This bumpy ol rocky road don't feel so bad right now, but I do recall how bad it feels after 90 plus miles on the return trip. I hate this road and I wish I didn't remember how much... but I do! Two trips in two years have pounded it into my mind pretty solid. As much as I would like to be coming down this road again tomorrow, after 95 miles of trail, it sure does hurt my feet. I try to put it out of my mind.

The Tongue River trail-head opens into another world. A portal between the wide rocky road and the narrow rocky trail. Our disorganized mob squeezes down to one thin line of lemmings, with Jesse, George, & I, by chance, one in front of the other. As minor gaps open up, George quickly surges ahead with each opportunity. I follow his progress with mild interest, but make no attempt to follow. Jesse seems to be following my lead... for now. We ride the rock ledge overhanging the angry & full Tongue River. The river bulls past us, smashing itself against the rock walls that contain it. Booming & bellowing, it charges wildly ahead, echoing off the natural amphitheater, an endless crescendo. Our conga line of lemmings that stretches out and wraps around the rock face, seems to be dancing to the river's beat. There is little room to pass and quickly gone, but it is enough for those who cannot hold back the reins. Some need to go ahead, some should not. Early on, I prefer to simply watch: the people, the landscape, and the sky. I listen too, pulled from topic to topic, occasionally involved in conversation but mostly its all peripheral: pieces of discussion and half sentences. Sitting in the lazy boy facing the television while somebody else keeps changing the channel. The sights and sounds of it all capture my attention so I simply relax and ride the wake created by all those around me. Its mid-day and the cloud cover that protects is appreciated. It as near to a perfect day as I could have expected.

Leaving the river, the up-tilt becomes even more significant, opening onto fields of green & gold. I shift into granny gear, allowing those close behind to pass. I begin to wonder how smart it is for Jesse to run my pace, and I tell him so. He says he's fine with it and remains. A marginally flat area provides an opportunity to eat some salt and drain the bladder. Into an area of patchy snow, our dirt trail rolls up to a barb-wire fenced off field and then wraps around 2 sides of it. As tilted as the land already was, the 90 degree right turn makes it even more so. The angle of ascent cause my toes to look up at me while the achilles stretch taut and begin to whine. I've been on real estate like this before, but the pastoral setting here appears to hide the difficulty in plain site. It just doesn't look as bad as it feels. I close my eyes and lean into it. Damn but it feels good being here now, working the body, and feeling it clean through and through. I feel pretty good, so I pick up the pace and push over the top. I pick up speed on the descent, and quickly rush downhill. I can feel somebody has tucked in right behind me, but I know better than look back while running forward. The descent ends at a bridge of logs lashed together over a fast moving stream. Before crossing, I turn to look, and damn if it aint John Sharp. I've been coaching John for this race, his 1st century run, and it is very good to see him. We visit as we stroll into Upper Sheep aid station together.

We top off and reload, then walk out, with Jesse just behind us. we reach the turn that is new this year and go right and up instead of left and down. Freeze Out Road aint much to worry about until we reach the mud. The road is muddy slip-n-slide canted downhill on the right, so every stride is uphill and left. I get a little ahead of John and find myself striding next to a women in blue for a few minutes. I talk to her for a bit with no response, so I simply let it go, and shut up. Either she is deaf, doesn't speak English, or simply not interested in talking, but she easily pulls ahead. I wish her well, silently, and let it go.

John & I slop through the mud & slide on down Freeze Out Road until we regain the normal ol' route that I am much more familiar with. Feels good to be back on familiar terrain. Soon after, we roll into Dry Fork where Joyce is waiting. We spent some time studying the new route changes and decided that it was best for Joyce to just connect wit us here. We're passing though this station 3 times and the other key station at Footbridge just seems like way too much work.

I take my time to refuel and change my shirt. I guzzle an ice cold Ice Tea while I sit. The awkward jeep road that drops out of here is too rutted to run well. Also, we have just eaten, so we attempt to descend gently to keep the food in our bodies. A few high rollers speed past, but I refuse to get sucked into their wake. We still have a long way to go. We roll along easily, our conversation drifting from topic to topic. It has been pretty smooth and easy so far, but I can feel some tightness creeping into my legs. The road from Dry Fork to Cow Camp rolls in and out of one arroyo after another, with a creek in the belly of each. Attempting to remain dry, we skip, hop, or jump across each one as best as we can. Well, I knew we'd be crossing this same section twice in this one big loop, and I had scarcely paid it much mind, but the logistical thought of it feels much different the reality of being in it does right now. I certainly can't explain why it depresses me right now. More specifically, the thought of being in this exact same spot many hours from now. I tell John what is on my mind and note that our conversation dwindles to nothing til we roll into Cow Camp. The aid station folks are in a wonderful jovial mood which helps to chase the dark mood that had settled on me.

We sit for a few bites then get up to leave as Olga comes in leads us out. We're moving pretty well, but she's a mountain goat and slowly pulls away from us. We cant match her speed on the ascent up the ridge to Riley Point. It seems funny to talk about speed when all of us are walking, but our perspective is shifted by the steep incline at altitude. Our mood is definitely much better. We laugh all the way to the bald hump and past it, because the climb continues along the ridge into the trees, and we don't care. The views are spectacular all around but a few mud holes and a bit of snow arrest our momentum. It's a bit of a struggle through each mud hole, but we have fun with the game we make of it. While John & I entertain ourselves with these hurdles, our conversation shifts to world history & philosophy. The physical landmarks fade to mental stimulation which carries us much faster than we realize. The words and thoughts takes us elsewhere for awhile. On summit, we pass a fellow digging a snow path for his ATV. Seems odd at first until I realize that we must seem odd as well. I laugh at the thought which is also out of place in our conversation. Our trails have become jeep roads that are filled with snow and mud. It is not obvious which is the best route, so we guess. At each new development, we choose again, each section offering a new challenge. I hit one mud hole so perfectly that a squirt of mud shoots strait up past my face & hits the underside of the bill on my hat. John and I are so thoroughly wrapped up in ancient Greece & the Roman empire that we don't realize we have company. Another runner is listening to us until John slips into religion & politics which sends our guest silently away. I quickly kibosh this direction of discussion as it also makes my stomach turn. Seeing Dry Fork off in the distance kills the conversation and pushes us even faster. We rock & roll down into the station in a fine mood.

Joyce waves us is as we wave George out. Again, she dotes on us, caring for our needs: food, clothes, & comfort. Its hard to explain how nice it is to have a first class crew who knows you and the business of running long distance. I sit & relax while she scurries about, handing me a cold drink & some food. She discards my water bottles and loads my hydration vest for the approaching night, including lights, gloves, & hat. The business of night running in the mountains is a subtle one. You want a good light and the clothes to keep you warm if and when the temperature drops, but not a the expense of excessive weight. The only thing I carry that is heavier than batteries is water. Joyce & I had talked all of this out in advance, so that now she simply loads what I need.

Jesse rolls in as we roll out. Our assembly line seems to be running pretty smooth for the moment. Ah, but the wheels do come off now and again... but, in due time. The rutted road leading down and out of Dry Fork is a hard place to run. Cut into the shape of a 'W', there is no flat place level to plant your feet. We have just fed, so I tactfully decide to descend easily, with care taken to settle my stomach while getting past this troublesome section. The funk that followed us along this section on the first loop is thankfully not along for this iteration. With the changes in the course, and having run it last year, it has been hard to decide how I am doing in comparison. The milage at the aid stations is not the same, so the aid station reference points are off. I decide that I must be ahead of where I was last year, and this feeling of accomplishment overwhelms me. Dangerous, thinking that I am doing that well, when I am so far from done. The placebo does make me feel better. Hell, anything that makes me feel good must be good. John & I roll into Cow Camp for the 2nd time today, really jazzed up. I had not expected to get here until after dark.

I sit to check my water, only to find that I've not drank much at all. Oh no! Not again. Every time I switch from bottle to bladder, I tend to drink more, but get less. My constant sipping nets very little water. This is not good. I ask for and guzzle a tall cup of water, before heading out without filling the bladder. There is no need as I have drank very little.

We make the much preferred left turn this time leaving Cow Camp in the direction of Footbridge, instead of Riley Point. It seems such a minor point and an odd reason to get excited, but it buzzes up these two schoolboys a bit more than I expect. The sun is dropping quickly now, the light fading to grey, one shade at a time, and finally to black just as we enter a dense thicket of trees. Our wide open spaces closes tight around us in the trees and the darkness. We find ourselves with the 'Woman in Blue' again, and a young couple, and then another guy. Each of us remain independent of each other, yet something seems to hold us close in the dark. Little is said, but some bond seems to keep us close. Jesse & friend pass us quickly and then I begin to melt down. It may be dark, but it's still warm. John moves into the lead while I begin to drag. A power outage may be due my insufficient water consumption. I begin to fade, a little at first and then much quicker.

The water pipe of ice cold mountain water is a welcome sight and holds me long enough to wet my face and neck. I guzzle as much water as possible, hoping this will repair my downward spiral. I pop a few shot blocs as well. Wrapped in darkness and surrounded by trees, it seems to take a very long time to reach the next station. Our depth perception is gone. We have no visual cues to prove we are moving forward, so it feels like we aren't moving at all. The lights of Bear Camp are a welcome sight and very uplifting. I had not realized how far down I had allowed myself to sink until I raised myself up out of the pit I was in to see the lights. A big group with welcome smiles greets us in, but it is not where we wish to be.

Footbridge calls us out quickly, and so we drop out and move on. The downhill quickly leads to an uphill, before dropping again to a much more serious downhill. Usually, this is so easy for me, but I start kicking rocks. Again and again, I cry out in pain from thumping rocks hidden in the dark shadows. John is also crying out with a list of fine epithets following each thump! Its too steep to slow down, so our descent is rapid. 3 miles of pain. We move from one world to another as we cross the river, finding relief on level ground. The light brings us in, the sound of the raging river masking all sound of the aid station noise. Footbridge in the dark is a sweet oasis.

Having decided in advance to get this behind us immediately, we don't even slow as we make a right turn and move towards Pacer's Junction. Dark silhouettes of runners are returning as we pass them heading out. One after another as the road seems to go on for much longer than feels like 1.4 miles. We are down low, with the river directly on out right. I can almost feel the power of the river as it barely remains contained. The wind is stronger here in the river's valley too, pushing hard on our backs. For awhile we are perfectly aligned with the river & the wind. We pass one after another, who are returning, and it surprises me how many people are so close in front of us. This short trip seems like such an epic adventure and when the turn-around finally does arrive on the other side of another bridge, I am again surprised. We simply swing around a table and head back. And then I learn that there are just as many close behind me as there are close in front. Its the same return and seems so much closer now that I know the landmarks and what to expect. This time, upon arriving back at Footbridge, we stop for a break. A chair and some relief. Hot soup & cold drink. I change into a dry shirt while John goes for a complete change. I visit with John Machray of BC while I wait for John.

Used to be that this next section was 18 miles up and another 18 miles back. Due the high snow on top, it has been shortened to 7 miles up and another 7 back. I have a warm feeling of accomplishment knowing how much more of the course I have done than I did last year. Feeling pretty good and making good time, John & I decide to back off for a bit and walk what I think is uphill. But, the route leading out is more than just that. It changes from up to down over and over again. For the first few miles, it seems to be more downhill than it is up. We had decided to walk but after a few down-hills, we kill that idea and start to run again.

At the Narrows aid station, we stop for some soup and quickly gone again. 30 minutes later, we stop on the trail to get another bit to eat. A small bit of trail mix and suddenly I have nausea. I stop dead still long enough for John to ask me what's wrong. I tell him that I feel like barfing... and a moment later, I do. Oh what an odd feeling! I had no idea my stomach was upset before the eruption. Just then George comes back down the trail from the other way and gets a whiff of the recent circumstances. His timing is perfect for the show. Damn! Now I'm empty of calories, which is a hard way to climb a mountain. I try another salt cap and quickly blow it back out. Oh well, but this is no place to stall, so I simply stick one foot out and then another, numbly walking in the desired direction... up. My pace heads south along with my energy, leaving me empty & lethargic. I tell John its time to unhitch from this dead weight and move on. I insist, but he refuses, blathering something about loyalty and leaving the wounded behind. I don't have the energy to argue so I watch him waste his time walking just ahead and taking constant peaks back at me. He's knew at this and must be thinking that I'll have some miraculous resurrection. I tell him it aint happening, and to move along, but he persists. Any other time, I'd have the energy to be more assertive and convincing, but right now, the tank is on 'E'. John bounces all around me as I drag one foot behind the other, stumbling, mumbling, hung head, and attitude death. The funk its killing me, yet still I go on. Seems like such a long time before we arrive at the top, the turn-around point, the aid station. A light pulls us in across the rough terrain, tripping and falling a few times up into the firelight. I sit on a log by the fire and ask for some soup & hot chocolate. Slowly, I nurse the soup and get the entire cup down, before it comes back up again. I try the hot chocolate and repeat the same process. My Canadian friend is there as well & watches with sad eyes.

I screw myself back up and walk out, again having nothing in me but a strong desire to get off the mountain. Maybe it's the altitude? Again, I try to pry John loose of his tie to me, but he's now wired up from popping a dozen chocolate covered coffee beans. He starts singing military cadence about his paratrooper grandma. Its really pretty nauseating but I cant even argue my distaste with him. I stumble downwards as he runs laps around me, bellowing at the top of his lungs. A few runners coming up the mountain are startled by the chaos.

I had not expected sunrise until after 5am, so when sky begins to lighten as I crawl into the Narrows a few minutes after 4am, I wonder if I'm on the correct time zone. This thought starts me second guessing all of my earlier thoughts that I was ahead of schedule. And then the thought fades. Hell, every thought I birth has a life-span of mere seconds. All I seem to be able to get into my mouth is one small piece of hard candy, and this remains in my cheek. It is all I dare. Finally, John might be considering the idea to move on. He seems to be moving further ahead and sneaking less peaks back, until finally he is gone. He was simply wasting time waiting on me. There is no guarantee of a finish with or without me, but it makes no sense to simply hang back while I rot on the vine. He still has a long way to go, but at least he's not slowed by me any longer.

My time continues to fritter away in leaps and stumbles, but I continue to slide down off the mountain. My movement is poor, lethargic, weak. I simply fall forward on the down-hills and focus my attention on each difficult step up and over every obstacle. I crawl into Footbridge in time to see John heading out. My Canadian friend is there to witness my body floating in and sitting down in a chair. I try a cup of broth, no more. On the edge still, I dare not barf here where so many medical people would adopt me as their next project. I have my drop bags open but do no more than drop my flashlights in. I leave without much thought, forgetting my hat & short sleeve shirt.

It's a slow, but very methodical climb. Each step has purpose. The new day has strengthened my resolve, if not my body. I resolve to get as far up as I can before the 50 milers arrive. It is a goal of sorts. Something to fuel the flame. So, I keep looking up as I continue and feel pretty good about every step I take without seeing anyone. I am above the long tough first pitch before I see the first one running towards me. It seems such a major success, for such a small thing. We each wish the other well, his in a very strong voice and mine... I am sure he could not hear me. Its ten minutes til the next one, and another five til the next. Then they come in a stream. The early passing is inconsequential but the later ones force me out of the little rhythm I had conjured up. Bear Camp is a major victory. Besides getting past the big climb, I pull up to get out of the way for a few minutes. Mark Heaphy stops to say hello. I look at the food but everything seems to nauseate me, so I move on.

One of the 50 milers tells me that the 100 milers have the right of way, and so enlightened, I quit jumping out of the way, only to watch the 50 milers step off the course as I ramble by. They are all very pleasant and encouraging, but after 30 or more warm wishes, I quit responding. I'm still in the grip of my death march, albeit at a slow rambling gait. People are passing me in both directions now: 50 milers going out and 100 milers coming in. I can't eat, can't run, and my stomach is now as tight as a watermelon, sloshing about like a drum near full of water. I decide to quit drinking as well, as I appear to have aplenty already in me. I can certainly still whizz with abandon, as I'm constantly stopping to water the rocks. By now, I am certain that my race is done, but I continue to move forward.

Deep in the shade of hills & trees is an oasis with a ring of rocks around a constantly flowing stream. The air and the earth are refreshingly cool. I hear the water about the same time I feel the coolness. As much as I want to pass strait through, I cant help but to lay down and submerge my head under the flow from the water pipe. The feeling is unbelievable. Regrettably I get up and move on. The music of the water follows me out. Damn, but I'm a mess. How the hell can I keep going? I begin to wonder what sort of damage is being done. Should I stop? How can I keep moving? As all these thoughts whirr about in my noggin, I see Lynn Ballard's 'Stop & Think' tree. I lay down in it's shade and close my eyes. I can feel a few people go by, and nobody says a word. I appreciate that. I'm not refreshed from this short respite, but I do get up with a smile. I sat under this same tree last year and helped Lynn with a few words. I remember it vividly. My goal now is no more than to get to Joyce. All my lofty aspirations have fled and now I simply wish to find my wife so that she wont worry about me. I'm sure that John & the others have already passed through Dry Fork and told her of my woes. I do realize that if my race ends anywhere before I see her at Dry Form, it will create more issues & problems than I'm capable of dealing with right now. She's waiting there so I simply need to get there. Soon after leaving 'the Tree', I also leave the shade. The sun pounds upon my head and shoulders, and with no hat or bandana, I begin to melt. Through the rolling fields and past the water tank, I walk on into Cow Camp where I have had many enlightening moments these last few years. They are a delightful bunch and very caring. I ask for a beer and get one. One sip, I decline the rest. I try dome watermelon and orange slices with some success. They go down but that is all. The Canadian is there and surprised that I am still going.

I follow him as he hikes out with another. They walk away from me and I watch but my thoughts remain on simply getting to Joyce. They mean nothing to me. They stop on the bald summit, but I continue to move slowly until I too am on the same summit. He moves ahead alone, while his hiking buddy turns around and walks back down with somebody who is dropping. Its all surreal, happening in a dimension different from the one I am in. Mud overwhelms my senses immediately and remains. Everything is mud. I try to go around on the left, but slide back down into it, sinking to mid-shin, shoes disappearing under the slop. I look to the right but there is no clear way around by cliff or tree, so I resolve to forge ahead. One step, my shoe does not come up with my foot, so I turn around to retrieve it. My shoeless foot sinks into the mud when I lose my balance and I shove my hand in the last hole I created to pull out my shoe. I find it and shove my muddy foot back inside the muddy shoe. Mud squishes out as my foot fills the space where the mud was. Again, I push on, but again I lose the same shoe. I find a dry spot to sit and tighten the shoe down. I start again and then lose the other shoe. I stop again to tighten them both down even tighter. Mud, mud, and more mud. Last time around this loop, it was mostly snow with a bit of mud. This time it is mostly mud with a bit of snow. A 10 foot wall is now in front of me and all of it mud. I try to climb up without success, so I try crawling and manage to work my way up to the top. I am alone. Nobody in front or behind that I can see. The progress is slow but eventually, I reach the top where the ATV is parked. One guy is awake and another is asleep in the shade of a tree. I sit next to the guy asleep and close my eyes for a moment as well.

I am still not drinking, so I simply get up and walk out. I'm dried up and fear to speak so I don't say a word. The muddy trails become muddy roads. There must be 20 or more ATVs cutting up the snow and mud on the roads. They're having a grand ol time while I walk down the road alongside them. The road is sliced into 4 or more muddy ditches. The pretty snow banks are a mess of muddy snow and slosh filled with deep cuts of muddy water. I make my way as best I can, trying to find the least messy route for awhile and then I simply go strait through the middle of all the slop. It makes no difference, so I resolve to take the shortest distance between two points and keep heading towards Dry Fork & Joyce. Mud & ATVs are the sum of my existence for more than a few miles and then I can see Dry Fork. Oh what a wonderful sight. I check my watch for the first time in a very long time and realize that I'm actually going to make cutoff. It floors me! I had no idea this was possible. I had not even considered it. I roll down off the mountain towards Dry Fork in a very confused and depleted state. Joyce is standing there waiting for me and I'm overcome with emotion. I start laughing, then start crying. She asks me How I am, and I can barely speak. She looks very concerned, and leads me over to the station for weigh in.

She parades all sorts of foods in front of me but none seem to pass muster except the cold fruits. I cant get much down but I leave in much higher spirits than I had arrived. Joyce leaves with me as I walk out. Our pace is quicker than it had been and my spirits are more buoyed than they have been in some time. I am exhilarated to get past Dry Fork onto the final section of the course. I'm not setting any records, but I am managing a good clip for next to zero calories. We seem to get into the Upper Sheep station quickly and then beyond it to the last climb. From this side, it is so much easier and done quickly. The descent is pretty steep for the next few miles and we walk quickly, but avoid running. It takes a good while but does eventually drop us down to the river. The river trail rides a ridge that seems to wrap around the rock for miles before dropping us out at the trail head and the dreaded road.

I didn't realize how much my feet hurt until I hit the road. I hate this road and my feet hate this road too. They hurt so bad that I pick them up just to get them off for a moment only to put them back down... and so it goes one foot after the other. We run until the shade runs out, then we walk. Joyce pushes me a bit to get as much as she can from my tired body and retired mind. Running is not going to happen so I resort to a forced fast pace walk, or so it seems. More likely, its a pathetic pace, but I'm working hard for the little I get. The final aid station is just around the bend and Joyce asks me what i want. I ask for a strawberry popsicle, which draws a good laugh. Joyce is surprised when the woman there asks what kind of freeze pop we want. It's cold and very good. I'm about half way through it, when Joyce accidentally knocks it from my hands onto the ground. The woman offers up a fresh one when she sees what happens, and I take it. The final stretch into town, a paved road, across an old bridge, past a statue, and finally the park. I still cant believe I'm here at the finish. Everything went wrong and I didn't figure out any of it. The body is an amazing thing. How can you doubt it, second guess it, or know what it will do?