Showing posts from August, 2000

Burning Man Or Ring Of Fire?

Trespassing Spies In The House of Ultra-LoveBEEF-JERKY SUMMARY:
37 miless in the San Gorgonio Wilderness
Some climbing, a few rocks. Big trees.
Minimal sensory overload from trail-betties.
9-1/2 hrs, more or less, whatever.
FATTED CALF BBQ: Yes, my ultra-List love monkeys, you've been waiting for this all week. Another istallment of Boldly Glowing Where None Others Have Disregarded Posted Warnings Before. Not mere signs and barbed wire, but pushing out beyond ordinary frontiers of brain-deaded consciousness. You too can shuffle in the footsteps of another high-mileage narrative.

Our mandate from the Mountin' Gawdz was a mere, self-imposed 37mile lollipop of mountain fun. This particular installment was in the San Gorgonio Wilderness. This group consisted of Dr Casino Bingo, Balto the Wonder Dog, Tara Lipinsky, and yours truly Draw Poker. In the words of Don Henley, we four were the New Squids In Town.

San Gorgonio raises its indifferent grey bulk 11,200' above the fleshpots…

Sunday School Cantina Of The Damned

or : The Baldy Peaks Course Preview

A training run. Baldy Peaks, 2 times over the 10,067 summit. Heat, dust and dreemz. Lots of elevation gain, rocks, switchbacks of both Eastern and Western proportions. The JogBra team on site. Nose rocks to suit the owner. Bonking. This could be you on race day, Oct 21, 2000. Delete now.


Saturday morning found our Tres Amigos desperately searching for reasons why we couldn't be down in Montclair picking up girls. The clock was ticking, the mighty mountain awaited our feeble efforts with yawning indifference...

A wave start out of Ice House Canyon clustered Team 3A in a competitive profile. We are Balto the Wonder Dawg, Casino Bingo, and your humble scrivener, Draw Poker.

Christina Aguilera was calling splits at the mile mark. A brass band announced our modest intentions of conquering the wilderness. PR flacks quoted us promiscuously. There was no fa…

Heat Dust & Dreamz in the Angeles Crest

Heat Dust & Dreamz in the Angeles Crest
[a continuing narrative of the Training Effect]

Summer as we know and love it here in SoCal was waiting for us this weekend. It was omnipresent behind every bush, around every corner, and shrivelling every shade spot within the feeble 33.3333 mile thread of our Saturday run.

Of course, the "Imperialist We" is none other than Dr. Casino Bingo, and yours truly, his infernal helper and trail-dwarf Draw Poker. We were there to time Dr. Bingo on a stretch of trail, perhaps not rocky enough to some standards, but adequate for the enjoyment of most; this time between Islip Saddle and Short Cut [25.91-59.3mi].

We calibrated the colo-rectal odometers [CRO], and were off. The sun had been flexing its chi for several hours. With the rising heat, I detected the smell of bat urine, but realized it was my hat, unwashed from a month ago.

Cooper Cyn was strangely quiet. We had expected to see stoner maidens creek side, but were treated to silence. …