Cades Cove

For the second year in a row, Martha and I organized a trip to Cades Cove.  This adventure began 24 years ago on August 19, 2000.  I was training for a half marathon in September and a marathon in December, and I remember that the idea of a training run in Cades Cove in the Great Smoky Mountains occurred to me.  An eleven-mile one-way loop road circles the Cove and passes by historic cabins, barns, and churches.  I was running one day with our friend Anthony and mentioned it to him, and he enthusiastically replied that he had always wanted to run there.  So we organized the very first trip that year, and since then I have run the loop fourteen times with many different groups of runners and friends, including Martha.  I have photos going almost all the way back, and it is enjoyable (and also sobering) to look at them.  We were all so much younger back then!  And some of us, like Jim and Richard, have passed away.

The loop road used to be closed to traffic on Wednesdays and Saturdays only until 10:00 a.m. during the summer, meaning that we would have to start early and hope to complete it before the steady stream of cars and trucks were released and caught up to us with their radios blaring and cigarette smoke billowing, frightening all the wildlife and taking over the road from walkers, runners, and cyclists.  Now it is closed all day, which makes it much more welcoming.  This year, we had more walkers than runners – Anthony and I were the only runners – and three of the others had either never been to the Cove or had not been for a very long time.  We were able to start at the more reasonable hour of 9:00 a.m., and the walkers, one of them pushing a little dog in a stroller who did not finish until 1:30 p.m., did not feel a bit hurried.

Martha heroically volunteered to prepare spaghetti and marinara sauce, a delicious salad, and garlic bread, all of it miraculously produced on the tiny stove in our cabin; others were asked to bring desserts, and everybody stayed at the Gateway Inn in Townsend as we did last year.  It rained most of the way over the Smoky Mountains, but we were all hopeful that it would clear by morning.  Eleven of us gathered under the pavilion in the rain and enjoyed “carbo-loading” and good fellowship on Tuesday night.

 
I think I was the first to awake on Wednesday morning at 5:00 a.m., and I was elated to discover that the rain had indeed cleared off.  And what a beautiful day it turned out to be!

There were fields of goldenrod, low clouds drifting across the Cove, and dozens of other people out walking, running, or riding bikes, all enjoying this magical place.  We saw deer, wild turkeys, and several bears, including this cub scurrying up a tree. 

The overcast skies kept the temperature down, and on the second half of the loop patches of blue sky and even a little sunshine began to appear.  I passed Anthony several times along the way because I was taking walking breaks and he was taking “talking” breaks – Anthony has famously said in reply to the question, Are we going to run or talk about it?  “Why can’t we do both?”  He has never met a stranger.

All of us eventually showed up at the Peaceful Side Social in Townsend by mid-afternoon, where we enjoyed pizza, beer, and more fellowship.  And in the evening (after some naps, I suspect), most of us gathered around the firepit at the Gateway Inn and enjoyed snacks, desserts, and more beer and wine as the sun set in the west.  At the end of the day, most of the walkers had gone farther than they had expected they could, so they all felt a sense of accomplishment.  As for myself, I completed an estimated twelve miles, as far as I have run in five years according to my records.

Such a wonderful day, with good friends, in one of the most beautiful places on earth!  We are truly blessed.

Twilight 5-K

We have missed our “Home Town” race for several years now due to traveling in August, but despite not feeling my best this week I decided early on Saturday morning to sign up.  After all, the course is the one I train on nearly every day – that steep hill at the end of Sixth Street is where I do my hill repeats and that quarter-mile over on Leonard is where I do my 400-meter intervals.  I know it as intimately as my back yard.

The last time I ran the Twilight 5-K was six years ago in 2018, when I took home a third place trophy in my age group in a time of 32:35.  Race Director Derek Taylor and the Rotary Club of Highlands have done a great job of building up the race; this year over 250 runners and walkers signed up and 201 finished.  It had been an unsettled day with clouds building up in the west, and two of the weather apps on my phone showed rain at 6:00 p.m., which was the starting time.  Thunderstorms are always a problem this time of year for evening races, but the radar showed severe weather on the way, red and orange bands approaching Highlands.  Derek seemed pretty relaxed about it, though, despite having to cancel a race a few years ago because of the weather.  It was raining lightly when we started, and it picked up throughout the race, but the severe weather never materialized and most of us enjoyed the cooling effect.

I had forgotten how much fun it is to run with so many friends and fellow-runners.  Karen was there – I run with her most Saturdays – and she brought a friend.  85-year-old Fred, my inspiration and sometimes running partner, was there, too, and 82-year old Glenda; I have run marathons with both of them.  There were plenty of children and walkers – a real community event, although some competitive runners from out of town were also there.  I had not been feeling well, as I said – I had even taken a Covid test on Friday because there have been a lot of cases locally.  I suppose it was the recent heat and humidity.  And getting old.  But those are not good excuses; I have run in hotter and more humid and much rainier conditions.  But I felt better and better as I went along, my only goal not to stop and walk, and knowing the course so well was an advantage.

Just before we reached the first mile, 16-year-old Timmy McDowell passed us going in the opposite direction, right behind the lead police car.  This young man has great potential - I ran the Waynesville Main Street Mile with him two years ago where I think he took first place, as he did tonight, finishing in 18:58.  I chatted with other runners and walkers along the way; one group of young women was walking so fast that we were about the same pace.  And all along the way, there were words of encouragement from all the Rotary volunteers directing traffic, most of them familiar faces.  I crossed the finish line in 46:39, one of my slowest times ever, and I did not place in my age group.  But was I disappointed?  Did I have a good race?   

Of course I did, I reflected, as I sipped a cold IPA under the tent at the finish (always an appreciated plus in a race), talking to Karen and Fred and Glenda and other friends.  I had told that group of women earlier in the race that my Mom would ask me, when I returned from a marathon, if I had “won.”  And of course I had!  I had crossed the finish line, as I did tonight - race number 218.

Firecracker 5-K & 45th Anniversary

Every race I run these days seems to be slower than the one before, and this fact was never more apparent than in my running of the Firecracker 5-K in Bryson City on the Fourth of July.  I have run this relatively easy course seven times over the years, with various running friends, and watched my finish times plummet every year.  And since I am an obsessive runner and have been recording my races on a spreadsheet for 216 races, I can share the dismal reality: 

2004            22:10            2nd Place
2007            22:30
2009            23:01            3rd Place
2010            23:44            2nd Place
2012            25:23
2013            26:16
2018            32:37

I told Martha – whose training has not been going well and who wisely decided not to run this race – that my only goal this year was to beat my time in 2004 . . . times two.

The traditional pasta loading took place at Anthony’s – a child’s portion of plain spaghetti with marinara for me, hold the meatballs.  Our Cherokee waitress had a tattoo over her right eyelid that read Relentless.  As always, we asked her about it, and she sat down and told us her story.  She had struggled with mental health for a long time, she said, and finally gotten through it.  “When you’re at the very bottom there is only one way to go,” she said, and she raised two thumbs.  Congratulations to this courageous woman!  And a good word to remember the night before a race.

We spent the night in the Stonebrook Lodge in Bryson City, probably the nicest hotel in that city these days and only a half-mile from the starting line.  I set the alarm for 5:00 a.m. and woke a half-hour before then, which is what usually happens on race mornings.  I know I am no longer a competitive runner, but still it is satisfying to go through the same familiar preparations that I have for many, many races over the years, from one-mile runs to marathons:  the careful pre-race breakfast, the appropriate clothes laid out the night before, dressing and going outside to “check conditions” a few minutes before run-walking to the starting line.  It was warm and humid, but not as bad as it would have been had I chosen to run the Peachtree Road Race in Atlanta.  Our friend Anthony reported that the Atlanta Track Club had gone to a “Black Flag” warning due to dangerous heat and humidity and had suspended the race.

I had not pre-registered, which in past years meant you would be given a paper form to complete and hand in your registration fee, at which point a race volunteer would enter the data on a laptop and give you your race bib while you warmed up.  But this morning I realized I was in the digital age when I was directed to one of three laptops and asked to enter said data myself.  I did not have my reading glasses with me (another handicap we aging runners face) but I managed to squint at the tiny screen as I completed data entry instead of warming up on race morning; with the help of a volunteer I managed to register and finally obtain my precious race bib . . . one minutes before the 8:00 a.m. start of the race.

I sprinted to the race start, where 300 other runners who had sensibly pre-registered were already gathered, found a place toward the rear of the pack, and then found myself waiting for another fifteen minutes for the race to start, delayed I suppose by runners like myself trying to negotiate the race laptops.  Suddenly, following the usual inaudible instructions of the race director through a bullhorn, those of us in the back of the pack noticed that everybody up front was moving forward.  The race had started, as T. S Eliot would have said, not with a bang but a whimper.

And they’re off!  It was relatively cool despite the humidity, and the course is a beautiful one, going by the Great Smoky Mountain Railway and then out of town, up one side of Deep Creek and then back on the other side.  A woman was out lazily watering her flowers, and there were picturesque kudzu topiary statues everywhere.  My goal was merely not to walk, to keep up what you might call a relentless pace.  I realized once again how satisfying it is for an old runner like me to find myself passing younger, inexperienced runners, the kind who sprint a hundred meters, and then gasp for air and walk before sprinting again.  Surprised faces said, Look at that old guy passing me!  I had the usual fun, laughing with fellow runners and meeting fast friends who I would never see again, like that blond mother of three with two other little ones in tow who kept urging her little herd of five to catch me again and again (she finally did), and that young man in red whose Dad was trying to urge him forward (“All right, we’ll walk to that white truck and then start running again!”), and that young women whose mother kept telling her to believe in herself, because she believed in her, she only had to believe in herself.  It can be a very instructive thing to run your first race, and I was glad to be a part of all of the other encouragers out on the road this Fourth of July morning.  “You can do it!” I confidently said in a quiet voice, as I passed her yet again.  And she did, just before the finish.  And perhaps she will go on to run other races, to go on other adventures, to continue to believe in herself.

It was pretty hot by the time the finish line appeared, and I was happy with a time of 43:22, which I realized was indeed faster than my time twenty years ago . . . times two.  Martha was waiting at the finish, and after chatting with some of the finishers, including one old friend from Franklin I had known for over 30 years, we made our way back to the hotel through a street full of crafters just setting up for the crafts fair that day.

Today’s race marked the beginning of a weekend at Snowbird Mountain Lodge to celebrate our 45^th anniversary.  It is a special place not far from Bryson City at the beginning of the Cherohala Skyway, and this would be our fifteenth anniversary we have celebrated there since our first time in 2003.  The former Innkeeper has retired and it has been bought out by a corporation, and although it has retained much its beauty and charm we noticed that his personal touch was missing in some of the details.  But it has been a quiet sanctuary for us over the years, and we savored once again the natural beauty, the rocking chairs, the delicious food and drink, and its proximity to nearby places that we have loved to visit over the years (plus some new places), like Joyce Kilmer Memorial Forest, the Cherohala Skyway, the famous “Tail of the Dragon,” Fontana Village, a mead tasting at Wehrloom Honey, a Lavender Farm, and the Historic Tapoco Lodge, all of which we managed to fit in at one time or another over the next three days. 

 

 

A special adventure this year that Martha had discovered was the Andrews Valley Rail Tour in nearby Andrews, where we pedaled our way on a section of railway track through rural countryside and then up into deep woods, crossing several old trestles and finally through a tunnel that had been hand-chiseled through solid rock. It was great fun, and we picnicked on the other side of the tunnel with the lunch that Snowbird provides all of its guests, just making it back in time to avoid a sudden early-afternoon thunderstorm by sheltering in Snowbird Mountain Brewery across the street from the depot.  The pedaling was a good way to shake out tired legs from the race the day before, and the cold IPA was welcome medicine as well. 

 

Our stay at Snowbird was highlighted by dinner on the terrace, good wine, a competitive game of scrabble at a table in the bar, a Fourth of July barbecue, and on the night of our final stay live bluegrass music by the exceptional Carolina Bluegrass Boys, who played until it grew so dark they could no longer see their instruments.  We enjoyed their easy-going, witty repartee as much as their music, and among the many things we learned was the difference between a mandolin player and a large pizza (a large pizza can feed a family of four).  It occurred to us once again (we have heard bluegrass at Snowbird in past years) that this was the only way to truly enjoy bluegrass, outside on a terrace with the band gathered no farther than ten feet away.

A race, a visit to Snowbird Mountain Lodge and environs, and some special time spent with my lovely and adventurous wife:  a good way to celebrate 45 years of marriage.  And on Saturday morning, we did not forget another tradition that we have celebrated on every anniversary spent here by walking out to the nearby overlook at Sunrise Point and ringing the huge gong there 45 times, one for every precious year of marriage, the deep resonant sound echoing out over Lake Santeetlah and into the valley below.

Mills River Brewing 5-K

We have always liked Mills River, a rural area that we often drive through between Brevard and Asheville.  Aside from its scenic beauty, it also boasts five breweries within a mile or two of one another – Sierra Nevada, Burning Blush, Bold Rock, Appalachian Mountain, and Mills River Brewery – and we had learned there was a 5-K race at the last-named establishment.  Beautiful scenery (that we remembered as being relatively flat), a 10:00 a.m. start time, and a brewery with free beer at the finish – what more could a runner ask for?  The upbeat website promised a fun time for all:

Join us for an exhilarating day of fitness and fun at the Mills River Brewery annual 5-K Race and Family Fun Run!  Whether you’re a seasoned runner aiming for a new personal record or a family looking for a lively and healthy way to spend the day together, this event is perfect for all ages and abilities.  Set in a beautiful, community-friendly location, our 5K race offers a well-marked, scenic course suitable for competitive runners, while the Family Fun Run provides a relaxed and joyful atmosphere for families and children to jog, walk, or even skip their way to the finish line.  Enjoy a day filled with energy, laughter, and the spirit of community as we come together to celebrate fitness, family, and fun!

Martha was not sure she wanted to run this race due to an injured hamstring, and when we arrived and she had walked a few steps, she confirmed that it would be a mistake.  It was a perfect Spring day for a race, overcast, temperatures in the 60s, and as expected there were many children and dogs in attendance. 

I lined up with about 200 other runners on a gravel road adjacent to a large grass field, and when the race started I was relieved when we quickly turned onto paved roads – I do not do well on uneven terrain.  The route climbed uphill (my memory of “relative” flatness had been faulty), turned right, climbed uphill some more, and then turned right and continued to climb, about a mile of uphill running in all, before turning and going back downhill.  When I checked my Garmin watch after the race, I discovered that the course had 142 feet of ascent compared to 148 feet of ascent at our last race in Easley (see previous post). 

The course was a beautiful one, though, with brilliant freshly-mowed grass all around and azaleas and dogwoods blooming.  A light, misty rain came and went, cooling us off just when it was needed, and I enjoyed the fragrance of the flowering trees and grass.  And I really can’t complain about hills – I run them all the time in Highlands.  But I was a little put off by the last half-mile, which was a long loop around those large grass fields.

At least the grass had been recently mowed, and here and there someone had marked holes with an “X” in white paint.  Most of the runners (except for we “seasoned” and “competitive” runners) were walking at that point, as if out for a morning stroll.  I was happy with my time of 44:22, a little faster than my last race, and proud that I did not stop to walk the steeper hills as many others did.

I didn’t see anyone exactly skipping their way to the finish line, but it was a fun family event, with plenty of small children participating in the Fun Run.  One little boy in the restroom afterward asked me earnestly, “Did you do the Fun Run?”  I guess I didn’t looked seasoned or competitive at that point. “No, I ran the other race.  How did you do?” I asked him.  “I didn’t stop once!” he proudly announced.  “Good for you,” I said.  “You’ll be running the big race next year!”

The Brewery had plenty of picnic tables scattered out behind the building under tall trees, and we settled down with a very good IPA and waited for the awards, where I learned that I had taken third place in the 70-79 age group.  It was indeed a fun, family event.  And another good race - No. 216!

Pint Station 5-K

We signed up for the Pint Station 5-K in Easley SC a long time ago; it’s always good to have a race on the horizon.  The start time was 10:00 a.m. and it was only a 90-minute drive from Highlands, so it only required us to set the alarm for 5:00 to prepare.  That may seem early, but I can remember setting the alarm for 4:00 and even 3:00 for big races with 7:00 starts.  10:00 a.m. is a civilized hour.

Easley is a pretty little city which we have visited only a couple of times in the past, mostly to eat lunch at The Shuckin' Shack Oyster Bar, part of a small chain of restaurants, one of which we used to enjoy in Morehead City before they closed.  The plan was to run the race and then enjoy seafood and beer afterward, and it sounded like an excellent plan.  We arrived in plenty of time to pick up our race packets at the Pint Station, a tap room just down the street from the restaurant, and warm up a little before the start.  I found a nice park nearby with a gazebo and a fountain, the perfect place for pre-race Tai Chi.

For some reason, I had formed the impression that this race would be flat.  There is a railroad that runs parallel to Main Street (and railroad lines are invariably flat), and visiting here in the past we had not noticed many hills.  We could not have been more wrong, we soon learned.  Nearly 500 runners, many dressed in festive green St. Patrick’s Day attire, started off on Main Street, ran just a block or so, and then abruptly turned down a steep hill.  From that low point, the course turned right, then right again, to finish on Main Street, and at every turn we seemed to climb uphill.  I kept thinking, at some point we are bound to start going downhill to the finish, but through some mysterious quirk of physics it never did.  To make things more difficult, the last mile or so was on sidewalks, and the last quarter mile was on crowded sidewalks thronged with onlookers in front of the Shuckin' Shack and the Pint Station.

Martha had been walking on the treadmill in Atlantic Beach but had not logged many miles out on the roads as often as she would have liked.  To add insult to injury (or perhaps injury to insult), just a block from the finish line a small dog on the end of a long leash held by a careless woman ran out in front of her and tripped her, and she fell hard on the street.  She was helped up by a volunteer and finished anyway, but I am sure it affected her finish time.  Readers of this blog can see her bloodied knees in the photos if they look closely.  Nevertheless, and despite her protestations before the race that she might walk the entire course instead of running, she finished in a time of 38:33, first place in her age group.  I finished in 44:59 and waited at the finish for her to cross the line until I spotted her across the street and realized she had already finished.  At the award ceremony, I was surprised to learn that I, too, had taken first place in my age group.  Sometimes all you have to do is show up.

Older runners like ourselves have to wait a long time at the awards ceremony, especially in a race with five-year age groups (I was in the second to last age group, right before the 80 and over).  First, second, and third place podiums had been set up, which I have seldom seen in a 5-K race, and Martha gamely climbed to the highest podium for her award and photo.  As for myself, I waved, smiled, and remained standing behind a podium that seemed insurmountable to me.

It had been a beautiful day for a race:  clear blue skies, no wind at all, and a temperature of 60 degrees, which climbed into the seventies by the afternoon.  We enjoyed lunch at the Shuckin Shack as planned, along with a good IPA, and then walked around much of the afternoon to help our hill-battered legs recover.  Many others were doing the same, recognizable by their bright green race shirts, long-sleeved cotton with a picture of (naturally) a leprechaun on the front, Easley is a place we will visit again to enjoy its downtown parks, shops, and restaurants, and perhaps we might even try to complete this race next year when we are both in better condition, and hopefully will not be tripped by little dogs.

Roads, Trails, Hills, Beach, Kites, and Dolphins

Our time at Atlantic Beach came to an end, and after an unusually rainy and windy winter, warmer spring-like weather finally arrived.  We planned to leave on Sunday morning, and the forecast was for rain most of the day on Saturday – a good time to finish packing – so we considered Friday our last day to enjoy all of the things we love about this area.  Even though I had run two miles and gone to the Sports Center to work out with weights the previous day, I awoke early and was able to witness a beautiful sunrise only partially blocked by eastern clouds.  I decided to go for a final run before the 500-mile drive back to Highlands.  

I ran to the Fort Macon Picnic Area, then back on the trail through the maritime forest, then through the Sea Dreams residential area up and down steep hills, and finally out onto the beach – road-running, trail-running, hill-running, and beach-running.  Martha was on the beach just starting out for a walk to the Oceanana Pier and back, and we walked together for awhile, watching several kites being launched on the beach.

Then Martha said, “Look, dolphins!” and pointed out to the ocean, where we could see the dorsal fins of several bottlenose dolphins breaking the surface – our first dolphin sighting since we had arrived.

It has been a good Sabbatical this year – as much outdoor activity as the weather permitted, plenty of books read, and some poetry completed for my upcoming book.  We bid farewell to the unceasing sound of the surf every night, and look forward now to the silence of nights in Clear Creek valley and the pleasure of seeing friends and loved ones again.

Seventy-Five Years Old

Turning forty was memorable; the thing I remember most about it was asking Martha to promise not to place an embarrassing photo of me as a young boy in the local newspaper with the caption, “Lordy lordy, look who’s forty,” which was a popular thing to do at the time in Highlands.  Fifty was an even more significant milestone, and so was sixty.  I remember my sixtieth because Martha organized a surprise birthday party for me (and it really was a surprise) at Sapphire Mountain Brewing Company, attended by many of our friends.  It also marked my retirement from the Town of Highlands and the beginning of a short but rewarding second career as a Real Estate Broker for both of us.

Seventy-five was even more of a significant landmark – three-quarters of a century! – and we celebrated it quietly here in Atlantic Beach, just the two of us.  500 miles is a long way to ask someone, even a close friend, to drive for a birthday, and I was happy to spend it here, rather than in Highlands in cold February weather.  In fact, I have celebrated eight or nine birthdays here, often pursuing very special adventures.  One year we took the ferry to Cape Lookout, for example, and wandered across the sand dunes until we found the herd of wild horses that live there.  And one year we drove to Duck and had a nostalgic visit to a place where we used to spend a lot of time.

I try to spend my birthdays doing a little bit of everything that I enjoy the most, so of course running was at the top of the list for Highlands Roadrunner, and I had planned on a long run for this morning.  But the weather was not cooperating, so I re-scheduled the long run for Saturday and went to the Sport Center to lift weights instead.  On the way, I passed a brave young woman running on the sidewalk on Bridges Street wearing a light rain jacket and splashing through puddles, and I wondered if I was just becoming too much of a wimp with age:  I used to do that! I thought.  Miraculously, the rain had let up almost completely when I arrived at the Sport Center, so I parked, put on my hat, and started running in the neighborhood, up and down streets.  It was only a mile but it was a run on the occasion of my seventy-fifth birthday, and it even started raining again toward the end so that I was cold and wet and exhilarated and happy.

When I returned, I played my keyboard for awhile and worked on some poetry.  Running, exercise, music, poetry – a good way to celebrate a milestone.  And, while most people would think it the most boring thing to do on such an occasion as this, I asked Martha if she would play a game of Scrabble with me (but only on the condition that she not deliberately lose).  She did lose, just barely, and not (I think) deliberately but because of unlucky letters.  We were just in time for a glass of rosé prosecco that we had saved from our New Year’s Eve dinner at Shelton Vineyards (see post of December 31) nearly two months ago.  There were some thoughtful gifts from Martha – running socks, and a very unusual and special gift, $75 worth of dahlia tubers, which will be delivered this spring.  And then we drove the short distance to our favorite restaurant out here, Amos Mosquito, where we had celebrated Valentine’s Day last week. 

Fresh tuna, scallops, and shrimp – delicious!  And for dessert, we enjoyed a complimentary birthday treat, an Amos Mosquito specialty:  ‘Smores, with marshmallows roasted over our own "campfire" (adult supervision required).

My long run the next morning – seven miles – was a bit of a struggle (not many carbs in tuna or marshmallows), but very satisfying to complete on the first day of being a seventy-five-year-old runner.  That run brought my annual mileage thus far in 2024 (of course) to 75 miles. 

Martha had posted on the whiteboard early in the week:   Happy Birthday – seventy-five years young and still going strong.  And then she asked me if I felt like I was seventy-five years old, and I told her I did not.  There has been a gradual decline, of course, in race times and distances, which a record-keeping runner like myself cannot fail to notice.  But as I have said before in this blog, I am not the runner I once was; I am the runner I am right now!  And I am thankful for it.