Driven

Capital building to Aves Twins

Scott texted me asking if I wanted to go running. OK. We chose the trails above City Creek, always a good selection. We met just after 7 AM and then went out in the very cold temperature. The canyon breeze didn't help things, but we got warmed up when we began the climb from the pond at the bend in City Creek road. 

Our pace was casual and easy, but we ran most of the uphill. It is nice to be able to run the trails above SLC in the winter. Usually there is a foot of snow covering the trails. We got up to the Twins and took a break for a minute, then reversed our course. On the way down my legs and especially my calves, were achy, and I wondered how well I could run the rolling terrain.

Down at the intersection of the Shoreline trail and the trail coming up from the city, we both felt the need to pull over and, ahem, 'move some product'. We went downhill several feet off the trail, and I chose a secluded spot behind some scrub oak. Scott felt more comfortable out in the open, Julie Andrews style on the side of the hill and proceeded to drop his pants and do the bidness. Whether he knew he was in view of anyone jogging on the Bonneville Shoreline trail from across the gully or not didn't seem to matter -- until he saw two women runners with two dogs approaching in our direction from a quarter mile away. This development set in motion a sequence of hilarious events I like to call The Mile Six Incident.

I had quickly taken care of my business, when I realized I was only feet away from the trail above me and the trees did not cover me very well. Then I realized that as soon as the women came near they would see Scott in all his glory, backside exposed with nowhere to go. Scott must have understood this too because as we heard the chatting women approaching he did a panicked crabwalk, tights still down at his ankles, into the nearest group of trees. He no sooner had got to his new hiding place when the women ran by, saw me below them in the trees (my red shirt) and slowed a bit, obviously aware of our presence below them. When they got several steps downhill from me they stopped because their dogs left the trail. I had my back to them when the dogs-- a black lab and a smaller terrier type -- came snooping through my personal space. They must have determined I was of no interest because they then shot straight for Scott's very recently vacated first position on the hill side. They stopped right on target and began enthusiastically lapping up Scott's still steaming pile of poo. My initial reaction was disgust, which was quickly replaced with amusement as the women, now paused on the trail above me, called to their dogs. "Leave it alone!" one shouted. "Come on! Get away from there!" Scott stayed hidden behind a thin curtain of trees, tights still around his ankles, trying not to laugh out loud at the site of dogs enjoying his waste product so well. In all the commotion he hadn't time to properly cleanse himself. Had he been caught squatting on the hill when the dogs swept through, I am certain they would have bathed Scott with their tongues.

Why they skipped me and made a beeline for Scott's pile of excrement is a mystery. Scott likes to believe that he moves a better product, and the dogs could smell the quality. 

The dogs worked quickly, getting their fill. When they turned toward me I could see their little brown snouts. The terrier seemed to be smiling. Another moment and they were gone to join their horrified masters. Do they make mints for dogs? Scott and I could barely hold our laughter, then let out belly laughs that probably echoed down the canyon. Crude and immature, I know, but I forgot all about my aching legs the rest of the way down to the car.

The Mile Six Incident will go into my book of best runs ever.  

City Creek Foothills

With Scott W., ran from the Capital up City Creek, then turned North on a trail above millionaire homes. Up to radio towers, then back down on a nice single-track ridge trail and back to the Canyon road.

Nice morning, little more warm than Monday. No loose dogs.

 Little Black Mountain

I have been eyeing this one for a while. Several years ago one of my first hikes in the Wasatch was to Little Black Mountain. I brought too much stuff, I wore poor shoes, and probably weighed 15 pounds heavier. When I reached the summit a dude in tight clothing ran past me. Then not long after, a young woman came running up to the summit and disappeared over the other side. Trail runners. Strange creatures. They must have super powers, I thought. 

Since then I have gone back to Little Black a handful of times, one of the most memorable was with Scott W. on Valentines Day. Snow and fog. We came very close to the summit through a full-on blowing snowstorm. We snowshoed back down and nearly got lost in the fog on the long ridge that connects to Avenues Twins.

This year I entered my first race, the Wahsatch Steeplechase. However because of late heavy snow, the June race had to be re-routed to trails across canyon. I ran it, but I had obvious need of serious training if I am to make a good showing next year. So I intend to go back up Little Black several times this year,and because the route is snow free now and will be for at least another week, I will focus my attention to this area. Also, with the Buffalo 100 coming fast in March, the trails above SLC will be good preparation.

 This evening I let out of work at precisely 3:30 PM and drove to the Utah State Capital. At 3:30 I was moving, and I dropped into Memory Grove and ran the Canyon bottom path up to meet the Canyon road, then I followed the route up to the Twins. I topped out on both Twins, then turned East toward Little Black. As I was at the foot of Black Mountain the sun did a brilliant visual swan song which lit up the entire mountainside. all other mountains tho the left and right remained in dark cloud shadow. At the summit I went as far as the register, sitting under someone's lost baseball cap. The true summit is further and beyond the crags, but with nothing except a ribbon of gold spanning the Western horizon, all natural light was gone, and soon that golden ribbon was gone as well. I descended in darkness, guided by my headlamp. Lower down it was warm. This is December?