So, Everybody is a Ultrarunning Outdoor Xmas Xpert

Actually, this is the gift you've been waiting to give that special someone. The Gift of Mr Trail Safety Bullshit.

Think about it. What do you give that Special Somebody Who's Got Everything? Where do you go when you have Perplexing Questions?

That's right. Mr TSBS is specially formulated so you can enjoy it as a hit-n-quit snack, or full-blown Roman Banquet.

Here, have some wafers, Mr Creosote:


12 Advice Nuggets for Newbies & Others

Recently there have been a spate of anguished "drops" from the UltraList regarding content, tone, and suitability of the message, if not the messenger. Inasmuch as the majority of these messages appear to be from relative newcomers to the sport, or the List, some clarifications are necessary.


Last summer I'd staggered to the top of Mt Wilson from Sierra Madre. I wasn't having an especially good day, but the water fountain was reason enough to continue. When I got there, there was a doe-eyed, hairless punk with half-unzipped leathers slumped on the retaining wall. "Ride to live, live to ride" was tattooed across his chest in big letters. There were at least six bikes dumped in a cluster around him.


Hollywood Knightz On Mt Baldy
I love it when Hollywood assholes get lost in the mountains. It's right in line with "I HEART the planet" bumperstickers you see on their SUVs. Note: I also love seeing GOP lobbyists and Christian Taliban getting popped on morals and corruption charges too. There is no free lunch here.


Divine Madness, Love Lost and Other Passions
This Women's Sport and Fitness article on Divine Madness and a reporter's infatuation has really gotten a head of steam up. I read it with considerable interest, and located the following pressure points:

a] a sense of longing and lack of fulfillment on the part of the reporter
b] observations of a group dynamic that are manipulative
c] the curiosity of the reporter about how to do better
d] some editorial tweaking to pump up the text for the non-ultra readership [which is infinity minus 8,000, give or take].


Western States 100

A Beginner's Guide To Western States

Yes, it's that time of year again, when Young Ultrarunners Everywhere Like You®™ turn their fond attentions and deficit-disorders to Western States 100. You've been to Kamp n0Rm, you've sat thru the Blister Show, and been anointed in Knowledge. But to help you along in your Epic VisionKwest®™, I have compiled some of the Ancient Secrets that will help You and You Alone. These are cryptic and hermeutic. As Don Juan Castaneda once said, "This will put the plomo in your Lapiz"

and so nobody feels left out:

Leadville Trail 100

Stairway To Leadville
Originally posted in 1999. The schlong remains the same, for those about to depart etc etc ...

Stairway To Leadville

There's a Kansas femme who's been sold,
that all that buckles are gold
And she's buying a stairway to Leadville
When she gets there she knows,
if the entries are all closed
With a word she can get what she came for

This Is The Race [homage to Jim Morrison]
(With referential apologies to James Douglas Morrison, Francis Ford Coppola, and Don Knotts)


Angeles Crest 100

Black, fade in.
Night, in Wrightwood.

A young man is in a cheap motel. It is a motel favored by thrifty serial killers on a budget. The higher-priced motel favored by thrifty serial killers on a budget was booked. Solid. Even with the broken glass on the linoleum, somewhere. The cable there was better (but it cost $7.99 more), and you could get the Satanism Channel with the "I Love Lucifer" Marathon Weekend Special ($6.66). This motel had weary wooden floors, 33-1/3 watt lights, a sagging bed with the Great Rift Valley down the middle. Many romances had died in that divide. He could feel every one of them.

Our young man is getting ready. Ready for The Big Race. His attention is fixed on a goal far away. About 100.559596975 miles, but who's counting now, huh?...Familiar music is in background, becoming distinct. The words have changed. Do not pretend you don't remember. We come into the song somewhere in the middle, we don't have all night...but he will. We've all been there...


Wasatch Front 100

Wasatch 98: Nostalgia, or Brain Death???
For all of you lucky guys and gals doing Wasatch this weekend. This is when it was easier. Sort of. Or maybe brain-death masquerading as nostalgia, which ain't what it used to be.

Looking For Kitty: Free-Range Organic Wasatch Bandwidth

We were all Looking For Kitty. This Kitty, and we the fortunate few. Over the course of time, space and electrolytic conversion; private ambitions were molded like sticky Powerbars into public objects. Sometimes art is not pretty.


Wherein I Save Four Trail Betties From Unspeakable Peril, Pt I
I had only pondered the verticality of the Bulldog Road for a mere 19 minutes when I was stopped by an earnest young man heading down the mountain. His first query was in a dialect and demotic strange to me, but familiar. Upon a second request his plaint was made known to me, and was as follows:

"Where is Corral Canyon?"

Oh my young woodchuck, it is the better part of a league in the exact opposite direction you are heading.

Wasn't that nice?


Merry Charisma/Feliz Ramadan/Happy Kwaanza and all the rest. Stay tuned for my New Year's Resolutions.


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