Race to the Taps at the Oskar Blues Brewery

Breweries have become popular venues for road races in recent years, and today's 5-mile race at the Oskar Blues Brewery was a good reason why:  good organization, a good band, a food truck serving excellent post-race food, and of course the free beer at the finish line (although some of us joked at the starting line that the $38.00 entry fee - no shirt option - would make this the most expensive beer we every bought.)  This was the third in a series of five-mile races at breweries in the area and it makes me want to run another one.

The Race Director announced at the start of the race that most of it would take place on the Brevard Greenway, a scenic, paved route directly behind the Brewery that connects downtown Brevard to Pisgah National Forest; but he also said that there would be two departures from the Greenway into residential neighborhoods where there would be "short" hills.  So, in the same way veteran runners know what they are likely to expect on what a Race Director describes as a "gently rolling course," we knew we should expect some formidable changes in elevation.  The course profile for races like this can be a little deceptive; the website showed a profile that looked nearly flat, with a few harmless bumps along the way:

It seemed to some of us that a more accurately rendered profile might have looked like this (it's just a matter of perspective, after all, lengthening the Y-axis to a realistic height):

But no matter; I train on hills every day.  And we all have to run the same course (which sounds philosophical, after all).  The course was indeed beautiful, and shortly after the Start we entered the Greenway itself, which was smoothly paved, following a little stream and going around a field of grass and wildflowers.  Then we came out along US-64, and after a short section of sidewalk, dodging cracks and low overhanging branches, we were out on residential streets.  We began to climb up a long, curving, seemingly unending hill that became steeper as we neared the summit.  Accustomed to climbing Big Bearpen, I was gratified to pass several younger runners on the slopes of this first hill.  A sudden descent led the way back to the Greenway, and then off into another neighborhood where the second hill loomed before us, sudden and substantial, slowing all of us almost without exception to a walk.  I walked fast, swinging my arms, and then began running hard again just before the crest of the hill, knowing it was downhill for the last mile and a half.

And that's when the race became truly exhilarating to me.  I had been following a much younger man for a mile or two, a man in a bright blue shirt and shorts, and I had managed to stay close behind, imagining that he was pulling me along with him.  We passed the four mile split and I stayed with him as we retraced our route, returning to the Greenway.  I pulled a little closer, and then I watched him falter a little.  Gathering my resources just 10 feet behind him, I suddenly powered on by decisively, the only way to pass someone in a race.  And then I did not look back.  Ahead of me were two young women, and I passed the first in the same way, and the second one, and I could see the tall towers of the Brewery approaching.  I did not relent, and I crossed the finish line in a surprising finish time 52:12, faster than I would have thought possible considering those two long hills.  I was pleased to find that I had run my final mile in 9:06, my fastest mile and much faster than my interval pace in recent training.  I went over to the man in bright blue, shook his hand, and said I had stayed behind him the whole race and he had really set a good pace.

So this is what makes racing interesting, no matter what the distance.  Not just the competition, the camaraderie and joking along the way, the gorgeous scenery, the suffering together as we climbed those long hills under the shade of big maple trees.  It is that crucial point during the race when suddenly everything comes alive, that point when, reduced to a walk, a runner will start moving fast again.  It is that moment, that spark, that motivation, that desire to start racing again.  When we dig deep and we find that we are stronger than we think we are. 

And of course, there is the finish line, the glorious arch and the digital clock, the final few steps, someone handing you a water bottle, and the sweet feeling of walking again after all of one's strength has been measured out and there is nothing left.  I wandered around a little and Martha came over to congratulate me.  What a wonderful, peaceful, satisfied feeling, to have done your best!

Giving Birth, Moving, Marrying, and Dying

We are teetering on the very brink of fall these last days in September.  Although the autumnal equinox occurred yesterday at 4:02 p.m., it still feels like summer.  Afternoon thundershowers continue to pop up, and the humidity hangs in Clear Creek Valley just as it does during the summer.

And yet the leaves are hurrying down from our big poplar tree, piling up in the yard, completely covering the driveway and the car.  Walking and running, there is a fragrance in the air as if someone is baking spiced cookies - that wonderful aroma of fallen leaves.

Today I capped off my half marathon training with another 12-mile run, circling round and round through familiar neighborhoods, almost entirely by myself.  It seemed more difficult than two weeks ago, partly due to the humidity; I was drenched in sweat after the first three miles and stopped at every drinking fountain I could find.  But it was lovely and fragrant in the shade, one of those days when thoughts seem to take wing and solitude seems like a precious gift.

On the eastern shore of Harris Lake, someone had erected a small white tent, square and with a big bunch of white balloons tied to one of the posts.  I had never seen a wedding here before, but sure enough, as I passed this same place many times, cars began to park on the shoulder of the road and well-dressed folks began to arrive for the nuptials.  I thought I heard music as I approached from around the bend on my last loop, but I must have missed the bridge and groom.  What a perfect day and place for a wedding! - not a breath of wind stirring the surface of the lake, and at one point it looked as if the ducks were all keeping a respectful distance, out on the water facing the tent, watching this ritual of promise and hope.

On my next loop, I heard our friend Lee's loud cheerful voice, laughing and talking to a woman in the driveway of that new house just this side of Satulah Ridge Road; I thought she was saying something about giving birth and dying.  I circled back and called out, "All right, I have to hear these words of wisdom.  What was that about dying and giving birth?"

Lee laughed.  "Three things you have to do in this life:  give birth, move, and die.  I'm helping my friend move!"

So I continued on, circling Harris Lake one more time, here in the morning shade, moving and watching the ducks and the vacated marriage tent, shuffling my feet a little in the leaves by the side of the road, on this glorious Saturday in Highlands.

Indian Summer

A week has passed since my last post and cleanup from Irma has been completed on our property, after a long day of picking up branches on Friday but thankfully no other damage.  Trucks continue to haul brush down the Walhalla Road to the landfill every day, however, and all over Town we can hear the sound of chainsaws blending in with the usual early-fall leaf-blowers.   Most of the trees that were destroyed seem to be hardwoods - maples and oaks - so pickup trucks are also busy loading up the sudden unexpected bounty of firewood.  I joined in by cutting several three-foot long segments of a big white oak limb that providentially appeared below our property, destined for shiitake-mushroom inoculation in the spring now that our old mushroom logs seem to have finally played out.

It has turned unusually warm and summer-like - Indian Summer, although it may not be technically correct to call it that because fall will not arrive until tomorrow.  The ear protection and gloves dug from the running-clothes cupboard a couple of weeks ago are back in the cupboard again, and the mornings have been humid; beautiful diagonal curtains fall across the road.

It was in the 80s on Sunday, and in the upper 70s yesterday, so warm that thunder announced the surprising arrival of an afternoon thunderstorm yesterday and today.  We were looking out our western windows yesterday, Martha in her upstairs office and I in my downstairs study, when the wind sprung up and leaves began swirling down madly from the big tulip poplar in the front yard, a sudden flurry of yellow and brown leaves, perhaps weakened by the hurricane and letting go earlier than usual.

My friend Anne posted this photo of the trees along Fifth Street at the Presbyterian Church and said that they were always her gauge of approaching fall; this year they seemed to change overnight.

Now that the magnificent red maple on the Walhalla Road at Mitchell's Motel has been toppled by Irma, my own gauge is these burning bushes across from the Lakeside Restaurant - so gorgeous!

It is an almost unsettling time of year, this little break between the seasons, as if we were trying to go from one classroom to another across some campus in nature, still remembering the lessons of the last seminar while we walk briskly toward the next lesson we will learn.

Hurricane Recovery

The power remained on all night and the roads seemed to have been cleared even more thoroughly, so I decided to go up to Highlands for a run this morning, my first since Saturday.  The plan had been to complete six easy miles, but since I had not run in four days I decided to do my speed workout of mile repeats.  I did not know what to expect on my usual running route in the Harris Lake area.

There were big trees down everywhere, but D.O.T. crews were out working on Highway 28 and when I reached Highlands the Town Street Department and Electric Department were in full recovery mode, including several contract electric crews brought in to help and lined up on Main Street to get an early start.  When I was Town Administrator, I used to help supervise this effort, and I have never failed to appreciate how hard these men work to open up the roads and restore power.  I still know these guys well, and I know that setting new poles and hanging new power lines is slow, patient, careful work; but our linemen are the very best, and safety is a habit bred in them over the long years of working with high voltage.

Fifth Street, Chestnut Street, and Sixth Street were all littered with fresh green leaves, a peculiar pungent fragrance unlike that of leaves that naturally fall in the autumn.  I was able to make pretty good progress, so I decided to try the first fast mile.  All was going well until I rounded the corner on Leonard Street and was greeted with this carnage. 

I knew these were telephone lines and not live wires, so I hopped over them and tried to stay on pace.  But farther along it was even worse.

Ducking under cables while running a fast mile was proving more and more difficult!  And then I climbed the hill at Satulah Ridge Road and was stopped by a roadblock of flashing lights, Street Department dump trucks, and power trucks installing a new pole.  I waved at them, smiled, and turned back, feeling a little ashamed that they were doing hard skilled labor while I was merely running. 

I decided to get out of the way of working men and change my plan to running some half-mile repeats - Yassos - which could be completed in relative safety on the same stretch of road I had just covered, hopping and ducking, but still staying on pace.  And then I cooled down by circling through Town, down Main Street, where it looked like most of the lights were on and commercial businesses open.  Vicki was out running, and we ran the last half-mile together; and Anne and John, still without power at Highlands Manor due to a huge fallen tree, were returning to their dark home.

On the way home I was saddened to see the big red maple at the driveway to Mitchell's Motel, which had stood there as long as I could remember, fallen in battle; it was always one of the first trees to turn red, a harbinger of fall.  But it will rise no more.

I saw only some minor structural damage, though, and I know that hard work will restore power to the area in another day or two.  We can be grateful that this storm spent most of its terrible fury in Florida, but there was enough remaining to be humbled by its power.

"Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage, blow!

You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout

Till you have drenched our steeples . . ."

 - King Lear

Hurricane Damage

There was no running today.  All night, the wind blew and the fine hurricane rain sizzled against the windows.  We were worried about our neighbor making it home last night; she had texted saying that she was delayed in Town and the road was impassable - meanwhile, someone had posted this photo on Facebook of Highway 28:

But first responders were out, as well as ordinary people, men with pickup trucks and chainsaws who delight in clearing these roads.  It is wonderful how everybody pitches in when storms like this strike!  I have done some of that work myself in the past, and it is very satisfying to free up a road or a driveway, to join in the general effort, to do just a little to help the recovery.  Our neighbor, to our great relief, finally rolled into her driveway at dusk, and shortly after that our lights blinked three times and then went out, suddenly and completely, and there was darkness and silence.  I went down to the basement and dragged the generator out and cranked it up, and we had power for awhile, and a comforting gas fire to sit in front of all night.

This morning we realized that our land-line phone was also dead, so even with the generator running we had no cell-phone service either.  So we decided to drive to Clayton to see if we could find more gas for the generator, charge out phones, and check in on friends and family.  The road was littered with down trees and limbs, but a lane had been cleared all the way down to the Warwoman Road, where we finally encountered a sizable tree across the road which looked like it might barely scrape the top of our Honda CRV.  So we turned around and went south on 28 to Walhalla instead.

So this is how my long-suffering wife spent her birthday.  There were some rueful comments made as we headed home on Highway 28, but we were both grateful that the damage overnight had been minimal - just many, many tree limbs down on our property - and that we were well-provisioned.  I cranked up the generator again, and in a little while Martha noticed that our neighbor's light over the garage was on.  Disconnecting the generator and turning on the main breaker, we were rewarded with one of the sweetest sounds imaginable after 24 hours without power:  the simultanelus beeping of clocks, the whooshing of the furnace, the loud humming of the refrigerator.  Power.

It is good to be without, from time to time, and I know and admire those who want to be disconnected from the grid all the time.  But I do enjoy the simple pleasures of life with electricity:  a reading light, a computer, a stove that works, and warm water coming out of the faucet.  Our hearts go out to those in Florida and South Georgia who will not have these things for many more days, and for the many who have lost everything.

Hoping for the Best

I had scheduled a six-mile easy run for this morning, but Hurricane Irma is already making its presence felt in light rain and increasingly-strong breezes that seem tropically warm for September. Although it has been "downgraded" from a hurricane to a mere tropical storm, we are nevertheless expecting up to three inches of rain and wind gusts of up to 50 mph in the next 48 hours.  We are expecting power outages, too; but the main concern is falling trees in the saturated soil and heavy winds, especially that big white pine across the road on our neighbor's property that seems to list to one side a little farther each year.

So instead of running I am in storm preparation mode this morning, battening down the hatches and taking advantage of the power which despite some minor flickering is still with us.  The Mini is safely stowed in Anne's parking place under her condo.  The rain barrel is full, and there is a full bucket of toilet-flushing water in each bathtub.  Batteries, drinking water, gasoline for the generator - check, check, check.  We go down the list, preparing for the worst, hoping for the best. 

The images coming out of Florida are terrible to see:  trailer parks scattered to the winds, flooded buildings, cars flipped on their sides.  I am thankful that our home is 2,650 feet above sea level and is well-constructed, and that this storm is weakening as it makes it way slowly across Georgia, where the Governor has declared a State of Emergency in all 159 counties. 

So running will have to take a back seat for a couple of days until this orange-yellow-green-blue monster pin-wheeling across the Southeast has moved northward.

Hurricane Irma

It is hard to believe that a mere week ago, August 31, I posted a blog entry about Hurricane Harvey.  Scenes of devastation continue to appear on the nightly news; it will be a long recovery for the people affected, especially the 80% who had no flood insurance.  While those images are still before us, and even as trucks from Highlands filled with pallets of bottled water and other supplies are on the way to Texas, Hurricane Irma has suddenly materialized and is heading toward the East Coast. 

"The most powerful Atlantic Ocean hurricane in recorded history has killed at least 10 people across a number of Caribbean islands as it tore through the region," national news reported.  "Florida is on high alert and has ordered evacuations, while the Carolinas and Georgia have also declared emergencies."  I have to believe that only a fool could deny that Global Climate Change is a factor in these storms, which carry more water and have stronger winds every year, exactly as scientists have predicted (while our unbelievably incompetent President pulled the U.S. out of the Paris Agreement on climate change earlier this year).  But that is another story.  Now is the time for sending donations to the flood victims in Texas and preparing for Florida to take a hit more devastating than Andrew in 1992.  And it is the talk of the Town, in the Post Office and at the hardware store, as friends ask friends, "Do you have any friends down there?  Have they gotten out yet?"

The projected path of Irma began as squiggles on a map that extended as far west as the Gulf and as far east and north as Virginia.  With each day, the different models have slowly narrowed into meteorological agreement, and it looks as if even Highlands will be affected, leaving us with plenty of rain as the storm weakens over land.  We are indeed fortunate to live so far away from the Ocean.

I had a lot of nervous energy to burn off this morning, coming straight to Town from a computer screen filled with images of howling winds and frond-less palm trees, huge lakes dotted with the roofs of submerged cars, death tolls climbing.  Four half-mile repeats, all of them faster than planned.  And a long run planned for Saturday, before the rains arrive on Monday and Tuesday.  It seems as if hard running makes it easier to accept these extremes of weather that are always with us.  

It has turned colder in Highlands - 45 degrees this morning - and I had to dig deep in the laundry room cupboard for gloves and ear covers, the first time since late last winter.  The leaves are beginning to turn, fall is upon us, and hurricanes are approaching relentlessly.

Bear Left

Today was not the first time I have encountered a bear while running in Highlands, but it is the closest encounter I have had.  And I have never failed to be completely surprised.

My mind was a hundred miles away as I was logging the final mile of my Saturday long run, remembering all of the times I have run on this familiar stretch of road.  I was by myself, coming around that curve below Satulah Ridge Road, heading downhill toward the School.  My Mom used to live in that little house on the right, and I often think of her when I run by.  There is a driveway on the left, and as I passed it I suddenly saw him on my left, right at the foot of the driveway, probably as startled at a runner going by as I was by him, and so close I could have reached out and touched him.

My immediate thought is always, "Wow, that's a big dog!" followed instantaneously by the understanding that it is not.  Because it is so completely unexpected, here on this familiar road, which also happens to be the second mile of the Twilight 5-K course - what a surprise some of those runners would have had two weeks ago if they had encountered this bear!  It might have made for some faster finish times.  I hurried down the hill, watching him over my shoulder as he came out of the driveway and began walking down the middle of the road behind me, and then crossed it and disappeared.

"What's up?"  A man had been emptying his trash next to Debbie's house and was watching me standing in the road gawking.  "A bear, just up there!"  He had never seen a bear before and was a little surprised.  But by then he was gone, melted silently into the rhododendron, and a pair of walkers with two dogs on leashes were walking down the hill; I would have thought those dogs might have seen or smelled him.  "It's pretty special, isn't it, living in a place where bears are right here among us," I told the man.  "And also a little intimidating!"  He agreed.

And now, naturally, every time I pass that driveway I will expect to see a large, powerful, unpredictable animal standing there, reminding me that I am but a recent immigrant to this wild country.