Mr Trail Safety Speaks!

Mr Trail Safety. Mr. Trail Safety first emerged in 1995 during the last golden age of the fabled ULTRA@LISTSERV.DARTMOUTH.EDU, out of Dartmouth College in New Hampshire. It was text only, no attachments, no #hashtags, supposedly no flaming, but tempers ran hot anyway. These posts grew out of my smart-ass self who was already over the distant trumpets of why “Ultrarunning Is Calling, And I Must Run” Pentacostalism. It was the Age of “What Is An Ultra?” and of course the Great Salt Wars, where hours and bandwidth were clear-cut in the search for immutable truths. Mr. Trail Safety asked pointed questions aimed at sport blowhards and mercenary frauds. Other posts made advocacy points. And of course there was physical comedy running through the whole mess. In the end, the aim was to comfort the afflicted, and afflict the comfortable — while being as hallucinatory as possible. Any comparisons to Hunter S. Thompson and Molly Ivins are cheerfully acknowledged. They taught me all th...

Lately I've been sleeping badly. Bright lights. Shadows. Feet. Numbers. Water-bottles. Hairy asses hanging out of shorts. Voices. Wide-eyed aliens wearing bib numbers. Then the Carboplex Anal Probe. I was having Recovered Ultra Memories. I got an entry into SJT50k. I took it. In a fogged dream state I drove to Arkham. There I logged on to the Miskatonic University List_Serve. Search terms "Cthulu, Salt, Elder Gods, VO2 Max". Hundreds of hits. I read them all. I began to feverishly study the UltraNecronomicon, looking for clues, portents, auguries, and divinations. I could hear the low batrachian gurgling. Nameless dread. Looks like I'll be at the starting line. Out of the corner of my eye I see the blighted minions of Yog-Sothoth lurking in the poison oak. With any luck I'll be at the finish line too.