whew.

I'd kept my plans to myself all week long, as though not saying them aloud would keep my ailing arches from knowing what I planned to ask of them and, surprised, they would rise to the occasion.  They were going to be up to it or they weren't and that was that.  Besides, you can't keep secrets from your body.  No matter how remotely any given point lies from your brain, it gets the word.

Every word.

So come Saturday morning every inch of me was well aware that I was gonna try and get in a 20+ mile run.  Big deal, right?  I know, but my confidence had grown a bit shaky and I really couldn't afford to start and not finish a moderately long run.

I needed this one.

A mile-and-a-half into the run, I was feeling good.  The sun had crept into the sky and the initially rock-riddled section of the Appalachian Trail between Swatara Gap at Route 72 and Route 443 in northern Lebanon County was beginning to change over to grass and hardpack.  A break in the woods led to a marshy stretch spanned by a cleverly crafted dual-track section of planks. 

This is a view that differs considerably from what I've seen on the AT in Pennsylvania and I found myself growing more a more stoked.

After crossing over a road or two, there was a long sliver of singletrack that snaked through some open meadows.

After reentering the woods on the far side, I began working my way up to the top of Second Mountain on a meandering technical track that was steep but totally runnable.  I couldn't have been much more thrilled.

Running across the ridge line of Second I could see the steep drop into Rausch Gap and a wicked gas line climbing straight up from the gap to the top of Stony Mountain across the valley.  I'm pretty sure this is the backside of the power line that resides in the middle of the Buzzards Marathon course.

Looks like a beast.  A beautiful beast with whom I hope to one day do battle.

After several hundred yards, the AT starts to tumble downward, no switchbacks on this stretch, into St. Anthony's Wilderness and the ruins of the once-upon-a-time mining/railroad town of Rausch Gap.  I was only 5 miles into my wandering but I made special note of the fact that I'd have to trudge back up this section sooner or later if I was ever going to return to the car.

It was lovely down in the Gap with the Rausch Creek tumbling through an old stone arch bridge and the April trees beginning to push new blooms.  I still hadn't seen a soul and decided not to force the issue by taking the spur trail to the Raush Gap Shelter though curiosity sat bedevilingly on my shoulder.

Onward.

From the Gap, the Appalachian Trail begins a gentle sustained climb toward the summit of Stony Mountain.  I'd come in the other direction with Jefferson back in July but this side was strikingly different in that it was in no hurry to get where it was going and didn't offer nearly as much damage underfoot.

In other words, it was just what I needed, as the miles began to pile up.  During the week, I'd considered getting the whole way to the junction with the Horseshoe Trail as that's where I'd departed the AT the year prior.  That was going to require a run totally something close to or slightly longer than 30 miles, however, and I'd given myself a hard 9:00 AM turnaround time to ensure that I could get back to the family for a day of play.

I did make it to a second set of ruins at Yellow Springs.  There's a cool trail registry here and, still not having seen anyone, I decided to check out the most recent entries.

As beautiful as the weather had been, there were only a few entries. Bummer.  I scratched in a sentence or two of my own and slid the journal back in the box and settled into breakfast.

Refueled I jumped back onto the trail, continuing to head west.  At this point I was creeping towards that 9:00 end of the road but decided to get in as much mileage as I could.

I would've made it further than I eventually did except, as happens to me, I found myself having to heed nature's call.  And not for relief of the bladder, if you know what I mean.

I hopped off the trail and found a spot to hunker down behind a rock and a tree.  And, yes, of course, the first human sounds of the morning began approaching from the trail.  Wouldn't you know it, I'd managed to not account for a turn in the trail and the very first hiker of the day had a pretty decent view of me, well, defecating.  Looked me right in the eye, he did, though, based on his squinting, I've got a feeling he didn't see much detail.  But he sure was pointed in the right direction and I soon recognized that I would soon be running him down from behind as I made the return trip eastward.  There isn't much glamour in trail running to begin with, but this scenario is definitely not what I envision when I imagine a great day in the woods.  All part of it, though, I suppose.

You're welcome for their being no pictures to accompany the last paragraph.

Onward.

On the way back I began seeing a few more hikers and passed as quickly as possible by the solo hiker who'd witnessed my bathroom break.  For the most part, though, I continued to have the trail to myself and had myself a blast, moving steadily if not swiftly.

I took one more stop at the bridge over Rausch Gap and dangled my feet in the air while knocking down a Honey Stinger waffle and some Gatorade. 

The day was beginning to get away from me and it was time to get back at it, crawl back up to the top of Second Mountain and cruise back into Swatara Gap.  A sign tacked to the tree gave me pause but I figured my being on two legs was sufficient to allow me passage.

I intentionally hiked most of the next mile as I really did hope to run hard the last several miles and didn't want to lay waste to that plan by trying to hammer out the uphill.  Near the top I couldn't resist and sunk my teeth into a little bit of brisk climbing.  It was a short enough stretch that I was able to keep moving the legs once I reached the top out.

I quick-stepped downhill and pushed hard across the open sections of singletrack.  Once I reached the jumbly stretch just before Swatara Gap, I did slow my pace to pick my spots and make sure that tired legs didn't cause a misstep that I'd regret this close to the end of a good long run.

My new TrekSta Edicts (more on these in a subsequent post) were proving to be the bee's knees and my arches and legs had held up just fine.  I hadn't stopped the clock for any rests, breakfast or that traumatic (not really) pit stop, so I was pretty pleased with the final time.

When I ran, I ran strong and without any pain.  I felt happy.  Maybe not as happy as the kids would the next day after hunting eggs and digging into their Easter baskets, but pretty darn happy.

a slow (unseasonably warm) march along the a.t.

Think the Amish go to church every Sunday?

Wrong.

They don't go to church at all, but they do meet for worship at a different farm within the community every other week.  And, on those Sundays, we impatient motor vehicle operators get a stern lesson in slowing the hell down.

Normally, this is "ok" by me and I often don't get stuck behind any buggies until I'm on the way home from my morning run and gassed enough to barely notice.

This past Sunday, however, the "man" had decreed the clocks be thrust forward an hour and my way less smart than everyone else's too-smart-for-their-own-good-smartphones phone got confused, maybe even frightened, and failed to sound the alarm that was supposed to get me on my feet at 5:30 AM, er, 4:30 AM, um...sometime well before I actually managed to rouse myself.

I'd frittered away 2 potentially glorious hours of trail running on a day that my sister had graciously offered to watch the kids while Lindsay attended another round of nursing clinicals.  Two hours is a good many miles and the warm sun and ridiculously mild temperatures that met me at the door seemed a cruel heckle to my oversleeping.

And that was before the endless parade of buggies.

The combination of my late start and the slow progress seemed a bad omen and I considered bagging my plan to put in 20 miles on the Appalachian Trail and head home for a day of play and (gulp) yardwork.

The sun shining on Blue Mountain convinced me otherwise.

I pulled into the lot along the northbound lane of Route 501 just southeast of Pine Grove, cut the motor and laced up my shoes.  I glanced at the GPS, ignored the headlamp I'd originally expected to need to start the day and made quick note of my revised 8:50 (7:50?) start time.

I had hoped to hit the trailhead at 7.

Ugh.

Heading east, I was immediately greeted by the arch-severing rock that gives the Pennsylvania sections of the AT such a bad reputation.  I was at least partly relieved to be doing this stretch in full daylight and considered that some compensation for my being behind schedule.

About 2 miles into the trip, I came upon the first real vista and soaked in the expansive view of the Lebanon Valley a few hundred feet below.

The full beauty of the day didn't just begin to sink in, it filled me immediately and left me feeling foolish for my earlier melancholy.

Head back on straight, I returned to my eastward march and soon came upon Shower Steps, another impressive overlook that demanded I stop for a moment.  This vista provides a great view of my "home" ridgeline, the site of Eagle Rock and the perch from which I spend most Sunday mornings looking in this very direction.

I'd remembered to throw my little Joby tripod in my pack and pulled it out to snap a few running photos before continuing on my way.

I cruised along for a couple more miles before the climbing temperatures had me wanting to shed my windshirt and, while I was at it, catch my breath.  I took advantage of the opportunity to shoot a quick video review of the jacket (see my earlier post) from the high point of Shikellamy Lookout and also shed the hat and gloves that were no longer needed.

The footing had mellowed out quite a bit after Shower Steps (though it's all relative) and I made good time as the trail stuck mostly to the top of the ridge before meandering downward into Shuberts Gap, the site of some sweet designated camping spots that I immediately decided I'd be returning to in the coming months with my hiking buddies.

After a short, moderately steep climb out of the gap, I came across a gas line (I'm assuming) and paused to note the seemingly endless drop down to the valley below (Brian, I think we've found the place for our hill repeat-athon).

The next few miles were a total blast.  The trail was technical but not nearly as relentless as a few miles before and it wound around a couple of small ponds and slowly, almost imperceptibly, to the pass at which Route 183 bisects the AT.

Just before reaching the intersection, I saw a sign in a tree that seemed fitting in weather that seemed exceptionally April-ish for early March.

Feeling certain I was making good time, I'd held off on peeking at the GPS even as I crossed 183 and knew I'd gone close to 10 miles.  Another mile further along, the singletrack changed over to road with newly spread stones.  Seemed like as good a time as any to check my progress and it was good I did.

First, I realized that I hadn't restarted the GPS after I'd stopped to photograph the spring sign.  Second, and more importantly, I found I'd been out on the trail for 2.5 hours and really did need to spin around and begin the trudge home.

What I didn't take proper note of for another mile or two was how damn hungry and thirsty I was.  I'd been drinking as I went but, as evidenced by the photo below, I'd barely put a dent in the water that I was carrying.  One of these days, I'm going to find a way to drink appropriately during long runs.  One of these days.  Today, it just meant that I had plenty of fluids to wash down my Honey Stinger Waffles, trail mix, GU Chomps, Snickers and granola bar lunch.

.

Minutes later, after recrossing that power line and ignoring its wordless invitation to repeat, repeat, repeat, I tumbled back down into Shuberts Gap and noticed a trail registry box that I'd failed to notice on my first passage.  There was no logbook in the registry, only the following note:

With the sun climbing higher and the temperatures rising, both of which may have set said rattlers a roaming, this note was an interesting reminder to watch my step.  It was also food for thought regarding that plan to return with friends for a night of camping.  For the record, I didn't see a single snake.

The return trip was mostly a matter of putting one foot in front of the other.  I'd stuck pretty easily to 12-minute miles throughout the day and now made up my mind to hold that pace until the end of the day.  I'd shorted the mileage by failing to restart the GPS near 183, but not by more than a mile and I felt pretty sure that the Garmin was giving a fair reading on the day's pace.

I paused for a short time again at Shower Steps as it was just too good a view to pass up and it gave me a chance to rest before the brutal footing of the last three return miles.  I tried, but there was no denying that I was tired.  A small group of backpackers arrived at the overlook and we chatted for a short while about our collective day out on the trail.  As much as I love a solitary trail, I'm often disappointed by how few hikers and backpackers that I see out on the trail, so I was really pleased to find them out there.

I'd just as soon stayed there for another hour soaking up the sun, but I knew it was best that I get back on my feet and crank out the last few miles.

I did a bit of hiking over the worst of the terrain but slogged through most of what remained at what sort of resembled running.  Long story short, my 12-minute pace didn't hold.  Guess what?  I couldn't care less.

I didn't make it to church or even any local farms, but it was still a day of worship in my book.