Manitou Incline/Barr Trail Run in Photos

Last Friday I took the day off and drove down to Manitou Springs to "run" the famously challenging Incline and also enjoy some time on the beautiful, peaceful Barr Trail on Pikes Peak. The conditions were perfect and the snow on the Barr Trail up above 8,000 feet was powdery and light. I had a great time. Here are some photos from my adventure:

The Incline is a ~1.3-mile, ~2,000 foot climb up to 8,550 feet. It connects to the Barr Trail, creating many awesome options once you're at the top.



I took this photo about midway up the Incline. There was snow in the shady spots. The top was mostly all snow.




One of the great things about big climbs is looking back every so often to see how much vertical you've done.



The Incline is technically on private property (as of now), making maintenance a dicey issue. Hopefully soon the Incline will be publicly-owned and -maintained. But I have to say that the rough areas add charm and challenge.

Looking down from the top. I made it to the top in 30:04. I've been told that's a solid time, especially for my first Incline ascent. Actually, this was my first decent climb since the Boulder "Basic" last fall.

Pikes Peak looking beautiful. I can't wait to summit Pikes this summer--my third time up there. This photo was taken from the Barr Trail at about 9,000 feet.

The entrance to Barr Camp, which is at about 10,200 feet. Barr Camp is midway up Pikes Peak and is a frequent stopping point for runners and hikers going both ways.

Looking down toward Manitou Springs on my descent.

Pikes is right behind me.

Pikes Peak summit

I had a major breakthrough this morning in my running (and new mindset). No, I didn't break 5 minutes in the mile. No, I didn't have the greatest tempo run ever. So what happened this morning? In the wake of my Pikes Peak round-tripper on Saturday, I took the morning off! I woke up at 4:55 intending to run but felt very, very sore. My calves and shins were on fire. My quads felt like they'd been beaten with a hammer. Rather than make myself suffer through 8, 9 or 10 miles, I got back in bed and went to sleep. Yes, I've learned a valuable lesson in the months after the Leadville 100. At 37 years of age and with more than a few decent years left, I've learned to listen to my body. I ain't 25 anymore. So, tonight I'll stretch, do some core strengthening and maybe cross-train a bit. Running will happen tomorrow.

***

On Saturday Henry Hendrickson and I headed down to Manitou Springs to summit 14,115-foot Pikes Peak and then run back down--a roundtrip of 25+ miles on America's greatest mountain. Pikes Peak is an incredible sight--since moving to Colorado I haven't seen a mountain quite like it. You climb 7,300 vertical feet on the famous Barr Trail. Henry was one of my pacers at the Leadville Trail 100. He took me from Winfield, the halfway point, over Hope Pass and then down to Twin Lakes. He's a great guy and his passion is with triathlons.

Henry and me at the Leadville 100 leaving the 50-mile Winfield aid station. He's into minimalist shoes and is wearing some Vibrams. We talked a lot about minimalism as I was (and still am) very interested in the concept.

Here's thee sign that greets you before you enter the Barr Trail up to Pikes Peak. Fairly sobering, yes?

Henry enjoying a huge banana.

A nice view of the peak.

Henry powering up the mountain. Check out the views behind him.

Another nice view of the peak just below treeline.

Here's a photo above treeline, which is about 12,000 feet. Above treeline it's just basically rocky and brown everywhere with very delicate tundra. It kind of feels like a different planet.

Nice drop off, eh?

Here's a photo of the Cirque, which as you can see from the sign is 1,500 feet deep. A cirque is basically a huge basin in a mountain. The Pikes Peak cirque is at about 13,500 feet.



A really cool rock formation.

 

Henry and me stopping for a photo at about 13,000 feet. The temperature here was in the low 30s, but fortunately there was next to no wind--a huge plus when you're on a 14'er. Note the tundra in the foreground.

What's a Pikes Peak photo album without a shot of the Sixteen Golden Stairs sign? The sign refers to the 16 switchback pairs you have to negotiate before reaching the summit, and along the way there are several rock steps. The 16 Golden Stairs are among the final challenges you face before the summit.

   

Here's the money shot--Henry and me at the top posing at the famous summit sign. The sign says Pikes is 14,110 feet but it was recently remeasured to 14,115 feet. A lot of people might disagree with me, but I think the actual act of summiting Pikes Peak happens really fast and abruptly. One second you're trucking along up the trail and then the next second you hear the deafening horn of the Cog railroad up top. It all happens so fast, adding to the excitement. Henry and I had lunch in the summit house. I had some amazingly delicious beef stew along, coffee, Fritos and a few of the famous donuts--and the donuts definitely lived up to the hype. It was great fuel for the run back down.



Some cars parking at the summit.



From the summit.

 

Some folks getting off the Cog railroad up at the summit. The last time I summited Pikes I had to take the railroad down due to the deep snow past 12,000 feet (and sheer exhaustion), but on Saturday Henry and I ran down the mountain.



Running for the fun of running

Well, just like that, there will be no 2010 Rock 'n Roll Denver Marathon for me. I kept procrastinating with my entry and then finally the race capped out. Honestly, it's probably all for the better. I'm still not 100% and deep down I don't think I am really into doing a race if I'm not at my best.

So at least for the next few months I'll be dedicating myself to running for the fun of running, moving into our new house in November, and basically trying to get healthy. Right now I feel like an old man. My objective is to feel like a young buck by Christmas, clicking off my usual baseline 70-mile weeks throughout the winter before starting the build-up in March. I'm working back up to it and am developing a new training regiment that will have me in peak condition by the time the Leadville 100 rolls around in August.

***



Tantalizingly terrifying



More immediately, this Saturday I'm planning my second Pikes Peak ascent (and hopefully descent) with Henry, one of my excellent Leadville 100 pacers who I've been meaning to connect with since the race. Henry lives in Boulder and has done several 14'ers. We hit it off really well at Leadville on the hardest section of all--the climb up the backside of Hope Pass and the long descent into Twin Lakes. I'm excited about taking on Pikes with Henry.


You're above the clouds.

My first Pikes ascent was in early June, when there was still quite a bit of snow up top. It was an incredible struggle post-holing through waist-deep snow and negotiating icy ridges and snow-covered switchbacks above 13,000 feet. By the time I reached the summit (14,110 feet), I was totally spent. Never have I felt such acute exhaustion save the final half-hour of the 24-hour national championship last October. The exhaustion you get from high-altitude exertion is unparalleled. It's as if you've been completely deflated. Above 13,000 feet, you are moving in slow motion. That day in June, I felt like Pikes had kicked my ass. This Saturday's summit is about having fun on one of America's greatest mountains, pushing my limits and summiting an amazing 14'er before the snow comes. I hope to run back down, covering 27 tough miles. Then, and only then, will I turn my attention to the other 14'ers--with Bierstadt, Evans, Longs, Grays and Torreys among those I'm eyeing.

Pikes Peak is a most spectacular geological marvel. I think Tony Krupicka has done a great job of describing Pikes' appeal:

After any trip back down to Manitou Springs and Pikes Peak, I often come away with some rather grandiose future plans. Something about that mountain really draws me to it. Actually, it's pretty obvious, really. It's gigantic, its aesthetic as a summit is undeniable, and it's so close.

Once you get above timberline and have a clear view of the summit, you are awestruck by the enormity of the peak. It is, as Tony says, colossal. You are astonished by how expansive and huge the peak is, how visible it is, and yet how far you have to go. In some ways, it is tantalizingly terrifying.

As of this writing, the summit of Pikes Peak is snow-free. I'll continue to watch the summit cams and, if snow does come, I'll make a decision as to whether the expedition happens or not.

Stay tuned for a report on my Pikes summit. 

***

I'm a huge fan of film director PT Anderson, a creative genius who has an incredible ability to bring out the best in actors. Actors like John C. Reilly, Don Cheadle, Philip Symour Hoffman, Philip Baker Hall, Mark Wahlberg, Julianne Moore, William H. Macy, Luis Guzman and even Tom Cruise owe a huge part of their success to PT Anderson. It was Anderson who managed to resurrect Burt Reynolds' career for a short time (Reynolds turned in one of the all-time great performances as Jack Horner in "Boogie Nights"). The man is a miracle worker. "Magnolia," which came out in 1999, had huge expectations as it followed Anderson's masterpiece, "Boogie Nights." "Magnolia" delivered in a big way, telling nine seemingly disparate yet connected storylines (a la "Nashville") and ending with an incredibly bizarre scene--frogs falling from the sky. The ending invites your own interpretation, but clearly there are biblical themes at work. In the scene below, we see the first of the frogs falling from the sky.

Pikes Peak kicked my ass

Note to Reader: What you are about to read is a personal account of my Pikes Peak summit adventure on June 6, 2010. I'm sure in areas there are factual inaccuracies. Please be assured these inaccuracies are unintentional. This is a personal accounting.

My Pikes Peaks summit adventure on June 6, 2010 was a disaster. It was a disaster because I expect so much of myself and I push myself very hard, and I am often able to will myself to achieve an objective, and yet on Sunday at Pikes Peak I fell far shot of my goal. A lot of people might be very proud to summit this incredible 14,115-foot mountain and call it a day. Not me. Yes, I am glad I made it to the top, grateful I had the opportunity to embark on this adventure, and blessed to have experienced such beauty (I mean, it was at Pikes Peak that "America the Beautiful" was written). But I feel very defeated knowing it took me 4.5 hours to summit the mountain and, with a bum ankle, I had to take the Cog Railway back down.

Have you ever gone into an adventure just kind of having maybe not the best feelings, like maybe this isn't your day? That's how I felt when I went to sleep on Saturday night and was driving in my car on Sunday morning down to Manitou Springs. Maybe it was due to a lack of sleep. The night before, we had a vicious thunderstorm that had our dog, Sophie, barking late into the night with every clap of thunder and every lightning strike. Then Noah woke up at 2something in the morning and it took us a lot of time to comfort him and get him settled back down. I woke up at 4:20 and was in the car by 4:50 a.m., zipping down I-25 south groggy but pretty excited. My goal was to start running by 6:15.

For the most part, everything went really well all the way up to treeline (about 12,000 feet). I started at 6:25 a.m., wearing a tight base layer shirt and a singlet, along with compression shorts, my Raceready shorts (for the pockets in which to store food), my Salomon Speedcross 2 trail shoes, a hat, and my 70-ounce Camelbak which I also had packed with extra Cliff bars, gels, etc. I also carried a water bottle and sported some protective gloves. I got a couple of delicious pancakes at Barr Camp ("paid" for via a donation), about 6 miles up, and went on my way, trudging along and enjoying the many incredible views that Pikes Peaks offers.

About 2-3 miles beyond Barr Camp--elevation of about 11,500 feet--I encountered a huge amount of snow that either covered a switchback or was beyond the trail--I'm still not sure. It took me about 20 minutes to get back on course and I'm not even certain how I found the trail. I was pissed--I had wasted precious time trying to find the trail.

After getting back on the trail, I realized that snow was going to be factor in my summit bid, and I knew that I had to pay very close attention to the trail or else I risked missing one of the many switchback you encounter on your way up. I kept trudging along, hitting all the switchbacks, and then finally came to the treeline elevation at about 12,100 feet. By now I was above the clouds and had just passed the famous A-frame house (photo below), which offers shelter.

When you get above treeline, you're at an elevation where the oxygen is definitely very thin. I mean, trees can't grow here! At Pikes Peak above treeline, there's tundra, huge boulders, rocks and unGodly deep snow all around you. But at this point in the journey the most profound thing you see is the peak itself--a mammoth rocky mass with huge patches of snow all around it right there in front of you. It's gargantuan, and the summit is still so far up there. As you're now confronted with the specter of oxygen deficit, you don't know how you're going to get there. I think the Skyrunner, who passed me at about 13,000 feet to my amazement, is right--in a very profound way--when he says he doesn't look at the summit as he's going up; he just takes it one switchback at a time. If you focus too much on the summit with all those switchbacks and snowy areas in front of you, you're going to lose.

The snow above treeline was brutal. It was in isolated areas, making it kind of bizarre. When you weren't trudging through icy snow that felt like razor blades cutting through your skin, you were running in a stream caused by the snowmelt on the trail. You'd be running along a nice rocky section of the Barr Trail and then come upon a huge snowy patch you have to traverse. In some areas it was beyond waist-deep. My legs are very cut-up from the icy snow. It was also in the snow that I sprained my ankle. It didn't feel like a terrible sprain at the time, but as I was navigating the snow it hit me that I sustained a decent sprain. I wished I had trekking poles for this part of the journey.

Going across snowy ridges on a huge mountain that reaches nearly 3 miles into the sky is a little on the frightening side. The photo above doesn't do the amount of snow on the mountain justice. The peak in the photo looks small. But it's huge and heavily textured with rocks and boulders and if you've been there, especially in May or June, you know EXACTLY what I mean. It's hard for me to admit it because I like to think I have some mojo, but there were areas above treeline where I was scared. I don't think I'd have been scared if there was no snow. The struggles through the snow unnerved me. At one point my phone came loose and tumbled down the snowy mountain. I nearly panicked because I was going to call Anne when I got to the top, and if I had no phone she wouldn't hear from me and might get worried. Then she'd start calling and would get no answer. What would she think then...that I was dead? I thought about how worried she'd be. I slid down the "hill," looking for my phone, and finally saw what I thought was my LG. It was just the leather case. I searched for my phone for about 5 more minutes--again, time wasted--and finally gave up. I crawled back up the snowy, icy "hill" to get back on the snow-covered trail and by some miracle found my phone in the snow on the way back up. I brushed it off and put it in my Camelbak, where it would be safe. Rookie mistake: When wading through snow at Pikes Peak, don't have your cell phone exposed. Pack it up!

Notice the reservoir.

I felt better when I came upon another runner who was also struggling mightily. He had bonked and was also having a hard time in the snow. This was his third Pikes Peak summit. I asked him how he was getting back down and he said he was hitchhiking Pikes Peak Highway (the road that traverses the mountain all the way to the summit). By now I'd figured I'd run down the road, thinking it was just 15 or so miles. I felt that the trail was too snowy to get back down with my bum ankle and that the road was the safer, more doable option. But, in the more immediate term, I had to focus on getting to the top and then I'd worry about getting back down. By this time, Skyrunner was long gone, but I'd seen that he too had to stop and navigate carefully through the snow.

(In case you're wondering where photos of the snow are, I didn't take any. I was too busy trying to keep going and stay safe to stop and take photos. Also, by this time my camera was in my Camelbak and not possible to grab without taking off my pack--a risky proposition in high altitude situations where you're dizzy and your head is spinning, as mine was.)

Sitting in the comfortable confines of my house, it now occurs to me what the biggest factor was during these final 2 miles of the adventure. Snow was a factor, indeed. But the biggest factor was the elevation. The elevation is what made the snow possible in June, and it also totally messed up my mind. I was lightheaded and not thinking straight. The snow seemed almost insurmountable, and it was hard to navigate, but in a more lucid state I would have done much better. I mean, I'm from Chagrin Falls, Ohio, where it snows 100-150 inches a year! I've gone on 20-milers in snow 12-18 inches deep. But Colorado isn't Ohio. At over 13,000 feet on a huge-ass mountain with more than 1,000 feet to go, it's hard to think straight and you can get rattled easily.

Probably the day's most dramatic photo.

I stayed with this other runner, whose name escapes me, for the final half mile. We "waded" through snow that went up to my armpits and used the rocks to pull ourselves out of it. On one occasion I got stuck in the snow. I pulled on a boulder and got myself out. Coming out of the snow, we'd encounter a clear section of trail and feel pure joy. Then, boom, more deep snow! It was exhausting. I think the last 2 miles took me 2 hours.

Finally, at about 11:07 a.m., we were at the summit. There the summit house stood--at 14,115 feet. The Cog Railway, which had just sounded its horn, was about to leave and I realized then, with my bad ankle, that I might need to inquire about the train, but I also thought I could handle a 15-mile run down on a dirt road. The ticket guy told me the road down was 20+ miles. A ticket on the railway down would cost $20. I had the money and they had a seat, and so I paid my way onto the train. This marked the first time ever I've aborted a major run. But I felt like I had no other choice. I had a sprained ankle that was popping with every step, the trail the last two miles was treachorous to say the least, and this was a mountain where you could lose your life if you weren't at your best. Pikes Peak is no joke, and it is to be respected and even feared.

At the summit house, a smiling though defeated man.

Riding the train down, I felt like I'd failed. I've always loved challenges and usually come out on top. Not today. Pikes Peak kicked my ass. Yes, I made it to the top and, yes, I summitted my first 14'er, but not without great struggle and a defeated spirit.

It wasn't until later in the day that a friend told me I'd summitted Pikes Peak too early in the year. The best time to summit is July or August, when the trail isn't covered with snow.

So there you have it. Without doing enough research, I summitted the mountain too early in the year and paid the price for it. I can barely walk right now from my bum ankle and I feel like I got my ass kicked by a big mountain. I need to focus on getting my ankle healed before the Leadville Trail 100 on August 21. Lick your wounds and then get back in the fight.

I'm a warrior and always will be. Pikes Peak beat me on Sunday, but it will not beat me again. I will return and achieve my goal of summitting and running back down from that mountain in one piece. But next time I'll wait until July or August. July is only a few weeks away....

My Pikes Peak adventure

On Sunday, I did the hour-long trek down to Manitou Springs (perhaps the most charming town I've been in since we left Chagrin Falls) to run with the Incline Club. The route for the day was the Barr Trail to Barr Camp (elevation 10,200 feet) and back. My goal was to get to at least 11,000 feet on Pikes Peak. Here's a photo of the members of the Incline Club signing in at Memorial Park, right on the outskirts of downtown Manitou Springs, before our run:

We left promptly at 8 a.m., with the temperature at about 50 degrees and the sky very much overcast. I heard a few members talking about the conditions, with one saying he felt the sun would "burn away" the clouds soon enough. He was right. Within an hour of the start the clouds disappeared and for the rest of the morning and day we were blessed with blue skies. In anticipation of the sunnier conditions and rising temperatures, I wore a tight, thin long-sleeve base layer and short-sleeve technical tee-shirt, complete with thin mittens to keep my hands warm. I also wore my brand-new, 70-ounce Camelbak--definitely preferred gear when you're running on mountain trails in dry conditions.

Now for the box score for the day: I made it past Barr Camp, elevation 10,200 feet and about 6-point-something miles up the trail, and proceeded about 2 additional miles past the camp to 11,200 feet--about 8 miles up the trail. That's the highest I've ever been not counting airplane trips. For the day, I logged 18 miles over about 3.5 hours on the mountain. I was the third one into Barr Camp, running fairly aggressively up the mountain with only a few very brief walk breaks.

I was very pleased with how I handled the vertical and how I was running. I actually felt like a mountain runner and kept thinking a lifelong flatlander shouldn't be able to do this like I was doing it. It wasn't until I got above 10,000 feet that I really started to feel the elevation and remember that only two months ago I was an Ohioan who could barely comprehend 10,000+ feet. By the time I was back down from the mountain, I had logged 91 miles for the week, capping it all off with the single greatest trail running experience of my life on a mountain many dream of visiting...and I hadn't even gotten to the top!

It's hard to put into words my thoughts on and feeling of Pikes Peak, because it is such a magnificent natural wonder that is full of surprises. Pikes Peak soars to 14,100 feet. From where I live in Parker, it looks like a huge mountain out there by itself. The photo directly above kind of gives you an idea of what I'm talking about. But Pikes Peak isn't alone. Pikes Peak is located amongst many mountains and on the edge of the Rockies, but it is the biggest in the immediate area and probably the most celebrated and famous of Colorado's 14'ers. On sunny mornings, it practically glows. The Barr Trail forms the longest base-to-summit trail in Colorado. You can read a short history of Pikes Peak here, but the foremost authority on Pikes Peak as a big playground for runners and outdoor enthusiasts is none other than Matt Carpenter, co-founder of the Incline Club who has written the most detailed description of the trail that you'll ever come across.

To get a sense of the challenge of the Barr Trail, here's the sign that greets you at the trailhead:

I've posted this photo before and am re-posting it for effect. Intense, yes?

The Barr Trail affords the most spectacular views I've ever experienced and delivers the ultimate trail running experience. The first few miles up the Barr Trail are totally vertical as you navigate challenging switchbacks on Rocky Mountain. There are some fairly flat sections after Rocky Mountain where you can catch your breath and prepare for the next climb while appreciating the aspen forests, meadows, rock formations and views all around you. At a number of points you can see the peak itself--a breathtaking site. Here's one such example:

At 10,200 feet you come upon a welcome site--Barr Camp. Barr Camp has been there since 1921 and is operated by a very nice couple, Teresa and Neal Taylor. When I arrived there I felt like I'd come home. As I didn't have cash to buy a few pancakes and make a donation (though I'm sure they'd have given me a pancake if I asked, but I didn't because I wasn't that desperate), I didn't stick around long--just long enough to say hello to the Taylors, quickly converse with another Incline Club runner and head back to the trail. With my Camelbak backpack still quite full and two gels, I didn't need to refuel at Barr Camp, though pancakes would have been nice. Here's a photo of the Barr Camp sign that greets you:

The journey became increasingly challenging after Barr Camp as my breathing became more labored and I encountered very rocky, technical trail, especially near the Bottomless Pit area. (Next time I'm on the trail I'm going to check out Bottomless Pit for the views. It is also the unfortunate site of a number of suicides.) Here's a photo showing what I mean by rocky and technical:

I continued for a little while longer and then decided to turn at 11,200 feet as I didn't have limitless time and I wanted to get home to be with my family. Part of me wanted to push for the summit but I realized that I didn't have quite enough water or calories on me to do it. And so I ran back down the mountain. And did I run hard. I made it back down in about half the time it took me to climb to 11,200 feet. Along the way I snapped a few additional photos and tried to really take in what was all around me. I also worked hard on my downhill running form, trying to be aggressive and run confidently. The last few miles my quads were fatigued but I stayed strong and had a wonderful time every second of this epic journey.

This Sunday I plan to return to Pikes Peak and make a summit push. I want so badly to stand at the top of the mountain, to run above treeline and really experience Pikes Peak. There is something about this mountain that has gotten to me--even as early as our first trip to Denver in January to figure out if this place was where we wanted to live. But now I see Pikes Peak everyday and feel pulled to it everyday. I wish we could live in Manitou Springs, which feels so much like home and is the ultimate mountain town, but it's too far from our jobs. I'm sure it's this way with many others, because don't we all want an adventure that will change our lives?