A Glimpse of Heaven… a Taste of Hell

I don’t think I’d ever truly experienced the runner’s high until last weekend, 27 miles into my 34 mile ultramarathon race in Lake Tahoe. I was flying down the singletrack trail, literally dancing to my music, completely in awe at the views of the lake. But it wasn’t the music, or the views, that were the real reason why I was so elated. It was because I never thought I’d make it to that moment.

One day I’ll be able to laugh at the series of events that transpired the 48 hours before my race. Two days before the race, I left work early because I felt certain I was getting sick. I forced myself to relax all evening, and by Friday morning, the day before the race, I actually felt a lot better. That lasted for about an hour. Then, in an attempt to clear out wax that was clogging one of my ears, I let water run in my ear, then tilted my head to get the water out. Except the water wasn’t coming out. I took matters into my own hands, and started violently head banging to the side to get the water out. It finally worked!  And then I realized that I had pulled a muscle in my back. As if it couldn’t get any worse, as we were packing up the car, a bird pooped on my back.

I iced my back all day, but it didn’t make a difference. The morning of the race, just walking around to pick up my race bib, my back was in pain. Mentally, I was hurting too. I thought back to all the time I had spent training for the race. I’d sacrificed almost every Saturday morning for the last five months to do long runs with names like “The Beautiful Butt Kicker” and “Waterman Gap Super Loop.” I’d dodged snakes, trudged through the mud, lost my car key in the woods, and got poison oak all over my legs. I’d done my longest run in 100 degree weather, during which I'd ran out of water at one point. It was devastating to think that after all the work I put in, I might not be able to finish the race. But I also wanted to be realistic, and just try to enjoy whatever experience I had. So at the start of the race, I removed all expectations of finishing, and simply told myself to put one foot in front of the other until it hurt too much to do so.

At the starting line, excited for what was to come

The race’s motto is “A Glimpse of Heaven…a Taste of Hell” and that could not be more spot on. The average elevation is 8,000 feet and the course features two major climbs. The first climb wasn’t so bad. My back was hurting, but every step I took, when my hydration pack hit my back and caused more pain, I told myself I was getting a massage and that it was actually a good thing. By the second aid station at mile 12, I was still feeling fresh. Then came the infamous Red House Loop. We descended for what felt like forever. At the three stream crossings at the bottom of the loop, I literally crawled on my hands and knees across the rocks because I knew if I fell and twisted an ankle or messed up my back more, it would be the end of the race for me. The climb back out was one of the toughest parts of the course. I gritted my teeth and hiked on, but it was pretty demoralizing. Plus, my stomach was not super happy (eating 1,800 calories of gels and chews can do that to you). As I was deep in the pain cave, I looked up and saw Owen bounding down the trail! He had hiked out to the nearby aid station and came to find me. It could not have been better timing. We finished the climb together, and he helped me get everything I needed at the next aid station.

Full bar at the first aid station

That guy sure got a taste of hell!

Near the end of the climb out of Red House Loop

One of my favorite moments of the race was coming into the aid station at mile 27. It was manned by a Boy Scout troop, and this young scout came bouncing down the trail, greeted me with a huge smile and said “Hi Breann! How are you doing?” I almost broke down in tears because it was so thoughtful. The scouts were all so eager to help me, filling up my hydration pack, getting me the gels I needed, and filling my bandanna with ice. It was the turning point of the race for me. My stomach pain went away, I told myself that I’d get to the finish line even if I had to crawl, and I just flew.

A glimpse of heaven 

My fastest mile of the whole race was the very last mile. Nine and a half hours after I started, I crossed the finish line. I wanted to cry, smile, and lay down all at the same time.   

I FREAKING DID IT!

After the race, it started thundering and raining as Owen and I enjoyed beer and burritos under the comfort of a tent. I'm so lucky I finished when I did- I think I would have had a mild freak out if I was still out on the course in those conditions. I also got a massage at the station set up right at the finish line. I seriously owe it to the two ladies that massaged me: they scrubbed all the dirt off my blackened feet and legs before letting me on the table. They are champs!  

There are some more thanks in order, first to Owen. He cooked dinner almost every night for months, planned our lives around my Saturday long runs, prepared my Epsom salt foot baths, and when I asked him if he thought I’d be able to finish the race with a bad back, he didn’t hesitate for a second when he said I could do it. He ended up hiking around 8 miles on race day to see me at the aid station, in the heat with little water and no food. He actually got more blisters than I did!  Without his support, I’m not sure I would have finished. Lastly, thanks to everyone else who helped me during training, even if you just asked how it was going or listened to me complain. I truly believe that behind every ultramarathon finisher is a supportive team of family and friends. 

Since the race, I’ve been eating a lot of pizza and getting on a first name basis with our couch. I got a "recovery" massage a couple days ago, which was probably just as painful as the race itself, but instead of the pain spread out over 9 hours, it was compressed into 60 minutes. I know it's helpful though: my back is feeling better, plus Owen and I leave for our motorcycle trip to Alaska in just four days! I won’t be posting from the road, but you can look forward to hearing our stories afterwards. Wish us luck!

A New Kind of "Car" Camping

Imagine this: you’ve been driving all day long, and the sun is setting. You’re covered head to toe in sunscreen, sweat, and dirt. You just find out that the fire you’ve been watching burn on the horizon has shut down the highway, the very last leg of your trip. Do you set up your tent next to an irrigation ditch and wait it out, or do you push on?

We pushed on.

Let me be clear, we did not push on into the fire, rather we found an alternative route, a backwoods road that wound through grassy valleys, deep into the heart of farm country, that we hoped would spit us out closer to home. 

Owen and I were traveling home from a motorcycle camping trip in the eastern Sierras in early July. We did little planning ahead of time: I had the name and sketchy directions to a remote hot spring and we knew we wanted to see Mono Lake, but that was about it. We ran into some challenges but overall, things worked themselves out. For example, we hit temps in the 90s and a ton of traffic coming into Yosemite National Park, but that forced us to take a long break at Tenaya Lake to eat lunch and cool off. We didn’t actually know how to get to Mono Lake, but that made us to stop at a visitor’s center where we got beta on the best place to see the lake’s famous tufa formations and were told where we could dispersed camp in the nearby national forest.

Tenaya Lake, Yosemite 

Tufa formations at Mono Lake

The next morning, we went in search of Wild Willy’s hot springs. Until we laid eyes on a body of water, I was not convinced we were going to find it. We were driving down a random dirt road in BLM land, across cow gates and through open grassland. There was not a single sign for Wild Willy’s, but its mystery made me love it even more. It also meant we had the place to ourselves when we finally found it. Later that day, we cooled off at the lakes near the town of Mammoth Lakes, and it felt like an adult summer camp. The view was incredible, and there were dogs everywhere we turned. I was seriously tempted to call in sick to work on Monday and stay out there an extra day.

En route to the hot springs

We found Wild Willy's!

Horseshoe Lake

But, like the responsible adults that we are, we rolled on. That’s when all hell broke loose, and we found out the highway had closed because of a brush fire. Sunday evening traffic in the Bay Area is bad enough without a closed highway, and the roadways immediately clogged up. No one knew where to go and people were driving like lunatics. I seriously did consider napping on the side of the road, because we had been riding on the motorcycle for over eight hours, and the seat felt like slab of concrete at that point. We took a chance on the wild country road, and although we hit soul-sucking levels of traffic, our route worked. It was an extreme test of our will, endurance, and iron butts, but I know it’s all good training for our motorcycle trip to Alaska next month.

Back in May, over Memorial Day Weekend, we also went on a motorcycle camping trip. The plan was to drive six hours to see a waterfall in northern California that I’d spotted on the cover of a Backpacker magazine. I realized that there was a good chance we'd be disappointed. I’ve had the good fortune of seeing some incredible waterfalls in my life, so I am hard to please. We had all intentions of planning out the details, but we had trouble finding much information about the area: exactly where the waterfall was, and where we could camp nearby. We were also a little anxious because in California, holiday weekends usually mean everyone and their mother comes out of the woodwork to go camping and hiking. We decided to take a chance though, and told ourselves that at a minimum, it would be a good opportunity to get more practice on the bike and to test out our gear.

Things got off to a good start: we found a great place to dispersed camp in Shasta-Trinity National Forest, with Mt. Shasta looming above us. The next morning, we easily found the trailhead for the McCloud River Falls Trail, and saw not one, but three waterfalls, with the trails nearly all to ourselves. After glancing at another map, Owen realized we weren’t far from Lassen National Park, so we made the impromptu decision to head there for the night. En route, we stopped at McArthur-Burney Falls Memorial State Park, which was swarming with people but so worth it. We also happened upon a random cave, formed from lava flow from a volcanic eruption thousands of years ago. I could not believe our luck. I assumed I'd see one waterfall on this trip, but instead got four waterfalls and a cave. 

Searching for the perfect campsite in Shasta-Trinity National Forest

Mt Shasta loomed overhead

So many waterfalls! McCloud Falls...

...Lower McCloud Falls

... and the grand finale, McArthur-Burney Falls

One thing I love about riding the motorcycle is that it’s totally immersive. We experience the sights, smells, sounds, and temperatures of the landscapes we’re traveling through, which you don't always get when you're in a car. The morning of Memorial Day we drove through Lassen National Park, where the temperature dipped down to 40-some degrees and there was still enough snow to go snowboarding and skiing. By lunchtime, it was nearly 100 degrees outside of Chico. I've never shed layers faster! We took shelter at Sierra Nevada Brewing Company, which was not a bad place to be stuck at while we cooled off. Owen has some experience riding a motorcycle in the heat (he made the mistake of riding through Death Valley in the summer a couple years ago), so he knew the trick to staying cool in our full gear. We soaked our heads, shirts, and bandannas at every rest station we passed on the ride home. It still felt like we were being spun in a dryer with the heat on full blast, but we did make it home in one piece.

Seeing geothermal features in the snow at Lassen National Park made me completely lose it- I couldn't stop taking photos

More snow at Lassen National Park. Not exactly what we expected for Memorial Day Weekend

Our motorcycle camping trip in early May to Big Sur was when I first discovered the joys of dispersed camping on the motorcycle in public land. We've done plenty of dispersed camping with the car, but there is something totally epic about riding the bike off road, directly into our campsite. We encountered water crossings, steep climbs, and dense fog, but all in all, but the trip was fairly mellow compared to some of our others. There was no fire, snow, or sweltering temperatures so you could say we got off easy.

Bixby Bridge, Big Sur

Los Padres National Forest, Big Sur

As you've probably gathered by now, we've become somewhat obsessed with motorcycle camping recently. But there are a couple other things we've been up to recently that I'm also excited about. I finally swam in the Pacific Ocean, we are on a Jurassic Park kick, and we've even managed to fit in some wedding planning. We have a couple more adventures coming up- stay tuned!

Early morning ride on Highway 1