Ten Miles Carried and Left in the Amazon

It’s isn’t often that we get to spend an intimate moment with one of our kids. I got to do it with both my kids and it imprinted an indelible memory in my brain. Mind you, one was painful as hell and the other rift with poisonous snakes, lethal frogs and creepy crawlers who liked to go caving in parts of your body they shouldn’t be in. But that’s another story.

The first crash and carry story had to do with my wonderful daughter, Melanie, and the grand plans we had for running the 2014 Twin Cities Marathon together. I ‘d already done two other marathons. The first in 1982, when I was a much younger man, proved a very nice PB (personal best) for me. The second was more laborious but ultimately successful in that I finished pretty strong for a middle-aged jogger. The third would be my last. I was getting up on age and three seemed like a nice round number in which to end my distance running career.

This last twenty-six miler turned out to be an adventure neither one of us had planned for or anticipated. Melanie and I began training in early summer and were up to 22 miles for our last weekend when I came down (literally falling to the ground) with a stress fracture.

That injury meant six weeks of recovery. So, by the time the marathon came along we had only built our weekend mileage back up to sixteen miles. Undeterred, I was determined to run the race and hope for the best.

We started out slow and easy and kept a reasonable pace for all of sixteen miles. Then everything fell apart. Back pain began to creep up and crippled my spine. My legs turned to rubber and I experienced some of the worst pain I’d ever experienced in my life. It felt as if all my systems, internal and external, were going south and taking me mentally with them. It seemed the end of the road for me.

Common sense dictated that I drop out at that point. There seemed little reason to continue when I could hardly put one foot in front of the other. Melanie was kind, sympathetic but realistic. “Dad, I think you should drop out.” She said. “But if you want to continue, I’ll stay with you.”

That was all I needed to hear. Dreading another summer of hard training and trying again in 2015 was enough to convince me, even as brain dead as I was in that moment, that another summer of pounding the pavement would be worse than the pain I was experiencing at the moment.

So, we started out slowly together, walking one block, jogging another. We kept up that stumbling, staggering pace for another ten miles and finally came in at a little under six hours. Melanie had carried me home and I will be forever grateful for that. I’m done with marathons now. I finished the last one in 2014 and while my timing wasn’t the best, I finished the thing and am damn proud of my accomplishment.

Melanie gave up any PB for herself but has since gone on to run numerous other marathons, triathlons, the Afton trail race, Pikes Peak, Cactus to Clouds hike and running the Grand Canyon rim to rim. Her running portfolio hasn’t suffered from her patience and kindness shown to her old Dad as he mentally fought those last ten very painful miles beside her.

Brian, on the other hand, took me into the heart of the Amazon rain forest and left me there. Boy, am I grateful for that experience! 

Send a sixteen-year-old down to South America on his own (actually part of a school field trip), leave him there alone for two weeks and you’ve got a total stranger on your hands.

Two weeks with a wealthy family in Quito, Ecuador, was enough to turn my son Brian into a Jack London, Jack Kerouac and Tom Clancy wannabee wrapped up behind the disguise of a high school sophomore, varsity wrestler, chess captain, honor student and overall macho man.

Quito, formally known as San Francisco de Quito, is the capital city of Ecuador. At an elevation of 9,350, it is the highest capital city in the world. It’s a strange mixture of new buildings and old. New wealth mingling with extreme poverty. All of this surrounded by the magnificent Andes Mountains.

Once our group left Quito, transportation was quickly reduced to using the local long-range bus system. Built for stamina and very rough roads, these transportation dinosaurs could do the distance. But creature comforts were left back at the station. The buses were built for the locals, which meant that if you were over five feet tall, your head would bounce up against the roof every time the bus hit a pothole or rut in the road. It happened a lot!

Traveling down to the Amazon rain basin from mountainous Quito entailed harrowing bus rides on dirt roads that simultaneously hugged mountainous cliffs on one side of the road and sheer drop-offs on the other. Not for the faint of heart or those with altitude problems.

River crossings were always interesting, especially since this was the rainy season. If the bus driver wasn’t sure about the depth of the river crossing, we’d hop a pickup truck along with the locals and try to cross that way. We were like the preverbal canary in the mineshaft. If we made it across, the bus should be able to make it too.

River transportation in that part of the Amazon consists of mainly dugout canoes. Enormous tree trunks were hollowed out and a motor placed in back. Since it was the wet season, our pilot was always on the lookout for washed out tree trunks floating in the river. A collision with one of those battering rams could have easily turned our dugout over on its side and put bodies into the water.

The other word of caution was for us to watch out for snakes hanging from low-lying tree branches or snakes in the water. And, of course, the proverbial crocodiles, which loved to shadow our dugout canoe hoping to find a hand or two dragging alongside in the water.

Brian and I agreed that the most memorable experience of the entire trip was our vision quest in a pouring rainstorm. Each of us, student and adult alike, was marched into the jungle and then left alone (totally separated from one another) for a period of an hour or longer with only the sounds and smells and humidity of the jungle to assault your senses. It just so happened that our incubation period occurred during a very heavy rainstorm. I mean sheets of rain and visibility of about ten feet, if that, for hours on end.

The idea was to experience the Amazon rain forest in its entirety without the distractions of other people and outside influences. There was no way any one of us could have found our way out of there. We had to trust that our guide would come back and find us and lead us back to camp. It was awesome. Brian and I both thought we’d died and gone to heaven. Hard to explain if you haven’t been there but it was a very thought-provoking experience. A true vision quest.

Our trip to the Amazon was more than just a high school field trip. Instead, it became a journey of self-discovery for both Brian and myself. For Brian, it was his first taste of other cultures, which only wetted his appetite for greater adventures ahead and inspired him to travel around the world while still in college. For myself, it was a continuation of my desire to explore options and opportunities that might expand my own creative horizon.

So, while some other fathers might regale their buddies with father-son bonding stories of camping trips or baseball games, I came to admire and grow very proud of my son in the dangerous backwaters and jungles of the Amazon River basin. As for my daughter, my asphalt angel, well, she carried me home too…. just in a different wonderful way.

What a lucky dad am I.

I Was a Younger Man Then

When the sands of time begin to pile up in your driveway, it’s probably an opportune moment to reflect on the quantitative past you’ve been collecting over all these years. Maybe the fact that you’re still here and others from your past life aren’t, make it a good time to look in your rearview mirror and savor the fleeting images there.

Last summer, I discovered a ceramic running mug from my first marathon. It was buried deep on some dusty shelf in my office downstairs. It was from the 1982 Twin Cities Marathon. Back then, I had been running for about eighteen years, having started out an asphalt virgin at the ripe age of twenty-one. My PB (personal best) wasn’t that great but at least I was consistent, usually averaging five or six days a week of solid running. This would be my first marathon.

I remember, I began running with a group of loud, somewhat obnoxious, unruly veteran runners. Our first mile was clocked at a sub-six-minute mile and I knew immediately that if I didn’t slow down, I’d be dead (figurative speaking) by mile ten. I slowed down and actually got to mile twenty-four before everything in my body shut down and I died right there on the spot. Embarrassment kept me on my feet but I was done for the day.

Just then, a couple of young healthy women ran by me and their respective gait was something to behold. I began stumbling, running, keeping close in their wake. My eyes focused on their afterdeck until about a half mile from the finish line and then I imploded inside again. Fortunately, this time around, it was the sight of the Cathedral and a downhill sprint to the finish line that brought me home.

My time was a sub four-hour marathon and I’ve never been able to duplicate that again. I’ve notched two more marathons under my belt but survival was my main focus on those two. A sub-four marathon was once in a lifetime. That experience and others like it were memorable and never repeated in my younger years.

Education was a disjointed venture after high school. Rife with distractions and detours, it took me a while to finally finish that jaunt. The Army generously handed me two years going in another direction. Then it was back on campus to finish my degree, moving to Denmark as an ex-pat for a while. Finally returning to Minnesota and stumbling upon a lifetime career in television. Oh, I was a younger man then.

Now my books, plays, movies, blogs, children’s books, and more keep me working well into my senior years. I’m no longer a younger man physically but fortunately my mind hasn’t given up the ghost yet.

Writing has been a life-saver in terms of offering me almost daily cognitive twists, turns, and gyrations that elude a lot of older folks. Unbridled interest in a plethora of topics, sane and not so much, keep my curiosity probing outlets for topics of many different interests. Weekly discourse with friends, especially in Minnesota, has become a welcome opportunity to explore topics of every color, flavor, and subject matter.

Perhaps I’m not alone.

Last summer, I noticed that one of the recurring threads that wove through my C & C sessions was a sense of gratitude. My friends and I found a certain level of comfort in sharing the new, interesting, mundane, common and not so common. It was sharing at the most basic level and very gratifying, not the least of which was because none of us are younger men now.

Following Familiar Footsteps

In this age of kids and their video games, vaping, multiple devices, and tons of other distractions from life, it’s nice to know that some parents see a better pathway for their offspring. For many youngsters, the pathway to maturity comes with blood, sweat and sometimes a few tears. It’s a competitive world, both against others and yourself. But it’s a world that teaches endurance, competence, confidence, loss, and unbelievable success (if only in one’s own mind.) The world of sports and exercise, both team and individual, is a great teacher of life skills.

For me personally, it began long before Brian and Melanie were born. I started running around age twenty-one and never stopped until forty-seven years later. Both kids grew up watching me run, ride, stumble, struggle, and plod along in various bike and foot races. Even the Mid-Winter Fest run in Apple Valley at 10 above zero wasn’t enough to hinder my running.

Soon enough, both kids were in road races themselves. In school, they were involved in track, gymnastics, and wrestling. It didn’t stop there.

Brian and I did the TRAM (The Ride Across Minnesota) which is a ride from the western border of Minnesota to the opposite eastern edge. In college, Brian got involved in intermural sports and Melanie began distance running on her own. In turn, they got their own children involved in various athletics very early on.

The first major competitive events were kid’s triathlons both in Minnesota and California. Pretty soon, that evolved into competitive swimming and skiing for the Colorado kids. They were doing black diamonds before the age of five.

Over time, all five of the grandchildren became involved in a plethora of sporting activities which included: Soccer, Gymnastics, Lacrosse, Hockey, Tennis, Skiing, Track, Rock-Climbing, Golf and probably a couple of others I missed.

Then, a couple of years ago, Brian and Melanie completed the Cactus to Clouds Mountain trek.

Also known as the Skyline Trail, Cactus to Clouds has the greatest elevation gain of any trail in the Continental United States. It climbs 8,000 feet in the first 12 miles from the desert floor to Long Valley, then joins with the main trail to gain another 2,600 feet to the summit of San Jacinto Mountain.

It took Brian and Melanie more than ten hours to completed the climb. I was exhausted just looking at their pictures.

Brian and Melanie have also done the Pikes Peak Run a couple of times. The Pikes Peak Ascent and Marathon is a trail running competition that begins at the base of Pikes Peak, in Manitou Springs, Colorado, and climbs over 7,815 feet to the top of the 14,115-foot peak.

Brian and several friends just completed the Kokopelli Relay Race in Utah. It’s described as:

‘The Kokopelli Relay is THE most challenging cycling relay in Utah! Cycling from Moab to St. George. Riding through ~530 miles of majestic beauty. It is a ride that invokes a sense of awe and appreciation for the incredible natural imagery that surrounds us.’ I think his photos of the trip say it all.

Then this September, Melanie and two friends completed a rim-to-rim hike of the Grand Canyon. The official web site tells it all:

“There’s no question about it, the rim-to-rim hike in Grand Canyon National Park is a classic bucket list adventure. But it’s no stroll through the park, that’s for sure. Being unprepared can have catastrophic results. However, when you’ve trained properly, have the right gear, and know what to expect, it can be one of the most memorable experiences of your life.”

• Recommended Route: North Kaibab Trail to Bright Angel Trail
• Length: 24 miles (one-way)
• Level: Strenuous
• Best Time to Go: May – October

So, what began for me so many years ago as a simple run around the block has morphed into three generations of pushing pedal to the metal, straining already aching bodies and feeling the deep, deep satisfaction of a run completed, trail hiked or exercise completed. From what I can see of my grandchildren’s enthusiasm for their chosen endeavors, I think it’s going to be a lifetime occurrence for them.

If you feel what I do in my heart about these endeavors, you get it. If you have to ask why; you wouldn’t understand…and I can’t explain it.