From: RDJT76A@prodigy.com (MR RICHARD J LIMACHER) Date: Wed, 6 Aug 1997 10:33:07, -0500 Subject: Legend of Pecos Phooey at WS100, Part 8 DRIPPING OR DROPPING Welp, frendz, Ah done ixtreekated maseff otta ma straytjeckkit jus in tahm ta be krittisized unmurseafally bah anudder'n uv ma kriticks. 'N Ah jus wanna say raht chere ta alla dem kahnna unkahn folks, dat iffn da hol inna otthawse iz too vast fer yer seet, den doan be blaymin me iffin ya gits suckt raht on thoo bah da sheet. Ya kin awways dumppit sumwhars ilse. So pleeze. Go dumppit sumwhars ilse. Which reminds me, of course, of something else. This happened after all of the following happened just about at the top of that FIRST mountain way back there at Squaw Valley a little (no, I think a LOT) after that tiny derringer must've gone off signalling the start of the 1997 Western States 100-Mile Endurance Run: a) I'd long since lost Gordy, b) I'd gotten my first bottle refilled at the Escarpment aid station, c) I'd gotten my eyeballs seared by that angelic vision ascending right up to heaven in front of me on that Escarpment on wings of blue gossamer, or Gore-Tex, I know not which--and not much else-- and d) I'd started giving a lot of serious thought to the horse race, as in, for example, why didn't I ever learn to ride; why didn't I have one; and, most importantly of all, HOW IN THE HELL DO YOU GET A BIG OL' FAT HORSE UP THAT ESCARPMENT??? Man! I am telling YOU! That must well nigh be impossible. Why, the horse would never make it. He'd tip over backwards. He'd start an avalanche. He'd bring the whole mountain down! There would be no Western States next year! The rider'd be crushed! And all the thousand horses behind him would see THAT...and BOLT!!! There'd be a stampede! The coyotes and cobras and panthers and grizzlies and rattlesnakes would all vamoose! The wilderness would be EMPTY! The animals could no longer make a living! The entire environment would be destroyed! The rain forest would disappear! San Francisco would be swallowed up by the sea!!! But, I digress. So, I'm thinking these thoughts after all my friends have left me and I'm making my way gingerly up and over and around and through all the zillion little stream beds and creek beds and runoffs and whatnot that you have running along wilderness trails that climb over mountaintops that you're running along...when suddenly, and without the least bit of provocation, I look on the ground in front of me and begin seeing what looks like little spread-out droplets of rain but which I'm hoping is NOT sprinkling little evidence that somebody'd been splattering something else. Right there, right on the trail, right in front of me. I go, hmmm. I KNEW those blue shorts were SHORT. TOO short! Imagine having to go while you're going and not having to stop--and drop-- while you're dripping--or dropping. "Ah," I remember hoping--while hopping, "it's only a concept. Surely, no one actually DOES this, do they?" Which, of course, reminded me of something else. Something that Norm said the day before. Something about life's little necessities and the appalling evidence a day later that there was entirely too much NEED going on along that trail the day before. Apparently people have LONG been in the habit of dropping while stopping--and stopping right there dead center in the middle of the trail. And dropping, you know, from their own middle center that which was dead to them. And, sure, wiping. AND THEN LEAVING THEIR WIPERS FOR THE RANGERS TO SEE! Which, of course, probably reminded Norm of something else. "From now on," he had said, "you are to put your used tissue back in the plastic bag and carry it to the next aid station AND DISPOSE OF IT THERE!" Which is why, while I was running along and NOT seeing any tissue, I was thinking that one of the following must be true: a) Norm got his message across, b) These really were droplets of rain, or c) Any minute now, I am going to be stumbling upon a HUGE wad of toilet paper! Well, I never did trip over any vast quantities of spent wipes. And I never did confirm any suspicions that women were responsible for this due to their absence of underwear or shortage of cloth. Nor, of course, did I EVER see it rain. (It doesn't rain in California, don't you know?) But THEN! Suddenly, and without the least bit of provocation--and I kid you not--I look up ahead of me at the backside of some GUY running, wearing RED shorts, turning partly sideways with both hands in front of him, and THERE! There was SOMETHING positively sprinkling out beside him along that very same trail spreading out in front of me. There was water coming down--or something coming down--in SPRINKLES, for gosh sakes! What? Was this guy actually...peeing??? ON THE "FLY"??? (Or, out of it?) All right, let's think about this. Here's this ultrarunner--this "dude"-- this guy positively obsessed with performing at his best. He can't slow down. He's running full tilt at, what, fourteen minutes per mile, and he dare not slow down or--heavens no!--actually stop to take a leak. No, this he has practiced (?) and obviously mastered to the point where no "life's little necessity" of HIS is ever gonna slow HIM down, oh no. This runner is SAVING VALUABLE TIME. He is not wasting his time by timing his waste. No, he has turned his waist--partially around--and is proceeding to SPLATTER THAT WASTE ALL OVER ME! "Hey Norm! We need a ruling here!!" OK, so the guy saves, let's see, oh, about thirty-five seconds. And, in that dry California air, it then only takes, oh, about thirty-five minutes for all my clothes to dry out. But, we've got lots of time, right? What the hell is thirty-five minutes? I'll tell you what it is. It's THIRTY-FIVE MINUTES that THAT guy tells himself he is saving...so he can make it to the next aid station and SIT THIRTY-FIVE MINUTES IN THE CHAIR! Sure enough. Next aid station we come to, there's the dude. He's in his red shorts. His shorts are dry. He doesn't need to pee. And he's standing there talking and gasping and trying to decide whether to eat--and WHAT to eat--or sit--and WHERE to sit--or rest--or SLEEP--and for how long. Well, bye-bye. I take off long before he does and outrun him all the way to Auburn and, yes, do all my peeing IN THE PLASTIC BAG! While STOPPED! And well OFF the trail! Behind the bushes! Isn't that what they're there for? Besides, I was wearing too much cloth. And I don't look good in blue. Especially not in blue with yellow all over it. Which reminds me of something else: Where do the horses all go? And WHEN? And will they now take THEIR used tissues to the next aid station? (Maybe I am glad I never learned to ride after all.) [And I'll be back faster than a herd of turtles...with Part 9] Rich Limacher RDJT76A@prodigy.com THE ULTRA NUTTY TROUBADOUR