"It's been a long time." I said as we were climbing past the mile 21 marker. I hadn't been in the woods for more than 7 miles in more than half of a year and my body was beginning to realize it. I felt fine mentally and knew pushing through wouldn't be a problem. It was only 17 miles up to Windber from Burnt Cabins near the base of Blue Knob, a distance that hadn't posed a real problem in years.
The plan was to run to the top, where we had our mountain bikes stashed, and ride them back down to the bottom. 17 miles or so each way, using the two basic forms of human powered movement. Truly, I wasn't here for the run. I recently bought myself a new fat tire mountain bike, a Surly Pugsley, and I was ready to put it through it's paces on one of my increasingly favorite trails: the Lost Turkey. The run up was Joel's idea, and I eagerly agreed that it would be a great adventure.
The trail itself is mostly double track, something you don't realize in the summer when the grass and ferns grow up and close off all but a skinny sliver of dirt. This made running pretty easy for most of the way. It is a steady climb the whole way up with only a few short, steep climbs to challenge your legs. We had made all the correct turns for roughly 3/4 of the trip, until I spotted a red marker I supposed to be the LTT. It wasn't, and my mistake led us a little over three miles out of our way, round trip. There was also a pretty awesome powerclimb involved in the extra curricular miles which was a nice way to get in some extra elevation.
When we took this short detour, we came down off the ridge to a tar and chipped road where a few guys with a backhoe were cutting down trees. I'm sure the sight of two grown men, one big and one little, wearing tights and popping out of the woods with no idea where we were gave them some interesting dinner conversation for the evening. "Okay, there's no trails down here, but where are we at right now?" I asked the second man we made contact with. He seemed especially bewildered as to why we were out there. "Well this is Lovely (a small village close to Osterburg). Winber is that way(pointing in the opposite direction of our current route of travel), Blue Knob is the way you're going now." Well we didn't want to go back to Blue Knob yet, so we thanked them, declined their offer for a ride to the ranger station to obtain maps and headed off back up to the top of the ridge. As soon as we saw the orange markers I knew I had led us wrong. I wasn't sure until I saw the mile 19 post, but all was well.
Self assessment is an important part of participating in any outdoor activity. I had slowly made the climb up to the top of the ridge near the trail's terminus, but my legs were no longer cooperating with my mind even when I tried talking to them to get them to move. This slowed me to a crawl. I'm not sure of the air temperature where we were at, but I know it was cold; much colder than the hollows we had climbed out of. My face was going numb and when I spoke I sounded as if I had recently experienced a stroke. My hands, which is the weak point in my chain of mental capability, were blue. A very stark blue, and that freaked me out. I also, by this time, knew that I wasn't going to be able to pedal back to Burnt Cabin. I had come out on this adventure very much out of distance shape, and I was paying for it with every step. A few phone calls led to voicemails and I as becoming convinced that we would freeze to death on the mountain. Not truly, but I was worried about frost bite.
I called Joel, who was at least a mile ahead of me at the bike stash, and told him, "This is not an exaggeration, this is a realistic assessment of this situation: I can't get back off this mountain." Joel is a very understanding, easy going guy with the mental and physical endurance of a world class athlete and warrior. Where I falter, he never does. He's truly an amazing example of an athlete and person. I don't remember what he said but the gyst was, "Okay, let's get a ride." Each time a phone call went to voicemail, I worried further. Not only had my current lack of ability put myself in danger, which I can deal with, it had put Joel in danger as well. I broke out my emergency blanket that I carry in my hydration pack and we wrapped up in it, shivering and cramping on a log.
Finally, Charles, my father in law, called me back. After some coaxing and assuring him that the roads were clear of snow he agreed to come and retrieve us. "Charles," I said as we hung up, "Please hurry, we might die."
Like a couple of vagrants, we waited ten minutes and began walking Rt 56 toward Bedford to make us easier to find and stay warm. Charles, who must've been boogying to get to us, picked us up in his little green Subaru and took us back to humanity.
The moral of this story is don't overestimate your abilities, especially when it's cold. Lesson learned.
The plan was to run to the top, where we had our mountain bikes stashed, and ride them back down to the bottom. 17 miles or so each way, using the two basic forms of human powered movement. Truly, I wasn't here for the run. I recently bought myself a new fat tire mountain bike, a Surly Pugsley, and I was ready to put it through it's paces on one of my increasingly favorite trails: the Lost Turkey. The run up was Joel's idea, and I eagerly agreed that it would be a great adventure.
The trail itself is mostly double track, something you don't realize in the summer when the grass and ferns grow up and close off all but a skinny sliver of dirt. This made running pretty easy for most of the way. It is a steady climb the whole way up with only a few short, steep climbs to challenge your legs. We had made all the correct turns for roughly 3/4 of the trip, until I spotted a red marker I supposed to be the LTT. It wasn't, and my mistake led us a little over three miles out of our way, round trip. There was also a pretty awesome powerclimb involved in the extra curricular miles which was a nice way to get in some extra elevation.
When we took this short detour, we came down off the ridge to a tar and chipped road where a few guys with a backhoe were cutting down trees. I'm sure the sight of two grown men, one big and one little, wearing tights and popping out of the woods with no idea where we were gave them some interesting dinner conversation for the evening. "Okay, there's no trails down here, but where are we at right now?" I asked the second man we made contact with. He seemed especially bewildered as to why we were out there. "Well this is Lovely (a small village close to Osterburg). Winber is that way(pointing in the opposite direction of our current route of travel), Blue Knob is the way you're going now." Well we didn't want to go back to Blue Knob yet, so we thanked them, declined their offer for a ride to the ranger station to obtain maps and headed off back up to the top of the ridge. As soon as we saw the orange markers I knew I had led us wrong. I wasn't sure until I saw the mile 19 post, but all was well.
Self assessment is an important part of participating in any outdoor activity. I had slowly made the climb up to the top of the ridge near the trail's terminus, but my legs were no longer cooperating with my mind even when I tried talking to them to get them to move. This slowed me to a crawl. I'm not sure of the air temperature where we were at, but I know it was cold; much colder than the hollows we had climbed out of. My face was going numb and when I spoke I sounded as if I had recently experienced a stroke. My hands, which is the weak point in my chain of mental capability, were blue. A very stark blue, and that freaked me out. I also, by this time, knew that I wasn't going to be able to pedal back to Burnt Cabin. I had come out on this adventure very much out of distance shape, and I was paying for it with every step. A few phone calls led to voicemails and I as becoming convinced that we would freeze to death on the mountain. Not truly, but I was worried about frost bite.
I called Joel, who was at least a mile ahead of me at the bike stash, and told him, "This is not an exaggeration, this is a realistic assessment of this situation: I can't get back off this mountain." Joel is a very understanding, easy going guy with the mental and physical endurance of a world class athlete and warrior. Where I falter, he never does. He's truly an amazing example of an athlete and person. I don't remember what he said but the gyst was, "Okay, let's get a ride." Each time a phone call went to voicemail, I worried further. Not only had my current lack of ability put myself in danger, which I can deal with, it had put Joel in danger as well. I broke out my emergency blanket that I carry in my hydration pack and we wrapped up in it, shivering and cramping on a log.
Finally, Charles, my father in law, called me back. After some coaxing and assuring him that the roads were clear of snow he agreed to come and retrieve us. "Charles," I said as we hung up, "Please hurry, we might die."
Like a couple of vagrants, we waited ten minutes and began walking Rt 56 toward Bedford to make us easier to find and stay warm. Charles, who must've been boogying to get to us, picked us up in his little green Subaru and took us back to humanity.
The moral of this story is don't overestimate your abilities, especially when it's cold. Lesson learned.
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