Abandoned in Calico Ghost Town 50 km

Calico turned out to be a golden run in a silver mining camp of the Old West, but it wasn't without its flaws. It was my first Ultra. My Garmin said 32 miles, the distance advertised was 50K, and the RD said it was 33 miles. Whatever it was, it was everything it needed to be - a real Valley of the Dirt People run. Everything one would expect from an ultra held in San Bernardino County, California, in January; lots of sand, dirt bikes, quads, a cold wind (yup, it was blown out), shotgun-shell covered trails, abandoned appliances, and nary a living thing to look at except for the other runners and the aid station people in a very expansive area of the austere Mojave Desert.
I had the opportunity to meet some really cool ultra runners, including Lori H-C, Rob Cowen, Eric Clifton, and Vinnie, an assortment of family members and friends, including Darlene and the rest of the Fortini clan, the Koster clan, and Wendy-Lady's little Tiana, and see some of my rad SoCal Trail Headz buddies, including Michelle M, Keira, Kirk, Alexa, iMichelle, Wendy, Charlie, Eric K, Skip, Jenn F, and lsdchris. Yeah, we saw you cross the line Chris. Sorry I didn't come over to shake your hand. My VDP manners need some work. Actually, my legs were having some difficulty responding to simple commands like rise, walk, etc. When I find the bug in the code I'll let you know. I also had the opportunity to meet some cool aspects of myself and hang out with some others I'm already well acquainted with.
Trail running sometimes resembles driving a carload of kids around. You know, one complains about the other poking them. Another has to go potty. It can be a rough and noisy trip. As long as the driver doesn't fall asleep or get in a wreck I guess all is well. This run was one of those. Unfortunately, one of the kids was ill, my rolled right ankle, and wanted to whine and complain. I was ready to pull over and give it a good spanking (not really), but, it settled down when I gave it a stern warning (please stop whining) and it let me finish the race to meet all of my goals. My first goal was to finish, followed closely by injury-free. If those two goals were met I really wanted to finish inside of 6 hours. Since my ankle was actually injured on a previous run and this one only seemed to irritate it a bit, this run's going down as a complete success. My time was 5:48. What more could a guy ask for in his first ultra? I hadn't even left the site and was already excited about my next run. That's like a new mom lying in her post-op maternity room talking about when her next child will be born. If anyone could say I wasn't hooked on running before, yeah, good luck finding someone to say that, there definitely couldn't be anyone to say it now. I'll have a little more of that cool aid in my bottle please. Thank you.
I had arrived long before sunrise, stumbled around in the dark because the lights on the stairwell leading up to the registration table were not functioning, got my goodie bag and number, and went back to my truck to wait for it to get closer to start time and for the sun to come up. I wandered back up an hour later, went for one last trip to the men's room that was heated of all things (who says we don't have modern amenities out here in the 909) and the next thing I know I hear, "five minutes until the start." Lots of people were milling about the start area where I saw many of my fellow SoCal Trail Headz members. Very punctually and rather unceremoniously we were off on the word go at 7 a.m. The temperature was in the lower 30's. The first portion of the run led us away from Calico and down the highway. After that it was miles of slightly uphill sandy jeep trails. It seemed to warm up and I recall really looking forward to getting to the 17.1 mile aid station where our drop bags were waiting so I could take off my long sleeve shirt. Mile 17, 18, and 19 came and went. Finally, on a cold and windy ridge somewhere between mile 19 and 20 I spotted my little green high school PE bag. When that bag was new it never once held a dirty pair of shorts worn on a one mile run. Now, here is was holding my goodies for my first ultra. The plan was to dump my long sleeve shirt and gloves in it. It was a good thing that they moved, misplanned, or "whatevered", this point. At mile 17 I would have gotten half undressed and would have gotten here very much unprepared. I now wished that I had put more clothing in the bag to put on. In any event, I kept the shirt, dumped the gloves, grabbed my goodies, filled my bottles, and was off again into a nasty, bitter-cold headwind. Then, of all things, I came upon a cliff. I've been running in the 909 for almost ten years so I'm used to jumping over and dodging abandoned couches, old washing machines, trenches dug to keep out dirt bikes and four-wheelers (had a hawk jump up out of one of these on me once), and running along steep mountain trails (anyone ever run the Desert Divide?), but this was actually the trail becoming the cliff. I was ready to turn back, obviously I had missed a turn, when I noticed fresh smears of blood and a massive assortment of torn and abandoned running clothes and hand-held bottles. This must be the right way. I'm always fighting off cramps and when I placed my left foot fully extended over the side of this steep embankment my left calf pointed out to me that it was in a position it simply did not want to be in and how long overdue I was for a gentle reminder that it was there and was not to be ignored. It was like the kid that decides without warning to puke in the back seat. Rolling over quickly, embedding my fingers deep into the rocks, and letting out a yell that let anyone within a quarter of a mile know that I was going into labor, I did all I could to wait for the muscle to relax. I couldn't turn around and finish my descent, it simply wouldn't allow it. Of course, the injured ankle on my right leg wasn't too happy about this either. You know, one of the other kids in the back who doesn't appreciate his sibling puking all down the side of his leg. Right about the time my cramp was subsiding and I was working my way to the bottom of this horrible thing cursing the rope and belay that were obviously missing on this mission, some young woman ran past me too busy laughing at me to even ask if I was OK. In retrospect I think she saw the whole thing. Thank you, sweetheart, for pretending you didn't witness this terribly embarassing predicament. Unfortunately, there were, to my dismay, several rangers and ham operators down the hill openly amusing themselves at my expense. They did, however, with straight faces, ask me if all was well as I passed by them on my way out into the badland style hills that comprised the last few miles of the course. The trail in this area was a real tease. Just when you thought you were almost there you had to go about a half mile East and return. Then, when you thought you were almost there again you had to go a half mile West. Did a finish line really exist or was it like some kind of sick math nightmare with an asymptotic ending? It was somewhere in these detours that the familiar, "this run's almost over" feeling crept in and it was just a matter of minutes until I had passed through the First Circle of hell, also called Limbo - my first ultra. The journey is underway.
We were reminded at the finish that this was an official VDP run when they handed us a leather key ring as our finisher's medal. Those who had placed high were generously rewarded with huge crystals that according to the description we were given were grown locally. I thought pot was grown and crystal was cooked in the 909. Maybe they had been out in that Mojave sun for too long and had this part slightly confused. Those who placed nearly as high were rewarded for their efforts with saw blades. 'nuff said. It's too frightening to even begin discussing. Isn't there a horror movie called "Saw?" Congratulations to all those who achieved their goals at Calico. Personally, I love running in the desert and will definitely go again. Maybe the RD and crew will get their ducks in order next year or should I say meatballs. Don't they know that half the ultra world is vegan or vegetarian? I eat lots of meat, hence the forward pointing eyes, but the last thing I wanted after a long run was a gravy-laden line of microwaved meatballs in a big whitebread roll. The last time I had a bag of chips was around the time that high school PE teacher tried to get me to run a mile, and thank you very much, I don't drink cola, either.
Lastly, to add insult to injury, and add to the ambience of being in an abandoned ghost town, we were left abandoned in the throes of dying from hunger for hours waiting for them to return our drop bags. At least my pusher was there with the promised drugs. That's some good stuff. Did I mention all in all this was a golden run? Check out my Google Mashup of the Calico 50K and the Official Calico 50K page.