Thursday, October 2nd, 2008
This weekend I’ll be laboring through the 24th annual Army 10-Miler. This is the largest 10-mile race in America with a 2007 registration totaling 26,000. This may be due to the incredible course –it begins and ends at the Pentagon, passes by the Lincoln and the Jefferson Memorials, and crosses right in front of the Capitol building. I’ll admit, my training leading up to this run hasn’t quite been up to par, and I know I won’t be breaking any records. At least I won’t be running in combat boots.
Mike Lawson
District of Columbia
outsideallday.com contributor
Thursday, October 2nd, 2008
Last weekend I was able to enjoy a great ride through the streets of DC.
BikeDC was organized to benefit the Washington Area Bike Association, and was extremely well done. Not often are you able to ride unrestricted through Washington streets. Normally you’re dodging the overly agressive cab drivers or negotiating the huge pot holes while trying not to hit the Washington elites yelling at their interns on their blue tooths.
But not so this day. This day we had an all access pass to some of the most beautiful streets in all of Washington. And I must say it was rather gratifying having Metro PD halting some seriously ticked Washingtonians while riding down Pennsylvania Ave. It was also gratifying to be riding my brand new Specialized Hardrock Sport, despite some minor technical difficulties.
After the ride, I decided that I really need to start getting more involved with WABA. According to their web site, “the mission of the Washington Area Bicyclist Association is to create a healthy, more livable region by promoting bicycling for fun, fitness, and affordable transportation; advocating for better bicycling conditions and transportation choices for a healthier environment, and educating children, adults, and motorists about safe bicycling.” Not to mention the fact that on Sunday they offered a free Bike Valet service to bikers at the Crafty Bastards art festival. I’ve never valeted my bike before, but I could definitely get used to it.
Mike Lawson
District of Columbia
outsideallday.com contributor
Saturday, September 13th, 2008
So I was just checking out my favorite DC blog when I stumbled upon all sorts of great bike happenings coming up in the month of September. First off is the ING Direct Capital Criterium.
“Sure, most of us won’t get to ride the 1 km course, but watching will more than make up for it. And if you don’t think any of the big guns will show, think again — yesterday news hit that Christian Vande Velde, an American who placed fifth in the Tour de France, will be racing alongside his Garmin-Chipotle teammates. The course layout is perfect for public viewing, and considering that DDOT is repaving Pennsylvania Avenue ahead of the 2009 presidential inauguration, it’ll be a fast race.”
Second, and more my pace, is Bike DC on September 27. One of the most frustrating parts about trying to bike in the district is dodging the cars/trucks/pedestrians/politicians/etc, so the lure of obstacle free roadways is very enticing. Add to that what seems to be a laid-back vibe (“Bike DC is a ride, not a race”) and the beauty of our glorious city, and you’ve got the perfect morning.
Mike Lawson
District of Columbia
outsideallday.com contributor
Thursday, September 4th, 2008
“The Mother of all Relays” is by far the Nike Hood-to-Coast. This brute of race starts from the top of Mount Hood and ends at Seaside, OR. This is 197 miles of running.
Team Bramley consist of myself, Andy, Anjum, Ashish, Cole, Craig, Dan, Jamie, Julie, Kendra, Karen, Kevin and Pat. Our team was the dream team of runners. Jamie is a track star, Dan and Karen were destroyers, Ashish was a stud, Craig was the mentor, Anjum was Miss Consistent, Julie was brought there for her skills on the hills and comedy, Kevin was the local boy, Andy was Mr. Cool, Kendra was bringing up the rear with a mouth full of gum, Cole the Team Manager and Alex “quick out the gates” Omel.
Needless to say, this was the toughest race that any of us has run. We started the race at the top of Mount Hood at 4pm on Friday, August 22nd. I ran the third leg of the relay. My first leg was 3.98 miles downhill and I came out of the gates fast. I finished my first leg in just over 25 minutes.
This is where the race gets harder. Each of us started at different times, I started my first leg at 5:00pm on Friday. The 12th leg started at 12:00am on Saturday. After each of us finished our first leg we each had to wait roughly 6-7 hours to run again. This is why it is called the “Mother of all Relays”. Your body gets cold, your legs get stiff and you are trying to get as much sleep as you can before the next leg of the race in the back of a minivan.
My second leg was at 2:30am and it was the worst run of my life. 7.98 miles uphill. It took me forever to get my legs. Running in the middle of the night was not fun.
My third leg I was fired up, I wanted to run my heart out. My final leg was 6.54 miles of rolling hills. I ran hard but it was a very tough run because my legs were tired and I was ready for bed by this point.
Kendra ran the final leg of the race cross the finish line for Team Bramley in 26:33:28.
Team Bramley killed it! We averaged 8:05 miles for 197 miles.
Overall this race was the most difficult race I have ever run. The stopping and starting, running at 2:30am in the dark, no sleep for 26 hours takes its toll. This was the most grueling and most enjoyable race I have ever run. If you are a runner this race should be on the top of your list.
Needless to say the toughest race ever…
Link to the entire gallery:
http://picasaweb.google.com/OutsideAllDay/NikeHoodToCoast2008
Alex Omel
outsideallday.com
Tuesday, September 2nd, 2008
Built in 1901 to serve as a way to get workers and materials across the Chorro falls in Spain, El Camino Del Rey is now a trail of the ghosts of both these workers and the adventurers who’ve tried to cross since – four tourists died in 1999 and 2000 alone. It has since closed, as you’ll see why in the clip. If this video doesn’t get your blood racing I’m not sure what will.
Mike Lawson
District of Columbia
outsideallday.com Contributor
Thursday, August 21st, 2008
Our first lengthy break was at 10:35 when we encountered our first of many green, flowery meadows. We crossed a creek at 11:10 with crystal clear water and a fallen log bridge or a rock-to-rock alternative. At 12:05, we stopped for lunch just after another stream crossing. Beside the stream it was nicely shaded. Beef jerky, Odwalla bars, crackers, Velveeta “cheese”, peanut butter and trail mix. (We didn’t laugh at the cheese. It keeps well at high altitude and in the heat.) We lunched for about 45 minutes, then Mark said he wanted to take a nap since none of us really had slept on the six-hour drive. The nap was the best I ever had in the Sierra. We were on our way again, refreshed, after about an hour. We hiked another hour before a break at 1:45. Matt totally surprised us with a quarter each of a delicious fresh peach.
We left the national forest, entered the Golden Trout Wilderness Area, and after a while the John Muir Wilderness. We all seemed to be tiring, and Marvin seemed to know exactly when to stop, rest, and often to take in the beauty. We inspected the topo map many times to check our progress and where we had to go. Cirque Lake lost out as our destination when we heard there were three parties already camping there. Muir Lake was considered, but it was over 1,000 feet higher than we were. Finally we settled on South Fork Lake. We saw light at the top of a ridge which indicated a possible lake. It was indeed a lake at the head of a large meadow which eventually will replace the lake. We got there at 5:30 and we were at 10,300 feet, ready to crash. A small steam led out of the lake about 75 feet from our selected campsite. Water was filtered to refill our bottles and we began heating water for dinner.
Marvin’s menu included sweet and sour shrimp casserole, navy bean soup, dark chocolate, and trail mix, accompanied by another of Matt’s surprises, a nice Cabernet. Delicious!
After dinner, there was a cleaning-up period, more visiting, and appreciation of a moonless sky which made stargazing much more rewarding. It was a mild night, windless, and mostly free of mosquitoes. The forecast was for a minimum temperature of 50 degrees. We thought that was accurate. Marvin produced a bottle of brandy to induce or assist sleep.
Doug Buckmaster
Outside All Day Contributor
Wednesday, August 20th, 2008
August 1-3, 2008
Participants: Mark Bair, Doug Buckmaster, Matt Smart, and Marvin Sosna
Friday, 8/1 — Expecting to be picked up at 12:45, my alarm sounded at 12:20, so I was dressed when I went to the front door to turn on the porchlight. I was met by a powerful flashlight, held by Mark. We loaded my gear in Marvin’s 1997 Honda Prelude. His and Mark’s packs and gear were jammed into the “trunk”. Mark curled up in the back seat with my pack frame, I sat in the passenger seat, and we took off at 12:45 a.m., odometer reading 30.0. (Yes that was 45 minutes past midnight. Great way to see month’s end.)
Marvin encountered deer on Cambria’s streets in both directions.
Saturday, 8/2 — Back on Hwy 1, we headed south to Hwy 46 in moonless darkness and almost no traffic.
Mark tried to sleep as Marvin and I got more acquainted, discovering he knew my father-in-law, Vern Gilbert, when both worked at the Ventura County Star-Free-Press, Marvin as Editor; Vern, in the pressroom, in 1964. We reminisced about the county in the Fifties and Sixties. Our first stop this morning was 2:30 a.m. at a huge gas station in Lost Hills where premium gas was $4.45 (4.524 gal and 27.4 mpg. – Marvin had been driving a little like Mario Andretti). He turned the driving over to Mark, assuming the “sleeping” position in the back seat in deference to my long legs. It was very warm in Lost Hills.
We continued east on Hwy 46, then south on Hwy 99 to Bakersfield, and east again on Hwy 58 to Tehachapi.
We met very few cars, but a lot of 18-wheelers. The next stop was east of Tehachapi when I needed a pit stop and took over the driving from Mark. We bypassed Mojave, merged with Hwy 14, then 50 miles or so later, merged with Hwy 395. We stopped at Coso Hot Springs (it used to be called Oasis) at the rest stop, then drove on to Lone Pine.
We reached the Sierra Visitor Center at 7:00 AM, about five minutes after Matt arrived from his 3:00 a.m. departure in El Segundo. Marvin picked up his reservation from the locked box. It covered him and Mark. Matt and I had to take a chance on a permit from the first come, first served category, but that had to wait for the Center to open at 8:00. We decided to drive into Lone Pine to find a place to eat. None of the restaurants is an all-nighter, so we drove into Jack in the Box or Carl’s Jr. (Does it make a difference?)
We got a breakfast burrito or breakfast croissant and a beverage. Back to the Visitor Center, we had to wait only 15 minutes for the gates to open. A ranger announced to the 25 or 30 people there that he would hold a lottery. He needed a driver’s license from each selected hiking leader.
Matt told me to draw a number. I drew #10 out of 25. That was scary because so many people were there and so few permits available. It turned out there was no #3, 5, 7, or 9, so #10 was not too bad. Matt and I got a permit. The next party in line was turned away.
We took both cars back down the highway to Lubken Rd, parallel to the entrance to Owens Dry Lake. (It is now being re-watered by the L.A.’s Dept. of Water and Power (DWP) by court order in order to reduce the windblown toxic dust caused by DWP’s taking all the water out of the lake since the early 1900s.)
We went up Lubken Rd., past Tuttle Creek Rd., to a frontage road from the Alabama Hills. We turned left and began climbing the prominent switchbacks leading to the Cottonwood Lakes trailhead, 9,580 feet; odometer 369.3. We hoped the relatively high start would make the hiking easier. (It didn’t.) We gathered our gear and started up the trail at 9:50 in an area of a lot of sand, rock steps, and scattered pine trees. Our initial choice for a destination perhaps was Cirque Lake. Marvin took the lead on a dry and dusty trail which was used by hikers, pack animals, and horses as the morning was starting to heat up.
Doug Buckmaster
OutsideAllDay Contributor
Tuesday, August 19th, 2008
It was more of a little walkabout than a hike. The sort you take when the falling sun is cooling the air and making the hills a shade of gold not available to the jeweler. It was on a little uphill trail in San Clemente which neatly divides that city’s suburban sprawl and the neighboring Rancho Mission Viejo Land Conservancy. I had the dog, a few waters, plus Miles Davis, who, even through the headphones makes me think of polar bears and dolphins sliding around a deep, ancient blue cave.
We have called the dog Plato since he was just over eight weeks old, which I suppose makes him a philosopher in name only. Though I often look at him and think of Emerson:
“For all our soul-destroying slavery to habit, it is not to be doubted, that all men have sublime thoughts; that all men value the few real hours of life”
Perhaps he meant all creatures. Looking out over the land I missed the tall, yellow tipped weeds that filled the hills in the first flush of spring. Long and thin, whole masses of them would sway in the wind giving the landscape a shifting emerald shimmer. Now it was just chaff. I saw a coyote on this trail once. It was at dawn, foggy, the coyote held my eyes for a long beat until scampering off into the bush. I always look for him here, remembering fondly that unexpected intrusion of the sublime into an otherwise mundane morning. Plato has forgotten the incident, or so it seems. Stink bugs, the scientific name of which escapes me, spotted the dirt every few strides, their bodies giving off a perfect black sheen like the wet fin of an orca. A great oak is stuck nearly horizontally to the hillside that slopes down on my right. To the eye whose day is starved of nature there seems to be a whole forest in its fragrant, gnarled branches.
An irregular beat begins to punctuate the slow strains of jazz trumpet, which swirl around like rings of smoke in my ears. I remove my headphones to hear big booms and staccato machine gun fire in the air. There’s a marine base just south of these hills. They must be conducting exercises with a great range of weaponry, so varied are the sonic traces of explosions, of metal striking metal. With the headphones back on I could only hear the low bass of artillery fire, the thump of which made Plato jerk just slightly on his leash.
The path to the summit, as we amuse ourselves by calling it, winds around a water tower and brings me eye level with the sun. I keep my eyes down, both to protect my retinas and to watch the ground, making sure its dead twigs do not suddenly become animated, for more than a few times I have spotted rattlesnakes on this section. We kick up dust and gravel, tiny components of which hang in wisps and spirals in the amber air, suspended by these last minutes of direct light.
The top of this hill is cold, even in summer; I put my back to suburbia and look out at this small stretch of wilderness, fenced in barb wire. Little yellow signs appear everywhere warning of mountain lions. The setting sun has drained a lot of the detail visible just minutes ago, but still the view is worth a deep sigh, a smiling glance at the dog. I ask him, the dog, if he’s thirsty. He licks his jowls and takes a step towards my backpack, which I have slipped off my shoulder. I uncap a bottle, and hold it just loose enough so that the laps of his tongue can seesaw it up and down, sending little splashes into, and all over, his mouth. I adjust the angle as the bottle grows empty, and he satisfied.
With some alarm I notice the horizon is now empty of its fiery ball; it will be dark before I return to the trailhead. Indeed it is not long before the sky begins to glow a purple blue, like candlelit amethyst. Trees just twenty and thirty yards away, where before I could make out bough-hopping birds, have begun to assume indistinguishable forms in the descending gloom. We quicken our pace. The dog’s fatigue has made his face into a permanent, panting smile. Soon it would grow dark enough to see visible traces of the growing orchestra of detonations beyond these hills. From time to time, I caught the flash of rabbit eyes aside the trail, followed always by their hasty, crunchy retreat through the underbrush.
We were only just a hundred yards or so to the trailhead when I saw the owl silhouetted atop the fencepost. I thought at once that it was a large bird, though it stood frozen as I moved closer, shedding doubt upon this hypothesis. It was backlit by the hidden explosions, which sent irregular pulsations into the dark above, a kind of flickering, militaristic aurora borealis. Time passed and it seemed as though we were looking at a statue, like mice fooled by plastic bird figurines put up by farmers. At last I saw its inimitable clock face swivel and wheel around towards us, the fire of its eyes catching a little light, its body and wings still immobile. I had imagined the great bird and I to be face to face, and yet it had been like us, watching the war games play out against the sky. Man must seem so absurd to the animals, blowing things apart in the deep twilight. The dog and I watched the owl watching us for a long time that night, staying as still as we could until at last he spooked and flew away. Over the clatter of guns in the distance you could just hear the beat of its white feathered wings.
Ross Andersen
outsideallday.com Contributor
Wednesday, August 13th, 2008
Tonight we welcome Mike Lawson to OutsideAllDay. Mike has a day job like the rest of us so I am sure we will all enjoy his perspective of sneaking workouts as Lincoln watches on. M Smart.
“Wait, you’re from Southern California? Why in the world are you living in DC?”
I get this question quite often from the people I meet in the DC Metro Area. Honestly, I ask myself this same question at least a few times a week. Two years ago I moved from Orange County to Washington D.C. I left the golden sands and gentle surf of Newport Beach, the rugged trails and scenic cliffs of the PV Peninsula, and more importantly the mild winters that allow one to pick and choose when they wish to be cold and when they don’t (i.e. a day trip to Big Bear vs. a day at the beach in mid January). Yes, I left this land of milk and honey to try my luck at the uncertainties of life on the east coast. Little did I know that I would find just as much beauty and activity here as exists anywhere in the world, but just in a different form than I was used to.
From the stillness and tranquility of the Shenandoah Mountains to the vast and bustling Rock Creek Park – from playing kickball on the national mall to kayaking down the mighty Potomac, DC is as much a place of adventure as it is a hot bed of political ideas. The recent selection of DC by Outside Magazine as the best “town” (I take issue with it being called a “town”, but that’s a different point) to live in only supports this assertion. When you add in the fact that I have now finished four races in my lifetime, and consider that they have all occurred this year, that should be proof enough that DC is an outside enthusiast’s playground.
With this dispatch I hope to bring a taste of what the east has to offer – adventure, culture, diversity (of several varieties), and life in the center of US politics.
Mike Lawson
District of Columbia
outsideallday contributor
