They say with great power comes great responsibility. In my case, I would like to alter this proverb slightly by saying with great craziness comes great responsibility. I can't even recount how many times people have told me I'm crazy or have said something like "you and your crazy ideas". These comments are often in reference to my outdoor adventures, and I've owned up to this reputation over the years. Although a lot of what I do may seem extreme to casual observers, it's worth noting that I execute these crazy ideas responsibly. Over the years I've learned that it's okay to have adventurous ambitions and put myself in potentially risky situations as long as I take the necessary safety precautions to mitigate the chance of being injured or taken to the emergency room. I'll freely admit though, that not all of my ideas are good ones. I'm a human being like everyone else, and my judgement is not perfect in every situation. I was thinking about that as I arrived at the Limekiln trailhead off the side of Alma Bridge Road near Los Gatos, California. As I pulled off to the side of the road and shut my car off, I quickly became engulfed in darkness. Aside from the stars in the sky, it was pitch black and dead quiet all around me. My car was the only one parked along this remote stretch of road, where the Limekiln trail flanked off and ascended up into the mountains of the Sierra Azul Open Space Preserve. What brought me out here at 5:00 AM on a chilly December morning you might ask? I was about to attempt what would be my last solo virtual ultramarathon of 2020, the year that popularized virtual running events. The weekend before, my friends had organized a virtual holiday party for Bay Area Runners. During the Zoom event, my friend Kelly suggested I attempt this race, which was coined "The Sierra Azul Three Peaks Challenge 52K". When I looked it up on Ultrasignup.com, I noticed that the course consisted of significant elevation gain and visiting three mountain peaks along the way. The website disclosed that the twenty-dollar registration fee would be donated to various animal rescue organizations around the Bay Area, and hundreds of dollars had already been raised. It didn't take much convincing for me to sign up, especially since it presented a great way to end 2020.
My initial plan was to make this run more interesting by starting at 10:00 PM on Friday and running through the night. I'm no stranger to running at night and I find it quite fun. What didn't sound fun, however, was the possibility of a mountain lion encounter in the dark. While doing a little pre-race research, I discovered that the Sierra Azul Open Space Preserve was a habitat for plenty of wildlife, and cougars may be present at all hours of the day. We all saw that video from October of the Utah hiker who had the six-minute standoff with the mountain lion protecting her cubs. That was definitely not what I needed on a dark trail in the middle of the night all alone. Besides, I had only been on a portion of this course before, so for all intents and purposes, it was unfamiliar territory to me. I decided to scrap the idea of running through the night and opted to begin at 5:00 AM instead. But as I stood outside of my car looking across the street, I began to wonder if even starting right now would be a good idea. It was still very dark and mountain lions are most active at dusk and dawn. As the trail sign glowed in the beam of my flashlight across the street, the silence was broken by an animal-like noise in the distance. "Okay, maybe this isn't a good idea" I thought. Probably best to wait an hour until 6:00 AM to get going. It would still be dark by then, but the sun would be coming up around 7 AM, and I wanted to get a little running in before sunrise.
When 6 AM rolled around, I threw my pack over my shoulders and walked across the street to the trailhead. A couple of cars had pulled up a few minutes earlier, and two guys stood outside of their cars preparing to hit the trail. It was good to know that I wouldn't be totally alone out here in the dark. The cars, the road, and the glow of the headlamps from the two guys disappeared behind me as I began running up the path. This section of the Limekiln trail was known for having several steep inclines and sharp turns, and I shined my flashlight around in front of me as I ran along, looking back every so often. Even though sunrise was approaching, I used extra caution to avoid being ambushed by a mountain lion. As I made my way up the trail, I took out my phone to see what my next move was. Unlike the other virtual ultramarathons I ran in 2020, where I designed my own race, this particular course was created by the race director. Detailed instructions were included on the website, and although the network of trails is well marked, I had to do a bit of navigating. I figured the best way to navigate the course was to screenshot the course directions and save them on my phone. I continued climbing up Limekiln trail until I reached the next intersection, where I would make a left on Priestrock trail and proceed further up into the mountains. The climb along Priestrock was horrendously steep at times, and marching uphill without much training presented a challenge. Although the first rays of sunlight were now lighting up the sky, I still remained wary of predators. The shrubby wilderness along Limekiln trail had given way to a surrounding area of rolling mountains full of bushes and grasslands as far as the eye could see. As the climbing continued to challenge me, I began to understand why locals nicknamed this section of the trail "dogmeat". As I crested the climb, an intersection came into view. My next move was to make a right here onto the Kennedy trail, also known as "the rollers". Running downhill felt great after the long climb and a beautiful sunrise began to light up the sky to the left of me. One of my favorite things about running before dawn is watching the sun come up. That's when I really start feeling alive. There's something strangely inspiring about a sunrise, especially when you know you have a long day ahead. It brings a sense of hope and optimism, as if to say "wow dude, that's gorgeous. Let's make it a good day".
My next move was to make a left onto Woods trail, which would lead me to the summit of the Mount El Sombroso, the first of three mountain peaks I would be visiting. The view from the top was breathtaking, with an ocean of rolling hills lying in front of me for miles. A prominent peak stood off in the distance to my right. This one was unique in the sense that it was not only the tallest peak in the immediate area, but it also had a large tower at the summit. Perhaps another unique feature was this mountain's name; Mount Umunhum. But at the moment, the most important fact was that Mount Umunhum was the final of the three peaks that I would traverse, and was the centerpiece of this adventure. It didn't look very far away, but I still had another eight miles before I would reach the summit. As I continued onward, the trail followed a long and steady downhill, which allowed me to run some faster miles. Mount Umunhum remained steadfast during the descent. As the trail wound through the mountains, the position of the tower on top of the peak rotated around me. The tower can be seen from far away and for the next several miles it was either right in front of me, behind me, or to my right. I gazed up at the distant structure as I ran along. "Okay, well at some point I guess I'm going to be up there" I said as I laughed to myself. The next move on the course directions was to make a right onto Barlow road. The intersection came at the bottom of the long descent on Woods trail. Barlow, which was not an actual road, but a fire road, was a steep and winding climb, that would eventually lead me to a parking lot. From there I would follow the path for a short distance to the second summit, Bald Mountain.
It was shortly after 9 AM when I arrived at the Bald Mountain parking area. From there, the incline was relatively modest compared to what I had already done, and I reached the summit fairly quickly. Unique to the other three mountains, the path followed a quick lollipop loop around the peak of Bald Mountain, offering picturesque views of the surrounding area, and of course, the tower on Mount Umunhum...again. The parking area was more crowded when I returned after hitting Bald Mountain. People stood next to their cars preparing for their morning hikes as I glided through the area and headed towards Mount Umunhum trail. Although mainly intended for hiking Bald Mountain, the parking area is perhaps more popular for those who are hiking to the summit of Mount Umunhum, which was a little over three and a half miles up the trail. During the ascent the tower popped in and out of view through the trees and shrubs. Step by step, I was moving closer to it. The experience was both satisfying and frustrating. This thing haunted me ever since leaving Mount El Sombroso, and it seemed like even though I kept running along, it only inched closer to me every time it came into view. When I finally made it, the view from the summit was gorgeous. I was standing on the highest peak in the surrounding area and one of the highest in the Santa Cruz Mountains. The summit was equipped with restrooms and a small parking lot, which was the dead end of the road that led to the peak. The tower, which I later learned was nicknamed "The Cube" stood at eighty-five feet high. It was constructed in 1962 and served as a radar tower to watch for enemy aircraft during the Cold War. Although it has been decommissioned since 1980, it was left intact and serves as a local landmark.
I cruised back down Mount Umunhum trail to the intersection of Barlow fire road, where I reached the twenty-mile mark of the course. I recalled reading on ultrasignup.com that the race director brought up the fact that the distance of the course and the elevation gain had been slightly over-estimated. Rather than a 52K (about thirty-two and a quarter miles), the course actually measured out to be a little over thirty miles. I would be retracing my steps for part of the return trip, and I remembered that there was a long downhill along Woods trail on the way to Bald Mountain, which inevitably would be an uphill climb on the way back. Despite this, I had two thirds of the mileage and most of the climbing now behind me. I assumed the hard part was over. It wasn't. The climb up Woods trail was savage and my legs were screaming at me every step of the way. My steps were choppy, my heart was racing, and the hill just kept going on and on. Most of the running I had been doing lately had been on flat surfaces, and the lack of hill training was kicking my ass. I knew the hill would reach it's crest at the intersection of the path that leads up to Mount El Sombroso, which was getting closer with each step. The path traversed along the ridges of the nearby mountains with grassy slopes, bushes, and rock walls lining the edges. There were several turns and curves, and I could see the trail out in front of me weaving along the edges of the distant mountains. As I rounded a particularly sharp turn, another steep incline lied before me. The thought of more climbing crushed me psychologically, and I decided it was best to take a seat on the side of the trail, drink some water, eat some trail mix, and try to regroup. Sometimes a little rest can go a long way. I eventually crested the hill and followed the rolling path towards the intersection with Limekiln trail, which I would follow all the way back to the parking lot. As I shuffled down the path and reeled in the miles, I could see a trail ascending the edge of the mountains in front of me in the distance. I stared in the distance as I progressed forward. The last thing I wanted at mile twenty-seven of this rally was another uphill climb. My legs where shot and had enough. I hoped that this distant trail was not the Limekiln trail, while bearing in mind the possibility that it might be, just in case. It's a technique I developed to avoid setting myself up for disappointment and anger. In 2020, while living in a world of uncertainty, I've learned that things turn out best when I hope for the best, but expect the worst. Still, I was really hoping that the ascending trail in the distance was not the Limekiln trail. Sure enough, much to my dismay, it was. I stood at the bottom of the descent, looking ahead at the incline in front of me. I had been going for seven and a half hours, and already climbed somewhere in the neighborhood of 6,900 feet. "You cannot be serious" I said out loud in frustration. "What the actual fuck". I was in a lot of pain, but there was nothing else to do except drag my weary butt up this final climb. Despite my lack of hill training, I knew what kind of craziness I was getting into. No time for boo hoo-ing.
The majority of the final two miles was a steady downhill, which felt great, even though I was reduced to hobbling at this point. The time and miles passed by fairly quickly thanks to some distractions along the way. I saw an oncoming hiker pushing a baby stroller up the trail, which I thought was super cool. I'd seen runners pushing strollers along sidewalks and roads on several occasions, but never hikers pushing them up a trail. Minutes later, I saw about fifty yards in front of me down the trail, an older lady with curly grey hair standing right in the middle of the trail, holding a mirror out in front of her, and combing her hair. I had never seen anyone do that on a trail before and I chuckled to myself after I passed by her. Before long, I came over a small hill and the road and parked cars appeared in the distance. I ran the final steps, and crossed the virtual finish line as I emerged at the mouth of the trail near the road. During the last few miles I had been ready to be done, but as I hobbled across the street back to my car, I felt happy rather than relieved, and I clapped my hands in celebration. As difficult as this race was, it was a very rewarding way to close out 2020, one of the most challenging years of my life. I was lucky to have love and support from my girlfriend, who during the six months that we've been together, has encouraged me to pursue my adventurous ambitions. She and her mother have both voiced their concerns when hearing some of my stories of running debauchery, which is for the best, because it gives me another incentive to be careful and act responsibly. As long as I do that, everything is cool. Ultramarathons are all about highs and lows, thriving and struggling, and today was no exception. During a time of uncertainty, when nothing is guaranteed, the lessons I've learned through years of running have worked wonders for my ability to cope with the world around me. As I drove home, I closed the proverbial door on my 2020 running adventures, cautiously optimistic about what 2021 would bring.
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