Mr Trail Safety Speaks!

I've always been big, just the sponsorship got small. Careless Whispers I was recently called an ultra wanna-be  in an acrimonious email exchange.  The accusation came about because a  disgruntled group-member  posted a come-on from The Clymb, which is Mary-Kay Cosmetics for dudes . I busted him, he got bent, and it all went into the weeds from there.  The exchange ended abruptly before I could tell the young hot-head that I would kill to be a wanna-be. I'm an ultra has-been .  This past year was a yard-sale of health issues, which culminated in a sharp POP  coming from my left-calf this past May. I tore something, and it could've been a lot worse. I went from running to a standing stop. Running in any form is off the table until that tear heals, period.  Right now I do a lot of walking, and the diet got leaner because trousers were shrinking.  Of course,  I blame Obama, global warming, and gay immigrant whales. If I had ...

Desdemona and Terrazzo reminisce about the Wasatch Front 100-Mile.

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:  ================== DUBIOUS ADVICE 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. MOUNTAIN BIKERS ARE PUSSIES 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. W...

I, the Apprentice. Wasatch 100, 1998 Finish Line , somewhere outside of Heber City UT Hey, there's only 9 hrs difference between Brandon and me. And he was profoundly grateful. He'd paced me at Leadville in '97--25 miles of hilarious discourse on poisonous mushrooms, Copper Cyn, lizards, and then some ultra what-all. I was running so he wouldn't stall out from the granny-gear workout. 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. I joined the Limbo Line with 250+ other supplicants. By race end, there were 14 Crimson Cheetahs, sub-...

Tara And Ethyl Cop Altitude [Part III: The Final Struggle] The following is the Oleaginous Intro by a Patronizing EuroAmerican. He is seated in an overstuffed wingchair on a set decorated to look like an Auld Englishe Country House. He of course drives a Country Squatter Towne & Country [specific town and country available on request] provided by the sponsor. His hands are steepled, and he smirks slightly as he faces the audience. He puts away his racing form as the red light comes on. Take my word for it, because this is radio. "When we last left Tara and Ethyl, they had completed Parts I & II of Copping Altitude. Let's now join our hapless duo as they undertake Part III: The Final Struggle..." The parts of Byron and "Giftshop Turquoise" were faithfully portrayed by Byron and Ms Leslie, in that order. DAY 1, MILEAGE MINORA: "The 38-Special" Ethyl, Tara and Byron are driving the warp-speed-capable Chevy Oxnard. It has two hamsters under the hoo...

Tara And Ethyl, somewhere between Cascade and Brighton. A Wasatch Fugue In 3 Parts. [In which this being Parts I & II] PART THE FIRST: Getting There Is Most Of The Fun. Ethyl's Gomermobile pulled up to Tara's work. Ethyl was feeling pretty good. The airport was close, everything was styling. Tara is a-bustle and now's set to go. "So Ethyl...when's the flight?" he asked brightly. "Gee Tara, lemme look!" "Happy Faces" turned to "OhShit" real quick, when our two Nimrods discovered that the plane took off in 10 minutes and they were still in the People's Republic of Santa Monica. Exit to the smell of burning rubber. Somewhat later, it's dark outside the plane. And it stays dark until dawn, when Gawd Turns On The Lights. Morning has broken, and it's time for 29 fun miles. One after the other. And so our two hapless runners play CMFM up over Scott's Peak to Brighton. In Brighton they each have a Pepsi, just like on T...