Euchre Bar Massacre - Too Stupid Even for Spot

October 15, 2018

Euchre Bar Massacre - Too Stupid Even for Spot

Don’t be an idiot… any more than you usually are - the wife

A month ago, nearly on my way out the door to Montana to “run” the Rut 50k, I jumped with joy over the news that my name was drawn off the waitlist for the EBM. Quote, “Sorry to do this to you, but I just had a drop so you should be getting an invite to register”. Needless to say, the spousal unit was not too terribly happy with this news, but not nearly as much as last Friday when she made the mistake of reading the course description. Something about “no support”, “you’re on your own”, “follow an imaginary trail”, “avoid the cliffs of insanity” just doesn’t appeal to everyone. Go figure.

The EBM is not like your normal trail run. In fact, there’s very little "trail", "run" or even "normal". Much like the more well known Barkley, there is no marked course, very little on maintained/recognizable trail, a bit of navigation, tearing off book pages as proof of reaching checkpoints and a lot of questioning one’s life choices. In other words, a lot of WTF moments. Unlike the Barkley, we don’t have to pay an entry fee, so we save $1.60. But then, no one plays Taps for us when we drop, so I had to download the tune on my phone for my eventual demise.

Any wise words of advice for Euchre Bar? - me

You are so fucked! - Sachin

The 6 AM start of this small event (< 40 participants) somewhere in the Sierra foothills is unceremonious and unpretentious. Sean, the race director, tells us 3 important things to know, though he’s forgotten what the third thing was and I'd already forgotten what the first two were anyway. The mass of us “25” and “50” mile “runners” started “vigorously” up the road from camp and immediately off trail into the hills, followed by the first and last runnable section on an actual trail dropping 2000 ft into the canyon. Less than an hour into the “run”, we were thigh deep in the first of four official river crossings, one by bridge,... and six crossings if you count the time I got lost and forded back and forth trying to find a hidden mine with the fourth book. I was following two vets uphill when I lost them in the brush. I found myself alone, unsure which path between what trees might not lead to a dead end, wondering if I was to be the sacrificial lamb that got lost before finding the first book. Great. Then this section will be named after me. "Don't get mired in the Fool's Errand" they'll say. As luck would have it though, as I backtracked, a large group caught up to me and we navigated together to the first two books, the second at the top of some tough but reasonable scrambling and climbing.

From the second book, we were to drop 1600 ft down a steep and rocky ravine back to the river. Fortunately the ravine was dry, but no trail either. Our group split up, one choosing the try the banks, but Jim, Abdullah and I chose to go straight down the gullet. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Like when Jim poked at a hole next to a honeycomb on the ground, only get stung twice. Or when I stepped on a rock and butt-surfed it until I broke one of my carbon fiber trekking poles. You laugh about it now, but it was funnier then.

Only time we'd cross the river by bridge, such as it is

Crossing over a bridge, as luck would have it, still tbd if that was good luck or bad luck, we caught up with Samir. Instructions from there were to find the less maintained of two trails, go until you see a funny looking rock and find the third book under a tree. Good thing there aren’t too many rocks or trees out here. We’re supposed to then find a way to get from the lower trail to the upper trail. Samir thought he could see some faint footprints in the leaf covered soft soil and scrambled on all fours. The rest of us followed the now obviously human or large bear sized Samir tracks.

That's the face of a survivor #nofilter

The fourth book was across the river somewhere in an abandoned mine. Jim kept picking up pieces of old mining equipment like hacksaws. I’m not sure teaming up with a potential serial killer in the woods was the best of my ideas but neither was signing up for EBM in the first place.

Jim, mining for book #4, or making a nature call, or both

Crowd-sourced the location of book #5

I’m sure you’re all wondering why I called you here. A large pack of us 25-milers were caught by faster 50-milers (they had done an extra hill before our first book) congregated around the water tank, the site of the fifth book. Now we get to see who the climbers are (hint: it’s not me). The instructions are to climb as straight uphill as possible, turn left at the ridge and keep climbing until we get to the drop bags. Simple enough, though the Ebeneezer’s Byway climbs 1700 ft in 0.7 miles, a 45% gradient on loose soil, loose rocks and loose tree limbs. If I wasn’t careful, I’d lose my limbs as well. Turns out I was fortunate to have broken one pole because what I couldn’t lever with a pole in the soft soil, I could crawl and grab with my other hand.

There's a path in there somewhere

My climbing legs were toast by the time I got to the ridge. Navigating the manzanita fields and the “forests of annoyance” for another 3 miles and +1300 ft (most of the climb on the first half) was made harder by my poor nutritional intake. Taking some hikers’ advice, I stayed to the left and sufferfested my way on the last 2 miles on trail(!).

Rest in peace, brother

I finally arrived at the drop bags by 2:15 PM. I slumped into a chair and decided over the course of drinking a coke what my next step should be. There was no way I could finish the next section, a loop down the Italian nose and back +2900 ft, by the 4pm cutoff. I could just drop then and take a ride back to camp. I got help from the spirit of Dennis Connor. Our local San Jose Quicksilver Running Club alum recently met a tragic end while hiking in the Italian Alps. Today was the day of a memorial run in his honor but here I was instead. For Dennis, I would push on as he would. I signed up for a 14+ hour experience and I was going to persist. I could either go down the Italian nose or I could trek back to camp. I chose the latter

A funny thing happened on the way down the ridge. I came across some campers. I must have missed a turn on a trail. Then the trail ended. So I bushwacked my way down the ridge expecting my beloved trail to be on my right but I came across another trail. WTF? As luck would have it, I came upon the one section of trail I could remember in my trail brain because right in front of me was the log where on the way up I set down my pack while I scurried off into the forest for a DBM (Duke’s bowel movement). I had a shit day and it kept me from getting lost! In any case, I clawed my way through the manzanitas and other annoyances that clawed right back at me, then mud surfed down the steep Ebeneezer’s Byway following Samir tracks. What took me an hour to climb up a mile took considerably less time going down, just 50 minutes! Passed book 5, high-fived the octopus and jogged a mile to Humbug creek to mark the end of my time on the official course.

I'm normally too dad for hat-on-backwards, but gotta protect my noggin from branches and thorns. My face wasn't protected but it normally looks like that.

So pretty!

Humbug! How could a day that includes this be a bad day?

Enjoying the fruits of my labor

Calf sleeves worked! But my knees took the brunt of the branches

Duck says, Best. Day. Ever!

After 11 hours, I had traversed just 20.5 miles. In that same time span, I finished my last 50 mile Marin Ultra with +11k ft of vert. More recently, the Rut 50k with +11k ft of vert over very technical terrain. That I only covered 20 miles says it all. Of course, my day wasn’t over yet. I officially DNF’ed back at the drop bag 2 hours ago. I took some time to enjoy the spectacular views, and rinsing off in the cool crystal clear waters of the river was sublime. I still had to climb the drop road back to camp just as it started to get dark. I wasn’t sure about the distance, maybe 5 miles, but it climbed 2500 ft before leveling off. It was actually 8 miles, not including the extra mile I spent while getting lost ¼ mile from the end because I couldn’t spot a campground. I got to the lake at night and went down the wrong side until the reflections of a passing car made me realize the lake was on my right, not on the left as it should be, and then I got lost wandering through a different campground. Sheesh! I can find 5 books hidden in the middle of a forest but I can’t find a campground on a lake? Got my 14 hour experience, though. Thanks and much appreciation to Sean and the volunteers. That EBM is a no-fee, no hype fatass event of this caliber speaks volumes to the people involved in making it a reality. And much congratulations to all survivors, finisher or not, you are all champions! A little stupid, but champions, nonetheless.