Crashing The Race

Hartman Rocks

Out In The Sage

Long runs typically take place on Saturday and I decided to go to Hartman Rocks today, an area of jumbled granite outcrops, sagebrush hills, and big sky. I went to a local shop to get a map so I would avoid getting lost on the criss-cross of roads  and trails that dissect the area. Administered by the federal Bureau of Land Management, the agency responsible for more square mileage of our country than any other, Hartman Rocks is know for mountain biking, off-roading, and bouldering-a form of rock climbing where practitioners stay relatively low to the ground and forego ropes and some of the more cumbersome gear that other climbers use. The shop had no map, but I decided to go anyway. When I reached the trailhead, out beyond the county airport, the trail was marked with signs, arrows, and flagging. I quickly realized that their was a mountain bike underway and they had marked the course perfectly for me. No way to get lost today-lucky! The bike racers had signed up for an event called “24 Hours of Sage”. They began riding at noon that day and would keep riding the 11-mile loop over and over all through the night and until noon the next day. And you think I’m crazy! The trails are in excellent shape, smooth and wide enough for a solitary runner or biker, but still wild. The climb out of the trailhead came to a rubbly crest with a great view to the west and the miles of sage that cover the valley floor and stretch out across the Colorado Plateau. As I ran along I needed to look over my shoulder frequently so I could hop out of the path and let bikers continue their race. I would offer some applause too, maybe the only spectator the riders had on the course. They were appreciative of my encouragement. The course wound through the hills and at one point a racer wearing an afro wig, tie dyed pants, and sporting an old boom-box lashed to his single-speed bike with a bungee cord, screamed past me, clearly enjoying his time on the trails. I passed him back on an uphill (the disadvantage of no gears on your bike) and he passed me again on the next rambling descent. Next, the trail crossed some slabs of granite to a notch in a ridge and my last look west caught the sun in its final flush for the day, the sky aflame with a glorious orange hue before the golden globe vanished on the horizon. The trail then plunged down a rocky gully into a creekside section surrounded by greenery. I arrived back to the trailhead at dusk and considered that the racers would be lapping the course for the next 15 hours before they could rest. At least they’d be in a grand landscape.