How Did I Get Here?

Quote of the Day: “Typos are very important to all written form. It gives the reader something to look for so they aren’t distracted by the total lack of content in your writing.”

- Randy K. Milholland

Last year, my Wild Wild West adventure started with a first:

Sleep in until the kids get ready for school and then go to breakfast with Carrie and Sir Phil.

This year it was the same except Sir Phil was not with us because he decided to wreck himself on his bike recently. So it was just Carrie and I at the same café as last year. And I had the same meal.

(Not THE same meal exactly because that one is in some land fill but you get the idea…)

Like all Lone Pine / Wild Wild West adventures, there will be a running theme here (sorry for the pun): nostalgic repetitiveness. And I will be juxtaposing like a mad man, just so you know.

This year, I spent the better part of last night packing and this morning, I loaded up the Pilot for the trip. Usually Carrie does a lot of this but I thought that after 20 years, I should probably start carrying some of the pack. Anyway, I had some nervous energy to get rid of.

We headed out after I actually took a pass on Starbucks. Yes, I did.

I know, but I did.

I mean, I tried. We ate breakfast and made the stop at Starbucks but when we got in there, it just didn’t sound all that good at all.

Carrie even got an iced coffee but after downing 4 cups at breakfast, I just couldn’t justify dropping a 5-spot on coffee I didn’t want nor need.

With age comes wisdom, right?

Or senility.

Finally, we were on the road…

Last year, Natasha was not on her game. My beloved GPS had it in her little solid-state mind that I should head on over to I-5 and drive through LA. This, of course, is about as good an idea as New Coke. Natasha was having the first off day since I purchased her.

This year, same same. She was hell-bent on getting us over to I-5 and all over God’s creation before getting us to Lone Pine.

Like every year we start from San Diego, our route was really simple: I-15 North until we hit 395. That’s about it.

I even went through the trouble of printing out a Google Map so in my mind, I had TWO sources of information: Natasha and Google.

What could go wrong?

Well, Natasha could suddenly lose her mind AGAIN and the Goggle Map could tell us to get of 15 and take the 215 to 60 to Hell to Satan’s Butthole, and then back to the 15.

Also, we could be dumb enough to follow it.

I’m not gonna say I got pissed off and ripped Natasha off her cradle and threw her in the back seat at one point.

So, after Carrie retrieved Natasha from the backseat, we stopped at a gas station and I stomped in to get a map of California, which I discovered we do not have in the Pilot. Not that that pissed me off even more or anything.

Ends up we were 10 miles from hooking back up with the 15 so we didn’t have to backtrack.

Not that that would have pissed me off MORE!

About 40 miles out of Lone Pine, we stopped at the rest area / Shell station / ex-Taco Bell / Goober local mart. Years ago, we were served by two enormously obese teenage boys who fought like they were married. We were sure they were finishing up there M.I.T. degrees but wanted to continue our tradition of stopping by to get the eternal running food: Taco Butt.

(2004)

But alas, where the TB used to be, connected to the Goober local mart, lay only an empty husk.

(2007)

Two years ago, we were disked a miss when it was closed. (Why a TB would be closed on a friggin’ Saturday afternoon is still a mystery) Last year, it wasn’t even a Taco Bell any more. It was empty. This year, well, I knew not to expect much and sure enough, it came through.

What we did get to see is a fake owl that kind of spooked the hell out of me…

…. A nice little ass-jab with the pricing…

… and a tank of gas that cost me $75….

We entered Lone Pine to see not much had changed. The Dow Villa was still there, albeit with some damage to the famous sign…

(2007)

(2008)

We checked in and I took Carrie on a tour of the Dow Villa. It was so exciting that she screamed like we were meeting the Beatles. With all the movie memorabilia from before we were born and all. I think John Wayne stayed there and there was an autographed postcard from him.

To my surprise, I even got recognized in the parking lot.

A guy said hello and told me he had taken my picture at the top of Overlook during last year’s Bishop 50-mile ultra. I didn’t have my camera and wanted a picture to round out the series I had going of the same place / same pose thing like I like to do.

Here are the results:

(2002)

(2003)

(2007)

Anyway, he had snapped the picture and sent it to me after the race. Great guy and he informed me that he spent 28 years in the Army.

For the first time in the 9 years I’ve been doing this, we got a ground-floor room. It was a simple process to drag all of our stuff in. Well, easy for Carrie since she talked on the phone to the kids while I hauled everything in.

Which brings up the changes that have come about. When we started this tomfoolery, the Dow Villa was a dump and we even smelled marijuana wafting down the hall.

Now, they have Wi-Fi and cell phone service.

(I thought the Wi-Fi was new this year but I notice in the 2007 picture that they touted it last year. Either way, I didn’t have a laptop with me so I stayed disconnected the entire stay.)

But let’s not go overboard. They still had the Jack-and-Jill bathrooms…

(which I made sure we got it. We don’t actually share it with the other room, they lock it and offer it to only one room. The other room have to use the common bathroom across the hall, hostel-style.)

They also have old heaters, practically no plugs (we brought extension cords), the lamp was burnt out, the sink (in the room instead of the bathroom) had different spouts for the hot and cold water, they used real brass keys (as opposed to swipe cards), and we had to ASK for a VCR.

I also got the only copy Dow Villa has of Running on the Sun to watch tonight…

From past experience, I knew they had this movie and with permission, I rifled through their VHS tape collection in the back room until I found it. They seemed amazed that I knew what I wanted, where to look, and that they actually had it.

Nine years, folks, nine years.

Next on the agenda was the leader’s recon.

We headed out to the start out of sheer habit. In the early years, this trip was necessary to make sure we had the route from the motel to the start line down because actually having to think about this on race day at zero-oh-my-God-thirty was not the best plan.

By now, the 9th time, I know the route in my sleep but the recon still gets done. It’s a chance to enjoy the scenery and retrace the route with a nostalgic tip of the hat to past years.

We also get to see the Norquist Memorial Shitrock where a certain Horseman beshat the desert with extreme prejudice.

This year, Carrie was a sport and posed from the car to get in the Shit-rock spirit of the moment.

When we made our way out to the start line, I noticed that there were ribbons on the bushes outlining the old route in the early days when they used to end the marathon where they started it: at Tuttle Creek. After a couple of years, they moved the finish line to the local park in town so it was a surprise to see these markings.

Were we going back to the dreaded uphill in sand finish from years past?

It sure looked like it so I had to explain exactly how to get out to the start/finish line alone for Carrie. If I was starting and ending at the campground, she would have to drop me off at 0600, go back to the Dow Villa for some much-needed rest, and come back to pick my broken ass up. So she had to know the trickeries of getting out there.

When we got to the start line, Carrie took THE picture, version 2009…

2008

Here are the others I’ve managed over the years.

2003

2004

2005

2006

Before we returned to Lone Pine, I wanted to take Carrie to the Badwater finish. It was 13 miles up into the mountains, up to the highest point in the contiguous United States.

(I’m pointing out Hogback Road to Carrie. Sweet, sweet Hogback where I will do my 7-mile descent tomorrow after a tortuous first few miles through rugged mountains)

We headed up, up, up, and up. Carrie was not all that happy about the steep inclines or sheer cliffs but I kept reminding her how it must feel to have to climb this on foot after 120 miles through the scorching heat of Death Valley for 2 days.

The temperature dropped from 74 to 55 and we actually saw snow at the top.

I explained to Carrie that this was where the Badwater ended and how strange it must feel to start in the hot desert and end in a place like this….

(A welcome sight for all Badwater runners)

On the way down, I made Carrie get out and take pictures of me in my attempt to get this shot at the same location, 5 years later…

2005

2008

I think the 2005 version looks more dramatic (maybe the lighting and focus?). Also note that I’m wearing the exact same footwear.

On the way back, we also got to see Crazy Fat Lady rock. This is a touchstone visit every year and this year held a surprise. It all other years, it had looked like this.

2007

But this year, Lone Pine had a surprise for me. It had been repainted to look like this:

2008

Notice the teeth, the new mouth, the yellow eyes, the painting over of the eyelashes and bow.

I guess they got tired of it looking like a big drag queen.

On our final approach, I saw another confusing detail. The normal route to the finish line they used in the last 7 years was marked. There is a short distance of the road with about 2 miles left in the race where we run before cutting back and heading to the finish.

When we drove past it, I noticed it was marked!

Wait, if the old finish route was marked, then what is this?

I was utterly confused and later I asked Ben Jones who informed me that the markings I saw near Tuttle Creek was the markings for the 10 mile race. They have a 10-mile, a 15-miles, a marathon (26.2 mile) and a 50K option for the race.

It was really neat to go through all of this with Carrie since she had never actually been with me for any of the other Wild Wild West Marathons. She had come with me last year to the Bishop and we stopped by Lone Pine where I walked her and the kids through it but this was the first year she was able to take part in the pre-marathon rituals.

When we got back it was off to the school to get our bag-O-marathon.

We not only picked up my bag with no problem but I asked the lady if I could pick up the bag for my buddy, Sam Rosales. Sounding like a total con artist, I told her he was going to be late so I told him I would pick up his bag. As I was explaining this, she looked but could not find his name on any bag.

Noticing this, I told her it might be under Phil Patch because it was supposed to be transferred. I went through the whole story sounding even more like a con artist but in the end, they found it under Sir Phil’s name and it had a note on it that Sam was supposed to fill out the registration form.

Oops, he wasn’t showing. I just wanted the bag for the shirt.

So we took it and acted like we were going over to one of the tables to fill it out. Instead, we people-watched and I tried to identify people I knew or knew of.

The only real person I KNEW was Ben Jones and when he showed up, I asked him who this and that was because I vaguely recognized some of the faces from over the years but since I’m kind of a snobby shy-guy before a race, I tend not to mix it up with my fellow runners.

I did get a picture of this guy…

… because Carrie noticed he had a Badwater buckle.

Ironically, Ben was the one who told me who he was and that he got it last year.

Why is that ironic?

Because in 2003, I snapped this picture of Ben in this very same gym before I knew him because I noticed he had a Badwater shirt on.

Years later, we would become friends.

(2005)

(2007)

(2008)

Instead of heading to the bar as we normally do, we headed to The Pizza Factory.

(2007)

(2008)

Why?

Simple. As I stated last year, we would sooner skip the race than skip our annual race-eve meal at TPF. Come on, everyone knows that!

The place was packed this year and Carrie ordered me my traditional pan-O-lasagna and a salad while I bird-dogged a table. It was so full in the place that I had to wait and then swoop into a departing customer’s table.

Last year, the salad bar was pretty much nuked so I checked it out before we ordered. It was no Roman feast but it was at least passable as a salad bar. Good, I would salad this year.

(The salad had a lot of marijuana in it. I mean A LOT!)

Also last year, my meal showed up way before Sir Phil was treated to his ravioli. By the time he got his meal, mine was sufficiently cooled and I devoured the lasagna with the giant piece of garlic bread with what they SAY has oregano on top but looks more like something that would make my urinalysis pop like a weasel.

This year, I got my lasagna lickity split but again, my company was not as lucky. Carrie ordered a calzone which did not show up at the same time as my beloved lasagna.

“It’ll be out in just a minute, ma’am” the pre-pubescent worker’s voiced cracked.

It was more than a minute. Meanwhile, my lasagna wasn’t getting any warmer. Carrie insisted that I eat but it was not as enjoyable as if she was doing the same.

A few minutes later, Pizza Factory Boy (it’s a different cast every year), came over and asked what she had ordered. When we told him, he went away but came right back and said there was a mix-up and hers would be ready in 5-7 minutes.

I started my watch.

Nine minutes later, Carrie had her meal. I was done with mine so I got to watch her eat just like she got to watch me.

Tsk, tsk, Pizza Factory.

We headed back over to the Dow Villa and continuing our minor reorganizing of the annual events, I decided to do some prep for the race in the morning before we headed out again.

I got all my clothes laid out, checking and double checking I had everything set from Band-Aids for nipples (mine, not anyone else’s), to my running attire.

One new thing I decided to do this year is pin my number on my Camelback so I didn’t have to wear the bib-belt..

Also, I stored 3 Gu packs in my shorts (it has a pocket in the back so shove your snide remarks where the sun don’t shine) and 4 more in a Ziploc I would put in my Camelback.

Unfortunately, my Camelback is old school so it doesn’t have any external pockets. I would just have to put it in the big pouch with the water bladder where it would slip down to the bottom. This is going to make it difficult to get to (requiring me to take the damn thing off, remove the bladder, getting the bag, and putting it all back together) but I thought it was worth not having a belt and Gu packets stuck around me like a bandolier, accentuating my waistline.

I got everything ready and was confident I was ready for tomorrow, at least in this department.

It was time to partake in yet another tradition and go bar-hopping in Lone Pine.

Last year, this involved two but we thought we should settle for Jakes saloon…

(2007)

We walked in and we were literally the ONLY customers. Until we saw the party of 4 in the booth in the corner but they left shortly after we arrived.

I ordered two Coors Light drafts from the same bartender who didn’t remember serving me last year on this exact night under the exact same circumstances.

Her only question was “Was I nice? I sometimes ain’t.”

In 2004, I beat the panties off of Sir Phil at the shuffleboard game here…

… so of course I had to challenge Carrie. We had a blast trying to figure out exactly how to play and after we got the hang of it, we could actually keep some of the pucks from sliding off of the table.

Carrie slid the knife and twisted on the final throw where she knocked off my puck that was practically hanging over the edge. After mine went skidding off the table, hers stopped instantly and replaced mine for the win.

That was the end of the game.

We laughed and had a good time. Just a couple doing a silly board game in an empty bar in Lone Pine. One of those “life is good” moments.

We ended the evening by writing our names on the wall.

Mind you, this was a sanctioned move and in fact, it took a long time to actually find a spot on the white walls of the bar to write our name because so many people had already done it. The bartender gave us the Sharpie and Carrie wrote “Jason and Carrie were here” right over the front window above the Corona sign.

How romantic.

When we got back to the hotel, I checked with the front desk to get the VCR we were promised (they had to take one out of another room. Ghetto, I know, but spoils go to those that ask) and also got to witness the little passion play that was playing out with a rather upset gentlemen and the front desk clerk.

I don’t know the details but I did hear the clerk say “OK, the situation is, I only have ONE room left in the entire hotel…”

The conversation didn’t seem to get much better although I didn’t know exactly what the problem was so I left, not wanting to get involved in any way.

In past years, we had been stuck with nothing to watch. The local channel stuck us with Fargo one year and we’ve also been reduced to bad comedy reruns. A couple of years we got over by renting VCR tapes from the local store.

This year, I hooked up the VCR and it worked great. I popped in “Running on the Sun” and the soothing familiarity washed over me as I got ready for bed. I also had my traditional Red Vines.

I broke a long-standing tradition by writing out the postcards early this year. Every year, I write postcards to the other Horsemen who don’t show up and I was a little dismayed that I had to write out THREE this year. I didn’t want to wait until breakfast tomorrow morning at the High Sierra café when I would be trying to wake up and eat something before the race.

So I sat down and wrote out my ridicules early.

This year, I had my PJ’s, my sound machine, and my wife laying next to me (on the same side she is every other night on a similar king-sized bed). Familiarity made it simple to get to sleep but it was hard not to think of all the history I had personally had, how recent it seemed that I was here in another room with Sir Phil in the next bed (sad that I have to put in that little detail to ward of any snarky remarks from my readers), and what I was in for starting with a 0430 wake up call tomorrow.

I had once again run through the nostalgic traditions of this annual event and all that was left was a little romp through 26.2 miles of desert and mountains tomorrow.

As I proclaimed last year, no problem.

Free Advice for Today: “Make a list of twenty-five things you want to experience before you die. Carry it in your wallet and refer to it often.”

- H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

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