KUS News
The sole mission of our society is to
organize, sponsor, staff and support ultrarunning events/competition in Kansas
and the surrounding region. Our vision is to create an atmosphere that fosters
not only the enlightenment of the novice ultrarunner, but nurtures the needs of
the veteran ultrarunner as well.
Volume
3, Issue 1
October 2002
Rocky
Hill Ranch 50K
By
Scott Demaree Page
1
Minnesota Voyageur 50-mile Trail Run
By
Ben Holmes Page
2
Heartland
100
By Joe
Prusatis Page
3
Dann
and Miles Excellent 112-Mile Colorado Adventure
Editors’
ramblings…
By
Stacy Sheridan Page
9
KUS-ipes
Banana Muffins
By
Stacy Sheridan Page
10
Briefing from the Crew
Greetings,
It
seems hard for me to believe it’s been ten months since the last newsletter.
Time seems to have sprouted wings and flown this last year. Part of the reason
for the long span of time between newsletters has been lack of content; Tom
Lasater kindly sent me his columns from the Bar-o-Meter (Thanks Tom!), and I
will be using some of his articles in future newsletters. Apart from those and
the official reports from the KUS RD’s, which members have already seen, I really haven’t received enough articles to
make a “whole” newsletter. I now have some saved up and just may end up putting
out another soon, however once again I am asking all members to send me any
news you would like to share, please!
As
I said, that was only part of the reason, and I hope you will all forgive me for
the other part, that is that Phil and I became first time grandparents on
January 4th of this year to Maleiha Brady Sheridan and we have been
indulging ourselves in this new facet of our lives. Those of you who are also grandparents will probably understand
the statement our daughter, Maleiha’s mother, said to us, which is most
telling, “You are not the parents I grew up with!” So once again please forgive me for not putting as much effort
into the newsletter these past few months.
Phil
had been fighting a nagging injury for several months and couldn’t get much
training in, luckily for me since he agreed to come work the Texaco Hill aid
station at Heartland with me. We had a good time despite our having to duct
tape the tent poles up with some pieces of abandoned oil rig parts (a 2x4,
rubber pipe, angle iron etc,) and he had a couple of really good ideas for me
for next year and I’m already looking forward to it. He is now back to running
again and is planning on running the Bandera 100K in Texas this January. Joe
Prusatis is the RD and if you are interested in the race take a look at the
race web site http://www.hillcountrytrailrunners.com/raceBandera.html I hear it’s a tough race!
Phil
and I have secured the permit for the Rockin K race for April 5, 2003, however
only with compromises. Due to the Wildlife Department denying our use of the
Alum creek trail, we will have a new course and Phil has been out several times
scouting out a new route. This year’s course promises to be a little tougher
than before with different water crossings and some beautiful cliffs, we are
looking at extending the cutoff to 13 hours due to the course change. Our
permit fee also went up to $50.00 but we feel this is still very low in view of
what some places charge for a special use permit. I will be working on making all the changes necessary and hope to
have the entry form and information on our web site soon.
I
am starting the planning process for the KUS annual meeting and would like to
hear from the membership about whom they would nominate for the Member of the
Year award. Remember this award isn’t about PR’s or age groups, it’s about
service to the sport of running, fellow runners and our club so let me know who
you think deserves this year’s award. Also let me know if there is anything you
think we need to discuss at the meeting, the usual topics will be on the
agenda, our races, finances, equipment etc.
Please email, phone or write to me, you will find my information at the
end of this newsletter.
Strong,
healthy training, and happy racing to you all.
Bests,
Stacy
Rocky Hill Ranch 50K
By
Scott Demaree
The
Rocky Hill Ranch is a rustic saloon hangout for mountain bikers. Real rustic.
The entrance is way out on the highway outside of Smithville, Texas. Air
conditioning consists of more windows and doors than walls, and a giant fan
blowing toward the bar. They serve more kinds of beer than you can name and BIG
burgers. Mountain bikers are usually not that keen to share their trails with
runners -- I expect this 50/25K trail race is the only day of the year they
make an exception. We can thank the ubiquitous RD Joe Prusaitis for having good
friends among the bikers so we can enjoy this gem of a race site.
Wes Monteith and I arrived before 4
on Friday afternoon. Wes was running the 50K, and I was along for the ride to
let Joe put me to work. Thanks to two running injuries early this year, I am
CAREFULLY increasing my mileage now in hopes of running the Heartland 50 mile
again this year. This was a poor substitute for coming to Kansas for the KUS
24-hour, but it was all I could mange this year. Anyway, we spent the rest of
the afternoon visiting with other runners and trying to stay out of the sun.
There was cheap camping up a tough
jeep road a half mile from the saloon. There wouldn’t be any difficulty staying
warm, so we opened up all the windows in Wes’ breezy tent. We turned in early,
but a spattering of rain sent us scurrying out into the dark to put the rain
cover over the tent.
Joe dropped me out on the course
right after the 7 AM start. My job was the first (water only) station one mile
into the 15.5 mile loop, where I could direct runners at a tricky turn. I was
surprised at how many runners took water so early. It was quite a crowd with
nearly 100 runners in each race and both races starting together. Since my
station was also about the 14 mile point of the loop, I had a pretty long wait
for them to come back around.
I had been left with only one 3
gallon cooler and a couple of extra gallon jugs, all of which went really fast
when the runners started appearing again in large numbers. I was saved just in
time by Joe’s arrival with several more gallons and more ice.
But the day was warming fast, and by
the time most of the 50kers were out on their second loop. I was sending word
with runners going toward the start/finish that I would need more ice and water
soon. As predicted, I was running dangerously low on cold water just as the
largest numbers were hitting my station. Again reinforcement fluid arrived just
in time to keep me from turning parched runners away. Even though most were
carrying bottles, after 12:30 with temperatures in the mid-80’s, many of them
were in dire need of COLD water. They did get two good breaks: a brisk
wind
and fairly good cloud cover.
Wes finished in the 5:40s, happy with his time, and
was one of the most appreciative of the cold dowsing at my aid station. The top
two men were just under 4 hours (Scott Eppelman was second). Amanda McIntosh
was third an hour further back, with our buddy Mark Henderson close behind in
fourth.
With only ten runners left on the
course, I left my post -- with cooler
topped off and really cold -- to try to follow the course to the finish. I
found it very enjoyable, despite the afternoon heat. Still, I was glad I wasn’t
doing my second loop at that time. It had lots of rolling hills (nothing long)
and quick turns. Somehow, I missed a turn and found myself back at my water
stop after just 56 minutes of running -- maybe 5.5 miles. So I jogged on in to
the starting area, and found out that all the hard hills were on the first mile
and last mile and a half of the loop.
As usual, Joe put on a very fine race. He will do a great job as race director of the Rocky Racoon 100 mile. Despite my experience, there were relatively few runners losing their way. I guess I’ll just chalk it up to lack of practice.
Minnesota Voyageur 50-mile
Trail Run
The drive from KC to Minnesota was uneventful. I resisted the urge to stop at various
roadside attractions such as The Spam Museum, and didn’t stray off the path
looking for the perfect cup of “GOOD
coffee” in the boondocks of Iowa.
Eight-point-five CDs later, I arrived in Carlton, Minnesota.
Backwoods Minnesota! Land of inferior mountains and superior lakes. Where a person is judged by the size of
their gas-powered ice auger. You know…a
nice small town with honest, hard-working folks.
I showed up at packet pickup (next to the Cozy
Café), just in time to see the “Carlton Daze 5K Run to Nowhere” take off. My friend, Dr. David Virtue had run this 1
year ago, and the shock waves were still dissipating. Time to meet some folks and have some dinner. Donna S., AKA “Drew Carey”, spotted me and
she invited me to join a large group at the front of the Cozy. This is one of best things about ultras; the
people. There’s never been a
friendlier, more eccentric bunch of OCD cases anywhere, (except at the previous
or next ultra).
My third consecutive “Minnesota
Voyageur 50-mile Trail Run” started promptly at 7 AM, Saturday, July 27th. It was overcast and muggy. The stream crossings were high, and there
was no way to keep one’s feet dry. The
aid stations had very friendly, talkative folks, who (I’ve surmised) think
ultrarunners are lacking certain important bits of gray matter. At aid stations, only the tall grass was
impressed by our passing.
I felt sluggish for the first 10
miles or so, and started to get into a rythym just before the dreaded “power
lines” section. Power lines is a
section of trail under high-voltage power lines that is so hilly, you have to
slide down the hills, then scramble up all up-hills on four limbs. It had rained earlier in the week, and it
was muddy, but the mud was sticky. Not
bad. Once past power lines, the skies
cleared up, and it got hot and sunny.
After the turn-around at the 25-mile point, there is a 2-1/2 mile climb
of dirt road with no shade. I did great
on this part; my training in the Kansas City heat had done its part.
I was cruising toward a PR on the course, and
was zipping toward a repeat of the power lines section, when a thunderstorm of
epic proportions hit. The power lines
section had become a sloppy, greasy place for which my shoes could find no
purchase. The only way to get down the hills was to slide down the mud and hope
that I didn’t become a “human bowling ball”, (and crash into others). At
the bottom of these converging hills were mud puddles 2 to 3 feet deep. The ONLY way up (what had now become
waterfalls of mud) was to pull myself up using blackberry bushes, briars, and
whatever I could for traction and grip.
I finally got through this section, but it had set me back 40-minutes.
In the meantime, lightning was striking within a
hundred yards of my fellow runners and me.
A tree suddenly exploded within a stones-throw. A runner named John said,
“Electro-shock-adrenaline therapy will either make us faster, or kill us”. I said, “’Tis a good day to die”. He answered, “ We’re not dead, yet”. He took off like a shot, but later he missed
a turn (because of the wall of rain falling), and ended up finishing 30-minutes
behind me.
The last 10 miles had about 5 miles
of very technical terrain, and it took a while to pick through it. The rain stopped for my last hour of the
run, but that just enticed the Minnesota Super-Mosquitoes to come out and suck
me dry (on every slow climbing section).
After the finish at the local high
school, I walked into the showers fully clothed, and washed some mud off of my
clothes before having my “real shower”.
The food and award ceremony were great, and I received a tee and a
handmade ceramic bowl. A local
ultrarunner, Andy Holak had won. Paul
Schoenlaub of St. Joseph, MO, took 5th place.
A new ultrarunner, Lou Metallo and I
swapped stories and had a couple of beers and Upper Minnesota Nachos,
(replete with iceberg lettuce). He said he won't do another 50-mile trail
run. In time, (hopefully) he will lose enough bits o' gray matter like
the rest of us, and do another. He'd make a good addition to our clan of
nuts.
It was a muddy, bloody, and
challenging effort this year. I
definitely got my money’s worth. Yep,
I’ll be back.
You may have to fight a battle more than once to win it.~
Margaret Thatcher ~
John “Maddog” Lowrey emailed me this report
after the Olander race and I have talked to him on the phone a few times. The
last time I talked to him he told me he planned on running the Tulsa marathon
in November and possibly Mobile in December. He also did a product test for
some rainwear called 02 rainwear, John really liked this gear and would
recommend it, the web site is at www.rainshield.com
if any of you would like to take a look.
John
would also like to hear from any of you who have suggestions for where to stash
your water bottles on a long run. He runs on a 6-mile bike trail loop and his
water bottles keep getting taken. So any of you have suggestions?? You can
email me, sheridan@grapevine.net or
him maddog2@chorus.net or write in and let me know
for the next newsletter.
Report
from Olander 24 hour
The race started in 87-degree heat with 93% humidity. Neither the heat nor the humidity seemed to go down during the race. Newspaper accounts said the race was held in extreme weather. Most people got at least one blister due to the two intense thunderstorms during the night and on Sunday. The course was left with large puddles of water. The only problem with the race was that parts of the course did not have lights-this created both a physical and psychological problem for me during the night. The aid station was stocked quite well (must have taken lessons from the KUS crew), and the medical aid was wonderful. I ended up with 52.4 miles, which I think placed me 104 out of 188.
We are made to persist.
That's how we find out who we are.~ Tobias Wolff ~
Heartland 100
12-13 Oct 2002
You can't see the mountains in Kansas, but you can
feel them. The constant vicious wind creates an uphill climb for mile after
endless mile, each one looking like the one before it. It's all about reference
points. As long as I feel like I'm making progress, all is well. The names and
mileage of each station was on a laminated card that I carried before the wind
tore it from my hand. With the card, I could plan and pretend I knew where I
was and how I was doing. But now, I just bend my head and keep climbing.
Butch
& I drive past our campsite and a country store to the KUS (Kansas
Ultrarunners Society) race headquarters. We are in Cassoday, Kansas. Not many
folks here right now. We check in, visit a few old friends, and then back to
the truck for our drop bags. It's misting a little, but quite tolerable. Butch
already has his bags pre-packed and only makes a few minor changes, while I have
a bit to do still. They have 7 possible drop points on this course, in which
you access all but the turn-around twice. I picked 5 of them that were 10 miles
apart and I put pretty much the same thing in every bag. The lone exception is
Ridgeline at 67 miles where I expect it will get dark on us. I put my night
time gear here: warm clothes, big camelback, and my best lights. I put lights
in all the other bags too, but the others are all just emergency spares. Don't
plan on using them and hope I don't. Just being safe. My drop bags are canvas
Sunmart bags. Everything inside is enclosed in large Ziploc freezer bags. One
bag contains my meds, sugars, salts, Red Bull, Ensure, wipes, and Vaseline.
Another bag contains shirts, pants, socks, and gloves. Another bag has shoes in
it. Hot & cold weather togs. You never know! I usually take the bag of meds
& toilet kit, but everything else is 'just in case'. Better looking at it
then looking for it! Bags done, I haul them all in and drop them along the wall
where they have left signs indicating each station. My bags are full and much
larger than all the other tiny ones that are there. Like usual, I am over
cautions with my drops.
The
room slowly fills until all 53 runners, their entourage, and race organizers
are there. Randy tells us about the race, the course, and the people. Eric
blesses the meal, wishes us well, then starts the food line. Drops done, belly
full, people met, it's time to pitch our tent. The campsite is in a nice little
community park right off the main road into town, just off the Interstate and
near the train tracks. There are ten or more camping here for the night. The
sun departs as we pitch and load the tent. Within an hour, the entire park is
silent. Everyone slips silently off to bed no later than 8pm. It's a gorgeous
night. Overcast with a bit of mist, but a light breeze blows strait through the
open panels. I can hear the highway traffic hum by until a train passes through
and screams out its high pitch whistle. I fall asleep easy but wake every so
often as another train comes through.
We
wake early, tear down, load up, and leave quietly while the rest of the campers
do the same. It's cooler than it was last night. A slight mist fills the air.
We stop at KUS HQ so Butch can get his jacket from one of his drops. The start
is another block down the road just across the railroad tracks. Everyone's in
shorts, gloves, and jackets. My start setup is a lightweight camelback w/70ozs
water, toilet kit, meds, jacket, gloves, and cowboy hat. Last minutes adjustments
accompany nervous energy, and shuffling feet until finally, a leisurely start.
There
are 40 starters in the 100 mile race, another 13 in the 50 mile race. Our group
separates from the pack well behind the leaders. I pull up with Bobby Keogh while
Butch pushes ahead. I know enough to run my own race, and stay where I am,
running very comfortably next to Bobby. We drift into conversation as the miles
slip by and the overcast sky white's out the surrounding distances. I put away
my jacket and gloves, the mist feeling wonderfully cool on my skin. Some of our
compatriots stop at the first unmanned aid (4.6), but I have no need and
continue on. Bobby and I pass Butch. He's having a problem with his quads. I am
not surprised as he ran the Arkansas 100 just last week. He did this same
double last year though and I expect he'll get past it. We talk and run and
allow time to steal a few miles from us, enjoying the day in the manner we
prefer best. I have a drop bag at Battle Creek (8.2) but have no needs and
don't stop.
The
next section through the unmanned aid (12.6) rolls by uneventfully, except I
finally have to stop for water and lose my friend Bobby. I get going after the
top off and roll on down to Lapland (16.8) easily. I accept a sandwich from a
fellow in Longhorn Burnt Orange. He's about to be real disappointed. Scott
Demeree hooks up with us, but he's doing the 50 and pushes past at the first
lull in conversation. I know the next unmanned aid (21.1) is there but I don't
realize I've passed it until I approach Teterville (24.5). The 50 mile leader
passes me going back, and a few minutes later, Scott runs by.
I
have no need in Teterville, so I keep going. This is a main thoroughfare and
fenced on both sides. There are no bushes, trees, or anything to hide behind. I
notice all this when I realize its time, and I mean now. I try to keep going,
to get past this section, but I can't wait. I step off the road into a ditch.
Knees in my ears, boys near the ground, I commune with nature. That's when the
Sergeant-Major goes by. What can I do? 'Morning', I say. The reply comes back
with a glare, hard and quick, 'Bathroom is right back there!' 'Yea, guess I
missed it'. Another goes bye before I can hide away and join the parade once
again. Damn. That was bad timing, but I sure feel good now. I retrieve my pace
and quickly catch the Sergeant-Major. I try again with a cheery Morning, how's
it going?', but get no response. Ok, I'm out of here. I don't want to start
racing anybody right now, so I just back off. The next turn is directly into
the wind on a rugged and rocky road, strait away into the distance, rolling
slightly uphill. I fight the wind for a short bit then back off and walk. My
hat brim is blown down flat into my face. I move it aside once or twice, but then
decide it's better right there protecting my face from the full force of the
wind. Monica, the Washington boys, and a few others pass by, each of them
running while I walk. I stop on a ridge and search behind me for Butch, but I
can't find him. Damn, he must be hurt bad. I can see a long ways and he's not
even close. For miles I continue like this, running only when the road
occasionally bends out of the full brunt of the wind. Nobody and nothing for
miles on end. There are swells in the land, but no trees, no large rocks, and
no buildings. A green ocean of grass! I was told there were 6 houses visible
along the course. I have seen a few but have not been counting. With my hat
brim smashed into my face, it is difficult to see anything but road. The view
is really pretty in every direction. The openness, the cleanliness, the colors
in the sky. The constant wind slowly deafens me. The roar in my ears is
forgotten. I have adapted to the silence of the loudness. Now I can hear myself
think! Nothing more. Time passes. I kill it by ignoring it. I'm comfortable out
here alone. It feels good to spend time with somebody I like. Texaco Hill
(31.2) appears in front of me on the edge of a swell. My good friends Phil
& Stacy Sheridan are there to greet me and offer me safe haven from the
wind. I can see others inside their tent that I had no idea I was near. I'm
enjoying the time alone and don't feel like company right now, so I thank them
and keep going. I pass it by.
This
section from Texaco Hill to Ridge Line spends a lot of miles high on a ridge.
There is no place to hide, no escape from the wind. The Kansas Mountains are
large here, so I tuck my head and attempt a more forced march. The Washington
boys tuck in with me for a mile and we try to talk, but most of our words are
stolen by the wind and sent elsewhere. I don't feel like yelling, so we
walk/run in near silence as the hum in our ears builds. They eventually pull
ahead as I cannot hold their pace. Alone again, afloat at sea, my thoughts
drift, taking me out of body, looking down on myself. The many ponds create a
serene setting in the ripples of land. A horse races along a ridge nearby,
dancing and playing. It's so peaceful and unassuming. The road twists a bit
coming into Ridge Line (36.5). A group of runners leaving Ridge Line surprise
me. My mindless ramble to this point brings me close to those in front of me,
when I more expected those behind to catch me up. I have a drop bag here and
decide to take my first major break. A complete sit down, feed, and visit. I
swap old meds for new and put on a fresh shirt. I fluctuate on long or short
sleeve for a minute, settling on short. I'm getting a tad cold now, but I'll be
fine soon as I get moving again. I eat at cup of beans & meat, drink a can
of Red Bull & Ensure, and exit as the Sergeant-Major comes in.
The
wind has turned cold, so I pull on my jacket and enjoy the long downhill. First
chance I've had to stretch my legs in some time. Feels good but is way too
short. Down and then up to a sharp left turn. A hundred flat yards to tree line
and then a set of rolling hills for a bit. The cold wind is gone and I'm hot
again, so pack the jacket away once again. The road has a carpet of grass about
2 feet wide on either side. Didn't even realize my feet hurt until now when
they have some relief. The cows eat the grass, then dump on the road, and this
fertilizer has grass in it. I enjoy the soft ride and resolve not to eat the
grass. Crossing a ridge as I round a corner, I find myself within a large herd
of cattle. They stop grazing and watch as I run between them. I weave through
them while they stop grazing and watch. I understand they're docile animals but
I don't feel the least bit comfortable as they are not the least bit
intimidated or skittish as I pass through. On the contrary, they approach
slowly while they watch me intently. The road rolls a bit, offering a few
wonderful down-hills along with some twists & turns. Very nice. I'm liking
this a lot, riding the waves. I can see a highway ahead and hear the hum of trucks
through the wind. Here comes the leader, heading back the other way. Eric gives
me a high five as he dances by. I cheer him on and he says something about the
weather which I only half hear. He's gone quickly. I cross a dirt road bridge
over an interstate. It feels so odd, so out of sync with each other. Matfield
Green (42.5) is just ahead at the intersection. I don't have a drop bag here,
but stop for a coke and gone again. I cross back over the highway on another
dirt road within sight of the other one I just used. Odd configuration. Wonder
what sort of politics required two dirt bridges within sight of each other
crossing the same super highway. I would think they should join on one side and
cross it once. The thought of it occupies my thinking for the next few miles.
Are all the country bridges crossing the interstate in Kansas, dirt?
The
road parallels the highway for a quarter mile. In reference to the highway
traffic, I feel very slow plodding along at 25 minutes a mile. The road thankfully
bends away from the highway. I appreciate that. Another bend leads to a climb
up a steady rise in the road. Mark approaches and passes me from the other
direction, in 2nd place. He appears to be running well within himself. I wish
him well and then cross over the top. Someone far ahead appears to be walking.
I set my sights on him and start running. It's Greg and he says he's done. He
plans to stop at Lone Tree. We walk/run together while we visit and make our
way to the large radar tower where we turn. A group is approaching going the
other way. Sue Johnston, Bobby Keogh and a few others, followed by the
Washington boys. Greg and I run in & out of some strong wind as we twist,
turn, and drop down to Lone Tree (50.0). Eric and friends take care of us,
topping water and telling jokes. I drink a Red Bull & Ensure and remove a
shoe to check a hot spot on my right foot. The size of the blister shocks me.
Looks like a cherry tomato stuffed down onto the end of my 2nd toe. I'm trying
to figure what to do with it when I see good old Butch come cruising down the
hill towards us, with the Sergeant-Major right behind him. I expected the
Sergeant-Major, but Butch has come back from the dead. He must have really put
it on to make up the gap. I'm impressed. I hide the ugly blister in a clean
sock, stuff it back in my shoe and head back out. It'll have to wait. Nothing I
can do for that ugliness 'til later.
If
Greg quits here, he'd be stuck for hours, so he's heading back to Matfield
Green with Butch & I. He's not feeling well but he seems to be enjoying the
run/walk that Butch and I have going, up and out of Lone Tree. I can't seem to
keep running for very long. A sharp pain in my hip flexor raises its ugly head.
This is new. Don't recall ever having a pain like this before. I can suffer the
pain for 10 or 12 strides before it becomes too intense. Nothing to do about it
now, so I keep on as best I can, running & walking. We seem to be making
good time, as I don't allow myself to walk for long before I push out again. We
pass a few folks coming in as we reach the radar tower. The wind is less of a
problem now. If it doesn't change, we should have it at our backs for most of
the return trip. We swap lies while we stutter run down the road, passing the
rest of the field as they go past heading to the turn around point. Greg drops
back on the next climb, walking in. I seem to be bonking but can't quite figure
it out. I've been eating regular, drinking lots, salt every hour, sugar now and
again. My bag of meds includes a few hard candies, Succeed sodium caps, Advil,
a throat lozenge, and a Tum. I've been doing Succeed and an occasional candy up
'til now and ignoring the rest. I pop my first Advil to take some of the edge
off. Sure hope it works. We slip into Matfield Green (57.4), ready for a break.
I sit down and eat a sloppy Joe, my last solid meal!
Leaving Matfield Green, we cross the highway
again. Butch pulls up to apply some Desiten. I've had it in my gear all day:
keeps all the important parts lubed and rash free. We get rolling again. Not
terribly fast, but a descent stumbling run/walk through the rolling hills and
back to the herd once again. They seem to be excited about Butch's bright red
shirt. He has to shoo them away. We stay on the grass carpet where it exists.
Butch tells me about a geode he found on his way out, but was too big to carry.
So now we're both running along looking at rocks right up to the next turn. The
large radar tower we passed back near the turn around is in on our left, back
down the road a mile or so. It's on the same road and in line with where we're
going to the right and uphill to Ridge Line (63.4). Its sundown and the colors
in the sky are dazzling. Pastels shaped by wind blown clouds, a sinking sun,
and a rising moon. It's flat out beautiful. What a show. We drop into chairs at
Ridge Line behind a wind block. We each have a cup of beans with meat. This is
where we both have our night gear: lights, clothes, and such. I trade the old
camelback for the bigger Cloudwalker. It has more room for my gear. I might
need the extra gloves, baclava, and long pants, so I drop them all inside. I
change into my best long sleeve capilene shirt and then put on my jacket. I
have my standard Red Bull and Ensure but can't get down all the beans. This is not
good. If I can't eat, I'll begin the death spiral down to an even uglier bonk.
I try again, but cannot eat. My sugars & salts are ok. I'm staying
hydrated. Just need to eat. Could use something different: watermelon, avocado,
pizza, or maybe another sloppy Joe! It's time to go. The sun drops out of sight
and we leave just as it gets dark. The Sergeant-Major comes in as we get up and
leave.
We
go without a light for a bit, enjoying the moonlight. A rancher stops and asks
if we're ok. Curious I'm certain why two fellows are wondering around in the
country after dark. He seems obviously concerned. The night sky is as pretty as
the sunset. A crescent moon lights the clouds and even some of the road. The
muted colors create a nice backdrop on the rolling hills. Butch turns on his
light: a 4-LED job that works well. I turn on my 14-green-LED light and it
lights up the road. Butch turns his off and puts it up. The truck light is good
enough for the both of us.
The
wind has decreased and is also behind us now. This section is less of a
struggle than it was on the way out. We make good time, rolling up the hills
behind us as it gets darker and later. I can see a long ways from this spot but
I can't tell how far I'm seeing. The lights just don't seem to get any closer
after going a long time. It's so disorienting that I try not to focus on any
point. There is no sense of accomplishment. I know the Sergeant-Major is not
far behind. He must be running without lights. I can see forever and I see
nothing. We see the lights of Texaco Hill (68.7) long before we get there. Phil
and Stacy are wonderful hosts as we step into their tent and out of the cold.
We sit in chairs covered with warm blankets while they top our water and feed
us some hot ramen. As we step back into the cold, the Sergeant-Major arrives.
The
road twists and dives, and has a few good rollers in here before it starts a
long rocky downhill. My legs are really starting to get stiff now. Our
conversation dies out and we both struggle with the cold. Each section seems to
be taking longer and longer, and this one is no exception. Eventually, we do
find the stop sign and a major thoroughfare. The lights of Teterville (75.4)
are within sight, but the undertow pulls us back while we paddle very slowly
against the tide. It takes us awhile to actually get there. The wind is up
again also, and I'd guess it never really left. Most likely, it was only at our
back. We walk/run into a stiff, cold wind up to and in to the station. The
volunteers are out of the wind inside their car, only getting out when we
arrive. I need to eat and sit down to attempt it, but cannot get the broth to
my lips. Each time I raise the cup, my hand shivers so bad that I spill it all
over my gloves. I try a few times, only getting worse with each attempt. I'm
worse now than I was when I came in. I take the Red Bull and Ensure from my
drop bag and walk out trying to drink. Sergeant-Major arrives as we leave, with
his light on.
We
walk out shaking, trying to get down the bits of food and drink we carry with
us. Butch is doing ok, but I can't seem to manage. I'm getting real sleepy now,
on top of every damn thing else that seems to be malfunctioning. A total system
crash. Major units shutting down one by one, each stressing the other until I
should collapse and crash. I have to keep moving. Butch is always 3 to 5
strides in front of me now, mentally pulling me along. I suggest many times
that he go on and let me drag it in on my own. I feel bad that he's slowing
down for me, when I know that he could and should just motor on in and wait in
his warm truck. I can see he's getting so cold that his hands need to be rubbed
together to get the circulation back. I attempt some minor math in my misfiring
brain and resolve that we cannot get in under 24 hours at this pace. I tell him
to go and he declines again. 'Sub-30 is ok with me', he says. 'We're doin
fine'. I'm starting to feel pretty low about all this. If it was me alone, I'd
be fine with it and just keep on going, however slow. But damn! I make myself start
running again, but it doesn't last. There is nothing left. I'm just falling
forward. I can hear foot steps behind us now and again, but see nothing. We
stop at the unmanned aid (78.8) and I lay down in the road. Butch tops his
water and grabs some pretzels, and then we go again.
I
slow down as the moon picks up speed sprinting towards the dark horizon. I
study its path and watch each millimeter disappear as it falls towards
Cassoday. And eventually we sneak into Lapland (83.1). They have a wind block
up so we sit and try to eat again. I manage a quarter cup of ramen and drink a
Bull & half Ensure. We slip out as the Sergeant-Major comes in, but he
skips right through and passes us.
I
was wondering when he was gonna do that. About time. But our half stubble
run/walk is faster than his and we pass him. The moon finally dives into the
earth and leaves us in pitch black. Now Butch has his light on also. I can't
seem to stay awake, nodding badly, I begin to drift from one side of the road
to the other, much slower than I already was. I certainly don't need these
extra miles. On and on, step after step, run a few, walk a few, repeat until
brain-dead. The temperature has dropped into the 30s. I have on my baclava and
gloves. The pack is empty and I'm wearing everything I brought except the
pants. The pants! Hey, I'll have to sit down to put them on, and I dearly want
to sit down. I stop and sit. Then I lay down. Butch comes rushing back,
thinking something has happened to me. No, just weird logic. I pull the pants
out and slip them on. Now, the pack really is empty. We come into Battle Creek
(91.7) where I have my last drop bag. The one I skipped yesterday morning. We
stop, sit, wrap ourselves in blankets, and attempt some food. Nothing doing for
me. The Sergeant-Major comes in, sees us wrapped in blankets, and quickly moves
on down the road. Good. I'm glad he has finally gone ahead for good. I'm
getting the shakes again and have to go. I get up and Butch follows me out. I
had 2 Red Bulls in my drop and take them both. I drop one in my pack and drink
the other while walking out. In the darkness, the course becomes monotonous.
Everything looks and feels the same, including my condition. Stumble, lurch,
weave, run a few steps, and repeat. I'm nodding worse now than I was. I'm
walking with my eyes closed, can't seem to run at all. Butch is freezing and my
brain has abandoned my body. I keep shaking my head, my arms, trying to shake
it. I find myself just short of walking off the side of the road into a creek
and it scares me. I'd go hypothermic so quickly. Damn it but I gotta get going.
It's cold. I ask Butch to get my extra gloves out of my pack for me, but all he
finds is a Red Bull in there. Why did I think I had extra gloves in there?
Heck, that'll work better than gloves anyway. I slug the drink and take off. I
get so mad about being so slow that I just start running. I last a bit longer
now, walking less. I seem to be knocking myself awake, warming up, and getting
it going again. Butch rides the wave, staying just 3 or 4 strides in front of
me. He seems to know all the turns through here and there are a few, announcing
each one in advance. He says the next road leading into Cassoday is short
followed by an S-turn. We get on the road and it goes on forever. We begin to
wonder if we missed the turn until we find the final unmanned aid (95.3). Butch
stops for a moment and then we pick up again.
On
and on down the road. Butch is again beginning to wonder if we are off course
again. He thinks we should have turned by now and he goes further and further
ahead. Eventually, we find the stop sign and intersection. The turn on the long
road that Butch thought was a short road. It is the only time all day that I
see him a bit flustered. Last thing you want to do at 99 miles is add a few
more. We're both ready to be done, craving a warm truck and some sleep. The
road turns soon enough to the left but once again we seem to go on longer than
feels right. Our ability to register distance is gone, orientation trashed,
sense of time ruined. Nothing makes much sense any longer. My systems are so
trashed that I can't tell that Butch's are starting to go also. We find the
next turn, another stop sign. We turn right on Washington Ave at the edge of
town. A real street sign. Another turn at the next road, a paved road, and
we're on the final stretch. 'That's it', Butch points out the lights a hundred
yards ahead. We finish as inauspicious as we started. It is done.
Takes
10 minutes to de-thaw the windshield before we can drive the truck. KUS HQ is
only a block away and the roads are empty, so we get there quickly, slip in
quietly, drop our bags on the floor, and are asleep long before we got here.
The fall of
dropping water wears away the Stone.
~ Lucretius ~
Dann and Miles’
Excellent 112-Mile Colorado Adventure
Well, I stand up next to a
mountain
And I chop it down with the
edge of my hand…
Well, I pick up all the
pieces and make an island
Might even raise just a
little sand
'Cause I'm a voodoo child
Lord knows I'm a voodoo
child
-- Jimi
Hendrix
Shannon, Miles and I left the training purgatory of Manhattan on Sunday, July 21 for the cooler climes of Colorado. I was looking forward to putting the finishing touches on my training for the Leadville 100. After enduring the sweltering drive through western Kansas and eastern Colorado, we set up shop in Silverthorne, home of the factory outlet stores and the longest stoplights in America.
We headed toward Vail to do the Commando
Run, one of my favorite trails from last summer. The trail starts at 11,080 feet near the Vail Pass, climbs to
almost 13,000 feet by the fifth mile and then drops steadily down toward
Minturn at 8,000 feet. Starting in
bright sunshine and 40-degree temperatures, Miles and I climbed quickly to the
summit. Soon we were racing through the
open meadow filled with beautiful yellow, red, and purple wildflowers. I was
floating along behind Miles in complete bliss.
Next thing I knew I had slid down a creek bank and was immersed in
freezing cold water. Despite his Golden
Retriever heritage, Miles has never been very attracted to water. Two Elk Creek, however, must have triggered
something in his DNA. He took a sudden
left turn off the trail through an opening in some bushes and leapt from the
bank like he was entered in a hunting trial.
Unfortunately for me I was tethered to him at the moment he remembered
his breeding. Although I was cursing, Miles thought it all great fun so I had a
hard time staying mad at him. I dunked
him in the water and we frolicked around for a bit before returning to the
trail. We soon arrived at the trailhead
in Minturn where Shannon was waiting for us.
After a quick lunch, we headed for Leadville and the Turquoise Lake Trail. The trail follows the north shore of the lake and begins at about the five-mile point (outbound) and 87-mile point (inbound) of the Leadville 100. I had experienced the remainder of the out-and-back course during the training weekend in late June, so I was anxious to see the part I had missed. As is custom for summer afternoons in Colorado, the sky had become overcast and rain looked imminent as we reached the trailhead near the May Queen Campground. The trail was nearly flat and should be one of the easier stretches of the Leadville course. I made note, however, of the significant number of rocks and tree roots that will need to be traversed during the race in the cover of darkness. At about the mid-point of the trail, we came to a sign that indicated we were at a deep bog and should remain on the log bridge. Miles proved he couldn’t read by quickly stepping off the logs and sinking to his chest in the muck. What a mess! Some of the mud was washed away by the cold rain that soon began falling. We met Shannon at the dam, but I took Miles for a swim in the lake to get the rest of the mud off before allowing him into the 4-Runner for the return trip to the hotel.
Distance:
8 miles Time: 1:20 Total Elevation Gain: 50 feet
The day broke crisp and clear. We drove to the Twin Lakes area south of
Leadville to take another look at the dreaded double crossing of Hope Pass. The
summit at 12,600 feet is reached at 45 miles and again at 55 miles during the
race. Miles and I romped across the
marsh, the low point in the course at 9,200 feet, toward the mountain trail. Miles became fascinated with the ducks that
had taken up residency in the area. We soon came to the Lake Creek water
crossing. Because of the drought, the
water was running low, only about calf deep on me. The water still runs swiftly, which explains why a rope is
stretched across the waterway to aid with crossing during the race.
Safely across the water we began the climb up the
mountain. The 3,400-foot ascent occurs
in about three miles. Miles and I
marched steadily reaching the summit two hours after leaving Twin Lakes. After taking time to enjoy the view from the
top and to share a Cliff Bar, we began the descent to the Clear Creek dirt
road. Forty-five minutes later we were
at the road. The sun was beating down
so Miles quickly found some shade in which to enjoy a bowl of water. Rather than venturing down the road to the
ghost town of Winfield to the race’s turnaround, Miles and I headed straight,
and I mean STRAIGHT, back up the mountain.
The return ascent up the mountain climbs about 2,400 feet in two miles
with the aid of very few switchbacks.
We climbed maybe a quarter mile when a cloud suddenly appeared and began
dumping rain on us. The rain didn’t
last long, but it served to cool off Miles, and he began climbing even
harder. As we broke treeline, I heard
the sound of thunder. I turned around
to see storm clouds brewing behind us.
The storm was still off in the distance but I didn’t want to meet up
with lightening at the summit. We began
marching relentlessly toward the top in hopes of getting to treeline on the
other side before the storm approached.
We reached the summit in 1:20, five minutes faster than I had climbed
during the training weekend. The effort
required, however, seemed less. We
maintained a steady pace as we charged down the mountain toward Twin
Lakes. The storm had spared us. The sky soon became sunny again while rain
seemed to fall all around us. Miles
took a swim in Lake Creek while I directed a couple of lost mountain bikers
back to Twin Lakes. We finished the
marsh area to find Shannon waiting with lunch for us.
After
lunch, we drove down Hagerman Pass Road to the Native Lake trailhead. Hagerman Pass Road leads to the other
significant climb in the Leadville Race, Sugarloaf Pass. But instead of turning to go to the pass, we
bounced another few miles down the washboard road to reach the trailhead. The trail climbs about 1,000 feet in a
little more than two miles, switching back and forth across a spectacular
creek. Once we reached the top, we
raced across a meadow, pausing to gaze at Mt. Massive sprawling in front of us.
As
we began our descent, we had our first view of the crystal clear lake. After descending a rocky trail, we finally
reached the lake. Miles found a good
resting spot and was soon fascinated by grazing deer. We pushed on, encircling the lake and making the return trip as
storms loomed over Mt. Massive and Leadville.
This was a beautiful, runnable trail.
It was well worth the effort to find it.
Distance:
8+ milesTime: 2:20Total Elevation Gain: 2,120 feet
We
made the short drive to Frisco to take on the Eccles Pass Loop. From the beginning I was disappointed by
this trail. The trailhead is very close
to I-70 and the early part of the trail was crowded with hikers and, despite
large signs at the trailhead that mandate leashes, numerous free-roaming
dogs. I soon concluded that Miles was
the only dog in Colorado with a leash.
The trail was very rocky in the early going and climbed steadily to
Eccles Pass at 11,880 feet. The view of
the Gore Range from the pass was spectacular.
As we descended the other side of the mountain, we passed a small lake
that called Miles to swim. As we pushed
on, I kept waiting for the Gore Creek Trail to intersect our path as stated in
the trail description, but it never materialized. After about two more miles, the trail disappeared. After three aborted attempts to find the
trail, I made the decision to turn the run into an out-and-back rather than a
loop. Noon had arrived, rain was
forecasted for afternoon, and I had no desire to become lost in the backwoods
of the Gore Range. So Miles and I
fought our way back up Eccles Pass and through and around the numerous loose
dogs (Miles fought with one, and I booted one off the trail that kept charging
at me) back to the trailhead. Shannon
met us and transported us back to the hotel for lunch.
After
a quick meal, I loaded Miles into the 4-Runner and we made the short drive to
the Mesa Cortina trail. This trail
rolls through rows of aspens and lodgepole pines until it intersects with the
Gore Range trail. I quickly recognized
that heading north on Gore Range trail would lead, after several miles, to Eccles
Pass and might be a better alternative to what I had endured in the
morning. We proceeded west on the Gore
trail for about a mile past where it had intersected with the Buffalo Cabin
trail. The double track trail narrowed
and became rougher as it headed toward Red Buffalo Pass. Miles and I turned back long before reaching
the pass, but I saw enough to know that the trail would be interesting run as
it winds its way toward Vail. On the
return, we made a side trip down the Buffalo Cabin trail so that Miles could
take a dip in the creek. Once we
returned to the Gore trail we raced back toward Silverthorne covering the four
miles in just over 30 minutes.
Distance:
9+ miles Time: 1:45Total Elevation Gain: 940 feet
Thursday,
July 25
We
traveled about a mile from the hotel to the Ptarmigan Peak trail. The Ptarmigan trail is a smooth trail that
climbs about 3,600 feet in six miles.
Because of numerous switchbacks, the climb is not difficult. I would recommend this trail to anyone
looking for a good first trail climb.
We had excellent views of Dillion Lake (what remains of it), the Gore
Range and the Tenmile Range. The summit
was covered in grass instead of being rocky like the other mountains we had
climbed, so Miles and I sacked out on the ground and enjoyed the mountain views
for an extended period. The six miles
back to the trailhead went by quickly after which we ran down the road to the
hotel for a quick lunch.
Distance:
12+ milesTime: 2:55Total Elevation Gain: 3,610 feet
The
real adventure was about to begin.
Shannon, Miles and I drove to Vail in search of the Upper Piney River
Trail. From Vail we bounced up and down
Red Sandstone Road for 10 miles to the trailhead, a trip that took about 30
minutes in an SUV. The trail begins at
Lower Piney Lake nestled next to the Piney River Ranch. The ranch provides horseback rides and has a
general store. The crystal clear alpine
lake was surrounded by rows of pine trees.
The Gore Range stood majestically to the east, shrouded by afternoon
clouds that were now beginning to spit precipitation. The single-track trail was well worn and smooth. Miles set a blistering pace and soon we were
back in woods. About three miles into
the run we crossed a cascading creek.
The trail book indicated that the trail would become confusing here
because of spur trails that run off the main trail. I just noticed that the trail had become rough and rocky and the
climb was generally short but very steep, requiring me to use my hands and
knees in places. Our progress slowed as
we struggled on toward the turnaround at Upper Piney Lake (this place must have
been named by Jed Clampett). The lake
was beautiful, but I was happy to be heading back. Then the rain began falling and so did I. I slipped on a rock, stumbled backwards and
took the point of lodgepole pine in the back, knocking the wind out of me. I opened my eyes to find Miles standing over
me looking concerned. I couldn’t say
anything to him. Finally I was able to
pat his head. Sensing this was going to
take a bit, he settled in next to me.
After several minutes, I was finally able to rise and run again. Soon
after, I stumbled again and slid down a big rock gashing my wrist. I was no longer having much fun. A new spur seemed to arrive every six
feet. The rain was falling harder. I was getting cold and frustrated. Wrong turns were numerous as we struggled to
stay with the main trail.
The trail had reminded me of a scene from a movie,
but until now I hadn’t been able to place it.
Suddenly it came to me. The woods,
rocks, and stream resembled the area that Rambo escaped into in First Blood. Looking at my wrist and hand, I realized that I had already drawn
first blood. I hoped I wasn’t going to
have to fashion a jacket out of a burlap sack or seek cover from the cold in an
old mineshaft.
The trail was getting harder to follow. We soon came to a small clearing where the
trail just seemed to end. I spotted a
trail to my left but feared it was just another spur that would head in the
wrong direction so I attached a Cliff Bar wrapper to stick in the clearing to
make sure I wasn’t just going in circles.
About 15 minutes later we returned to find the marker. Damn!
I searched but couldn’t find the trail. Miles had wanted to go right through the grass when we were here
earlier. Now he seemed to be
insisting. This would keep the stream
on our left and would have us heading west, the direction that we needed to go. I decided to follow Miles. After a bit of bushwacking, we arrived at
the main trail. Miles had done it!
Soon we were back to the smooth part of the
trail. I was celebrating the thought of
making it back to the ranch. Miles was
running so fast that I was having trouble keeping pace. The rain stopped and the sun came out. I was feeling overwhelming relief. Unfortunately the adventure was not over.
As I approached the 4-Runner at Piney River Ranch, I heard hissing
coming from the front tire. I was cold,
wet and tired and now I was going to have to change a flat tire! The ranch had just closed and nobody
appeared to be about. After about 30
minutes of fiddling with the vehicle, thumbing through the manual and muttering
profanity, I was finally able to get the spare tire loose. I was pleased to find that it still had
air. In the meantime, Shannon had
searched the ranch and recruited the last sole on the place to provide
help. By this time I was nearly
finished but appreciated the help lifting the large spare tire onto the hub. As I was lowering the vehicle off the jack,
Shannon noticed that Miles was curled up in a ball and shivering. The sun had set and he was still wet. The poor guy was miserable. We loaded into the 4-Runner blasted the
heater and bounced 30 minutes back down the washboard road to Vail, thankful
that the tire hadn’t decided to blow on the narrow road or at high speed on
I-70.
Distance:
Conservatively 13 miles Time: 4:25
Total
Elevation Gain: 1,840 feet
Storms
dumped rain during the night. Clouds
were still socked in around the mountains as we drove to Frisco to have the
tire repaired. Shannon and I enjoyed a
hearty breakfast while a nail was extricated from the tire. Soon Miles and I were on our way toward
Leadville to climb Mt. Elbert.
Mt. Elbert is the highest peak in
Colorado (14,440 feet). I had climbed
the mountain during the free morning of the training weekend. Despite the long climb (3,670 feet in five
miles), I didn’t find the ascent as difficult as Hope Pass. In July I was disappointed to reach the
summit just to find a large group of hikers.
Nearly all of them were busy hitting speed dial on their cell phones in
order to alert everyone they had climbed a mountain. I considered snatching all the cell phones, tossing them from the
mountain and creating a Verizon moment: Can you hear me now?
Clouds seemed to engulf all the
mountains except for Elbert as Miles and I arrived at the trailhead. Because of the tire fiasco, it was after
11:00 before we started our climb. I
was fearful that we might get caught at the summit in a shower forecasted for the
afternoon.
Miles once again proved he was an
able climber, allowing us to reach the summit in 2:05. With the wind gusting 40 mph, I had to pull
on a jacket and use the chinstrap on my sun hat after we broke treeline. The temperature at the summit was only in
the 40s, resulting in a windchill nearly 90 degrees cooler than the current
heat index in Kansas. I chortled at the
thought. Before long I was freezing so
we started back down the rocky path. By
the time we reached treeline, I was warm again and decided that the jacket was
no longer necessary. Miles seized the
opportunity to sprawl out in the grass while I fiddled with gear. After seeing how comfortable he was in the
warm sunshine, I decided to join him for an extended rest.
After our break, we raced downhill
toward the intersection with the Colorado Trail. We decided to extend the run by turning right on the Colorado
trail and heading toward Twin Lakes, part of the Leadville course, instead of
left toward the trailhead. We had run this portion of trail in both daylight
and darkness during the training weekend, but I was hoping for another
look. I assumed it would be raining by
the time we returned from the mountain, so I wasn’t planning to have this
opportunity. Instead, we were greeted by
brilliant sunshine. The temperature was
perfect, and the trail was sheltered from the wind. Miles was inspired by my decision to continue and dropped the
pace. Soon we were running about a
7:00-minute pace on the double-wide trail, bouncing over rock and root and
splashing through creeks. After about
30 minutes, we turned and reversed our tracks back to the trailhead, completing
our adventure. Miles sacked out in the
long shadow of the 4-Runner, content with his new weekly mileage PR.
Distance:
16 miles Time: 4:40Total Elevation Gain: 3,750 feet
Total
Distance: 112 miles
Total
Time: 30:35
Total
Elevation Gain: 22,020 feet
Saturday was spent driving home from
Colorado. After waiting out the storms on
Sunday morning, I completed my last long run before Leadville, 30 miles. For the week, I recorded 142 miles
(conservatively), a new PR surpassing the 140 miles run in early June 1981.
Perseverance is not a long race; it is many short races one after
another.~ Walter Elliott ~
Just some last thoughts from
the editor…….
After
some discussion at the get together in August KUS decided to try a new event
instead of the Wichita 24 hour race in April. Marc Friesen is RD’ing the new Ad
Astra Ultras and Relays race to be held on April 26, 2003. Marc plans a
50K, 50-Mile, 100K and 100K relay races at Cowtown in Wichita on a flat,
certified loop course (4.xx miles to be determined upon certification) along
the Arkansas River. There is a 14-hour time limit and aid stations and lap
counting will be provided. Contact Marc with any questions at marc.friesen@agcocorp.com
Or
phone him at (316) 284-0959 .
Did
you miss the Relentless Forward Progress Column? Well I didn’t get around to
emailing everyone before this newsletter….so I’m asking you all to email or
call me with the races you plan to run next (or next year), please!
I
would like to send congratulations to Marc Friesen for his race at Edmund
Fitzgerald, he ran the 100K in 9:05, placing him 9th overall and
earning him All-American status and a USATF medal! Congrats on a great race
Marc!
****
KUS-ipes
Banana Muffins
1 ¼
cup mashed ripe bananas (about 3 medium)
3
Tablespoons vegetable oil
1
large egg
1/3
cup sugar
2
cups Bisquick baking mix
½
cup raisins or chopped nuts if desired
Streusel Topping (below)
Heat
oven to 400 degrees. Grease bottoms only of 12 medium muffin cups, 2½ x 1¼
inches, with shortening, or line with paper baking cups.
Beat
bananas, oil, egg and sugar in large bowl until well blended. Stir in baking
mix and raisins just until baking mix is moistened (batter will be lumpy).
Divide batter evenly among muffin cups and top with Streusel topping.
Bake
about 15 minutes or until golden brown. Cool muffins in pan 5 minutes; remove
from pan to wire rack. Serve warm if desired.
Streusel Topping
2
Tablespoons firm stick margarine or butter
¼
cup all purpose flour
2
Tablespoons packed brown sugar
¼
Teaspoon ground cinnamon
Cut
margarine into flour, brown sugar and cinnamon in medium bowl, using pastry
blender or crisscrossing 2 knives, until crumbly.
Questions?
Info to share? Got a story or race report?
Need to get a hold of the editor? Renew your membership? My address is:
Stacy Sheridan
302 S Grand
Ave
Ellsworth KS
67439
785-472-5454
ALL
submissions to the newsletter are greatly appreciated!! Send them in!