“Excuse me,” I said. “Do you know how far it is to get to the next road?”
“I’m not sure. What are you doing running out here?”
“Running across America for wounded veterans,” I replied.
With a skeptical look on his face, he shook his head and said, “What?”
“Running across America,” I repeated. “I’m making my way to Annapolis, Maryland.”
“Very cool!” he said. “I’m originally from Baltimore.”
I told him I would be running through my home state of West Virginia on my way to Maryland.
“I’ve spent some time in Morgantown with some friends of mine at West Virginia University,” he said.
“That’s where I’m from,” I laughed.
“No way! What a small world.”
By this time, some friends of his in another vehicle approached us. “You guys have got to get out here and meet this guy,” he told them. “He’s running all the way across the country!”
It was a neat experience to be able to share my purpose for the run with them. And I was amazed by the fact that out in the middle of nowhere on a seemingly deserted section of back roads, I could cross paths with someone who had friends in my hometown.
As I closed in on the finish of another day, we encountered another area where the RV had to take a different route. This time Tiffany would have to meet me on the other side of a mountain, and the maps weren’t very clear about what roads were in the area, so we just had to gamble that Tiffany would find a good place to park and wait for me. I was confident, however, that as long as I continued to head east I would eventually connect with them.
There were numerous hiking trails that went up the side of the barren hill, with rocks jutting out at all points, so I had to run this section a bit cautiously. But it was a nice diversion, breaking up the monotony of constantly running on pavement and alongside passing vehicles. I have always enjoyed trail running, so even though the climb was somewhat challenging, it really energized me. As I crested the mountain, where I could see the RV parked on the other side waiting for me, I took a moment to just take in the beauty around me. I could see the Great Salt Lake, and looking back could see where I had run most of that day. It really gave me perspective as to how much ground I was covering with each passing day, and it was a reminder of how beautiful this country truly is.
Later that evening, Tiffany said she felt like she had an understanding of what storm chasers do. Based on the limited weather information they have at the moment, they just have to make an educated guess on where the storm will appear and how to best get to that point. With her, it was making an educated guess on where I would appear from behind a mountain and figure out how to get the RV to that point to meet me. We didn’t have too many of these moments along the way, but when we did they were always very anxious moments for everyone.
Snakes and a Train
As I continued to count down the miles until we arrived in Salt Lake City (the first sign for the city I saw said: “Salt Lake City, 410 miles” and that was nearly two weeks ago), we continued to encounter “roads” that were impassable in the RV. Leading up to the final day before we entered the city, we were forced to decide how to conquer another detour in the route. This time I learned that it is always best to listen to the crew chief, especially when that person is your wife!
I remembered this section as we drove out to Oregon, not because of the mountain I would possibly have to go around, but because of the fact that the Salt Lake was literally just a few feet from us on the northern side of I-80, and how beautiful and vast the glittering blue body of water was. Having never traveled to this part of the country, I could not get over how majestic the lake was, and seeing the snow-capped mountains behind it made it just that much more incredible. “I can’t wait to run by here,” I remembered telling Tiffany on our way out. This was going to be one of those sections where the “five miles an hour, one mile at a time” USA crossing would be most enjoyable.
As I approached this mountain on foot, however, we realized that other than the interstate, there were no other roads going around the mountain. On each side of the mountain, there were roads that approached it, but no connections between the two. Aside from the interstate, it was a 17-mile journey around a different roadway to get to the east side, which of course didn’t sit well with me. There was no way I was going to just add an extra 17 miles onto the run, so we decided to do as we had done the previous few days and have Tiffany approach the mountain as closely as she could in the RV, let me go on my own and meet me on the other side.
At that point I had two options. Option #1 was to run along the railroad tracks that ran parallel to the interstate on the southern side of the mountain. Option #2 was to navigate around the mountainside off-road and have to battle brush, rocks and a steep slope. With the second option, I was also worried that I would be faced with one of my greatest fears—snakes.
I don’t like snakes. I never have, and I never will. My son developed an interest in reptiles when he was young, even once boasting that he wanted to be a herpetologist when he grew up, but I couldn’t embrace them as he has. One of the biggest (and to me bravest) things I believe I have ever done was let Nicholas buy a pet snake when he was about 9 years old. It was one of those moments when I had to swallow my pride (and fear) and allow him have the responsibility to care for his pet snake. I wasn’t happy about it, but I allowed it, because that’s what dads do, right?
Looking at the path that was in front of me, which really was no path at all, and fearing that I would almost certainly encounter a snake if I went that route, I thought it was in my best interest if I headed toward the railroad tracks and followed them the mile and a half around the edge of the mountain to the other side.
The dilemma reminded me of the scene in the 1980s movie Stand By Me, when the four boys decide to walk on the railroad tracks that spanned a wooden bridge 100 feet over a river rather than taking the safer route that was 10 miles out of their way. I had seen a couple of trains come through the area as I had approached it on my run earlier that day, and one had just gone through about 15 minutes prior to my arrival, so I believed I had a good window to run along them without issue. Tiff, however, preferred that I take the off-road, rocky path. She did not want me on the railroad tracks because there wasn’t much “shoulder” on either side of the tracks for me to jump off if a train did come through.
Since I had already seen a freshly killed rattlesnake along the road earlier that day, my fear of snakes won out and I headed up the hillside toward the railroad tracks. About 50 feet up the hill, I stepped over a rock and a light brown snake covered with many darker brown splotches slid out from under it, right under my foot. My foot came back up just as fast as it started down, and I ran back down the hill toward the RV in record time. When I saw Tiffany I announced, “I’m taking Option #3. I’m running the interstate!”
Initially that wasn’t one of our options because Utah doesn’t allow pedestrians on the freeways, so I knew that I was taking a risk. I had seen some bicyclists on the interstate, so I figured I could push it hard during this small section and hope that no police officers stopped me as I ran along the shoulder of the road. I hopped onto I-80 and ran the next two miles faster than I’d run during anytime in the entire trip. I did see a state trooper drive by in the opposite direction as I ran along I-80, but he apparently didn’t notice me or didn’t care. When cars zoomed past me at 70 miles per hour just a foot or two to my side, my heart pumped a little faster, which made my legs pump a little faster, too.
About four minutes into my run on the interstate, a train went barreling down the tracks that I would have been running on had I not been spooked away by the snake. The first thing I did when I got off the interstate and into the RV was look at Tiffany and say, “You were right. Running along the train tracks would have been a bad idea. From now on, I’ll listen to my crew chief.”
Chapter 9: Salt and Wind
Makin
g my way through Salt Lake City, I faced high temperatures and even higher mountains. The temperatures were in the 90s almost every day and I had several serious climbs. Typically that’s a combination that will really zap the energy out of a runner. But my body was adapting not only to the daily miles, but also to the warmer weather. Plus, Tiffany was doing a great job of keeping me hydrated by ensuring that I gulped down plenty of orange Gatorade to go along with salt tablets.
I was growing more and more comfortable with this routine of rising early and putting down 35 miles by mid-afternoon. While this routine allowed me to settle into the run, I could tell it was beginning to become a bit of a bore for our children, who had been trapped in the box on wheels. That’s why when we entered the heart of Salt Lake City I suggested to Tiffany that she allow her mother to take the children to a park or go do something fun in town. The kids were obviously excited to be able to stretch their legs and it also gave them some special time with Kathy.
As I entered the heart of downtown at about the midway point of my run for the day, I approached a red light. As I was standing there waiting for the crosswalk light to change, I caught a familiar face out of the corner of my eye. It was George Weekley, a good friend of mine from West Virginia who now lived in Salt Lake City with his wife, Jennifer. We had been communicating earlier in the journey and George offered to allow us to stay at his home that night. But I had no idea he was going to surprise me in the downtown area. He was tracking me through MyAthlete Live, and it was accurate enough to allow him to hunt me down. We chatted for a few minutes, he gave us his home address so we could meet up there after the day’s run and then he headed back to work.
I was pumped that George was able to track me down, but I was equally excited by two other encounters that I had out on the road that day. Earlier, a cyclist came upon me and slowed down to ride with me for a couple of miles. I shared my mission with him and he shared his own journey with me—one that had enabled him, by riding his bike, to lose 100 pounds and change his outlook on his life. He was an older man, but as he told of his own transformation he had a youthful exuberance about him. I was so glad that he had slowed down to ride alongside me, because his story reminded me so much of my own transformation.
Later, as I was refueling during an aid stop, a car pulled up behind the RV. A man jumped out of the driver’s seat and introduced himself to me as a fellow runner by the name of Wayne. He explained that he had seen me running a few weeks earlier at the Oregon/Nevada border when he was traveling on Route 140. He looked up my story online and started tracking me as I was making my way to Salt Lake City. He said he had changed from his work attire into his running clothes and hoped he could run with me during his lunch break because he thought what I was doing was so awesome. I was happy to oblige, so we headed off towards Emigration Canyon and he began peppering me with questions about my health, the logistics, sponsors, etc.
As we made our way towards the base of the canyon, he told me I had a heck of a climb ahead of me, and would encounter a lot of cyclists along the way. It turns out the mountain is used for training by some of the best road racers in the world. His words proved to be true because a lot of bikes (and very nice ones at that) passed me as I headed up the road. Wayne dropped off, thanked me for letting him run with me, and I told him it was completely my pleasure.
Having his company really helped me to take my mind off something that had really been grinding away at me earlier in the day. When I was running out of downtown I passed the Salt Lake City VA medical center. We attempted to reach out to the hospital days prior to our arrival, and my friend George’s neighbor, who worked there, also tried to get something set up so that we could speak to and meet some of the patients. Unfortunately, we never heard back from anyone at the hospital, and that really drove me nuts. The primary purpose of this run was to pay homage to wounded veterans, so it really bothered me that hospital staff didn’t return our correspondence. Tiffany tried to remind me that it was no fault of ours that connections couldn’t be made, so I shouldn’t feel guilty about running on, but it still bothered me for quite a while.
Back on the mountain, the temperature was above 90 once again. I saw some cyclists zooming past me on their way down the hill, and others inched their way ahead of me on their way up the hill. I was inching my way up the hill, too. I was intentionally taking the climb slower because I didn’t want a repeat of Oregon, where I injured my left leg on an ascent up a mountain. This time, however, I went slower and made rest stops to refuel every 30 minutes. At one of those stops Tiffany climbed out of the RV and we took the time to just stand there arm-in-arm together, looking back out toward Salt Lake and talking about how fortunate we were to be doing this. It was a very special moment.
I finally made my way to the top of the Canyon, overlooking the Little Dell Reservoir, where I had a chance to talk to a couple of bikers about the climb and what I was doing. Since they were familiar with the area, we talked about my running route the following day. They mentioned this climb was a good warm-up for the next day’s journey. I cringed as they described how climbing up Big Mountain would take me up to over 7,400 feet in elevation.
I was fortunate to talk to them because they also informed me that since I was going through the area at this time of the year, the roadway heading up and over Big Mountain was closed to vehicle traffic. “Another opportunity to revisit the maps,” Tiff said. I only had a couple of miles to go to get to the gate where the road was closed, so I decided to head on down the mountain to the lake, then onto Route 65 to run up to the gate. Tiff stayed back to get a few photos, then headed on up to the gate to meet me. It was another successful day with some beautiful scenery and inspiring moments.
That evening we enjoyed a relaxing night at George’s house catching up with his family as well as chatting with a neighbor of his who was also an ultramarathon runner. I was thankful for the good night’s rest because the next morning I knew I needed fresh legs for the climbing that loomed ahead.
George was going to run three miles with me before he headed in for work that morning, so he drove up to the starting point since Tiffany couldn’t get the RV up that road. When we got there, I saw another familiar face. William “Three” Corley, another Marine I knew from back in West Virginia, had flown his airplane into the area the night before with his wife, Crystal, and their baby daughter, Claire. I was glad that we were able to set up this visit with Three and his family. As George and I set off on the run he warned me to keep my eyes open for wildlife as I made my way up the mountain. Unfortunately all I saw that day were deer and rabbits.
This section was one of the most peaceful and quiet runs I had on the entire journey. It did go straight up Big Mountain, but it was amazing to just have this 12-mile section nearly to myself. A couple of cyclists passed me on the way up, and we shared greetings, but aside from that, it was just me alone out on the road. The road wound back and forth up the mountain, so it wasn’t as steep as the climb I experienced back in Oregon on my way to Diamond Lake. I actually made some great time to the peak of Big Mountain. The evergreens along the mountain provided a gorgeous backdrop to what had been a very memorable trip through a beautiful state.
We had a little celebration at the end of the run this day. I passed the 1,000-mile mark that day, and at the end of the run Tiffany’s mom took a photo with myself, Tiff, and the kids forming our arms into the numbers 1,000. It was the first time I had taken the opportunity to celebrate a true milestone on this run.
Leaving Echo Canyon on my final day in Utah, I ran along Echo Canyon Road, which ran parallel to I-80, on a road that seemed to be very lightly traveled. There were markers all along the road describing the red rocks that were to my left as I ran along. I was running along what was the Mormon Trail, with markers describing certain encampments and fortifications used by the Mormons as they made their way west. It was an amazing cluster of rock formations.
About 10 miles into the run, I caught up to the RV. My next section o
f the route was about 17 miles that took me on the north side of I-80. I’m thankful Tiff drove up ahead earlier in the morning to scout the road, because she discovered a showstopper for the day. The road I was supposed to run on had a private property sign at the gate, and the gate was closed. I chuckled to myself because this last day in Utah was just typical of my entire time in the state. There was one curveball after another thrown our way and we simply had to adjust our route one more time.
We looked at the map and realized we had a couple of options. I could backtrack and get to another road that took me to my finishing destination for the day, which would have added almost 30 miles to my run, or I could run along the interstate. If I jumped on the interstate, I would have a total of 12 miles to run on it before I hit the Wyoming border. Knowing that it was illegal to run along the interstate in Utah, I wasn’t crazy about that option. However, when compared to adding another 30 miles onto my run, it was an easy decision.
Tiff drove on up to the entrance ramp of the interstate, where I met her for a quick aid stop. I had about six miles to run before the next exit on the interstate and I told Tiffany I would run those six miles as fast as I could and then text her when I got close. My family later named this section of the journey “The Citation Run.” That’s because I ran those six miles so fast that when I texted Tiffany, she thought I had been picked up by a state trooper.
I wasn’t a fan of running where I wasn’t supposed to, but there was no other reasonable option (as if any portion of running across America would be considered “reasonable”). First and foremost, I had no desire to get stopped by a police officer. Second, I wanted to be a good example for my children by obeying the law. I just had to write this off as one of those “do as I say, not as I do” moments so many parents have with their children.
On this last section of I-80, I had to run past a weigh station. I was running as fast as I could and also trying to stay down off of the interstate as much as possible in order to stay out of sight from the patrol car at the weigh station. Fortunately, I made it through this section and got off the interstate without any incidents.
Freedom Run Page 13
