Because So Much Is Riding On Your (Shoes)

Good Year Tires used to have a famous commercial back in the 90's: "Good Year...Because So Much Is Riding On Your Tires." I never thought much of it growing up - just another catchy cliche, which is exactly what commercials are supposed to do. I'm not sure why this particular cliche has stayed with me over the years. Until I became a trail runner and had a lot of time to think on trails - some would argue, too much time. It doesn't take a big stretch of the imagination to understand that "tires" for a runner - especially a trail runner - equate to "shoes." As tires are to a car, shoes are to a runner. The shoes are where the rubber meets the road, or more appropriately, where the body meets the dirt, in a very important transaction. Shoes are the lifeline of a runner. Shoes are worth every penny paid (and they require increasingly more pennies it seems). Shoes make the difference between pleasure and pain for a runner, especially as the miles pile up over a long run. Shoes are the key tool by which one can achieve grand goals in majestic mountains. Shoes also make you look cool or dorky; which in my case is often considered one and the same thing. Shoes become dear friends on the trail, each with his own personality. In short - shoes are everything...and they have everything riding on them. 

So when Rebecca continues to ask me why I'm keeping 8 pairs of old running shoes (no exageration - just keep reading) in our closet space, when closet space in a home of 7 people by definition is limited and therefore precious, I've been forced to come up with a good answer. And my best answer? Like I said, running shoes are everything. 

But, over time and with a fair amount of gentle nagging, her realization has become my realization as well. These old, dusty, now-smooth-soled, holey (holy?) shoes have - at some point - simply got to go. I'm getting older and won't be able to always run the trails like I used to. So I need to be real about these shoes and the fact I won't be using them again for the same distances and objectives I once had - which does pain  my heart and body a bit. Sigh.... Aging gracefully - easier said than done, right?  Besides, we do need the space. I need the space. Not only do I need the space in the closet, but I also need to create some mental space. Each of these shoes are bound to a memory of mine and as I get older and consider new running goals and targets and motives, I'm ready to clear out the old ones, thereby making room for some new ones. Out with The Old and in with The New.  And, to be clear, "clear out" doesn't mean "forget" or "ignore". It does mean just storing them away. So before I throw away these precious shoes that have taken me so far for so many years, I need to store away these great memories away that I've made with the shoes. Because for a trail runner, shoes mean something - everything in fact. 

Here goes nothing. 

The Masochists  - Altra, Olympus

These are the shoes I did the Wasatch 100 in.  I experienced more pain in these shoes than in any other shoes. They not only took me 100 miles back in September 2018, but they also took me on many wonderful training runs throughout that entire summer. We conquered Twin, Lone, Timp, and good ol' Oly together.  I have seen the highest of highs and the lowest of lows in my Masochists.  But it's time to send these to the rubber recycling bin at the local running store. Loyalty (at least to the brand).

 

The longest of all my longs (distances) for me were done on these Olympus shoes.

The One-And-Dones - Topo

These shoes were  supposed to be the ideal blend between the Altras and the Hokas. Altras provide the wide toe box. Hokas provide the uniform cushion and zero drop. In other words, they were supposed to provide everything I wanted. Unfortunately, on my first adventure with these shoes I crossed a river. Then I tried drying them out around the fire that night. And they melted. I used them once. Sad.

With a very short life, my red Topos.

The Too High Platform - Hoka

I had to try out the Hokas. These shoes were so highly touted as the most comfortable of all running shoes on the market that I needed to discover them for my self. The cushion was nice. And the cushion was excessive. If running shoes and platform heels were combined, this shoe would have done it. These platforms caused me to rip out the side of the shoe one day while playing soccer with my kids. They are more show than function. Bummer.

The Hoka could be classified as "all bark and no bite." Not impressed.

The Workhorse - Topo

This shoe represents the first time I discovered a shoe with all the things I wanted in it, although the salesman really had to sell me on it's features. I did many training runs up Mount Olympus, Twin Peaks, and sections of the Wasatch Ultimate Ridge Link-Up (WURL) in these hard-working shoes. They have served me well as a no-nonsense shoe that has performed well.  Diligent.

Lots of hard miles on these Topos.

 The Black Stallions - Asics

When I was more of a road-runner, I used to love the Asics. I always did my marathons with these Gel-laced shoes that were oh so comfortable, so light, so cool looking, and just so very fast. I still keep them around for my road trainers. Mainly because they make me feel much faster than I really am. I'm the aging black stallion in them. I will likely keep these shoes because they make me feel young again. Quick.

Lots of fast miles on these babies, my black Asics.

The Lawn Mowers - New Balance

These were my first trail shoes. I should have thrown them away a long time ago. I don't know why I have kept them other than I have felt a bond with them because they taught me how to go far on the trail. I feel so bonded with them that I enjoy mowing lawns in them - until they are now so old that menial task doesn't even work in them any more. It's time to let them go. Loyal. 

The original and first trail shoe for me - and now ready for the grave.

The Blue Machines - Altra, Timps

I've recently made a  return to my favorite trail shoes of all time, the beloved Altras.  They are manufactured right here in UT. They have done my 2nd SpeedGoat 50K with me, a.k.a. the "hardest 50 K in North America."  I still love the wide toe box and the highly comfortable soles. Putting them on is like putting on your favorite gloves that just have a perfect fit. I will likely keep these shoes. Friends.

The trusted Timp will now become my new lawn mowers.

The New Favorites - Altra, Olympus

Having had so many fond memories in my 2018 Olympus pair of shoes, I just had to repeat the purchase and get a 2023 Olympus pair as well.   These are shoes that I am most comfortable in and the ones I trust the most. With the Vibram soles and the comfortable toe box, they combine durability with comfort. I can honestly say this is the one pair I would take with me throughout life. So I will definitely keep these shoes. Go-To's. 

More memories to come with the next gen Olympus

.

These are all mostly going in the recycling bin, but they are not leaving my mind or heart or body. I love my running shoes - each and every pair of them.  

North Peak of Mount Olympus - A Bucket List Line

I have grown up in the shadow of Mount Olympus. It watches over Holladay, UT. There are few days that I haven't looked up at it. It is the first major peak I've climbed in the spring, summer, fall, and winter.  I distinctly remember hiking to the summit of the South Peak on 1/1/2000 at the New Years Moment with my John Mecham. We then walked, slid, skidded, and tumbled down the mountain in the dark. I remember thinking how great it would be to ski down Mount Olympus. Well now I have, some 23 years later. The purists will say I didn't get to the very tip-top, and they are right. We were short on time and short on energy, especially for our worn down 47-year old bodies.  The we here is me and my friend John Rich, who lives at the bottom of Mill Creek Canyon, with a backyard view of North Peak of Mount Olympus giving him good reason to study that mountain - in all seasons and conditions. 

Actually, when we first set out at the Olympus Slab (Z-Trail) trailhead, we probably didn't expect to get much higher than the base of Medusas Face up Zeus Col. The mountain then sucked us in, or at least it sucked me in - admittedly, I was pretty flattered with this terrain in the winter. At about the halfway point while contemplating whether to go higher or turn around there, John said it best: "we better just go ahead and get to the top of this thing so we don't have to come back here again." 

He was right. With each step, I was more intrigued with what would lie around the next corner, or beyond the next rise, or after the next clump of shaded trees. It was all so filled in and somehow felt very accessible, with 10+ feet of snow forming a solid base of ice, avalanche debris, and wind-affected powder, in that order - I just had to keep going, and so did he, switching off who was leading (i.e. pulling) the other person up that increasingly steep and narrow slope. The skins could only take us so far up the increasing angle, until we were forced to do the only thing we could to continue ascending - boot pack. In a masochistic way, I actually sort of like the stair-climb sensation of boot-packing . Hypnosis takes over, as the rhythmic steps continue - left, right, left, right. Do it 50 times, take a 2 minute breather, then do it again. And again. 

Until suddenly, we were at the top of Zeus Col and the terrain widened a bit, even actually flattened out. Yes, you heard me - flattened out. At least for a 100' vertical section. So much so, that we could transition back over to skins and skis.  Soon, we were on top of the ridge leading to the North Peak of Mount Olympus. We could have kept going higher to the literal North Peak Summit (which I estimated was 0.25 miles away, due East), but felt it was prudent to stop here instead and smell the roses, given it was now 7 pm and we didn't want to rush the long descent back to the Z Trailhead. 

What a view. 

What perfect weather. 

What great air quality. 

What an overall Natural High!

We were  now looking down on a run called Medusa's Face in the winter, and Olympus Slabs in the summer.  I have spent a lot of time in Olympus Wilderness, but had never been on this part of it before - let alone in the winter with skis. Looking down Medusa's it is one of the steepest runs I have ever looked down upon in my ski career. One wrong turn here putting you on your back and in a long, painful, scary slide-fall down several hundred feet of jarring rock. A few intrepid skiers had already done it that same day (and day before), with clear signs of avalanche sluff over these steep rock slabs, giving way to a solid bed surface. A few more intrepid skiers were at the top, getting ready to transition and make the descent.  

We were definitely not physically or mentally or spiritually or emotionally in the mood for that run, so we decided to descend down Apollos Col instead. The top of the run was skiable and wide, with decent soft powder. The middle section was chewed up chop snow, but felt so cool to be hugging a line cliffs to the skiers left. The bottom third was straight up ice and frozen corn from the freeze-thaw cycle, with a classic Wasatch Exit in scrub oak and fallen trees - even in with this record winter snowpack we've had. It was typical Spring Skiing  - and I loved every moment of it. If this is the last run I get this winter, it will be a fitting final ski adventure. 

I drove south on I-215 along the east bench today, right in the shadow of North Peak of Mount Olympus. It is a drive I've done literally hundreds of times before. Each time I do it, I spend time gazing up at stoic and solid Mount Olympus. Only this time when I looked up at my old friend, I could clearly pick out Zeus Col for our ascent, the ridge leading to Medusas Face for our water break, and photo shoot, and Apollo's Col for our descent.  

"I've just skied that," I thought. 

John coming up on the ridge after the long boot pack.

The deceptively steep Medusas Face right behind me and Olympus Cove down yonder. 

John and I taking a breather at the top of Oly Slabs. North Peak of Mount Olympus in the background.

John on his backyard peak.

Me, taking a breather in steep terrain.

Starting the long adventurous descent down Apollo's - the reward.

John, half way down Apollo's, relaxing the quads at last.

The top of the ridge, with the ominous cliff band forming Olympus Slabs.

Pre-sunset view from the decision point on the descent - Zeus vs Apollo??? Apollo it is.

The view was the cherry on top of a delicious dessert of an experience. 

Got to love those Wasatch Exits through overgrown and ubiquitous scrub oak.

Taking it all in once more

A Peak With A Winter Personality

I have experienced several mountains across the West in my life - either by traveling through them or recreating in them or observing them over all Four Seasons, year after year. This experience has taught me the profound lesson that every mountain has it's own personality. This character is informed by the terrain and weather most obviously, the history and the flora and fauna more subtly. The Wasatch Mountains have always been my home range and they remain so to this day. While I have the most experience with the peaks that look over the Salt Lake Valley, there is one peak with extra allure, extra beauty, and extra ruggedness to me that overlooks Utah Valley: Mount Timpanogus 

Where does this interest in Timp come from? Perhaps it is because it is the most prominent of all the peaks in Utah Valley, rising to 11,752 feet above sea level. Perhaps it is because it is a rite of passage to hike for all BYU undergraduate students at midnight to observe dawn from a peak. Perhaps its the stunning wildflowers, the glacial cirques, the silvery waterfalls, and the icey lakes. Perhaps it is because of its striated, horizontal cliff bands that make it so easy to recognize from anywhere. Put simply - perhaps it is because it is full of personality. 

Like the most popular kid in your high school class who easily makes friends with everyone in all clicks, people identify with this beautiful personality and are drawn to it. So this hike is unbelievably popular from April through October. It only seems to be growing with each year. You would be hardpressed to find a single day when you can go a single mile without seeing at least 20 other hikers on the trail. The allure of Timp is real - and growing. I truly hope we refrain from loving the Wasatch to Death, but that is a subject for another day

This personality shows a new side in the winter. During this season, the human traffic up there is minimized yielding a solitude that is maximized. This is wilderness - to be so alone you feel like you're in Alaska. This is beauty - to have the winterscape be distilled down to 4 colors on a perfect weather day: deep blue from the cloudless and clear sky, white from the mammoth blanket of thick snow that is at least a few building stories deep, rust from the raw exposed cliff bands, and golden yellow from our star that we call the sun which I refuse to take for granted when you're outside on an icy winter day and its your only true source of external heat. This is Timp - without hoardes of hikers of all ages and abilities, trampling its well-worn trails 24 hours per day, 7 days per week, and 6 months of the year. 

The mountain breaths a sigh of relief and rests from the crowds in the winter. And a new side of it's personality emerges - the side of diversity in all its phases. 

The weather is diverse. It started off 25 deg F at 7:30 am at the Aspen Grove Trailhead. My Honda was surrounded by snowdrifts at least 15 feet high, a sure sign that the winter of 2022-2023 has been, and will yet be, record-breaking. Thankfully, the sun caused a sweat after 30 minutes of warm-up skinning up the summer trail on my trusty Black Diamond skis. The juxtaposition between cold and hot always feels so rewarding during vigorous outdoor exercise on a cold winter day. And to me there is no more vigorous-or rigorous- wintertime exercise than hiking uphill with skis on your feet and gear on your pack and in the various insulating layers necessary for back country skiing. The shade froze that sweat and caused a chill, only motivating me to exercise even harder. And the wind up on top of Primrose Cirque caused a chill that no amount of exercise or weatherproof layers could repel. 

The view of Primrose Cirque from the Aspen Grove parking lot. Look at the deep blue sky!

 The snow is diverse. Utahns say that if you don't like the weather in Utah in the Spring, wait a day or two and it will change. The same could be said for the snow on this mountain: if you don't like the snow pack, wait 10 minutes and it will surely change. I experienced all types of snow up here. First of all was a layer of ice for the first mile. This came from the recent "rain-on-snow" event that put a shiny layer of water on all the existing snowpack, which of course froze that night. There is no worse snow to ski on than ice on top of snow. Next came the avalanche debris. I have never skied Timp and not seen evidence of slide paths - seemingly in all directions. Some slides were wet avalanches, others were storm sluffs, others were slab layers. This mountain is alive with the seemingly constant movement of snow and air. Given that it was rated as a "Moderate" day at the Utah Avalanche Forecast Center's website, I felt good about continuing onward. Granted, I have never skied Timp when it was a "Low" day. The green light on Timp is rare indeed.

Huge debris fields from wet "moving concrete" slides at the bottom of Eddy's Gulch.

 Then, after passing through Timp Falls debris field, came the hardpack, where the snow had slid leaving behind a solid bed, which can best be approximated as a "groomer" in the backcountry. These are challenging conditions. Finally came the powder, found mostly in slopes with tree stands, providing some much needed shelter from the wind. At most for me the powder was boot deep. But I don't go to Timp for incredible snow - I go there for the incredible terrain.

Mount Timpanogus Summit at 11,752'

The Timp Glacier, covered in several feet of snow.

The location of the Warming Hut in winter ( I think).

 Speaking of which, the terrain is fantastically diverse. You get a little bit of everything The trail starts in aspens, as would be expected with a trailhead name like Aspen Grove. Then comes scrubby willows near the river bottom leading up to Timp Falls. Then comes rolling hills with interspersed large pines. Then comes the steep climb up the Cirque, dotted with scrawny and battered small pines. After topping out over Primrose Cirque ridge, then comes...nothing. Literally. The snow is so deep this year that it is just fields of pure white up here. I counted 6 pine tree tops that were tall enough to still show it's head, but thats it. Other than that, it's the white blanket in all directions. In all the times I have been to Timp in the winter, I had never seen anything like it. It was mesmerizing and relaxing to have so little to focus on over such a vast upper glacial valley, yawning towards the cliff bands and ultimately the summit off in the distance.

Roller balls and avalanche debris

One of the best parts of this tour is that on top of Primrose Cirque, you are rewarded with a mile of very flat terrain, restoring the muscles, lungs, and spirit. So I continued onward on flat terrain in this upper glacial valley. I came over a large rise, remembering that this is approximately where I would come upon the warming hut and views of Emerald Lake I had seen in the dozen times I have been to Timp in the past. Coming over the rise, I saw....neither of these features! Nothing was present. I could  not believe my eyes. The footprint of the lake looked like a small meadow, draped in deep white. The hut had vanished. In summer, it must have been 20' high with the stone chimney, but not a single stone was now  visible. It's as if it was swallowed up whole by this winter's onslaught of snow, or, perhaps, abducted by aliens. Or a combination of the two, as this winter has truly created an alien snowpack in the high country in terms of depth and volume.  

Surprisingly flat terrain, once on top of Primrose Cirque.

While I fully intended to meet my original objective of skinning up to the top of the famous Timp Glacier when I started my trip, I chose instead to turn around at this point for three reasons. First, I was out of time as I needed to be all the way back in Salt Lake City for an appointment in just 90 minutes. Second, I wanted to slow down a moment or two to actually embrace the incredible 360 degree view here with some picture-taking and water-guzzling. Third, and most importantly, there were very fresh slides at the top of the Timp Glacier, as well as car-sized cornices protruding off the ridge that I didn't know how I was going to ascend when I got beneath them (and really didn't want to even be underneath them in the first place). 

Fresh slide below the cornices caused me to turn back at this point.

Descending from Primrose Cirque

So I took a few minutes to take in this piece of true winter wilderness, basking in the solitude and sun and Glory of Creation. Then I peeled off my skins, clicked down my boot buckles, zipped up the parka and turned the skis downhill. The next 45 minutes would be sheer high-speed bliss. To me it is a worthy pay-off for the 150 minutes of exertion, sweat, and grunts resulting climbing up to this point on skis. I get a question from others so often that I have learned to ask it myself first: was your back country ski tour this morning really worth it?  For me, I have done these tours often enough for the past 14 years to know the calculus between risk and reward, between effort and pay-off, between pain and gain, that makes back-country skiing so consistently alluring to me.   So the answer is always: yes. And it's a "resounding yes!!!" when you're doing it all bn   on a mountain oozing with personality like my old friend Timp.

But before I picked up too much speed I looked over my shoulder once more at the summit,  and simply reminded myself once more and out loud:  "I Love Timp In The Winter!"

South Mount Timpanogus under perfect weather conditions.