, hmmm.  Let the
Slope Patrol arrest me NOW!!!

(I'm not kidding about that, and I can "prove" it.  Just, please, don't ask
me to show you my sunburn.)

Now...I'm going to skip ahead and tell you about the start of the race.
The start of the race at just about EXACTLY 5 o'clock on Saturday morning
(Pacific Time) went like this:

1) No start line.  (But it did seem to me that the front row was lined up
straight across from Gordy's monument--the one he himself hasn't seen yet.)

2) We took the "low road."

3) The nasty red "no trespassing" signs were STILL THERE!

4) I had my flashlight out, but didn't actually need it.  I mean, they have
this thing timed absolutely perfect.  Five minutes before the start, you
can't see anything without lights.  At the gun (and I think it was a gun
that signalled Ann Trason and the rest of them to go like hell)...voila!
The beginning of sunlight!  We could see!

5) We could see the "low road" just fine.  Then, when we got to where that
hiking "joker" had indicated the straight--and treacherous--path was the
way to Emigrant Pass, we turned!  And crossed that concrete slab bridge and
I was suddenly very confused.  But I was also glad we wouldn't all be
kicking our way backwards up some snowslide and causing avalanches galore.
(At least, I didn't THINK so.  But?  What strange "new" adventure lay ahead
on this "other" mountain that I DIDN'T practice on?)

6) The strange new adventure was this extremely attractive and apparently
quite young woman wearing THE-honest-to-God-shortest-short-shorts that I
have EVER seen!!  (Running or otherwise!)  She came up and suddenly passed
me.  I go, hmmm, mebbe Ah shood givvup ma day job hefter awl!

7) I made the Escarpment (whatever THAT is) in a little over an hour.  But
still I don't believe this "Escarpment" and that "Emigrant Pass" are one
and the same thing.  Anyway, none of that mattered.  What mattered was:

8) SHE was right ahead of me going UP UP UP that Escarpment!  With those short-short-short-short-short-short-shorts!!!

9) Wow!  I went delirious!  Unconscious!  I ALMOST BECAME THE AVALANCHE!!

10) (I'll be sure to tell you more about HER in Part 7.)


[Back soon!]

Rich Limacher
RDJT76A@prodigy.com
THE ULTRA NUTTY TROUBADOUR