August 18-20, 1995: Leadville Trail 100 (Foot Race), Colorado

One of many trip reports under the SilGro home page for Alan Silverstein and Cathie Grow.
Email me at ajs@frii.com.
Last update: April 3, 2024
(Previous trip report: 1994_0701-0103_MidLifeVacation.htm)

Here is email I received from Kevin Keirn about his running the Leadville (Colorado) Trail 100 race, followed by my sidebar comments about volunteering to help up at the Hope Pass aid station. [2024: The only year I did so, guess it was because Kevin was running for the second time that year.]

From:  Kevin Keirn 
Date:  22 Aug 95
Subject:  1995 Leadville Trail 100 [edited]

Leadville Trail 100 August 19-20, 1995, "No Sunglasses Required"

Friday night I was soundly asleep by 9 pm, but was awakened at midnight by lightning. With the race start only four hours away, I laid awake imagining mountain passes during thunderstorms. Last year's perfect weather wasn't going to repeat. I was about to find out whether last year's finish was just a fluke. Finally at 2:40 am Saturday morning I climbed out of bed and dressed for the race.

Rog (my brother) and I walked over to the start at 3:00 am to check in. Then it was back to the Leadville Country Inn for some delicious homemade waffles. Just can't eat too much before a hundred-miler!

The start was rainless, humid, and unusually warm. I ran in only shorts and a shirt. Just as the previous year, it was a relief when the waiting ended and the starting gun finally went off (at 4:00 am).

Despite having only gone a few hundred meters, I walked the first hill. Jogging after that I noticed a slight twinge in my right knee. Uh oh! This knee had been hyperextended a few weeks before. Fortunately the pain only lasted a few miles, then totally vanished for the rest of the race. Go figure!

This year the pack was much quieter. I think widespread concern about the weather made people less talkative. I was held up by only one train of people on the trail around Turquoise Lake this year. Arriving at the Tabor Boat Ramp (mile 7) a few minutes ahead of last year's pace, I decided to slow down a bit before Mayqueen.

I hit Mayqueen (mile 13.5) at 6:38 am, very nearly on schedule but eight minutes slower than last year. This year's plan was to go out 20 minutes slower the first half, then pick up an hour or so the second half. So far so good!

Sugarloaf Pass was in and out of the clouds. Walked up, ran down, felt fine. But toward the bottom of the descent I noticed a few raindrops... Uh oh. By the time I reached Outward Bound (mile 23.5) the rain had started in earnest. Fortunately my faithful crew (Gail Keirn, my wife) gave me dry clothes, a clear rain jacket, and plenty of encouragement. Bob Bump had pedaled by to say "hi" and volunteered to hold an umbrella over me while the clothes were changed. I also grabbed some lunch, then turned to face a driving rain from the south.

Jogging along I waited for a mental high or low to start. Most ultras eventually feel like an emotional roller coaster, but that feeling never materialized this year. This year would be a constantly escalating struggle to stay ahead of cut-off times.

The trail from Halfmoon (mile 30.5) to Twin Lakes (mile 39.5) was a muddy disaster. Several times my shoes were nearly sucked off of my feet by deep mud. In some places small streams flowed down the trail. Despite running all of the downhills, I arrived in Twin Lakes behind my predicted schedule. This was going to be a tough year!

After eating more food and stealing a kiss from my crew chief I headed toward the river crossing. Even the field prior to the dirt road going to the river was completely flooded. The dirt road was under water every step of the way. The river crossing had been moved upstream a bit and now included a rope to aid runners. After crossing I left my original shoes on. We had planned to have a shoe change there, but with the constant rain there was no point.

Just as I started the climb up Hope Pass the rain stopped. Yes! I was down to shorts and a shirt in no time. Passing through the Hope Pass aid station I quickly said hello to Alan Silverstein (a ham radio volunteer), then popped over the top and ran down to the Trailhead (mile 47.5).

Pacers Andy Mechtenberg and Jeff Myers were waiting at Trailhead with Gail and Chris (Chris is Rog's wife and crew). I was fired up to see them! After changing shoes and socks I motored up to Winfield. I reached it (the halfway point) at about 12:50 into the race, a full half hour behind last year's pace. Despite pushing hard I was still off of my predicted pace. Suddenly it was apparent that finishing under the 30 hour cut-off might not be trivial.

As I jogged back toward Trailhead (mile 52.5) I saw others still heading toward Winfield: Nancy (my pacer from last year), Dixie, Richard, Sid, and Roger. We offered each other words of encouragement. They were all going to make the halfway cut-off, but were in even worse time trouble (eventually all five DNF'd). (DNF = did not finish)

I passed through Trailhead, briefly discussing pacer strategy with Jeff, Andy, Gail, and Chris. We decided that Jeff would pace Rog over Hope Pass (originally Jeff was to be my pacer over Sugarloaf). We knew Rog would need to really hammer to make the Twin Lakes cut-off on the way back. Having Jeff pace him would give him more of a chance, and also added some margin of safety for descending Hope Pass and crossing the river and "the swamplands" in the dark.

I blasted up Hope again intent on putting some time in the bank. Just as last year at some point it becomes obvious that the people passing the other way weren't going to make the cut-off. This year there were many more. It was tough to see them. As I climbed it occurred to me that I hadn't eaten anything at Trailhead. Could I make it to the Hope Pass aid station without bonking? One guy whom I'd run with earlier came down the trail. I was surprised he was among those about to miss the Winfield cut-off, and told him I was sorry. He brushed it off and offered me a sandwich! So another runner's turkey sandwich helped get me over Hope the second time. Ultrarunners are a friendly, supportive bunch.

As I topped Hope I realized that I hadn't been nauseous all day. Further, I was able to run. Hell, it wasn't even raining! I ran down to the Hope Pass aid station (approximately mile 55), got a thirty second back massage from Alan, then ran the rest of the way down the pass to the river crossing.

The river crossing was now rigged with lights. People with wetsuits were waiting in the river to guard against runners who might stumble -- a few had already been swept down the river. Declining the offer of a life jacket, I grabbed the rope with both hands and waded across.

After traversing the swamplands I arrived in Twin Lakes (mile 60.5). Despite hammering hard I'd lost a few minutes relative to the cut-off, but was still in the race. Much later Rog and Jeff would arrive after the cut-off.

Remembering last year's near-death experience due to sleep deprivation, I gulped two cups of coffee before leaving with Tim Duesing for Halfmoon. This time I hoped to remember some of what Tim and I talked about.

The trail had dried considerably. Probably 99% of the standing water from before was gone, which unfortunately left considerable water. At one point Tim slipped in mud, fell, and sprained his ankle. Despite this we attempted a few short running stints. Although we put out a strong effort, our time into Halfmoon (mile 69.5) wasn't good. More time had trickled out of the bank. I was less than an hour from being pulled! It felt like the cut-off was racing up behind me on the trail, trying to overtake me and pull me from the race.

At Treeline (mile 72) my pacer changed from Tim to Joan Grant, Tim's significant other. Joanie kept my spirits high. She would have none of my grumbling about not having enough time in the bank. Despite sore ankles, I tried to run a good portion of the way to Outward Bound. We arrived there with much more time in the bank. Perhaps we'd still beat the 30 hour cut-off?

At Outward Bound (mile 76.5) I didn't drink any coffee. This mistake could've easily cost me the race. Andy replaced Joanie to pace me over Sugarloaf Pass to Mayqueen. Everything was as good as could be expected until about half way up, but then fatigue set in hard.

I experienced the worst sleep deprivation of my life. Near the top I began to hallucinate. I saw wooden and metal grate bridges that weren't there. As I approached them they would melt into the road. Elephants, dogs, bears, and even beer kegs were abundant in the woods. I stepped on tarantulas. Andy tells me (I don't remember) that I talked a lot about beer after I saw the beer keg. I also suggested that I might give up ultra running in favor of sailing and fishing (I'm still batting this idea around).

At one point I "saw" a runner sitting in the trail. I questioned myself about whether he was real, then decided to step around him just in case he was. To make things worse, I began to fall asleep and even dream while walking behind Andy. It was a very strange experience that I'd rather never repeat.

Sunday: It wasn't too warm on Sugarloaf Pass (11200') at 3:00 in the morning. If Andy hadn't been with me I surely would've sat down and fallen asleep. Well I would've sat down (I was mostly asleep anyhow). Just as last year, having pacers made the difference between finishing and something far worse than just not finishing.

After passing through Mayqueen (mile 86.5) Andy handed me off to Gail Olson and we headed for Leadville. We had only 45 minutes in the bank. This was going to be close. If we did the same pace on this section as last year, we would make it by only five minutes!

Out of fear I ran a few more times, but each time it hurt a lot. Finally at mile 94 I saw Ken Chlouber (10+ finishes) and asked if he thought I could walk it in from there in under 30 hours. He said "no problem". My running was done!

From there on I dragged toward the finish, occasionally being passed by someone jogging. I finally finished (still walking) in 117th place in 29:41:39. 22 minutes slower than the previous year, but also 16 places better!

Hypothermia, muddy trails, and a difficult river crossing had taken their toll. 390 people entered the race, 325 started, but only 129 (38% of the starters) finished. This is a record low percentage since the Leadville 100 has become a full fledged race. I was totally exhausted.

I'm convinced my effort this year combined with last year's weather would've yielded at least a few hours decrease in my finishing time. I am far more proud of this year's finish than last year's, and owe even more to my pacers and crew for making it possible. If they hadn't been there, there is no chance I would've finished.

Surprisingly I wasn't nauseous at all during the race (five minutes afterward doesn't count, right?). I also had zero blisters, although both ankles were badly swollen. This second round of torture by sleep deprivation combined with a significant chance of serious injury has erased any urge to ever run a third 100 miler. Maybe I could try pacing one instead?

From:  Alan Silverstein 
Date:  22 Aug 1995
Subject:  Re:  1995 Leadville Trail 100

> If you want to kill some time, here's this year's sprain-by-sprain report. :-)

And here are my sidebar comments.

Thanks to Kevin being in the race I hooked up as a volunteer, backpacked six miles on Friday afternoon leading a llama(!) in hot, dry weather, to the Hope Pass aid station (11900'). I had a generally good time hanging out up there doing ham radio and other assisting until Sunday morning, including a rainy night on top of Mount Hope! There were about 20 people up there, all volunteers, including the llama owners! (We had about 16 llamas with us.)

Now I have seen this race for myself, but I still don't believe it. :-)

> Friday night I was soundly asleep by 9 pm, but was awakened at midnight by lightning.

Friday night I reached camp at about 5 pm and helped set up. It was a gorgeous evening. I started up to Hope Pass with a backpack at about 7 pm, turned right at the saddle (12520'+), and struggled through nasty steep loose rotten complex terrain, ultimately in the dark, to the the summit of Mount Hope, 13933', at nearly 9:30 pm. Unfortunately one of the isolated T-storms in the area was due upwind of me, so I had a cold dinner 100' down from the summit crouched on a folded tarp while I waited for it to go around (nope), kill me (nope), or run out of energy (yup, whew). Then a magnificent canopy of stars saw me off to bed under a tarp, even as a gentle wet breeze blew ominously from the south (can you say "monsoon conditions"?).

A couple hours later the peak was completely socked in by black fog. And a couple hours after that the world around me was repeatedly illuminated by flashes of lightning, and I could hear the thunder... six miles... five miles... It never came closer. But it was eerie and terrifying. I came this || close to packing up and heading down, but decided I was safer staying put than descending the rotten conditions below in the dark fog. Still, laying there in a fetal position, counting from flashes to booms, was not an enjoyable ongoing experience.

This was my 20th overnight on a high point, and definitely the scariest. It was never like that before. Middle of the night lightning? Apparently bad timing with a frontal passage.

Saturday: At 4 am I checked in by ham radio with net control in Leadville and heard the start of the race. Cool!

At about 5:45 I got up, packed up (still in thick fog, at least it wasn't raining yet), missed sunrise completely (it didn't even turn orange), and started down at 6:35. I found my way through the first nasty stretch OK, then lost the route as it started to rain. I went down what looked easiest, though too far to the right, it seemed...

Delete description of horrid down-scrambling on crappy dirt, gravel, and rock in a pouring down rain... Then some faster slip-sliding down a huge snowfield without an ice axe, but with only one face-plant... I popped out below the clouds to realize I'd actually gone too far left, and was now high above camp on the prominent snowfield northeast of the summit.

I made it back up to Hope Pass about 45 minutes late to meet a guy who had brought up a crossband radio and a car battery (on his back!)... We got the repeater set up in the rain and shivered back to camp at about 10 am, when the first runner was due.

But the first runner didn't arrive until 11:48. About half of the first ten runners needed time in the medical tent recovering from hypothermia. While waiting for the runners we all shivered and tried to stay dry too. All of my stuff was soaked -- sleeping bag, clothing -- I didn't see how I could stay up there another night, especially without a tent, but decided to hang around till 4 pm anyway and see how it went.

> Just as I started the climb up Hope Pass, the rain stopped. Yes!

Yes! It cleared up enough that by mid afternoon I could dry my stuff out on a tarp while being very busy noting and relaying (to net control) runner numbers and times. I was continuously occupied from noon to 9 pm.

> Passing through the Hope Pass aid station I quickly said hello to Alan Silverstein...

"133 at 1502... Hey, that's Kevin!" Ditch the soggy clipboard and take his picture. As expected he's in and out in moments, looking good.

This was the start of a really hectic period. The first returning runners came through just moments before Kevin arrived outbound. It was a struggle to not miss anyone going in either direction, to note their numbers and times. We expected about 285 runners out of Twin Lakes, actually got about 255 (the last about 7 pm, well after the Winfield 6 pm cutoff), and probably missed logging nearly 20.

> I ran down to the Hope Pass aid station (approximately mile 55)...

"133 at 1904... Hey, that's Kevin again! Way to go!" He looked great! And -- "where's your pacer?" "I didn't need him." Kevin was now just four hours off the leader's pace... I was impressed.

> The river crossing was now rigged with lights.

We heard about this by radio and relayed the good news to the runners. I was surprised to see that most of the people returning from Winfield looked great. I suppose they were self-selected, in a sense.

Amusing images: Entering camp, a runner drops to one knee and sings, "Swannee, how I luv ya." A female runner named Nancy announces, "I need to suck face..." (pause, all the men are ready to volunteer...) "with an oxygen bottle!" Later, as it's getting dark... "Jesus loves you all... And so do I."

Runners begin to arrive with headlamps on, almost all in pairs, with pacers. The trail above is eerie with cyalume markers. The runners look more bedraggled now, and are very quiet, letting their pacers do all the talking. About 1:20 from the Twin Lakes cutoff (five miles down the trail), the last few possibles are going to push hard to make it. Right after that, the remainder struggle into camp with a defeated look. They know they won't make it.

We heard there were 212 runners out of Winfield. I count #212 into camp, and more lights coming. What gives? It turns out to be the sweep crew. We're done! It's a miracle, we counted exactly the same number at both stations, with no misses.

One runner's crew failed to appear at Winfield and cannot be located at Twin Lakes either. He's bonked and in a funk, and spends the night with us in the med tent.

> Remembering last year's near death experience due to sleep deprivation, I gulped two cups of coffee before leaving with Tim Duesing for Halfmoon.

About this time I'm having a real dinner at a bonfire with the crew, in the middle of a soggy meadow (squish squish in my flip flops), then collapsing into nine solid hours of sleep. (Our work was done except for breaking down and hauling out the next day!)

> After passing through Mayqueen (mile 86.5) Andy handed me off to Gail Olson and we headed for Leadville.

Sunday morning: I woke up about 7 am and called down to find Kevin had cleared Mayqueen with about 45 minutes to spare. ("Good lord, he's still running...") Also that the winner crossed the line about 33 minutes after midnight. Kevin fell further off the leader's pace, but so did almost everyone.

> From there on, I dragged toward the finish, occasionally being passed by someone jogging.

At about 9:30 am we're slowly packing up camp (what a mess). A ham is announcing runners hitting the pavement 3/4 mile from the finish line... "133 on the pavement"... Way to go Kevin!

We backpacked out, leading llamas, from about 11 am to 2 pm. The llamas were a pain in the butt in both directions, balking a lot, bolting away, and so forth. They had the intelligence and personality of cats, with large, dangerous bodies, and didn't even like to be petted. We missed the awards ceremony, as expected, but met for a long Mexican lunch in town.

(Next trip report: 1996_0309-16_DeathValley.htm)