My Valentine

i am tunnel vision and unkempt.
no belief in rationale
or thinking things through.
i live from one stimulant to the next.
riding rickety rollercoasters at high speed
no seatbelt. arms and legs outside the car.
i sometimes wonder why she rides along,
with all of her logic, common sense, and level headedness
my Valentine since 2009

Inspiration Series Part II: The Toothless Rider

Summer, 2010.
I was living in a tent
in Northern Maine
training my brains out.
working at a bike shop

****

he leaned his thousand-dollar bike against the building
and walked into the shop
blowing smoke from a butt he
tossed at the door.

sweat rolled off his brow.
July in Northern Maine can surprise you with the odd scorcher.
he wore full length jeans and wreaked of
burnt nicotine and body odor.

he'd been outdoors for a while.
his Native American skin
was ebony from exposure.
"i need a new bike"
he said, flashing a toothless smile.

the last thing i wanted was to
be within a million feet of his stench,
but i remained professional.
hell, my BO may have rivaled his at the time.

he talked
i listened, or tried to.
he mumbled a lot and
spittle flew from his mouth
as his tongue tried to make noise against teeth
that hadn't been there in years.

Presque Isle was his home
but he had weekly business in Waterville.
something to do with doctor's appointments
or some other Native American government benefit

he was broke
and i was fascinated.
surely he couldn't afford the transportation.
Waterville was nearly 250 miles away.
I looked into his deep black eyes
hoping my assumption was correct
"So how do you get to Waterville?"

"I ride my bike."

the truth was in his eyes.
in the matter-of-fact
way he said it.
in his lean body frame
and black skin

i never mentioned my exploits.
i wanted to hear about his.

it wasn't about fitness.
he could've outridden most people
who walked in the door of the shop,
but that wasn't even on his radar.

it wasn't about the image of being a cyclist.
he wore sneakers and used platform pedals.
there was no helmet to be seen.
he rode more miles per week than anyone i knew
including me.
his cycling regimen was LIFE.

that man, wearing a sweat-stained cotton tee shirt
and tight, dirty dungarees
didn't buy a new bike

he just wanted to talk cycling.
he changed me.

----------------------------------------------------
for the first installment of The Inspiration Series, click here

Travis

presque isle, maine
i moved there on a whim
following a false lead on life
to the cheapest apartment i could find
in the shortest amount of time
it was part Section 8 housing,

and even though i was in my mid-20s
my mind was like an 18 year old-
impressionable after a year and half
in Pennsylvania
had taken me down a few pegs

a teenage mom lived next door
school age
but not attending.

sometimes we would meet in the stairwell,
her eyes always averted mine.
lack of confidence.
lack of worth.
she really had no chance.
her body language dripped shame.

she might have been
the most beaten down person i have ever seen
when you are 16, in that position
i don't think things can get worse
and they certainly aren't headed for better.

Travis would come up the stairs
wreaking of weed,
talking to his cronies.
blast through the door
as the man of the house
yelling and throwing things around,
but he wasn't shit.

The baby would cry for hours.
Is anyone even around?, I would wonder...
But then Travis would yell "SHUT UP!"
and something would go flying.
And I wouldn't get involved.

One night, a fight ensued.
Baby screamed.
Mother screamed.
Travis went on a tirade,
and the apartment shook as he slammed the door
and ran down the stairs.

It was -30F that night.
I seriously debated whether I should follow him
and toss him off the dam and into the freezing water
and end his worthless life.

I almost justified going to jail
to free this girl-
with her slumped-forward shoulders, downcast eyes
and her infant
of Travis

Shaking, I bolted across the hall,
opening the door without knocking,
to make sure everyone was okay.
Teenage Mom was there with her teenage friend.
Both wide-eyed and in shock
As a good samaritan, I was an intruder.
Help is not help
if it's unwelcome.

It was then that I knew
She must have grown up in this shit

She was going to hand down
those same life parameters, standards, and expectations
over to that poor baby

my belief that humans were inherently good
perished that night


kp

Crotchety

it was a sunny late spring day like this one.
i had just tuned a bike, and the finishing touch was the lubing of the clipless pedals.
i was wearing Nike Free shoes- minimal tread.

I brought the bike into an almost vacant parking lot.
I stood up and pedaled hard, undergoing the usual stress test, shifting under load. After 4 or 5 pedal strokes, my shoes slipped off the freshly lubed pedals, and before i knew it, both feet were dragging on the ground, with all of my weight on my crotch on the top tube of the bike going 15 mph.

Wanting to cry, I coasted to a stop- crotch still on the bar, shoes torn up.
A glimpse of yellow in my peripheral, i looked to the left.

An entire school bus full of high school kids had seen it all.
That must have been the funniest damned thing they had ever seen.
Listen to your guidance counselor, kids.

kp

Of Hulks and Hippies

3 weeks to Infinitus.
I've been asked if I'm ready. I really don't know. The race is too long. Too much can happen in the mountains of VT.



What I do know is that I lived a savage winter. I passed this road every day, and "Become a Savage" kind of became my personal mantra for the winter.

My profile picture is the Hulk in transformation.
I am drawn to the idea of a struggling man hating...and then embracing his dark inner strength. Am I ready to leave the struggle and become something else? I will go to the mountains and lay my ego down at the starting line.

Then, after a few days and hundreds of miles of running, the forest will give me my answer, and I will be grateful for this opportunity, regardless.

kp

No Glory

in retrospect
the finish line is what's glorified

remembrance of jubilation
news articles
and video spots
photos worth a million words
and even more footsteps

how do you prepare for the next
when you only remember the good?

dig deep.
remember the squeaking of wet shoes
socks saturated with dirt
the sting of old bandages creating new blisters

staggering out of bed
on 2 hours of sleep
stuffing swollen feet into damp shoes
for another 20 hour day

the way a mile can last forever
or how you can't squat for a trailside shit
how it's possible to forget germ phobias
sitting in a portapotty
actually enjoying it

when you can't keep your chin up
and your headlight beams down
illuminating fresh bear tracks
hair on the back of your neck stands up
on a cold night, with mist pouring down
and everything is soggy

the owls hoot a sad and lonely song
created solely for the way you feel
and everyone else is living their normal life

and a warm bed is hundreds of miles away

kp

The First

my first ultra was a low key 40 miler in Virginia 7 years ago.
we ran up a mountain, and then down it. It was a 13.33 mile loop that we did 3 times.

it was at a small state park. quiet and beautiful.
i slept in the trunk of my car the night before.

i remember feeling too good the first 35 miles, and even better at the top of the mountain on my last lap when the aid station told me i was in 3rd place...but i did not know what was coming in those final miles:
epic and fantastic meltdown.

i was able to hold onto the podium, but those final miles forced me to learn that it wasn't about place anymore. it was about surviving.

what i wouldn't give to have that ignorance and bliss back. to run unencumbered by the knowledge of limits. simpler times.

ultra running, the supreme metaphor for life.

Infinitus 888k

PEAK is in shambles.

There will probably never be another PEAK 500. Am I sad to see it go? No, because in its stead has risen some other monster.
It's mysterious...scary even.

The distance and cutoff is extreme. 551 miles in 10 days. It's like they took our mileage and finishing pace from this year and tacked another day on top just to see if it's going to work. The course is supposedly more brutal.

Facebook is abuzz with the new event. Many stating that they will be at the start line. Since the first mention of Infinitus, I've been obsessing, as I did that summer, sitting in my tent drinking coffee.

I am asked daily, "What's next?".

There will be no fall goal. There will only be winter training for Infinitus, in May. I snuck through Peak with no specialized training. I have a feeling that no one can sneak through Infinitus. Watch the video. Visit the link.

If that doesn't have serial slaughter all over it, I don't know what does.
This is where people might say "Bring It!".

I know it's going to be brought....not by me. By the course. By the weather. The ticks. The wet and soggy feet and blisters and shitty moods and every single small decision that adds up into possible DNF. There are things that people cannot prepare for: unknowns. And those will surely be brought in force. To the drawing board.

kp

when this whole shithouse burns down

thursday night thoughts.
i sometimes cringe at what would happen if the grid actually went down.
not from the standpoint of finances or entertainment... not even in the survival sense.
humans have done it forever.
probably be better for us anyways.
i cringe because the last time i developed a photo and then stuck it in a physical book was 15+ years ago.
i remember my parents had a basement shelf full of old photo albums.
my kids won't have those to thumb through. they won't know the smell of old musty heavy books full of over-and under-exposed pictures.
in 200 or 2000 years, we may be forced to revert back to living a slower, more natural life where there is no internet.

i wonder if they'll look back at these as the Dark Ages: very little physical evidence in books and photos to keep record of what we did and thought.

500

image from 2011 trail journal

It's August 2, 2011 on a rainy, crappy stretch of weather at 4000 feet, on the side of Garfield.
Barely leaving my tent for 2 days, I've almost drained my entire 10 day supply of coffee in just a couple days.
I'm writing in my journal. And thinking. And when a person has no computer and no tv and no radio and no other thing to focus on but trees and weather and rocks, one becomes a bit...obsessive.

During my Caretaker Summer I racked up nothing but mountain mileage daily, and became one with the woods. One of the best things about the job is coming off the mountain, and feeling how weird it is to walk on flat ground...kind of like when you jump on a trampoline, and then get off it and try jumping. That type of strange.

My routine was this: wake up and drink coffee. Chat with thru hikers and day hikers on their way out of the campsite.
Do radio check and weather postings.
Hike my face off and do any work necessary.
Come back to the site for afternoon coffee and journal before a new wave of trail-weary folks staggered in.

Something stirred in my head that summer. It rattled around, and continued to for years after. Before starting my job in the mountains, I had heard about a race in the mountains of Vermont.
It sounded so stupid.
500 miles of running up a mountain, then down a mountain, over and over again. 120,000 feet of gain. That is not a typo. That's Everest. 4 times.
But I couldn't get it out of my head. And as I honed my rock hopping skills and created an insatiable appetite for meditative, lonesome, long mileage, I decided that it needed to happen.

Here I sit 3 years later, less than a week away from the dumbest thing I have ever done: The Peak 500.
None of my multi day events come close to the difficulty of this, and I go in with absolutely zero bravado. A Deca Iron finish means nothing here. Nothing.

I am scared to death of the mileage and the unknowns, but also excited as hell about the mileage and the unknowns.
The short sleeps, the stomach problems, the downhills, the swollen feet and blisters.

What I cannot wait for is the silent evenings, seeing only what is in my headlight.
Watching the sun come up and feeling the energy of it lifting the spirits. Eating everything.

What will happen, will happen, but one thing is for sure, I will flow with the trail and battle myself and the human condition until the end.
Thank you all for your support and love. This has truly been a magical month.

kp

For Love

since 2000
i have explored the limits of
what i think a body can handle.

after 7 years of ultra endurance
nearly a quarter of my life
i think i understand.

with time, focus, money, and a supportive family
one can achieve anything.
cliche-sounding?
yes.

for 7 years i have dabbled
and struggled
and learned
and hated and
loved endurance.

always a runner.
and then i found cycling
and triathlon.

became addicted to the
idea of triathlon.
fog on the water,
bikes at the ready.
running to finish it up.

a beach day
with a workout

and now triathlon is something different.
not bad. just different.
ultra running is also on it's way
to becoming
something different.

an image
or
a who's who of gear collectors
and Facebook posters

oh,
how to not sound pretentious
or like a hypocrite

but
if not for my job
in a bike shop
the Deca would have been ridden
on a shitty
1993 Trek 1100
and a $10 Bell Helmet
from a department store

and if social media
did not exist
i would still be running
up and down mountains
in worn out shoes
that i wear every day

not Hoka One Ones
in my selfie
profile pic

where is
the next sport
done for love
and not as a checklist

kp

the painting unseen

this painting always hung on the wall in the hallway near my room.

i always saw it, but never really LOOKED at until i saw it in my parent's basement months ago, at which point i took it for my own.

maybe it's because i've lived in downtown Laconia for too long, and my dwelling has made me appreciate it more.

or maybe i am gaining perspective as i age.

now i sometimes stare at this painting for a long time.

i want to live in it.

ignition

light myself on fire
and burn down to the core

a deep breath

and then rebuild
where necessary
leaving excess to
decompose
on the ground next to
the anthills and wet leaves
and footprints from yesterday

thoughts are tinder
that renew daily
and stack up
in sloppy piles
awaiting the next
ignition

-kp

Ground Up

physical pain
morphs to mental slaughter
a soul crushing low
that is not depression

rocks and roots
leaves and frost
trees overhang
a path unclear

mileage melts by
and an ego crushed
is built back up
from the ground

kp

Racing the Sun: A DumbPhone Pemi Loop Account

I spent the last 15 minutes driving towards Lincoln Woods, worshipping the idea of a bathroom.
Too much coffee, and a Dunkin Donuts breakfast sandwich really wasn't sitting well. I was ready to unleash the fury.
Imagine my frustration when I run to the toilet to see this sign:

No worries. I would just maintain my old beliefs since high school that somehow, my body would absorb and use for fuel what I was supposed to expel. Or I would have to unleash that fury on the trail somewhere. Once I got over the fact that I wouldn't be sitting on porcelain on this morning, I prepared my pack for my Autumn Pemi Loop. Mittens, jackets, and way too much other clothing. It had only been a couple weeks ago, during my Summer Pemi Loop, done overnight, when I almost went to the hypothermia danger zone on Franconia Ridge.
The weather today would be warm, but memories of that scary night had some bearing on why there was now a clothing store in my pack. Notably, my camera was dead. I would be relegated to taking pictures from my awesome dumbphone.

As I made my way to the trailhead at 9:45am, I laughed as multiple cars pulled up, people rushed out of them, yanked on the bathroom door, and then made their way back to their vehicle as if they had just been the victim of a cruel prank.

In the last couple of months, I had done the loop a few times through the night. Not because I'm a lunatic...more out of necessity. The first time, was because Spring was ending and I ran out of days. The second time-when I almost froze- was just 3 weeks ago, a few days before the official end of Summer. With a busy Autumn ahead, I figured now was the time to get this one done. Finally, I was going to get a crack at running the Pemi during daylight.

The game plan was to run every section I could. I haven't been running a lot(aka none), but I figured I could at least walk when I was tired.

I opted for a clockwise run, thinking that getting Lafayette out of the way early, and saving the non-technical railroad bed for the end would be easier on the mind.

Up the Osseo Trail, I stopped on the ladders for my first de-layering. No more hat, no more long sleeve.
It was actually warm. Almost too warm. Leave it to the White Mountains to almost freeze me in the summer, and make me die of heat in the fall.

In a lot less than a 2 hours from the start, I had hit Flume. The foliage was past it's prime. Maybe that's why no one was there. I feared I'd be overrun by day hikers in jeans admiring colors. Thankfully, so far, I had the trail to myself. I walked across, looking down the Flume Slides, wondering why I hadn't been up that trail, ever.

The headphones began playing techno music from my ipod, which I don't listen to outside of teaching Spinning classes, but I was feeling good, so I vibed out to it. In what seemed like minutes later, I was standing on top of Liberty, eating my first "meal": Doritos, Vitamin Water, and Beef Jerky. It was still early in this thing, but I was STARVING. One dude on the other side of some rocks must have heard me scarfing this shit, thinking something was dreadfully wrong. I pictured him sitting still listening, trying not to move or make eye contact until I was gone. No worries buddy, this'll only take a couple minutes.

I literally ran to Little Haystack from there. The trail flows and isn't really technical. I was feeling good from the food, and now I was letting my pace get a little crazy. As I made my way towards Lincoln, I was a little bummed when my eyes spied blotches of color far ahead on the trail. HERE's where all the people are. I let my disappointment morph into competitive drive. All of a sudden, this was a race, and now I was going to pick off every one of these hikers, with their big packs and hiking poles, as quick as I could. Lincoln was littered with people. I couldn't stay there. On to Lafayette.

I arrived at the peak of Lafayette in about 3 hours time from the start, and didn't realize it, because no one was there. Awesome! Mo' food. Looking down at my shoes, now on their 3rd pemi, among other runs and hikes, I wondered if perhaps it was time to replace them? I don't know. I like the way my feet feel everything and the amount of control over where I step. The rubber has plenty of traction, and I can tiptoe over 2 inch roots. Try doing that in clunky trail runners.

After a nice solo meal, I looked down at Garfield, my old home. It looked so small as I sat up here, almost 500 feet higher. I wondered if the moose skeleton was still sitting there by the cliffs. Enough dilly-dallying. Time to go.

The trail was fast all the way across Garfield Ridge, but when I hit the pond and began the real ascent up the mountain, I found my first low.

Just placing one foot in front of the other and dealing with it, I arrived at the top, snapped a shot, and began my descent to the water source on the side of the mountain.

The thought of quitting as I arrived at the water source didn't enter my mind, but I was certainly on the ropes. My "meals" simply weren't enough. Chips and nuts and jerky just don't hold enough calories. On the Pemi Loop, I always, always hit Garfield feeling like crap. Always. There must be something magical in the water on the side of that mountain, because I always leave feeling like a champ. I made a playlist of every Pantera, Five Finger Death Punch, Hellyeah, Hopsin, and metal song on my iPod. The next hour and a half was a blur of running, bounding over rocks and trees, and passing groups of backpackers like they were walking backwards. Before I knew it, I was standing on top of South Twin, every bit as smoked as I was on Garfield.

Red Bull Time. I looked at my watch and realized that I only had a couple hours of daylight left, and my light was not my normal one. I had forgotten my headlight in Nicole's car when she went to work, so I detached my bike light and planned to use it if I HAD to run in the dark. I secretly hoped I would be done before sunset.

With this in mind, I really pushed it to the Bonds, running stuff I would normally hike. It seemed like only a few minutes passed before I was on top of Mount Bond.

I wasted no time there, even though I felt very tired. The talus and large rocks that was the "trail" was very mentally draining. Here was no place to break an ankle, 10ish miles from anything. The Ritz crackers in my pocket tasted like cardboard but I ate them anyway.

Finally, I was at the top of the final climb, before the long descent back to Lincoln Woods. It was a little after 5pm. I watched the sun start it's setting behind the mountains.

Running down the Bondcliff Trail, I figured I'd probably be in the dark on the flat and fast Wilderness Trail, but the forest became dark very quickly. About 15 minutes before I hit the Wilderness Trail, I came to a large blowdown which obscured the trail. Until this point, I could mostly make out the trail, but I wasn't going to wander around it in the dark and get lost. Pulling out my light, which had gotten wet on a bike ride a few days ago, I had a sinking feeling for some reason. I pressed the button. Sure as shit, the light turned on for a millisecond, and I was in the dark again. A small moment of panic.

I pressed the button again. The light came on, and then shut off as soon as my finger left the switch. I pressed the button over and over and over. Okay. I had manual strobe mode. Better than nothing, I guess. I spent the last 5 miles of the hike, running and holding the light in my hand, pressing the button a million times per minute, tripping over railroad ties and branches unseen in the dark moments of the strobe.

As I crossed the bridge and finished in about 9 hrs 50, I marveled at how this loop does not get easier with each time it is completed. Nonetheless, I enjoy this long loop because it is more than just a hike/run across many different landscapes. It is a journey into yourself. It feels and runs harder than any 50 mile run I have ever done. I shall continue to run this every season for many seasons to come, I hope.

Tentman, over and out! Thanks for reading!

kp

Caught

an orange sun
melts vanilla sky
i exit the building
and emit a sigh

their breeze brushes
my shirtless back
lost souls in metal shells
i fight the urge to attack

another mile drags on
i remain amongst cattle
despite the progress
my feeling's embattled

i run to escape
but somehow cannot
for no matter how far
i always get caught


kp

What If?

written on First World Renegades in April of 2013

Currently, the Facebook-o-sphere is blowing up with quotes and memes of goodness and positivity in retaliation to the bombings in Boston. I also just read of a mail attack that happened today: Ricin sent to a Senator.

This weekend, I ran a marathon at a fundraiser for the families torn apart by the Connecticut shooting. The speakers before, and the message throughout the run, was of overpowering evil with good deeds. It was a truly humbling event running past the mile markers, all with the victims' names written on them.

Maybe it's the renegade in me that generally goes against the population, but I see all of these positive messages and images and quotes from Gandhi all over the internet, and I can't help but think differently.
What if we are going about this the wrong way?
Stay with me.

I hate that all of these things are happening in our world right now. Perhaps we are missing something. Things aren't getting better as we continue to keep sharing a picture of a candle on Facebook, nor are they getting better because of our fundraisers after every major tragic event. Quite the contrary, actually, as we seem to be facing a new and larger crisis every month.

What if by being so positive, we aren't being real? What if we really are in dark times, and this fake light we attempt to cast takes our vision away from our goal of a better society? What if things need to get worse before they get better?

What if we fought evil with evil?
What if we treated savages with savagery?

What I am trying to say is...maybe at our root, we are really monsters, stuck behind the bars of societal expectations- limited by what the world thinks we should do. What if we are too civil?

What if we let the fake light fade, and allowed our own darkness to prevail when bringing criminals to justice?
What if we are more productive and powerful when angry?
What if it's time to let the beast out of the cage?

kp

Evening Grind: Pemi Loop in 1 Night

It's 6:30 PM and I'm driving 80 MPH up I-93, singing and rapping loudly: amped.

An hour ago, I decided that I wanted to rip the Pemi Loop. It's a 32ish mile hike of brutal ups and downs, with technical hiking over 11 peaks- 9 of them official 4000 foot peaks. Most hike the Pemi in a long weekend of 3 nights- camping at Liberty Springs, Garfield Ridge, and Guyot Shelter before hiking out of the woods and going home.

I had been giving thought to doing it in one day for a long time. The opportunity hadn't really presented itself, with my often hectic schedule, so when I learned that I wouldn't be going to Maine for Father's Day, I figured that sunday would be prime...until I realized I would be spending it with the future in-laws instead. As in impulsive person, I had really set my mind to doing the loop that weekend, so I figured I would just go do it anyway...at night.

I arrived at Lincoln Woods, and finished throwing my food for the night in my pack: a bag of Raisinets, an entire tin of cashews, a bottle of Gatorade, a Redbull in case things got ugly, and a 32 oz Nalgene. I planned to only refill water once, at Garfield Ridge, where the water is awesome without a filter.


Shoes on, short shorts on, pack on, and GO! It was 7:15. Some dude looked at me from his car, and said,"You're starting late aren't ya? Where are you going?" I told him I was going all the way around. He looked at me with what was either disbelief or disapproval. Either way, I didn't care. I was amped to get on the trail and get to the suffering.

Deciding that I wanted to walk Franconia Ridge as the sun was rising, I opted to go counter-clockwise, hitting the Bonds first. On the long, boring, and flat Wilderness Trail, I came upon several people walking out of the woods. Once on Bondcliff Trail, I saw no one until I neared the top of Mt. Bond. He was a cool guy and we chatted for a while; he was working on his "4000 foot list in the dark". I didn't know that was even a thing.



As I came to the top of Bond, it was pushing 10 o clock and very dark. A small crescent moon provided me with little light. I was startled when my headlight shone on a body laying on the ground. Someone thought it would be a good idea to just bivvy up on the side of the trail, above tree-line. The wind was really whipping. I wondered why in the hell he'd want to do that, when things were so calm just a couple hundred yards down the trail, in the woods. He didn't move or open his eyes, and I continued on in silence...headphones blaring Pantera. Hitting the West Bond Spur, it wasn't a question of whether or not I would take it. Sure it's an offshoot of the loop, but I wasn't about to just blast past, and I had extra time. West Bond was a cool little bump, and the clear night and moon hanging in the sky made it an awesome spot to chill and eat.



Up and over Mt. Guyot, the wind was unreal...to the point that it was a little nerve wracking. I had to hold my hat on, and my feet mid-step were being blown, causing me to trip over myself. I looked in the sky and reminded myself that there were no clouds, hence no storms. Just wind. At night sometimes, things that don't bother you during the day can get into your head!

Hitting the Twinway, on the trail towards South Twin, I started feeling froggy, and broke into a run. That section of trail isn't super technical and kind of rolls, so I just flowed until the top of South Twin. On the way down, I hit my first tough spot mentally. As soon as I went below the trees, I sat on a rock and ate the hell out of some cashews and raisinets- just shoveling it in, downed my Gatorade, and continued on. The moon was turning reddish.





The next stop was Garfield Ridge water source. I debated going up to the site and checking out my former place of living, but decided that at 1:30 in the morning, I wouldn't really see anything, and I would just be that creepy guy wandering around in the middle of the night amongst the tenters. I settled on just hanging out at the source, eating and downing my Red Bull, because I was feeling tired.


The trail between Garfield and Lafayette is my favorite. There are runnable sections, and technical sections that are just fun. I was kind of grooving on a high, so I ran a lot of it. The problem with highs is that they end.
At 3am, on the side of Lafayette, I was a mess. The wind was crazy, and my energy level was below zero. I know from other sleep deprivation pursuits that this time of night/morning is my bad time. In every multi-day event I do, the shit really hits the fan for me from 3:30am until the sun comes up. The sky was already getting lighter to the east, so I pressed on, knowing the sun would bring me back to life.




I sat in the lee of the wind behind a rock on Lincoln, eating and watching the sun rise over the mountains to the east.
For the first time in almost 2 hours, I started feeling good again, and began the descent to the lower mountains of Little Haystack, Liberty, and Flume. Passing by Little Haystack's "stealth" campsite, I smelled weed. Who the hell was smoking pot at this hour? I looked at my watch, and it was 4:25. These older hippy dudes really stuck to their 4:20. Waking up at this time to smoke is true commitment.


I ran/hiked everything I could all the way to Liberty, because since I had seen the sun rise, I was really ready to just get out of the woods and eat some real food....but ran into a really nice couple on that mountain, and chatted with them for a good 30 minutes. One of the things I love about hiking is meeting some really great people on the trail.


I departed from Liberty and blasted on up to Flume in about 20 minutes. The sun was really up now, and Lincoln and Lafayette were looking awesome. Now was my favorite part: the Osseo Trail. For the most part, this is a non-technical trail and not too steep at any point. It is perfect to stretch the legs and actually run all the way down to civilization. The sun was getting hot.

4.1 miles of running later, I hit the railroad bed, and it would be just 1.4 miles until I was back at the car. I opted to walk out, because I wanted a nice relaxing end to this thing.

Bleary eyed and well-worked, I sat in the car about 12 hours after I had started and decided that a McDonald's breakfast would be the perfect way to cap the morning. All I wanted was calories....disgusting, greasy, salty calories. The drive home was brutal. I wanted to keep nodding off, but stuck it out. Once home, the shower was bliss, and the sleep was deep.

A fantastic end to one day, and an awesome start to another: the Midnight Pemi.


krp

Gear Versus Fitness

I'm about to tell you something in regards to hiking that Backcountry.com, EMS, REI, and even the great North Face doesn't want you to hear.

Since the day they began their companies, they've been convincing you to buy shit you don't need. It's all just "stuff" that will either sit in your gear closet, or add unnecessary weight to your pack...and slow you down.

Yesterday on the trail, I passed a few people headed up Mt. Tom on a hard-packed super-highway trail. They had snowshoes, poles, very large packs, and were laboring immensely. As I ran by them in nothing but trail runners...note the word RAN by them, I asked where they were headed. The very nice people responded with, "Just Mt Tom. An easy day."
It didn't look like they were making it very easy on themselves.
A few hours later, after I had done Tom, Field, Willey, and Avalon, I passed them on their way down.

Be safe and prepared, but don't over think it. If you really want to improve your hiking experience, don't buy the new gadget. Get fit. Go faster. See more awesome stuff. And you won't be too tired to appreciate it, either.

During my days caretaking on Garfield Ridge, I watched people come in to my site after hiking from Liberty Springs 9ish miles away, hours after sunset, outside themselves with fatigue.
"What time did you leave Liberty this morning?"
"7am."

9 miles in 14 hours, and they were glad to be done. Repeat, glad to be done. If they were glad to be done, why in the hell were they even out there in the first place? Why not train a little bit, be done in 9 hours, and enjoy the experience?

One particular night after dark, a young teenager showed up. He said his Dad would be arriving much later because he was extremely tired. I hiked up and over Garfield towards Liberty, and found the man struggling to climb up a moderate incline near Garfield Pond. I took his pack(which weighed a ton) and hiked with him, arriving late at the site. He was grateful, and I was steaming. He put himself and his son in danger.

It stuck with me through the night, and the next morning I was still pissed. After coffee and morning radio, I decided to time trial from my site to Liberty Springs. I wanted to blow off some steam, and see how fast a fit person could do the hike. I power-hiked the steep sections, and ran the downhills and flats. Once I hit the top of Lafayette, I ran all the way to Liberty Springs. I do not remember the exact time, but it was well under 2 hours. On the way back, I took my time in 3 hours.

The saying is Hike Your Own Hike. I understand this. But why do you need all of the extra shit? How can anyone that truly loves the woods and mountains argue with this math:

Carry Less+High Fitness Level=See more mountains, streams, wildlife, scenery.

Spend all of those extra hours worked to afford the gear... on training, instead!

Happy Trails!
krp

Clear the Debts, Break the Chains

Last month I turned 30.
Nicole bought me a book that chronicled a middle-aged man's thru hike of the Appalachian Trail, after his wife had died of cancer.

The book is an OK read. Not an amazing read, but good enough to reignite my need to get on the trail and get lost for 3 or 4 months.

While I love reading of others' adventures, the stories are terrible for my mental health. I am again faced with the frustration of the material, bill-paying, working, "real world" holding me back.

I have seen what is it like to do nothing but hike everyday.
I have eaten poptart peanut butter sandwiches, and had coffee that was more grounds than liquid.
I have gone 12 days without bathing.
I have hit the sack at 7pm with the sunset, and woken at 5 with the sunrise.
And I miss it. So much that at times I can't bear the idea of assimilation into the "real world".

What is it about the trail that people obsess about?
Maybe it's the scenery or the people one meets. Perhaps its the daily use of gear, or the idea of doing something others deem as hardcore.
For me, being in the woods, with only one purpose is the true and simplest definition of being alive.
It's eating, drinking, moving, sleeping.
Everything else that we do- all of the problems we have- are because of the choices we made for ourselves. Most of them come down to money. You must work to buy the things in your life. But what do you REALLY NEED for things?

"Man is the only kind of varmint that sets his own trap, baits it, then steps in it," John Steinbeck said.

Fuck "things". I still have no car. Still ride my bike that I bought for $75 everywhere. There was a time I owned a vehicle. During that time, I was constantly treading water, trying to get ahead... only to be held down by tires, brakes, insurance, repairs, and by going places, and doing things I didn't need to be doing. The road to financial and life freedom was blocked by an insurmountable wall of my own creation.

Now, that wall is a small concrete barrier, and I am the tractor trailer truck in the distance, revving up to shatter that shit.
I am perhaps a little over a year away from being debt free. To have debt is to be a slave to the world, and being a slave is a burden that has grown tiresome for me, just 12 years into adulthood.

It's time to clear the debts, and break the chains. The trail looms.

kp