From owner-ultra@caligari.Dartmouth.EDU Tue Aug 26 13:13:47 1997 From: Nikki Robinson Date: Tue, 26 Aug 97 15:13:29 -0500 To: ius-l@american.edu, ultra@caligari.dartmouth.edu Subject: Mt. Rushmore100: Pre-race, part 1 (long) Paha Sapa: The Spirit of the Place Humbles Me. -------------------------------------------------------------------- "... they [the thunder beings] shall take you to the high and lonely center of the earth that you may see; even to the place where the sun continually shines, they shall take you there to understand." (from "Black Elk Speaks" by John Neihardt) -------------------------------------------------------------------- Black Elk [1863-1950], an Lakota Sioux of the Oglala band, had a great vision as a child. In this vision, he was transported to the top of Harney Peak in the Paha Sapa. Harney Peak, at 7242 feet, is the highest point east of the Rockies in the United States. Unfortunately, Larry Simonsen, the race director of the Mount Rushmore 100 could not get permission to include Harney Peak in the race route. However, Larry did get permission to run us over as many other little mountains as possible. The pre-race literature claimed 19,000 feet of climb. (Brooks Wade, a list member who finished 5th in the race this year, told me that his altimeter measured 22,000 feet of gain!) The course profile looks like it was drawn by an over-caffeinated stock broker mapping the Dow Jones. The run primarily follows the Centennial Trail, a 111 mile trail, built to celebrate 100 years of South Dakota's statehood. It is a multi-use trail (hikers, horseback riders, cyclists) with trailheads dotting the route every 3 to 11 miles. The majority of the trail is on National Forest Service land. It is splendidly rugged, largely isolated and under-utilized, and breath-takingly scenic. About a week before the race, I called Larry and left a message on his answering machine letting him know I was in town. We played phone tag for several days. During that time, I walked and ran portions of the course between miles 40 and 65. My first look at the trail was at the base of Pactola dam, at the headwaters of Rapid Creek, the creek passing my family's cabin. As I started down the trail, well-traveled by fisherman traipsing the paths to the blue-ribbon waterside, I was ecstatic. This is gonna be cool! Then, all of a sudden, tall grasses grew in on the path. I flushed a white-tailed deer ten feet away, and I couldn't pick out the next carsonite post marking the trail. I brushed past a bush, and stickers dotted my shorts and shirt. The dense grass, sopping with mid-morning dew, soaked my shoes. I plowed on and only caught sight of a trail marker out of the corner of my eye. "Uh, this may be tougher than I thought!" was my thought. In those couple of short explorations of the course, I traveled through grassy meadows, climbed high ridges on rocky and rooted trail, and scrambled through creek crossings. I had no trouble following the trail; however, several times I had to stop and look around to check my bearings. Although I was still excited about the run, I was sobered. This is gonna be tough! Larry finally caught me on the phone the Thursday before the race. He had to mark one last section of the course and asked me to join him. Since we were meeting at 5pm, I didn't wear running gear. I foolishly assumed we were driving to different sites to mark trail. Wrong! After introducing me to his wife Naomi, Larry and I got out of their van around the 47 mile mark. Larry grabbed ribbon and handed me a flashlight while giving Naomi instructions to drive to Jenny Gulch. I had been on this section and hadn't been to any Jenny Gulch. Turns out we were marking a section where the runners leave the Centennial trail and follow the Deerfield trail for an approximate three mile out-and-back section (the 50 mile competitors finished at Jenny Gulch). And this was three miles up and over a rather large mountain on narrow, rocky trail. Not quite the taper I was planning to be running on tricky trail at dusk in tennis shoes (and I mean "tennis" shoes) a couple of nights before the race. "Uhh, Larry, I heard that last year a number of the runners got lost. What happened?" queried I. "Well, ah, well..." Larry hemmed and hawed. "They must of been stupid?" I helped. "Well, I won't call them that." replied Larry, being the diplomatic race director. "What will you have at the aid stations?" "Well, ah, well...what would you like?" Larry asked. "Why is your time limit [36 hours] so generous? It can't take anyone that long to run this, can it?" asked I with bravado. "Well, ah, well..." Larry hemmed and hawed "... it took me nearly 36 hours to finish last year, but I hope to go faster this year". "Seems to me most of this is runnable." I said as I stepped and slid on a rock (upon later inspection that night I found an inch and a half cut in the side of my leather shoe). And so forth went our conversation as we ran and marked about 3-4 miles of trail. By the time we finished, it was dark. Larry asked if I minded marking a couple of other short sections. I agreed, and we drove off to Nemo. There we marked a mile out-and-back section on a gravel road; this one we did drive. Then a few miles up the trail we marked a turn off the Centennial trail to the Old Nemo Fire Hall at mile 67 which was to serve as the second of two medical checkpoints. Here, Larry and Naomi and I carried a couple of orange pylons and ribbon and flashlights up several hundred feet of trail. By this time I was truly sobered -- 100 milers ain't 50's and they ain't a nice straight levee bed either. However, the pine scent permeated the air, and we could hear horses whinnying down in a pasture below. My excitement intensified as the mountains pressed in on me. The Paha Sapa -- the spirit of the place humbles me. Nikki Nikki Robinson Chicago, IL nikki@meena.feinberg.nwu.edu