The Crash on October Mountain

The Situation

Friday November 28, 2008. One of my treasured runs, known as the October Mtn 20 Miler , has also become one of my favorite biking routes as of late. This loop which includes a crippling 1355 foot ascent is the very source of my latest physical malady that has put me in operation shutdown for a minimum of twelve weeks.
I will quickly recap that day of destruction in an effort to put the most recent biking crash into perspective.
It was a Saturday morning in mid October, the 21st to be exact, and my body was starting its annual physical breakdown. At that point I was nursing an Achilles tendon injury and was attempting to do a barometer run to get a handle on the magnitude of the damage. A 13 miler in Bear Town State Forest proved that not only was I capable of running through this injury, I was up to the challenge of ramping my mileage back up to 100 plus per week.
Later that day, for reasons that I can not even ascertain, I set back out for an assault on Schermerhorn Road. Not only was I fortunate enough to complete this exercise in idiocy without frostbite and any broken bones, i survived several falls without any head shots rendering me lifeless.

This was a memorable run of sorts that at some point should have warranted a post. Not only did my body go into complete shut down at the intersection of Whitney Pl. Road, (mile 10 of 20), I was faced with the daunting task of traversing a nearly 2000 foot decent down a swollen riverbed laden with flooded sections, rock outcroppings, and deep marshes.
The aftermath was multiple pelvic stress fractures, hip joint bursitis, and significant osteoporosis as diagnosed by subsequent imaging studies. The full extent of the damage is still evolving as we speak, with another orthopaedic and Endocrinology consult scheduled for the coming weeks.

The Plan

Since running is my primary source of stress relief, having this outlet ripped from my very existence has caused a significant accumulation in desperate need of eradication. With nearly every avenue of mental cleansing through physical activity rendered impossible, cycling seems to the only vehicle with a pain to exertion ratio at a tolerable level. My 6 foot tall 145 pound behemoth of a stature makes weight training an exercise in humility and just plain sickness. The past week in the gym has been a living hell. With Skiing, snow shoeing, and running done till likely March or April, Biking will have to suffice as the least painful venue to feed that cresting body beating jones. Unfortunately, biking weather in these parts is just about done. Unless of course you are into sado masochistic life threatening activities, frozen surfaces, sub zero wind chills and vanishing breakdown lanes eliminate cycling as an outdoor activity after mid November. Both tomorrow and Friday are shaping up to accommodate a ride that is sustainable to life. Temperatures in the 40's with light winds, and what I had thought were road conditions void of ice.

A critical miscalculation was the effects of elevation and lack of direct sunlight on once muddy rural logging dirt roads.
Clearly it will be cold, but adequate clothing, accompanied by toe and hand warmers are all that is needed to pull this off. The previous weekend I did the very same October Mountain loop and had an outstanding adventure, frozen toes, fingers not withstanding.

This weekend however, I was equipped with a plethora of new winter gear and 3 sets of hand and toe warmers.
Before you classify this as pure madness, it is actually somewhat fun. That human V nature thing is always a source of adventure and pushing the body to the potential of survival mode is yet another reason to get amped up. Schermerhorn, (old Tower) Road is a brutal climb, a 1700 + foot ascent from mile 7 to 10. Mountain bikes and hybrids make this doable without the need to stop.

A few washed out sections and loose surface which cause some spinning out is the only real impediment to conquering this stretch without stopping.
The view from "lookout at Healing Point" is to die for. Not only is this the summit, and a reason for celebration for this alone, but the memories of past adventures at this very spot coupled with the stunning view to the North make this an energising juncture of the loop.

Lookout at Healing Point

A Northwesterly view from 2000 feet across Roaring Brook snaking through the October Mtn. State Forest. A spectacular view of Farnham Reservoir at 1600 feet. Off in the distance is the 3400 foot summit of Mt. Greylock flanked by the 1800 foot Taconic range to the west and the Pioneer river valley at the foothills of the Green Mtns. to the East.

4 Corners
The trek continues Southeasterly to 4 corners before a turn to a nearly due Easterly route climbing another 500 feet before a descent giving back the entire 500 feet. At that point West Branch road crosses Depot Creek back into Washington for a 2 mile ride on freshly graded dirt roads to the intersection of Washington Mtn. Road.
A nice 4 mile ride on paved roads rolling back into pittsfield before the descent on in.
It is quiet a route with NO traffic and roads/ trails that will accommodate a hybrid.

The Ride

So that was the plan, a rigorous awe inspiring ride on a late fall afternoon.
I am sick as hell of weight training at the Gym. So I did the Schermerhorn loop at 2:30PM. I went and got 3 extra sets of toe and hand warmers and a very thin skull cap so my helmet would fit. Until today, I had, (yes, sad but true) been biking without a helmet for cold weather rides.
I was having an exceptionally sweet ride, accompanied by many photos, (as seen on Flicker). An impressive climb all the way to the summit WITHOUT stopping, for the first time.
As I climbed above 2000 feet the roads became quite icy. Varying conditions was a problem. Shade: ice, Sun: mud. Well as I made my decent down Whitney and made a hard left onto West Branch toward Washington Mountain Road things went awry.

The Crash
After taking a couple of breath taking pics of the setting sun, I was heading down a steep descent on west branch clipping along at about 20 MPH perhaps a bit slower. The road at that point made a sharp left and I was never going to make the turn on ice at that speed. The road was vacillating between stretches of muddy to dry to sheer icy stretches.
I tapped the brake and went right down. Keeping in mind that I made a direct impact onto a frozen surface with my already fractured pelvis, while pile driving my left elbow simultaneously. My head bounced off the same surface fracturing my helmet.
I was fortunate to have not completely rendered my bike un rideable. I was also fortunate to have had a helmet on, (some of you may differ on that) and to have only perhaps fractured a couple more bones.
My surplus of foot and hand warmers were a gods send as I spent nearly 45 minutes regrouping.
The next lower speed crash at the hands of a gravel surface was more of an aggravating experience than one of more physical injuries.
At this point my phone was dead from taking pictures earlier, so a ride home was not in the plan. Only 8 more miles of downhill.
As I sit here now, I am wondering what the hell I can possibly do tomorrow. I am guessing that biking is out, so for those of you doing that have fun.
I think I will go to Berkshire west and do something in the pool, sauna and or jacuzzi. This seems safe enough

GE whistle

whistle, originally uploaded by damasca_daniel.

I believe this is still used for the emergency management system. The old GE whistle from yester year.

October Mtn Nov 23

october Mtn2 Nov 23, originally uploaded by damasca_daniel.

View from "The Look out at Healing Point"

What a difference a week can make. One week later to the day, from this point at the summit of the October Mountain loop, the surface conditions had deteriorated significantly.

This route on in as it descends nearly 1800 feet, had gone from 50 degrees and a somewhat biting cold to a treacherous lethal icy ride.

Full Moon Birthday Run

November 13

As I sit at my desk, high above the City that is Pittsfield, on the 13th day of November, one day after turning 47, I am contemplating participating in a "Full Moon Run" with the PRR. While yet another late fall coastal low slices it's way up the Ohio River Valley, the current radar loop is indicating a dry slot poised to track just to the West of town. The Thursday trail runs that once snaked through Kennedy Park under the warmth of the late day sun, have transitioned to the weekly "Pub Runs" that will be confronted by a wide variety of weather conditions.The variable weather conditions have been a mere nuisance compared to the physical breakdown that has been evolving over the past month.

The Body Shop Visit

After yet another visit to the Physiatrist, or the local "Body Shop" for the pharmacological trifecta consisting of

• 3 IM injections of a Lydocaine/ Corticosteroid elixir.


• A prescription for yet another up titration of the Narcotics.


• And another weekend hooked up to the Empi Select Tenz unit.

For $20 bucks, not a bad return on investment. A couple Percocets, (7.5/325) an application of the deep heating balm and a quick 10 minute electrical shock treatment and I am once again optimistic that my body will be capable of yet another run.

Off to the Lantern

A nice group of ten hearty souls meet up at one of the finer establishments in our great city for a "Full Moon" run into the dark and rainy night. The plan is for a six miler that will flank one of the many lakes that our county has been graced with. Since the Full moon will be rising tonite at 4:21 PM high above a thick cloud deck, a full moon run will be an oxy moron of sorts. As I left work at 5PM yesterday, the Moon which had risen at 3:58PM, was shining down like a great beacon, over the Old Town Hall on park square. Tonite as I struggle to exit my Jeep, that same Full Moon is casting it's great luminescence high above the layer of dense cloud cover.

Perhaps I will recap the events of the Thursday night run in a subsequent post. For now, I will focus on a most special run on a most special evening with my most special friends.

Wednesday, November 12

As is the case with many of my posts, I will begin by incessantly rambling on about some celestial event. It should be no secret by now, that all of the months post September 21st, just plain suck. Now November, in all of its infinite suckism, has some redeeming attributes that make it almost tolerable. My birthday not withstanding, and Thanksgiving being perhaps the most horrifying event in the calendar year, the build up to a harvest moon is reason enough to not hang myself mid month. I refuse to waste valuable blogging time crushing Thanksgiving. Let's just say that any holiday or significant event that is focused more on the commercialization than the actual divine celebration is an insult to my very existence and an indictment of society as a whole. I believe Thanksgiving as defined by dictionary.com is the annual slate of thursday football games involving the Cowboys and Lions, while devouring a defenseless coop bread game bird.

The Run

My birthday, is an event that i prefer to cruise on through basking in anonymity. The cordial dialogue with my beloved folks in Myrtle Beach is perhaps enough for a total birthday fulfillment.

I don't expect cards from my immediate family, all I ask is that I have a day of little or preferably no aggravation. The thought of a Surprise party makes me tremble. I feel fortunate to be disdained by the majority of "friends" and family, in that regard so as that any sort of party in my honor will never happen.

Certain acts of kindness move me in a way that is very difficult to describe. Two of my running friends, Todd and Laurie decided that a run on my birthday would be a wonderful way to spend the evening. The fact that I was invited to a run, and that it coincided with my birthday were likely events of mere coincidence. I would however like to overthink this, and lead myself to believe that the run was an act of kindness on Todd and Laurie's part to spend time with me on this spectacular crisp late Fall evening.

On this nite however, under a thin layer of high clouds, we were treated to a filtered luminescence that was 98% full. With a temperature of 34 degrees, 10 miles of visibility and calm winds, the run up East Road in Richmond was spectacular.
By 6PM the Waxing Gibbous was high up in the Eastern sky. The rings surrounding the moon were causing a magnificent lunar Halo making a most perfect backdrop to a most perfect run.
The absence of light pollution caused by the city scape, enhanced the depth and vastness of the late fall night sky.
As we ambled our way up East road on a Southerly trek, the still crispness of the dry air was replaced by the ever-present barking of dogs in the not so far distance.
The cadence and tempo that were building as we ventured deeper into the country side, were abruptly halted as one of these creatures of the night appeared from the thicket.
As is the case with any dog, the uncertainty of the level of danger is un nerving. Todds attempt to quell the situation by casting a beam of light into the dog’s eyes while searching for stones and any other form of weapon proved fruitless.
Ms Peeps stood in idle silence, as Todd and yours truly displayed our cowardly manhood. While Todd was thinking self preservation, I was contemplating landing a law suit that would land me in the Florida Keys.
After being cased by a pair of luminating eyes, snarling and incessantly barking, the owner casually made her way down leash in hand.
I'm guessing that interrupting her night of Daytona 500 reruns and Budweiser’s was her reason for lashing out at us and not the dog. Her comment suggesting that "we get outta here" was about all I could take from her. My comments about the Animal control squad and Rover with a hole in his head didn't phase her.
The rest of the run was fantastic, and uneventful.
A post run feast on Panera Bread and idle chatter by the fire were a sweet end to a sweet night.

Perhaps the best birthday gift I had in quite some time.

Why I hate Winter

After living in the Northeast all of my 47 years of existence, that most horrible time of year is here again. Winter! Since June 21st, the summer solstice and more importantly the "longest" day of the year, that negative winter vibe begins to build. Hence, I become crankier by the day. Since every “day” of the year is 24 hours long, June 21st only represents the pinnacle of daylight hours. By the 1st of August mother nature is already trimming away at those precious minutes of daylight.

As I sit here on October 29th, daylight is being clipped at an alarming rate of 4 minutes per day.

September
When September rolls on in and Labor day signals the unofficial end to summer, I am still in a good place. The lingering memories of school beginning in September, and summer “officially” ending on the 21st make this one of my most hated months. As Green Day put it best, “Wake me when September ends” Hell, wake me when April begins. To be fair, September is one of the nicest months, from a weather perspective. The nights are still mild, brilliant sun drenched days, and spectacular sunrise and sets are quite common. Invigorating Harvest moons, dry air masses, brilliant luminescent foliage and the waning presence of pesky insects are also fine reasons to enjoy September. The 21st brings the equinox, and perhaps one of the finer days of the lunar calendar. It also marks the raging battle between darkness and daylight being slowly won over by the former.

October
Ah yes October, harvest, pumpkins, and the first bite to the once tepid air. Don’t be fooled, October plain sucks! Daylight is now being swept away at a frightening rate, leaves are beginning to accumulate on the yard, and the snow is not far behind. Sounds of the furnace jumping to life in the night signaling money being drained from the budget is always a welcome sound. Mornings once filled with brilliant sunshine, birds singing and scores of people out and about are now pitch dark and silent. Carefree and energetic morning activities, are being replaced by mandatory time depleting aggravating chores. A drink from the hose after a morning run, or pulling a weed or two out of the garden has become ice scraping, wood stove detail, furnace management and god forbid snow shoveling. Breezes are now wind, showers are rain and cool means cold.

November
Because I was born on the 12th day of November, 1961, it is hard to hate on this month. After all, this is when those idiots from England made the trek over here and decided to stake claim to a region with a climate that took scores of lives every winter. November sucks! Just when October ushers in perhaps the first snow fall, we are greeted by darkness both to and from work, we launch into the beginnings of REAL winter. The end to Daylight savings is when the plug on summer is officially pulled. Any evidence of summer is tucked away into sheds, garages and basements. By the end of the month, the sun has struggled to rise at 7:02 only to plummet at 4:22, I am ready to put a gun to my head. The average high temperature has gone from 67 degrees to 42 in just two months. Storm windows firmly in place insuring no fresh air will enter the house for nearly 5 months.

December
I will now blow right on through December, because it sucks more than November. Full winter garb, skyrocketing heating bills, and no sight of weather relief in sight. Christmas, in all of it’s splendor, is wrecked by greed, commercialization and a boat load of un necessary aggravation. The only thing worse than dragging that $50 tree into the living room, is pulling all of that crap off of it and hauling it back out side in time for the “waste management team” to bring it to it’s fiery end. The glimmer of hope in a month that just plain sucks which will be followed by a month that sucks even more, is on the 21st . The “shortest” day of the year, or the winter solstice. This marks the upward climb out of total darkness.

January
By mid January, if you haven’t put that gun to your head and pulled the trigger, it’s only a matter of time. The snow is piling up outside, and the let down of the holiday fiasco is a bad combination. By now, every piece of life sustaining machinery in your world is starting to crack. First it’s the furnace acting up, then the snow blower won’t start or the car battery dies. But that ever presence of flirting with disaster can not be scoured from the back of our minds. The financial and emotional catastrophe that is looming in someone’s life. A bursted pipe causing countless fits of rage and frustration. A complete furnace melt down requiring HVAC guy to swing on over and mill around at $100 an hour before breaking the news that you need a new boiler. Of course, not being able to walk everywhere, and likely freezing to death in an attempt, it is only a matter of time before the precious sled, (family car) slides off the road, or into another oncoming sled.

February
January in the rearview mirror is a relief of sorts. This of course if you haven’t taken your life yet. If you’ve been fortunate enough to sidestep any of the catastrophic maladies aforementioned in January, perhaps February can be the magic month. Once the Super bowl is over, we are once again plumeted into even deeper despair and dark depression. Unless you have a birthday in February, or hate football, why would you not just end it all in the 3rd week of this god fore saken month. As we climb up the sucking scale from late October through March, we have hit a new high water mark with this gem of a month.

March
Now if I had to pick a month that I could euthanize, it would have to be March. Other than St. Patrick’s day, is there any reason to not loath this month. At least February has 28 days, this crappy ass month is one of the “big 31” dayers. Snow, wind, bitter cold and not one freeking holiday, Even Easter has to be on Sunday and screw us out of a day off. I will say that this is perhaps the last gasp of winter, but that is a key piece of why March is glossed in my dictionary as the worst month on the calendar. Days of mid 50’s are routinely followed by 3 feet of wet snow. This is truly the count down to the end of winter, the days are getting “longer” and there is light at the end of the tunnel. Sunrise is now at 6:30 and setting at 7:19PM. Spring is in the air. You can now put the revolver back in the drawer till next winter.

Flickr

This is a test post from , a fancy photo sharing thing.

The Pig Run Recovery, Or Not

The Rest of the Story.....

So as I reflect on what went wrong, I must re live the 48 hours that followed the now infamous "Pig Run". As I punched the button on my watch officially terminating the mental and physical beat down, surrendered my bib tag, and wandered toward the hydration table, I once again contemplated over what could have been. The post race chatter always bores me, as the athletes roll up and lay out a laundry list of justificatory logic that thwarted a PR longer than a 5 year olds Christmas wish list. If you can't trump an all night bender, a 120 mile week, a 46 year old broken body and a pair of shoes closing in on 1700 miles, Get Outta My Face!!
Back to the Jeep for a quick gear transfiguration, and the big question. Do I hang for the award ceremony, or do I just bolt? Normally a fourth place finish is reason enough to hang my head and head home, but as i scan the award table I am transfixed on the hardware that is the winners spoils. A sweet Brass plated swine trophy sparkling under the mid day sun. Trophy's, mugs, medals, hell even sneakers just plain suck. Cash is a whole different story, however that was not part of the booty. I graciously accepted the sparkling swine, the "chump for finish" medal and the cheesy short sleeve tek shirt, grabbed another banana and bounced.

The Afternoon Regrouping

An uneventful ride home, a most excellent invigorating shower followed by a rice load and it was off to the Brew Fest. A power nap was going to have to wait. After about 2 hours of beer sampling, and senseless chatter with friends, I was ready to crash and burn. The lazy boy chair was heaven like, as I spilled into a fetal position and drew the down comforter to my neck. The New York football Jets were crushing the hapless Vikings as I drifted into an exercise induced coma. I woke to the vibration of a cell text as my dear friend JSA, who had just completed a 6 hour bike ride for MS, asked, "howd it go?".

The Sickness That Is

I woke Saturday morning feeling like I had been chained to the back of a pick up truck and dragged across a dirt parking lot for days. My god, I had slept to nearly 8AM!! Had I missed a local 5K, or a group run, I needed to jump online immediately. Nothing, crickets. Fully aware that I was likely born with a terminal affliction of having the lines of communication between my brain and body severed for life, I needed another fix. A 3200 foot ascent up Mt. Greylock, a punishing assault on Berry Pond, didn't matter. My body was busted up and I wanted to finish the job in fine fashion. Had I known where those loose screws in my head were, I would have tightened them down years ago. Being a nut case can manifest itself in many ways, the guy who pushes the shopping cart full of empty Mt. Dew cans for miles, or the dude who only ventures out when it rains is not a life one would hope for. These social maladies are personally harmless. The physical assault that I steadily apply to my failing body is nothing short of a slow and certain premeditated suicide.

Starting the Recovery Process

A day of light exertion and stretching followed by hydration and nutrition while the broken body attempts to heal makes too much sense. With no races on the radar screen, and a PRC board void of any plans, I promptly text one of a dwindling collection of sure bet running partners. Knowing full well that Ms. Peeps would be involved in some sort of rec. ride or run, I thought I would at least see what was up. True to form, an almost immediate response indicating a bike riding plan was already in motion. My instincts were screaming not to engage, but I had to at least pry for a bit of insight into the details. The core elements of this agenda will be as predictable as the rising sun. Starbucks, time delays and plan changes by the minute are implicit.

The Un-Complicated Bike Journey North

In an attempt to ignite a volley of texts that would take hours and lead to utter chaos, I opted to go the old fashioned route and establish direct contact by dialing her cell. The fish tank water is starting to look more like a solid than a liquid, the lawn is going to require a combine soon, and I'm not missing an entire slate of games, so this ride can and will not be an all day boondoggle. No sooner did we terminate our conversation outlining a ride on the bike path and back, an un-complicated 20 mile out and back, my cell jumps to life as an incoming text is in queue. It was too good to be true!! Johnny A. is now involved meaning this is likely going to force myself to eject gracefully from the outing. As I read along plodding through sketchy details involving a motorcycle event, a route down Dalton Division Road, down Hubbard Ave. through the death tunnel and a trek through Coltsville, I can see that this again will evolve into a texting marathon.

The Biker Motor Cade

Bare with me on this one folks, this is one of those treats in life you just have to be there to even begin to comprehend. The plan is to be in Adams at 11AM for the Biker thing. Those of you not from the Berkshires, This is the Westernmost portion of Massachusetts. Yes, Mass does border NY., and for you Bostonions who keep our taxes and insurance rates up, not only is there life beyond 495, there is 70 more miles of the Mass turnpike west of 495. Now Berkshire county has a reputation of being a mecca of culture and arts with the likes of Tanglewood and Williams college to name a few, however as you make the trek north along the main thoroughfare known as route 7 from the CT. border to VT., the cultural landscape begins to erode. Not only does the IQ start to descend at an alarming rate, the gene pool becomes mighty shallow and lets just say, the family tree loses a few branches. So as our fearless leader is barking commands in an effort to get to "the right spot" and hook up with "some friends" by 11AM. After nearly an hour of rural landscape, the three amigos bank a hard right onto Rt. 116, and Golly Gee whiz kiddos, you better brace yourself for this spectacle I will try to recount. Now I have never been to a tractor pull, or a pre NASCAR tailgating shindig, hell I'm city folk venturing into north county. My first thought was that there was a parade fixing to roll on through. County route 116 was overflowing with scores of people lining the curb nearly 12 deep. Corn fields and meadows were filled with on lookers clearly feeling it. We're talkin circa 1970 folding lawn chairs, pick up trucks, hay wagons and enough Monte Carlo's and Trans Am's for cruiser night. If I only had a vendor's license and a wagon stock piled with fresh John Deer mesh hats, plaid shirts, (complete with cut off sleeves), shelled peanuts, and a few bags of Kingsford Charcoal, I would have been a rich man.
The deep heart thumping rumble of the approaching stream of motorcycles had the sense of an approaching freight train. The crowd had steadily worked itself into a fever pitch and nearly erupted into a frenzy as the succession of bikers rolled on by.

The Let Down

This disturbing event lasted about 2 minutes, that seemed like 3. When the crowd finally dispersed after gathering peanut shells, empty Bud bottles, and folding up the chairs, we got back on our bikes and headed home. What the hell was that? It was like some bad dream, or a regrettable movie rental that was finally over. The ride home was uneventful other than the occasional downpours from the remnants of hurricane Kyle as it pulled away toward the gulf of Maine. Alas, I finally returned home, soaked, covered in mud, tired as hell and attempting to shake any memory of that thing that occurred in Adams. A shower, and again I found myself surrendering to another exercise induced coma in my throne, that is the Lazy Chair.

And You Thought I had enough Exercise
Guess again!