We hiked Mt. Princeton with my family on my birthday. My little brothers have a goal to hike fourteen 14ers in 2014 with my dad, and as a bonus they wanted to do at least one mountain with each member of the family. This was their seventh mountain, and with it, every family member has completed a hike with them!
My sister brought along two friends from Texas, bringing our party count to nine people. It was quite the expedition! We rented a small mobile home in Buena Vista for a couple nights and had fun eating meatball subs, chocolate cake (chocolate birthday cake), watching movies, and visiting a paco-vicuña farm. We even arrived just minutes after a baby paco had been born--it was learning to walk and the cuteness was almost unbearable.
The actual hike was, how shall I put this, long. Seven miles, eleven hours. My sister's Texan friends were troopers, but they were freaking slow troopers. I don't know how it happens, but every Thomas family hike turns into a death march. We climbed Timp last year and it took twelve hours (the average is eight) because my dad insisted on taking several "shortcuts".
Ah, well. Sore legs make for good memories! It was definitely my most tiring birthday, but the company and scenery were unbeatable. Thanks for a fun adventure, mom and dad! I love you and I love Colorado.
^^ Those skid marks are from my 10-year old brother who lost his footing crossing this snow field. He tried to jam his feet and poles into the ground the stop, but was moving too fast. By the grace of God, he walked away with only bruises.
^^ This little pup is such a trooper! Mojo's paws took a beating on the rocks the whole way. He didn't put up any fight being stuffed into Brock's backpack for the hike down! Sweet thing.
A few months ago I found out that Macklemore was playing a concert at a rinky dink college in St. George. (I think he must've booked this before "Thrift Shop" hit #1 on iTunes, ha.) It took about 2.7 nanoseconds for me to buy tickets, and it wasn't much longer before my brother Colby, my bestie Jessica, and little sister Kiana had joined the party. We were expecting a fun getaway in sunny St. George, but Murphy's law held true. It rained the entire time! (Did I mention this was an outdoor concert?)
The concert was held on the practice field of Dixie State's football team. Everyone jammed in together on the grass and basically moshed the whole time. Since it was standing room only, anyone under 5'5'' was screwed. Brock was sweet and held up Kiana for most of the concert so she could see!
After crashing at the luxurious Super 8 motel (frozen Eggos for breakfast mmmm), we visited my friend's parents. They live in a 55+ community just on the outskirts of town and we had a great time meeting them! We ate lunch with them at the community center and were slowed down by an old lady cruising around in a golf cart.
No trip to St. George is complete without a stop at Nielsen's Frozen Custard.
We zipped back to Provo on Saturday to watch Brock's brother in the BYU men's volleyball game.
See Kiana's shirt? My friend Tom spray painted the image for that! So sick. Everybody was obsessed with them. We're going to sell them at the next home game!
Oh, and Kiana was very impressed with the general level of attractiveness of men's volleyball players. We tweeted this picture to the team's resident hottie Erik Mayer ;) ;) ;)
I woke up early to drive Kiana to the airport on Sunday morning, then came back and crashed with these two. Later we went to a family dinner at my Aunt Cindy's house in Orem--those are always such a good time!
After watching the BYU men's volleyball team wallop #1-ranked UCI on Friday night, we drove 2.5 hours south to a Motel 6 in Green River. The plan was to wake up early the next morning for an adventure in Moab, but things fell through. What are two lovebirds to do upon finding themselves stuck in a one-horse town? Well, I'll tell you. (Or show you, more like.)
Breakfast. Our booth neighbor told us where to get the best truck stop tacos (Hopi Travel Plaza off the old Route 66 in Arizona). We entertained ourselves with the funny books in each booth (How to Understand Women, etc).
This place is real.
Green River is apparently famous for its melons?! Who knew? I bet this bad boy gets busted out once per year at some local parade.
"No perfect people allowed" . . . so . . . no Jesus?
The top-rated restaurant in Green River, according to Yelp. Great burgers, apparently.
We ate all this during the run and THEN some. Mexican for dinner the night before, oatmeal in the morning, bagels and cream cheese at Phantom Ranch . . and still lost weight.
Laying out our gear the night before. My dad came prepared for EVERYTHING. He pretty much would've had the supplies to give me surgery on the trail.
This sign admonishes you not to hike from the rim to the river and back in one day (about 18 miles). Psch.
After five solid miles of downhill, there's only one thing worse than seeing ALL THIS downhill to go. And that is knowing that you'll have to climb it 36 miles later.
About eight miles in! Sun finally up.
Bridge over the Colorado River. This was taken right after we saw a man in a BATMAN costume hiking up the South Rim. I guess it's a Halloween tradition for some people to do a rim hike in costume!
Ten miles of rolling terrain before the ass-kicking ascent up the North Rim. This is where we met an 18-year old kid named David who was prepping for the same run we were doing. He and his dad had a van parked at the top of the North Rim--they gave us ice-cold sodas once we got up there!
Right above Roaring Springs, about to hang a left to head up the trail to the North Rim.
The trail up the North Rim got pretty gnarly. I listened to Led Zeppelin's "Kashmir" on the way up which perfectly captured the majesty of the canyon. Randomly, the next song was Debussy's "Claire de Lune" . . . which also perfectly captured the majesty of the canyon. Led Zeppelin and Debussy. Who knew?
Nearing the top of the North Rim! FINALLY. You can see the canyon we came up and how it snakes off to the right. Oy. This is about where the song "Don't Fence Me In" came on my iPod.
I reserve the right to a nasty 80's combover hair after 36 miles.
Weakest fist-pump ever, but who cares? DONE.
We rolled into our Best Western at around midnight--physically exhausted, but not quite sleepy. Bodies are weird. After eating everything left in our packs (and some serious loopiness from Dad!), we fell asleep at around 1:30. Only slept a little while though. It's hard to rest when you're so sore!
The next morning we hobbled over to the motel's surprisingly awesome breakfast buffet, spent a few minutes in the jacuzzi, and lifted weights in the exercise room to released lactic acid. Then I drove ten hours home.
Equal parts brutal and beautiful--brutalful!--just about sums it up. We may have to make this a yearly tradition. Or every other year. Or never again.
A little more than two years ago, I wrote a post about how crazy my dad was. We'd just had a conversation that went like this:
"Dad, are you feeling good and ready for your ultramarathon tomorrow?"
"Meh. Not really. But I'm signed up, so I guess I'll do it."
Welp, I am truly my father's daughter. Things came full circle when, last week, my mother asked me the same question, and I replied in the same way. The longest training run I'd done in preparation had only been thirteen miles long. I had no idea what I was in for in terms of elevation gain and loss. I'd be running with trekking poles and a 10-lb daypack...had I trained with either of those things? NOPE.
Yet somehow, at 4:30AM last Saturday, I found myself waking up to run 46 miles in the Grand Canyon with my dad.
Had I known what a mother this run would be, I honestly would not have agreed to do it. There are two things that make this run brutal: First, 11,000 feet of elevation gain. That's pretty ridiculousin and of itself, but on paper it didn't seem, like, crazy. My first ultra was four miles longer with 9,000 feet of elevation gain, but it also had an average altitude of 10,000 feet. This ultra crammed more elevation gain into fewer miles, but hey! Lower altitude! That washes everything out, right? WRONG.
Here is what an elevation map of most ultras looks like. Mile 1 at far left, mile 50 at far right.
You gain a little, you lose a little. You gain a little more, you lose a little more. It's a gradual build.
Here is what an elevation map of the Grand Canyon rim-to-rim-to-rim ultra looks like:
BOOM! Two huge sections of elevation loss and another two huge sections of elevation gain. Do you have any idea how hard that is on your quads, calves, and knees?! Not only that, but the miles at which those sections occur are mentally tough. You gain 5,000 feet at miles 18-23 (for marathoners, this is the zone where most people "hit the wall"), and 6,000 feet on the homestretch (miles 35-46).
So yeah. It was pretty much Thrash City. I became well-acquainted with the Four Levels of Post-Ultra Gimpiness:
1. Frankenstein: Knees don't bend at all, arms out for stability
2. Zombie: Stiff and robotic, but hey! Knees bend a little!
3. Wedgie Walk: Pretty self-explanatory.
4. Normal
As of yesterday, I'm officially back to normal. And quickly gaining weight being sedentary, so I better get my butt back on the trails. I'll write more about the actual run tomorrow (with pictures). Man, that Grand Canyon is something.
Top of the South Rim, near the start of the Bright Angel Trail.
Not like you noticed, but it's been almost three weeks since my last post. I had to turn in my beloved Sony Vaio over to Best Buy's Geek Squad for a tune-up. New battery, AC adapter, CPU fan . . . this baby's back in action. See 0:55 - 1:40 for a visual metaphor. Simba = laptop, Rafiki = me.
Anyway.
Highlights from the past little while:
Greek Festival! Or as I like to call it, the Eat Festival . . . because that's pretty much all you do there. Unless you're five years old, in which case they have a giant inflatable sinking Titanic ship to slide down on. TOO SOON, GREEK FESTIVAL. The food was freaking delicious though. We tried a little bit of everything: Dolmathes, keftedes, spanakopitka, loukoumades, tyropita, melomakarona, kourambiedes, galotopita, and the best grilled chicken I have ever tasted. Check out pictures and recipes here!
Shot the tube with friends! (For non-Utahns: See here.) Brock bought an old Samsonite suitcase at DI for $5, took it apart at the hinges and BOOM. We had two water sleds. I never would've thought of that myself, but I've got to give him credit. It was genius.
Explored the Timpanogos Caves! It's a pretty gnarly hike up and down, but well worth it. Inside, we got to experience total darkness for the first time, which was very cool. The kind that your eyes will not adjust to no matter how hard you try. On our way back down, a little girl on the trail (probably three or four years old) grabbed Brock's hand thinking he was her dad. They walked together for probably five steps or so when Brock says "Um, I'm not your daddy. But you can still hold my hand!" She looked up at him and burst into surprised/scared/embarrased tears--poor thing! She started laughing as soon as she was in the arms of her real daddy, though. Too cute!
Watched my cousin Peter perform stand-up comedy at Wiseguys! He killed, as usual. Check out the group he performs stand-up with here. They are all so talented. As a woman has has tried--and bitterly failed at--stand-up before, I am acutely aware of how hard it actually is! Peter and his friends make it look effortless.
Drove the Alpine Loop! Autumn reds, oranges, yellows, and pinks were on full display--I caught my breath more than once.
Labor Day! We spent time with family up at Brock's grandparents' cabin (my favorite place in Utah) and wiled away the day in Park City going on hikes, visiting an art gallery, and stopping by Olympic Park.
The Holy War. This was more of a lowlight rather than a highlight, but still. Do the final eight seconds of a football game get any crazier than this?!
My original plan for our fourth day in Costa Rica was to spend it spelunking in Barra Honda National Park (which is only about twenty minutes down the road from Nicoya, where we were staying). We'd had a great night's sleep at the bishop's house--I still can't get over how lucky we were to have ran into him the night before. Nicoya is a cute town during the daytime, but at night it looked a little sketch.
What's more, the city was preparing for a huge celebration the following week. On July 25, 1824 the region of Nicoya decided to annex to Costa Rica instead of Nicaragua. Every year, they have a week-long festival celebrating that annexation--and according to the the bishop, thieves come out in droves for it. Violent crime is extremely rare in Costa Rica, but it's very common for tourists to have the contents of their car raided. So not only was I happy to spend the night inside a safe, comfortable house, I was happy that our car was locked inside a gated yard with a psycho dog guarding it. (More on the bishop's dog later . . . but seriously, that thing was messed up.)
We woke up early and ate breakfast at the small restaurant owned by the bishop and his family. They were so kind to us and so fun to talk to! The bishop's older brother was particularly hilarious.
Gallo pinto, fresh OJ, cheese, fried eggs, and chorreadas--pancakes made out of corn.
You can faintly see Brock in the door of their restaurant.
After breakfast, we had a mini-adventure back at the bishop's house involving car alarms and a Walk of Terror past his demented dog (whom we lovingly referred to as The Beast a la The Sandlot). But it wasn't long before we were on the road to las cavernas!
Our day came to a screeching halt when, at Barra Honda, we discovered that only one of the three caves was open, and that you had to be accompanied by a guide to go down it. To the tune of $65/hour. In 'Merika, that's what we call A JOKE.
Several Costa Ricans have told us that tourism is really suffering down there--partly because of the global recession, and partly because Costa Ricans are shameless price-gougers. The thing is, if you are offering a service in a foreign country that caters to predominantly Canadians and Americans, maybe it would be a good idea to find out what the equivalent cost of that service is in Canada and the US. A four-second Google search reveals that a 3-4 hour tour in the Carlsbad Caverns costs a mere $40/couple. So Barra Honda was charging 60% more for three hours less in a cave that, lo siento, doesn't hold a candle to Carlsbad. And they wonder why we left.
Instead, we went the opposite direction to Tamarindo, where we rented two surfboards all day for $20. (Kelly's Surf Shop--if you're ever in Tamarindo, hit this place up. Kelly is the man!) The waves were incredible that day--nothing big, but just easy and fun and rolling. Brock said it was the best surfing day of his life. I'm still learning, but I managed to get up on my own a couple times :) If anything, I was grateful for warm water and a soft, sandy ocean floor!
Funny story. Just as we were about to hit the water, I decided to go get something out of the car. So I'm running back to the car, on the beach, in a bikini, feeling mighhhhhhty "Baywatch" when FA-POOM. I eat it FACE FIRST in the sand. In front of everyone. It was so funny that I started laughing out loud, which I'm sure made me look like an even BIGGER idiot, but I mean, what else are you going to do in that situation?! I'm so sad Brock didn't see it! Funny moments like that are a shame if nobody films them, but they're a total WASTE if nobody sees them! (Well, at least nobody you know.) But guys, f'real. If I had been able to put this on YouTube, it would've become the next "Charlie Bit My Finger."
After a few hours of surfing we decided to explore some of the neighboring beaches around Tamarindo.
Playa Grande
You put the lime in the coconut . . .
We grabbed a quick bite to eat at a beachside taco stand in Playa Grande. That's when this happened.
Two minutes later, as we're leaving the parking lot, some drunk guy comes up to us and is all "HEY. It costs two dollars to park here." And Brock is like "There's no sign that says that. Where is your identification?" The man says "Here!" and points to his hat which has "SEGURIDAD" printed on it. Totally legit. Brock pulled his car out and drove away, with Mr. Borracho giving us all kinds of lovely hand signs in the rearview mirror.
Estuary into the ocean at Playa Avellanas
Behind where I took this picture was a small house--this estuary ran in front of it. Can you imagine looking out your kitchen as seeing this every day?!
After goofing around, we went back to Tamarindo for dinner at a place called FT's. Is there anything better than tropical smoothies and hot wings after a day of surfing? Well, maybe. But that was still freaking good. We had a great time chatting it up with the young Canadian couple next to us. Tamarindo was definitely the most touristy place we went to, but that was kind of nice for a day.
You'd think a super touristy place like Tamarindo would have a gas station. WRONG. Our tank was on empty, and the nearest station was a good ten miles away. Single gallons of gas were sold at little soda shops along the road, but of course they gouge like mad ($8/gallon or more). We decided to take our chances and go look for "cheap" gas--only $5.30 at regular stations!
Naturally, it makes sense to put a gas station at the top of a HUGE-A hill. Brock and I were so paranoid that we'd run out while going up!
But we made it! Thank goodness. After an hour-long drive back to Nicoya, we both passed out in bed within fifteen minutes. What a day!
