Sherry Arnold  Shut Up + Run

Still her gray rocks tower above the sea
That crouches at their feet, a conquered wave;
‘Tis a rough land of earth, and stone, and tree,
Where breathes no castled lord or cabined slave;
Where thoughts, and tongues, and hands, are bold and free,
And friends will find a welcome, foes a grave;
And where none kneel, save when to heaven they pray,
Nor even then, unless in their own way.

The “First Lady” aka “The Mayor’s Wife”

~ Winston Churchill

There was nothing normal about this experience. Certainly, normalcy is not an attribute of mine. Hellgate is not a normal 100K, in distance or demeanor. My training leading up to the race was anything but normal. The weather was not normal. My strategy was not normal. What a wonderfully weird day!

The race was a beginning, in that it was my first ever Hellgate. I will readily admit that the last time I had such race related butterflies was for my first ultra ever. Hellgate just has such an “aura” about it, and I had seen it, without experiencing it, twice before. The race was also an ending. It was the end of The Beast. While I could not say I was confident, I can say I was hopeful I could finish this off. Nothing short of death would cause me to DNF my way out of The Beast at Hellgate! The race also marked the end of an eventful year for me, both on and off the trail. Lastly, several friends were of the (mistaken) opinion that the end of the race would mark the end of facial hair for me … more on that later.

Chipper signed on early as crew / designated driver. I had been filling in for her the last 2 years, but I had taken the only honorable way out of crewing by registering for the race. At the last minute, we had two unexpected surprises: Booman was crewing too (very fortuitous for all) and El Toro could not race (this was an unfortunate, but warranted turn of events). So, Chipper, Spuds, Booman, Mr. Bimble, Loopy, and I set out for Camp Bethel. Other than road closures due to flooding, late starts, etc… the trip was uneventful. Dinner at the camp was unusually good, and the pre-race briefing was entertaining as always. David Horton has beaten the adjective “special” to death regarding this race, but it is TRUE. I hope Hellgate never changes. The drive to the start, expertly managed by Chipper, included our team plus Mike, a guy who Loopy had met and run with last month at MMTR. We assembled for the cold but not frigid start as prayers, and the Canadian and “real” (Horton’s term) National Anthems were sung.

At 12:01 AM we were off. Things started happening fast. Too fast. I could not believe the pace. I struggled to not lose sight of Loopy and Spuds. Nobody ever told me the start was like this. Flat, good footing, wide. For quite a way. I tucked in behind Loopy, refusing to allow a gap to open. In less than a mile, I saw Spuds blur and disappear, never to be seen again. Mr. Bimble I never saw at all from the word “go”. I was determined to follow Loopy closely, as I wanted someone with experience near me. I had told her before the race that I planned to “hang” with her, and she seemed very skeptical. By time we reached the first aid station, I was praying that I would manage to keep up with her. So, Loopy, Mike, and me formed a group of three and moved along, with Loopy leading the way, as Mike and I were both first-timers.

The trail quickly changed to “up”, and stayed that way, seemingly forever. AS #2 provided an opportunity to see Chipper and Booman, and get a report on Mr. Bimble and Spuds. Then we began the long slog up to the highest/coldest point on the course, the infamous Headforemost Mountain (AS #4). It was during this period that I began to wonder whether or not I would be able to keep Loopy in sight. We saw the crew again at Headforemost, and it is amazing what a friendly familiar face can do for your spirits! Booman and Chipper were awesomely helpful to us even while focusing on their “official” charge, Spuds. MANY thanks to both of them.

Past AS #4, my pace slowed, and my doubts increased. My lower right leg started developing severe pain, and I also needed to follow a side trail, both very bad signs. I bid adieu to Loopy, and told her I was hopeful I would see her later. I am not even sure she heard me. I got back on the trail fairly expeditiously, and decided to sprint to catch Loopy and Mike. I think that may have been my best decision of the entire race. I locked on to them in less than 15 minutes, and stayed there.

We were comfortably ahead of the cutoffs at Headforemost. Loopy announced that she was well off of her blistering pace from last year, but OK. That sounded good to me. The trail stayed challenging, but interesting, with a lost of variety, and sections of the Terrapin and Promise Land trails provided a little bit of comfortable familiarity. Loopy handed me breakfast when we arrived at Jennings Creek. Yum! We reached Bearwallow Gap a little past 11 AM, 1.5 hours ahead of the cutoffs. I took 4 vitamin I caplets there to dull the pain in my right leg. We saw Chipper and Booman, and off we went. It was in the next stretch that Loopy suffered the letdown that I suffered after Headforemost. Now it was me setting the pace for a while. She urged me to go ahead and “run my race”, but in reality, I was giving it everything I had. We pressed on, with all of our spirits dimming a bit. I started doing some bad math and wondered whether we might miss the cut-off. Sometime during this time, Kerry Owens (a Beast Finisher too), who had been back-and-forth with us many times, passed us quickly, indicating that she had some concerns about the cut-off too. This just made me worry more. We struggled our way to Bobblet’s Gap, possibly my favorite aid station anywhere (Spirit of 76 at VT is another contender, as is the Carlson Station at The Bluff… never mind, I guess I like ALL aid stations!). Logic told me, and I tried to convince Loopy, that the stretch from Bobblet’s to the last station, Day Creek, would be “easy” because it had to be mostly downhill. Unfortunately, experience told Loopy that they don’t call this section the Forever Section for nothing!

It did take forever. It is easily the cruelest part of the race. We got through it, but we were suffering from doubt, dehydration, delay, and maybe a little dementia as we pulled in to Day Creek. Loopy, a little bit alarmed by her condition and the lateness of the hour, didn’t even stop. My hydration pack had run dry miles ago, so I had to stop. She moved right on through walking up the final big three mile up hill. Mike and I caught up with her shortly thereafter, and she insisted we go ahead. I was very reluctant, but she was very slow, and we briskly walked away. Once we crested the ridge, with a three mile downhill to the finish, we debated continuing the walk or running slowly. We need not have debated. I had finally realized there was almost enough time to walk to the finish. My ibuprofen had worn off, and all I wanted was a finish.

Suddenly, only a few minutes later, Loopy came roaring past me and Mike. She was, as we say specifically for her, “on fire”. She was getting away from us! Mike seemed to be able to fall in behind her quickly, but I could not. The gap opened. She called back to me several times: “are you OK?” and I grunted “yes”. I decided to not tell her to “just go”, because I was afraid she might do just the opposite. Clearly, she wanted to break 17 hours. I decided that if she disappeared, so be it, and I would just do my best. Finally, the legs that had grown cold and still on the uphill loosened up, and the pounding downhill beat my leg pain to an “11″ at which point you really don’t feel it anymore. We hit the smooth dirt road with 1.5 miles to go, and I finally was able to match pace. Mike fell back a little. The “one mile” mark arrived, and Loopy picked up the pace again. That is the longest mile on the planet. Once inside the camp, we backed off just a bit and saw Booman cheering us in. And then, it was done. David Horton was there to congratulate us, as was Clark Zealand. We collected our Hellgate and Beast schwag, hit the showers, and headed out.

The traditional Saturday night meal in Staunton was fun, and well deserved. We all toasted with our Bimblers back in CT, at least in spirit Sunday morning we hit the road, and were home before dark.

So, here I sit with no future races paid for, a situation I have not known in over a year. No firm plans for races next year. Actually, no firm plans for much of anything. Except the beard…

POSTSCRIPT: This is the first race where I have experienced the help of Bimblers from afar, at aid stations, and on the trail. I heard a “WOOHOO” at 9:18 AM which I assume had wafted down from East Rock. Was that you, Snobody? I received aid at the stations, most notably from Booman who loaned me his glittens. Lastly, and most importantly, I had the amazingly good fortune of running as part of a team, something I have never done during a race before. Loopy and I took turns pulling each other through the tough parts, although she did most of the heavy lifting. Thank you one and all.

POST POSTSCRIPT: I ran this race for IGGY, and I did my best to project some of the amazing views back along the same channel that carried the WOOHOOs southward. IGGY, did you see it? It was beautiful.

Scott Allen

Those who can remember my only previous race report about a successful 100 Miler may remember the vague sense of “obligation” that permeated my report, and the lack of “fun” I seemed to have had. And that was after an “easy” (no such thing!) 100, Vermont.

Three different years, three different 100s… The first try, an unsuccessful attempt at the (then) Iroquois (now) Virgil Crest 100. Virgil Crest has become my symbol, my focal point, my mythical Waterloo. After Virgil Crest, I quickly realized that I was broken down physically, emotionally, and spiritually. What I didn’t realize (we rarely do in those kind of times) was that things would get better. The second try was Vermont. My arduous struggle to right my wrongs, heal my wounds, and fix my head has been documented in this venue, already. Astute readers, Bounce foremost among them, noted that it sounded like Vermont was done not for “the love of it” but to settle a score. Once again, I was too stubborn to really see it. I definitely had attained a physical redemption of sorts, but I was still “wandering in the woods” emotionally and spiritually. So, in the same way that I realized, shortly after Virgil Crest, that I had “bottomed out”, shortly after Vermont I realized it was time to start climbing up. And so, I did.

I set goals for myself, challenging but hopefully attainable. I started treating everything like a race.
First Rule: Constant Forward Momentum. Seriously. Every day.
Second Rule: Walk With A Purpose. That one is tricky. I depended greatly on several Bimblers to teach me that one; to teach me that the First Rule needs to be done sustainably. That means you have to slow down sometimes, a lot, but you don’t have to stop. You can’t stop, there are cut-offs. Think about that…
Third Rule: It is never all good or all bad. Mr. Bimble told me that a long time ago about 100s. You have to adjust to the problems you encounter along the way, and you need to know that things will get better, and worse, as you move forward. He was right, they do.
Fourth Rule: Deal with NOW. You can’t change the past, and you can’t change the future if you don’t get there intact. So work on the present.

So, despite my somewhat somber mood post-Vermont, I took away from that race a sense of what I, with a lot of determination, and the help of my friends, could accomplish. I decided to declare myself to be “at the turnaround” for my 50th birthday. A little too early to “smell the barn”, but believing that I could pick up the pace with some confidence of success. I committed myself to signing up for The Beast, and also to getting everything else “in order” whatever that meant.

My life got very busy, in good ways and bad, but perhaps the most encouraging sign of all was that I ran less. Really. I know, you don’t believe me, but it is true! To train for a big year of races (six 50Ks, one 100, one 50M, and one 100K), training had to take priority, but not exclusively so. I had other important things to get done. But here’s the good news I found out: Running towards a goal is less of a burden AND less time consuming, than “running away”. I was done with running away, and that has made ALL of the difference.

Oh yeah, that’s right, there was a Grindstone race report in here somewhere, right?

Was I ready?

Undertrained? CHECK
DNF’d at last race? CHECK
Well Rested? huh? what’s that?

On a mission? Greatest Crew Imaginable? Surrounded by AWESOME people? CHECK! CHECK! and CHECK!

The team of Bounce / Ultra / Forrest (aka “The Boys from ‘Staven”) had proven itself out at Wasatch. I had total faith that we would thrive together at Grindstone too, and we did. My BeastMates, Loopy and Spuds had similar confidence in their teams, as well they should. Also, I was sure there would be a synergy with three crews “on the ground” that would be beneficial in many ways, none of which I could actually imagine.

We all converged on Swoope, VA at varying times from varying points on the compass. Loopy accompanied (?) Bounce, Ultra, and me in her car (scratch your head here) Thursday AM. We arrived in Hamburg for stops at Cabela’s, Hecky’s, and Ultra’s Aunt Betty’s / Uncle Luke’s on time and feeling fine. Ultra bought the brightest possible headlamp on the planet, having been “left in the dark” at Wasatch. We concluded our trip at the post-Hellgate “rubber ducky” hotel in Staunton, an easy 20 minute drive from the race site in Swoope, VA. Sometime around our arrival time, Loopy’s teammates, El Toro and the runner-subsequently-known-as SouperGirl departed CT in my vehicle, with most of my race supplies in their care (drive carefully, El Toro, please). Meanwhile, Spuds was flying in from Colorado, with one of his crew, Chipper, still there through midday Friday, and the rest of his crew, Mr. & Mrs. Potato Head, picking him up at the airport. We all, except for Chipper, arrived at the race mid-day Friday. We had about 6 hours to eat, sign-in, get informed, set up tents, meet and mingle, arm-wrestle (?), win prizes, etc… Live music lightened the mood, but the smell of fear did permeate the site as the afternoon wore on. I had done little to get ready ahead of time, so it was easy to keep busy all afternoon. Finally, all but Chipper converged on the start line, 6PM arrived, and we departed.

There is a circuitous route through/around the boy scout camp, such that after 1.5 miles or so, you get to say “goodbye” to your crew again. This feature would prove downright cruel on the return. Still, races require photo-ops, and this was our one last opportunity to smile for our crews’ cameras. I lost track of Loopy and Spuds a little before 2 miles, and would only see them once more during the race. Shortly thereafter, the trail turned REALLY technical. Kind of like what Westwoods would be like if you removed all the mud and dirt, and left only the rocks and roots. Fortunately, it was pretty flat. Then the technical stopped, and the hills started. I shouted a guy back from a missed turn, making a deposit in the karma bank. We all suspected we would need our headlamps before the first aid station, and we definitely did. The first aid station, Falls Hollow, would be easy to skip, except that the next aid station was over nine hard miles away. I stopped to eat and drink, and moved on, quickly. The next section included a ridiculously steep gravel road ascent to the top of Elliot’s Knob. So steep you almost had to laugh, and wonder, about what the return trip would be like. I passed lots of runners hiking up the road, in stealth mode, with my headlamp off and the almost full moon illuminating the way. I shouted another guy back from another missed turn, and he corrected me. It was I who took a turn prematurely. There went my karma balance

After Elliot’s Knob, the stretch to the second aid station, Dry Branch Gap, was crazy. Mostly downhill, moderately steep, extremely “exposed”, and full of big loose rocks that slid, rolled, and clattered underfoot. I lost sight of most of my fellow runners, but was reminded of their presence by the sound of rock striking rock, knees striking rock, and expletives being shouted. I resolved then and there that I would not return over this section of trail alone. Ultra would have his pacing work cut out for him. I also believed that there was NO WAY the entire course could be this nasty, and I was right. Every so often, the bright and low moon would line up directly behind me, and I would wonder what “crazy reckless runner” would try to pass on this stretch of trail, not realizing it was the moon chasing me.  On the subject of “bright”, I found that I could not afford to save batteries. If I was going to find trail markers and stay upright, I needed my brighter lamp on the brightest setting.

Things got better after Dry Branch Gap, or seemed to. Maybe the trail did not get more tame, maybe it was the promise of seeing Bounce and Ultra at the next station, Dowells Draft, that made everything seem a little bit better. They moved me in and out pretty efficiently, as we had all learned at Wasatch that it is easy to waste too much time at aid stations, ESPECIALLY at crew stations! Besides, I was doing OK, hydrating, eating, keeping it all in, and my pace was dead-on. Oh yeah, about the pace thing…

OK, so, the stated goal was to finish. That plan evolved a little as race day approached. I gave my crew (with a little prodding from Loopy) my three goals, in a very particular order:

1) Finish. That was what mattered most.

2) Finish healthy. Healthy enough to leave me in adequate condition to run Mountain Masochist one month later.

3) (The “Loopy Challenge”) Finish fairly quickly, but NOT to put goals 1 or 2 at risk. What was “quickly”? Well, I had readily available accurate data for the splits to do 29 hours. I thought that was ridiculously fast, but the numbers were readily available, and I foolishly (but ultimately correctly) assumed a 29 hour run over those brutal 101.85 miles would be good enough to win my division.

So, 22 miles in and feeling OK and on pace, Bounce made the decision to manage me to my 29 hour goal, and Ultra would pace me to it.

On I went, while the trail went easy then hard, up then down, rocky then smooth. I encountered a runner in distress, but when I inquired as to whether I could help, he cheerfully replied that he was OK, “just a broken leg”, and not to worry, he would be fine. The next time I saw my crew was at North River Gap, mile 36. There was a roaring fire, and an empty chair, a dangerous combination. BUT, it was the “lucky chair”, transported all the way from Wasatch. Ultra had sat in it, and look how his race turned out, so what harm could there be? In truth, neither I, nor my crew can remember whether or not I sat. If I did, it was brief, and we are sure I did not sit anywhere else for the entire race. The next crew station would not be for another 30 miles, and it was still cold and dark, and it was hard to leave.

The hills got bigger, but the path grew smoother. I got to Reddish Knob, the high point on the course, just before sunrise. The view was priceless. Well, OK, it can be had for several hundred dollars and a few thousand miles of  training, but I digress. There were a couple of friendly-enough teenage boys hanging out there, verifying that we tagged the summit. Sadly, they could not absorb the “beauty all around them”, despite my stopping to explain it all to them. I asked for a cheeseburger at the base of the knob, but none were ready. I ordered one for the return trip, as I would be back at this station on the return trip, in about 7 miles. Bang. Just the thought of a cheeseburger triggered my classic ultra-gastrointestinal-response mechanism, and things went downhill from there, even as I climbed up.

The sun rose, and I was watching the lead runners come back at me, and I gave a shout out to Deb Livingston as she powered up a switchback on the road on her return trip. Soon, I caught up with my crew at the non-station where pacers may join. I told Ultra I needed him, NOW! He obliged and headed out on the short uphill to the turnaround with me. I think he was worried I was “keeping” him for the rest of the race. Little did he know, I wanted to save him for “the fun part” later. Bounce and Ultra continued to ply me with my favorite foods, and managed my eating / drinking / lubing / etc… One note to crews / runners… I kept asking about Loopy and Spuds, wanting to know how they were doing. I kept getting positive reports on Spuds, and little info. on Loopy. Even in my fatigued stupor, I KNEW that meant Loopy was struggling. “I am SLOW, but not STUPID” (That’s my mantra). Anyway, shame on me for asking, and I quickly got my head together and determined to run my own race, stay in the “here” and the “present”, and worry about everything else later and elsewhere. In short order, I crossed Spuds and Loopy (time out for a quick “hey” and a hug), then I got the full story from Ultra. Spuds was his typical unflappable self, but Loopy had gone through an exceptionally low point unusually early in the race. Fortunately, by time I had the whole story, it was obvious that Spuds was Spuds, and Loopy was back on track.

Ultra paced along with me for a while, and I came to a startling realization: I was having fun. No, really, like, really having fun. Despite my pain and distress, my pace was staying intact. For better or worse, I gained enormous confidence that I would finish. Similarly, I had a lot of faith that my fellow Bimblers would finish, and that the day would stay nice, and that I would be able to eat and drink, and that yes, the running, walking, eating, and drinking would be ENORMOUSLY difficult, and it would all end OK! So, at the next crew access station, North River Gap (mile 66), I told Ultra that while I appreciated his company, he could take a break. I also assured Bounce, who was fastidiously monitoring my intake and pace, that I was sticking to the master plan. Shortly thereafter, I met up with Joe From Maine. I don’t know that I have ever run for such a long distance with one other individual during a race. We talked a lot and the time flew by. Eventually, Joe seemed stronger, and my caloric challenges convinced me that I should slow down, so I sent Joe ahead, not wanting to slow him down. I did not believe I would see him again. I would find out later that not only would I see him again, but I had also seen him before!

As it turns out, Joe had REALLY picked up my pace. The plan was for Ultra to rejoin me at Dowells Draft, mile 80. This was the last crew station I could be confident of reaching before dark. Well, I ran into Dowells Draft about 1/2 hour ahead of the master plan. What to do? Push on, alone, into the soon to fall twilight? Sit around and wait for my crew, who might have suffered a mishap? I consulted with Anita Finkle, who was crewing her husband Jay. The Finkles are known to several Bimblers, and are all around great people. She offered me a caffeine supplement, which I desperately needed, and advised me to go on, alone. She also offered to fire Ultra and Bounce on my behalf, if they arrived before Jay departed I asked her to not do so, as I might need Ultra and Bounce later that night! I opted to press on alone. JUST as I was headed into the woods, I spotted my crew walking up the road. I jokingly displayed my shrugged shoulder, upraised palms look, the universal “WTF?” gesture, making sure to have a smirk on my face. I told Ultra, yet again without warning, “let’s go”. He bounded into the woods after me, without so much as a handheld bottle for gear!

Moments later, Jay Finkle caught up to me, and the three of us pressed on. Jay said that he was confident he would reach the crew station at mile 88, Dry Branch Gap, without a headlamp, and Ultra agreed that was a fine plan. And so, we did. After Dry Branch Gap, it grew cold and dark almost immediately. This was where I really needed Ultra, and he truly “shone” with his new 140 lumen toy. Bounce got me rigged up for the night, and I knew he would be waiting at Falls Hollow for any “home stretch” details. Once we got over the horrible rocky, scary, impossibly long uphill stretches, Ultra told me that I should “watch and learn” from Jay Finkle, that he (Jay) would fly on the downhills. I watched a lot and learned a little. Jay disappeared into the distance. Ultra and I pressed on in the lonely darkness. Soon, Ultra spotted a slightly confused and slightly lost runner ahead. It was Joe from Maine. A new gang of three was formed, and we pressed ahead. Ultra was key in sticking to the course, which Joe and I doubted at several times. The trip down the impossibly steep hill from Eliotts Knob was crazy, and I kept on looking/hoping for a turn on to a trail that went UP, or at least flat. Ultra correctly insisted that we keep slip-sliding down, down, down. The road flattened, and a “mile to go” sign appeared. Darn!  it was a mile to the aid station, not a mile to the finish! Joe fired up on the flat, and moved ahead. Ultra paced me from in front, trying to get me to speed up, but jogging the flat road seemed enough for me.

We moved through that last aid station quickly, with no complaint from Bounce. He declared me “on pace”, but I assured him and Ultra that the last section was BRUTAL. Impossibly steep hills, ridiculously dangerous footing, and an utter lack of trail markings, you name it. In retrospect, and after consultations with Ultra, it would appear that my recollections of that part of the course were slightly skewed by my soreness and fatigue. We caught back up with Joe from Maine, and headed uphill. The last 5 or 6 miles were basically an uphill stretch with good footing, a downhill stretch with fair footing, a flat stretch with lousy footing, and then the aforementioned wandering through the boy scout camp. Somewhere on the downhill, things really clicked for me. Ultra commented that I developed some sort of crazy gait that was neither walk nor run, but was definitely quick. I ran away from Ultra and Joe, but Ultra shouted at me to keep on going. I did. I came into the camp, and headed back out. Then, headed out to loop around the lake, I saw the “1 mile to go” sign. I had only 10 minutes to get my 29 hour finish. Could I really run a 10 minute mile, now? I flat out sprinted. I didn’t waste any time looking for course markings. I just trusted my feet to follow the most obvious path. I finally came to the dam, and had to climb down into the spillway, run across, then up the opposite side. Ouch!

Once over the dam, I could run, pretty fast. I came into the “chute” and it was very quiet. Bounce appeared, and Ultra too! He had taken a shortcut once I had left him. The finish was awesome, and gratifying, and FUN. I hugged the totem pole to make the finish official, and gratefully accepted my buckle from the RD (Clark Zealand). I IMMEDIEATELY asked for my Hellgate application, but was told David Horton had gone to bed. Before 11PM, in the middle (OK, closer to the end) of the race?

Bounce, wisely, headed to the tent to sleep. He knew he would be doing the bulk of the driving on Sunday. After calming down, and getting some post-race food with Ultra, I wandered through the woods to the showers. It took me forever to find them in the dark, and then it took forever to find my way back to the finish. Seriously, it must have been 1AM by time I got back there. I settled into a chair, wrapped my sleeping bag around me (it was COLD), and waited for Loopy and Spuds. I knew I would not miss them, because their crews would assemble before they appeared, right???? Well, almost. El Toro, wanting to finish with Loopy and SouperGirl, ran right past me sitting there and I did not even see him, nor him me. So, of course, despite my waiting there forever, it was at the EXACT moment that I entered the building for a cup of coffee that Loopy crossed the line! I was back outside before she hugged the pole. I eventually guided her to the showers (getting lost, again), then we both settled in to wait for Spuds, while El Toro and SouperGirl headed to sleep. The wait for Spuds, with Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head, and eventually Ultra, was not long. What an awesome feeling to have all three of us over the line.

Spuds and company headed off to their luxurious lodgings while Loopy and I hobbled back to the tent, hoping to not wake Ultra and Bounce. Moments (hours?) later, it was time for breakfast, awards, etc… It turned out that, just as I had dared to hope, my 29 hours was good enough for a division “first”.

The bottom line… This race was BIG fun. Why? Well, because it was hard. Crazy hard. Like, so hard you just had to laugh at it, and realize that there would be no shame in not finishing, which removed all the pressure. Why? Because of the company. Loopy,  Spuds,  Bounce,  Ultra,  Chipper,  El Toro,  SouperGirl,  Mr. & Mrs. Potato Head.  How could this NOT be a fun weekend? Why? Because if a little bit of sleep-deprived silliness is fun, imagine TWO nights without sleep, back-to-back. Things get REALLY strange! Why? Because we all “won”, meaning we get to go to MMTR, and continue the Beast-Quest. WOOHOO!

Now by the brook the maple leans
With all his glory spread,
And all the sumachs on the hills
Have turned their green to red.

Now by great marshes wrapt in mist,
Or past some river's mouth,
Throughout the long, still autumn day
Wild birds are flying south. 

William Wilfred Campbell

Mark Twain

~ Forrest

This is the official photo of the “Winning Grindstone Ladies”:

Left to right: Deb Livingston, Kerry Owens, Zsusanna Carlson, LOOPY! (absent from photo: Yukiko Nishide)

Ryunosuke Satoro