Mr Trail Safety Speaks!

Facts, damnable facts. Peter: It's always good hearing from you! Seeing that we're all real busy these days, I'll make this short and to the point.  [for those just dropping in, here's my original 2001 post that enraged Peter Bakwin ] 1] I stand by my observations.  2] Sharp-focus commentary is not "picking on you"; it's part of the "balls to wall" experience.  3] If I am living a dull and creativity-challenged life, let me know. I'll be at Highline 50 next week, Mile 44. [But, time's a wasting! Back to the main show...]  4] I don't dispute your reasons for pre-announcing your intentions. What was fascinating how you two did it. The terms "enabled" and "enabling" come to mind; along with "safari hunting with a brass-band".  5] Unsupported. Unsupported. Unsupported. Big noises about that. Now it's easy to say otherwise.  Whether or not Tweit, Hoff, LaCava or anybody else had support is beside the po

I love this talk about John Muir Trail and "record fever". There's such a rancid desperate air about it. But it's Spring, and it's with us again.  Blake Wood did a masterful job. The account is low-key, insightful, accurate and bullshit free.  Bruce Hoff did his turn several years ago. Again, low-key, honest, funny and sobering.  Last year Buzzy & Peter treated us to a brass-band fanfare prior to the Great Unsupported JMT Record-Breaking Event. We were directed to the appropriate press flackery, which Was All True, of course.  The air was thick with attitude about it all, Cali trails being wimpy and all, and how Two Colorado Dewds were gonna show ever'body a thing or two about trail running. Unsupported. This was canon law.  The Mountain Gods stirred from their torpors. Pulverized mule turds set the tone, and the howling started there. Four days of no sleep and robotic humping thru what...Gawd's Epic Back Yard. They might as well have run along the si

When I awoke this Easter morn, I knew things were different. I came downstairs and found that my chocolate Jesus had his ears nibbled off. But I come not to dwell on the travails of the Prophet, but rather to expound brightly on an overly long short run I took on Saturday; destination--Baldy Beach. I departed Baldy Village as a man burdened only with the dynamic sense of the impossible. The snow was in vagrant patches, and remained so past the Alberto Salazar Rustic Showers. Climbing upwards into the clear blue sky, I was surrounded by warm and friendly chaparral. Eventually the trail disappeared beneath snow pack. My moment had arrived. I donned my spiffy 2-toned Redfeather S-25 snow shoes. I continued to climb, the pack was hard. Following the tracks of an unnamed local, I wound my way higher and higher. For some reason the air got thinner. I was sucking down Gatorade like there was no tomorrow. Had I been the Nazarene...don't get me started. Satan however is on call 24/7 with hi

This was originally dramatized on the Wanker Network, Autumn 1999.   Prologue du Bois   Our portly, avuncular, geezer-Brit sits in a large wing chair. His fingers are steepled and he contemplates, you, the audience with a smirk. It is presumed we are in his living room at the family estate, Wowzer Hall in Jamaica. " Tonight's narrative concerns the rhythmic intersection of privilege and vigour as our dynamic protagonist, a class of high-caste female graduate literature students, and a middle-aged naif all collide one summer afternoon in a college classroom. Let us begin our story with the Aulde Forest Prince. He is outside on the College Green, riding a lawn tractor. And thus we begin..." Whirring and cutting of the mower-blades released heady green aroma. The blue clouds of rich oily gasoline fumes blended together into a ritualistic summer perfume, dispersing into the early rising heat of the verdant summer morning. The lush and fertile campus of the Biddle-Barrows