Oktoberfest 5-K

Like many runners, I enjoy keeping records of my running and my races.  As we grow older and slower, it can be a little depressing to remember the finish times I used to record – “The older I get, the faster I was!” I like to say.  But it can also be inspiring to realize that, despite injuries and hardships, running has been a constant in my life for forty years or more, and since I began running road races I have rarely missed the opportunity to test myself several times a year.  My best year was 2018, when I ran eleven races, nearly one every month.  Most of those races have been shared by Martha during the last couple of decades, and it is something we enjoy doing together.

Looking back in my records, though, there is a huge gap.  We both completed the Crystal Coast 10-K in Morehead City on March 7, 2020, and did not run another race until 18 months later.  The reason for that, of course, was Covid-19, which killed 350,000 people in the U. S. that year and even more the next year, and which caused race directors around the world to cancel events that had been going on for decades.  Even the Boston Marathon was cancelled that year, the first time in its 124-year history.  What took place instead around the country was something called “virtual races,” where a runner completes the prescribed distance on a course of his or her own choosing, and then sends in the results.  Race Directors are trusting sorts.

We returned from Atlantic Beach after that March 7 race and within a week we were wearing face masks, toilet paper and hand sanitizer had disappeared from the grocery shelves, and we were spraying the soles of our shoes with Lysol when we returned from the store.  What a relief it was to sign up for those first two Covid vaccinations in February and March of 2021.  It is still hard to believe that there was so much “anti-vax” sentiment running wild in the country.  To my mind, vaccinations are one of the best things modern medicine has produced, as most of us well remember who lined up at our schools for childhood polio vaccinations and cheered at the elimination of smallpox.

Slowly, road races began to return in 2021, and we signed up for our first “real” race on September 11, the Never Forget 5-K (in memory of those who died on that date 20 years ago – see post of October 2).  We went on to complete eight races before the end of the year, our finish times faster with each successive race.  One of those races was the Oktoberfest 5-K in Walhalla, which has been going on for nearly 20 years and is only 45 minutes from our house, but which we never entered for some reason.  Believing that we can once again race ourselves back into good condition again after a five-week road trip, we are trying the same thing this year, with the Autumn Breeze 5-K less than two weeks after the 11-mile Cades Cove run, and this race only two weeks after that one. 

It was a perfect day for a race on Saturday morning – clear, 51 degrees, and a light breeze blowing.  There was a new certified course this year that looked even faster than the one we ran two years ago.  The Oktoberfest celebration itself, organized by Rotary, was taking place on the other side of town, and you had to look hard to find any mention of this race on the Rotary website.  “Listen to the OOPS Polka Band while munching on a bratwurst with kraut. Enjoy a refreshing mug of cold German beer. Reunite with old friends. Join the dance floor for the always fun "chicken dance". Explore our amazing arts & crafts with vendors from all over the Southeast. And don't forget an apple dumpling for dessert!”  On Main Street, there was no sign of bratwurst, beer, chicken dancing, or apple dumplings, just a hundred eager runners lining up for the start.  The newly-crowned Oktoberfest Queen, a cute young local woman, did make an appearance wearing her plastic tiara, though, as did three or four large costumed characters who were high-fiving runners at the finish.

We both had a good race.  Martha’s finish time was 34:03, faster than her time both two weeks ago and two years ago, but there was stiff competition in her age group and she took third place.  I was the only man in my age group and so took first place in 39:15, faster than two weeks ago.  (A 77-year old man in the next age group put that time to shame with a time of 26:59 – my competition next year when I will be 75.)  

But there is no predicting your place in a race; it's just a matter of who shows up on that particular day.  The important thing at our age is to keep showing up.

Autumn Breeze 5-K

Two years ago, we ran this race in pouring rain (see post of October 4, 2021).  We probably would not have run that year except (a) we had already driven to the race and were standing at the starting line, and (b) we are both, as I often remind myself over and over again, Not Right in the Head (the condition is much worse in me than it is in Martha).  I remember her asking me, moments before the start, “Are you sure you want to do this?”  But then the race started and we already knew the answer.

Last year, the race conditions were much better, and our friend Anthony, who is the co-Race Director, asked at the starting line how many had been there the previous year.  Several hands went up, and we all looked around to see how many other runners were Not Right in the Head.  This year, conditions were even better.  The temperature was in the low 60s, there was a light breeze, and the sky was that unique color of deep blue that we often experience in the mountain in October.  This course is one of the prettiest ones we have run regularly, too, starting just upstream from the dam in the Tallulah River, following the river past the Terrora Hydro Plant, and then returning on a paved asphalt greenway trail under a canopy of hardwoods just beginning to turn gold.  It is relatively flat, but not an especially fast course because of branches pushing up the pavement of the greenway trail, which is an impediment for clumsy runners like me (but not for the 16-year-old boy who won the race in 18:12 - it didn't look like his feet even touched the ground). 

It had only been eleven days since our eleven-mile run in Cades Cove, but both of us had been training a little more seriously.  I even ran a couple of 400-meter intervals once, and we both felt good going into the race.  Martha, as usual, rounded the first curve and disappeared, and I never saw her again.  We both had good races.  My time last year had been 40:54, and we had both taken first place in our age groups.  This year I was happy with 41:44, and I managed to win a third place award.  (First place in my age group was taken by a 70-year-old in an amazing 28:28, a time I have not run in almost a decade.)  Martha again took first place in 36:28; her goal had been only to break 40 minutes.

 

 

We celebrated as we had last year at The Edge Café and Bar, located just up the hill from where the race had finished – cold draft beer and good, healthy food!  A perfect Sunday afternoon.

Cades Cove

Years ago, we used to run long distances in preparation for marathons.  In August of 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 originated during that period of time.  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 at the time and mentioned it to him, and he enthusiastically replied that he had always wanted to run there.  So we organized the very first trip to Cades Cove that year, and since then I have run the loop thirteen times with many different groups of runners and friends, including Martha.  The road used to be closed to traffic on Wednesdays and Saturdays until 10:00 a.m. during the summer (now it is closed all day) so we would get started running before then and hope to complete it before the steady stream of cars and trucks were released and caught up to us. 

Martha and I had not run in Cades Cove for five years.  We were sharing running memories several months ago, and she suggested we consider organizing another trip there, even though we are no longer running those kinds of distances.  We remembered a pasta-loading dinner we had all enjoyed at an Italian restaurant in Townsend, and Martha graciously volunteered to host our own pasta-load at our hotel, the Gateway Inn, where most of us were staying.  We sent an e-mail to runners, former runners, spouses, and anyone else who might be interested in going and it attracted thirteen willing participants.  Some of us fondly recalled our last visit there when, on the evening after completing the run, we had gathered around the fire-pit at our hotel and shared food and drink and camaraderie – a memorable time!

That is how all thirteen of us ended up sitting in the picnic shelter at the Gateway Inn enjoying a delicious salad and spaghetti dinner miraculously prepared by Martha on the tiny stove in our cabin (and toll house cookies baked by me the day before).

It was a perfect day in Cades Cove.  Rain had been predicted but never showed up.  We had just returned from our five-week road trip out west a little over three weeks ago, during which I had only run a mile or two a few times.  And Martha had not run at all since June except for a couple of short runs after we returned.  But we both surprised ourselves, running (with walking breaks) the entire eleven miles, and enjoying the scenery and the wildlife, which this year included deer, a bear, and some wild turkeys.

Others in the group ran, walked, or cycled various distances - there are two shortcuts across the Cove that total either three or eight miles, and bicycles can be rented at the Camp Store. 

After the run, we all gathered for lunch at the Peaceful Side Social Club and Craft Brewery in Townsend, which coincidentally was located in the same building where that Italian restaurant had been.  That evening, we met around the fire-pit as we had five years ago, but when light rain began to fall we adjourned to the picnic shelter again to enjoy food and drink that everybody had brought with them.

Such a wonderful day, with good friends, in one of the most beautiful places on earth!  We may have to make this a regular annual event.

Home

 Sunday morning hazy sunrise over the Tennessee River.

That was all I wrote on the last page of my little journal, and this was the last photo I took, because the final day of our road trip was a route we had traveled many times before and there was no need to continue taking photos.  Many of those times we had been returning home from running the Rocket City Marathon in Huntsville.  We knew all the familiar sights:  The Tennessee River, and then US-64 through Murphy and along the Ocoee River past the Ocoee Whitewater Center, built to host the whitewater slalom events of the 1996 Olympic game.  It is a beautiful drive and the weather was just perfect on this Sunday morning.

 

We drove from Franklin to Highlands, and then down the Walhalla Road to our home, and all was at it should be.  No trees had fallen on our property, nothing was amiss.  (Although the grass really needed to be cut after five weeks).  It was good to be back home again.

 

Martha posted a photo of our deck and wrote on Facebook:

 

“We are home!! Thanks to all of our friends and family that “armchair traveled” with us on our 5 week Wild West Trip in our Mini Cooper!! We drove 7,340 miles (with no mechanical issues) through 18 states, and visited 14 National Parks. We appreciated your prayers and your special comments along the way. We hope our trip brought back happy memories for many of you, and inspired others to start planning your own adventures!!”

 

We had indeed been surprised by all of those who had followed our road trip, some of them very unexpected.  And since returning, we keep running into people in the post office or the grocery store who say, “We loved your trip!”  It was our longest trip, but one of our most satisfying.  And I keep thinking about those questions I asked on Day One (see post of July 31):

 

·       What did you see?

·       What did you learn?

·       How has it changed you?

 

Those are questions I ask every day as I remember those special moments that we spent together seeing all that we saw, and that I will continue to ask as I process all of it.

 

And now I have finished “catching up” on this blog, which has taken me several weeks in itself.  To those few readers of this blog, thank you for following us.  And may you have adventures of your own someday.  Bon voyage!

"People cannot discover new lands
until they have the courage to lose sight of the shore."  Andre Gide

Chattanooga

A friendly black and white cat turned up at the cabin the previous day, and he has been hanging around, walking the perimeter of the handrail on the rear deck of the cabin and poised to leap inside when the door is open.

 

After we left Natchez Trace State Park, we decided we had had enough of I-40 and found a more scenic route to our next destination, Chattanooga.  It was 40 miles slower and, as in the past, our GPS kept frantically telling us to turn toward the Interstate, but we turned down the volume and it finally shrugged and gave up.  We instead played “Margaritaville” on the sound system.  It was a good, winding road through Tennessee countryside, and we saw some interesting sights, more than we ever would have out on the Interstate.

Our backroads route eventually led us to US-64 – the same road that goes from Murphy to Manteo in North Carolina, and right through Highlands – and it took us to Lawrenceburg, home of Davy Crockett.  There was a tall statue of him in the town square, and after circling it a few times we found a restaurant open called The Pie Factory, which according to a complete stranger on the sidewalk out front made delicious pizzas.  The stranger was correct!
 

Our waitress was a pretty young girl named Azia, and she had a tattoo on her arm, which we asked about (we never fail to ask).  She read it to us:  “Trust in yourself.”  I hope she finds her dream and trusts in herself, and in other people, too.  This little town was a pretty one, and we wondered if that was her dream, to remain here serving pizza to mostly local friends, or if she would seek wider horizons.

 

We arrived in busy Chattanooga and checked in to our hotel for the night, the Riverview Inn.  Martha had once again selected an interesting place, high on a bluff overlooking Chattanooga and the Tennessee River. 

 

We braved the busy Saturday night traffic and headed into the nearby commercial area looking for a place to eat dinner, and found 1885 Grill, which served seafood and allowed us yet another opportunity to eat outdoors on a covered terrace.  Doesn’t food always taste better outdoors?

 

Then we drove back to the Inn and chatted with a couple around the fire-pit.  She was a nurse and he was a science teacher, and we got into a discussion about the short attention span of today's students.  We returned to our room and watched the sunset from our balcony.  We were almost home!

 

Natchez Trace, Day 2

In planning this road trip, Martha thought that by now we might need a relaxing rest day, thus the two-night stay in this State Park, and she was exactly right.  The place is named for the historic Natchez Trace, a wilderness trail in the 18^th and early 19^th centuries, and it covers more than 48,000 acres, much of which we explored today because it is so extensive in area.  We found several wilderness trails, campgrounds, boating, and even horseback riding.

 

Breakfast was very nice.  We had done well in provisioning ourselves at The Food Giant!

 

We had time for a little hiking on some of the trails in the area, too.  This was exactly the kind of day we needed after so many weeks on the road.

 

 

We walked down to the lake to see about taking out canoes or paddleboats, and on the way we spotted this huge blue heron taking off.  Beautiful, the way its wingtips touch the water as it rises into the air.

 

It was pretty warm by then, and we decided to go out for awhile on the lake.  The friendly young woman renting the boats named Jessie told us in a casual kind of way to watch out for water moccasins.  She said they didn't bother her; she just hit them with an oar.  We opted for a paddleboat because, I guess, they are farther from the water (although not equipped with defensive oars).  We started out and she said, “I wouldn’t go that way. That’s Snake Cove.”  So we went the other way.  And we never saw a snake.

 

Natchez Trace State Park has only one restaurant, Pin Oak Lodge Restaurant, and it is in the main building where we registered, several miles away.  We had learned when we checked in that there was a Seafood Buffet on Friday nights and it sounded appealing; we had not had seafood in a long time.  And hiking and paddling works up an appetite!  We arrived early enough to be near the front of the line = cold-boiled shrimp, deviled crab, baked potatoes - delicious!  I noticed that the sign had misspelled “buffet” as “Buffett several times.”  Fans of "Margaritaville?"  What an eerie coincidence when we learned the next morning that Jimmy Buffett had died that same day.

 

We returned to the cabin, and I lit a fire in the fire-pit next to the cabin, not so much because of the evening chill in the air as because we wanted to see a fire.  We poured a glass of wine, sat at the picnic table near the fire playing a game of cards, and watched the sunset and the lightning bugs.

Natchez Trace, Day 1

Thursday morning found us back on I-40, driving due east.  I don’t think I have ever seen so many trucks on the road!  I started counting, and I think the ratio was pretty close to ten trucks for every one car.

I may have mentioned it before, but a Mini Cooper is a very small car.  It is a lot of fun on some of the roads we have traveled on this trip, but not much fun when jockeying around tractor-trailers.

We crossed the Mississippi River in Memphis, and for the first time in many weeks were back in the Eastern United States.  In honor of John Lee Hooker, I found some of his music on YouTube and we entertained ourselves listening to the great blues man singing “One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer” and many other Memphis Blues classics.

 

Finally, we arrived at our destination and our accommodation for the next two nights, Natchez Trace State Park.  The park has been around for a long time and is not very far away from Highlands, but we have never visited it before. 

 

Before we checked in at the Park, we drove into nearby Lexington, Tennessee, where we hoped we might be able to find some supplies.  We were staying in a cabin with a full kitchen and needed to stock it up just a little, so we stopped in The Food Giant, apparently the only grocery store in Lexington.  Immediately, we realized that we were back in the South again, where shopping carts are called “buggies” and groceries are placed not in bags but in “sacks.”  I realized that we stood out as tourists, just as much as visitors to Highlands do, in our traveling clothes and emerging from a convertible sports car.  I was walking down one aisle when an older woman stocking shelves asked me, “Do you have change for a penny?”  Ha!  I love places like this.  At the checkout counter, a man asked me, “Where are you from?”  and as quickly as I could I replied, “Where do you think I’m from?”  We enjoyed some good-natured banter and learned that in Lexington, Tennessee, North Carolina was an acceptable place to come from.  Yes, we were back in the South.

 

We drove into the Park and found our little cabin, right on the shores of a pretty little lake, Cub Creek Lake.  We had come 6,875 miles so far.