the key ingredient.

If pressed for a single trail of residence, I'd certainly have to call the Horseshoe Trail home.

While not a true second home (I'm not made of trail money, after all), the Conestoga is like a cabin returned to season after season with a familiarity that makes it feel like "mine" even though, deep down, I recognize that as soon as I leave the next short term tenant arrives.

I'm also well aware of the fact that some other fellow tribesmen and tribeswomen log enough time on the Stogie to lay fair claim to it being their home.  Like Gary Bowman, for one.  If anyone has the right to roll out a proper welcome mat it's Gary and he did just that on Saturday evening, inviting fellow runners far and wide to tackle the 10-mile Conestoga Trail Run course under the cover of darkness.

A large contingent planned to gather at Pequea Creek Campground after some strategic pre-run shuttling and then switch on the headlamps and flashlights to guide footfalls up and down the many contours of the eastern side of the Susquehanna River from there to Holtwood Park.

A smaller group, consisting of a handful of more-than-able bodies and a dumbass with a braided beard.

Photo courtesy of Stacey Wilson Keener

Having arrived on the scene first, I got to bear witness to the mop-up of a rescue operation that sent emergency professionals down into Kelly's Run to fetch a Bear Grylls wanna-be hiker who'd managed to whack himself in the leg with the machete he'd decided to haul along on his misadventure.  I decided to NOT take that as an omen and quietly thanked the heavens that our scabbards held only water bottles.

As an aside, I'm still waiting on the punchline.  Bear grills...what?  I'd think on that for a bit during the long, hot hours ahead.

There were some strong, strong legs in this group and what was a slow, controlled pace for these guys was a nice, steady clip in my book.  Still, it's all downhill to start and the cruise down into Kelly's Run was good times.  Was it hot?  Yep.  But not nearly so hot down in the ravine as it had been up high.

I fought off the urge to stop and snap pics down in the run as I didn't want to fall off the pace early and we had plenty of ground to cover.  Scott and I discussed his good and my bad days at Laurel and agreed that it's one beauty of a course.  I couldn't help but think "and so is this one."

The clamber up over the slabs directly above Kelly's and the long, grassy slope beyond them led to the Pinnacle and an early opportunity to refill water bottles.  I never tire of this sweeping view and framing it with running partners helps to give it some scope.

On the long run down from there to Tucquan, John made first mention of some gastric issues he was having that were likely tied to an ill-advised meal not long before we'd started combined with the heat and humidity.  He was still running strong but also clearly uncomfortable.

And, when I get to that point, there isn't anything I look forward to more than soaking in a cold creek.  In Tucquan, it's not a matter of finding a pool but rather picking which one you like best.  I found my favorite hole and soaked for a bit before talking Rik and John into posing for this photo.

This little rest stop should have left us miles beyond Scott, Steve and J.J., so we were surprised to see them all again shortly after we'd made it up the next climb.  Turns out, machines that they are, they'd decided to run the full loop at Tucquan to tack on a bit of extra mileage.

Jesse humored me for a stretch, padding along behind me, talking shoes and second growth.  Come to think of it, with the miles he's logged in those river valleys, J.J. can stake a home claim there too.  We caught up with the others at House Rock where they were making small talk with a handful of day hikers.

I was still guzzling water when the crew headed out and it took me a couple of minutes to catch back up.  On the steep haul up to the ridge that fosters Wind Cave, I ran into John who again voiced his discomfort.  We hung together through that stretch and decided to round the corner before Pequea on the road, cutting out the short climb that then ambles down into town.  John made it clear at this point that he was going to try and catch a ride back to Holtwood and, feeling a bit cooked myself and more familiar with some of the runners we'd meet at the campground, I decided I might try and track down keys from someone running to Holtwood and drive John and I back there.  At the time, it didn't sound like a bad idea.

Our short cut allowed us to meet back up with Rik just before hanging the right onto the old trolley bed that leads from the river to the campground along the southern bank of the Pequea creek.  That last mile passed pretty quickly and we found the campground a bustle of activity with balls bouncing, golf carts buzzing and grills (no Bear) blazing.

Rik and I bee-lined for the creek and spent another few minutes soaking.  If not on the trail, look for me in water.  RUNNING water.

We'd arrived well ahead of the 10-mile crew and the longer we waited, the better I began to feel.  The night crew emerged, seemingly out of nowhere and it was full of friendly faces.  Steve and Cassie appeared with their trademark smiles and enthusiasm.  Chris pointed out that we only seem to see each other on this trail and passed me a chia energy bar that, honestly, seemed to add some immediate pep.  I hadn't seen Steve Lougee since we'd logged some time together up on Mole Hill and I threw him a wink.  Aimee grinned with pre-run anticipation.  Lane gave me the quick rundown on his recent immersion in trail running.  The man of the hour, Gary, delivered his customer bear hug.

At that point, I knew I was going back to Holtwood along the Conestoga.  Before I did that, however, I needed to help John find that ride.  J.J. and Monica Joan, who was joining us for the 10 miles back to Holtwood, agreed to turn their keys over to John.  I gave him a hug and we agreed to get in touch and stay in contact.  Just one more instance of translating a few hours together on a trail into a friendship to last.

And then, I suppose, I blinked because everyone was gone.  Once again, I was standing there watching the crew run away.  I scrambled to pull out my headlamp, put my pack back on, gather my bottles and catch up.  Steve and Cassie led the group off of the Conestoga onto Smith's lollipop start and I bagged it to get further out along the trail to set up my little tripod to see if I could get some shots of the group as it passed by.  Something about bobbing headlamps always gets me pumped.

Rik and Stacey came through first, having also cut the lollipop short.  They decided to shoot a couple of photos too and after the bulk of the group went through, we realized that we hadn't seen Gary.  We decided to wait on him and soon discovered that he had Carli and a couple of others with him.

The three of us brought up the rear for a bit before deciding to push out ahead.  We never did catch the others, but we must have put some distance on the four behind us as we never did end up reconnecting.

Over on the York side of the river, there was a pre-4th hootenany going down with a fairly impressive fireworks display and a peculiar concoction of radio-friendly country, hip-hop and pop.  It was pretty surreal, especially after having spent many quiet nights on these same trails with only the musical accompaniment of crickets, birds, far-off farm dogs and the occasional train.  While I prefer the quiet, the goings-on did add a festive air.

Rik, Stacey and I stuck together mile after mile, not pushing too hard but just enjoying a beautiful night out together.  Hard to believe that we only really met back in January and I can't imagine not thinking of the two of them when I think about local trail running.  They are good people and good company.

Once we'd slogged our way up and over the Pinnacle and temperatures had cooled, I was feeling really good.  We made the final water crossing in Kelly's Run and began power-hiking the long, steady climb up to Holtwood Park.  Before I knew it, that power-hiking had turned into shuffling and then full-on running.  I love having a lot of leg late in a run and, especially after having felt pretty legless earlier in the evening, it was really satisfying to be accelerating up the ridge.

I would have been ok with that stretch going on and on were it not for one little concern.  While slugging some water down in Kelly's I discovered that the empty zippered pocket on one of my handheld bottles was completely open.  This was really disconcerting because inspection of the other bottle revealed that it didn't contain my car key and I was about 98% sure that I'd put my key in one of those bottles.

My hope was that I'd arrive at the pavilion at Holtwood and, while basking in the glow of the post-run after party, I'd dig into my pack and find that I had actually stashed the key there.  Or, if the key wasn't there, maybe I'd find it lying next to the car or sitting on the roof, a spot I'd nearly left my key on a number of other occasions.

The after party glow was there waiting.

My key was not.

Once I'd confirmed that fact, I began begging a ride home.  Thankfully, Aimee obliged and I consoled my conscience with the fact that I could jump out of the car at the intersection of Mt Joy and Colebrook roads without ever forcing her to stray from her route home.

Finding Lindsay awake when I got home at 2:30 and learning that she'd been calling and texting and calling again the cell phone that was locked back in the car did not a thing to ease that some conscience.  Ugh.

What I didn't learn until morning was that shortly after Aimee and I left, Gary and Josh had arrived at the pavilion, key in hand.  How or where they found it, I've yet to learn and maybe it should stay that way.  They did me one last favor, alerting the rangers to the fact that my car was going to have to sit there overnight and slipping a "note" through the slight crack I'd left open in the driver's side window.

That's me, the owner who lost his key...

...only to get it (and my car) back today.

For the moment, I'm going to store that key with my new collection of favorite Conestoga Trail memories.  But I may seek out one of those magnetic storage boxes before next time.

Or tie it right into this dumbass beard braid.

an abbreviated (but still super) hike.

My September running got off to a strong start with a number of hour+ long runs strung together over the Labor Day weekend.  My legs held up throughout and I wondered if that would make me feel that much more restless while volunteering at the 3rd annual KTA Susquehanna Super Hike on Saturday morning.

Even some wicked pain in my toe that required a doctor's attention (lancing proved even more painful than the injury itself) on Wednesday night didn't keep me from feeling like I had a long run in me.  If you're curious, Google the term paronychia and hope you never hear a doctor say it to you...I have never had such a seemingly insignificant source of discomfort make me question my pain threshold more critically.

It was with some guilt, then, that I learned of the Keystone Trails Association's decision to cancel the Super Hike after tropical storm Lee swept in and buried Lancaster County in many, many inches of rain that led to subsequent flooding in area creeks, rivers and towns.

Certainly I'd never hoped that the Super Hike would be shelved entirely, freeing me up for a long weekend run.  The event really is a treasure as is the Conestoga Trail and surrounding ridges, streams and hollows that host the race.

The KTA puts in an incalculable amount of work in putting together the race and participants train for weeks and months beforehand in preparation.  Obviously, all involved were sorely disappointed while still being respectful of the fact that safety comes first and the attention of emergency responders was best focused elsewhere in the aftermath of cresting flood waters.

A like-minded bunch of adventurous runners, however, decided to gather at the high point of Holtwood Park on Saturday morning, head down into Kelly's Run and north toward Pequea to see how far we could get before passage proved impossible.  I knew a couple of individuals firsthand, but most of the assembly consisted of new faces or faces that I knew only through the sneak peek that is Facebook or from fragmented memories of past area races.  Regardless, as I find with trail running in general, we all mingled and mixed like old pals and instantly felt like a team.

There was a ton of standing and running water up high on the trail that made me suspect we were in for a short trip.  Thankfully, that water must have been filtering into the ground or heading off in varied enough directions because the trail was actually in better shape the further we ventured into Kelly's Run.

When things bottomed out (still high above the Susquehanna), there was clearer evidence of receded waters, downed trees and choked debris.  The trail was certainly still passable, but required a little bit of clambering which led to slightly deeper than usual creek crossings at the lowest elevations before the start of the climb up towards the Pinnacle.

The Pinnacle stood unharmed, standing as it does a few hundred feet above the river, but the dense fog offered up only an impenetrable curtain of white and gray that refused any glimpse of the Susquehanna.

We pushed onward, heading down again, this time toward Tucquan Glen and the first landmark that had true potential to be completely underwater.

Before we reached the bottom, we caught site of the railroad tracks and knew that the river had dropped at least below that point.  Though the tracks were clear, there was a broad island of debris on the inland portion of the bridge that cluttered the clear pool that usually sits at the foot of Tucquan.

On the other side of the rails, there was a 4 to 5 foot wide ribbon of deep mud that had trapped numerous small fish, fingerlings and crayfish. We shuttled as many as were immediately visible into the river, but I'd imagine the story remained the same all the way north and south from that point.

A preliminary determination had us doubting that the Conestoga Trail was above water in Tucquan and we leaned toward taking the "high" trail on the other side of the creek to reconnect with the trail above the glen.  Someone, I'm not sure who, scouted ahead enough to say that the low trail was doable so we stayed the course and braved on.

The first portion of the trail was pretty waterlogged and, except for the few hearty souls that waded over-the-waist-high along the shoreline, most of the group did a bit of rhododendron bush-whacking to stay above the trail.

After the initial 50-100 yards, the trail reemerged and led to the always wondrous beauty that is Tucquan Glen.  As the elevation increased by even just a few feet, the glen looked not unlike it does after any significant rainfall.  At the sight of runners strung out around the bend on the ridge-hugging trail, I fell behind to try and snap photos, none of which turned out to do the spectacle any real justice.

Another creek crossing welcomed us to the start of another climb.  We passed a United Way group doing trail clean-up and offered our thanks and good luck.  A short while later we got our first from-up-high look at the chocolate-milk-like waters of the Susquehanna.

A short descent led across Reed's Run and then into the ups-and-downs over House Rock, past the limestone caves and down into the village of Pequea.  Clean-up was in full swing with pumps emptying water out of basements and first floors.  Small numbers of onlookers milled about, scoping the Susquehanna and viewing the swath of debris that filled the marina.  Something (everything?) didn't smell quite right.

We hung a right on the path toward Pequea Creek Campground and immediately hit standing water and deeper mud.  Most startlingly (and I can't believe I didn't manage to get a photo), deep cracks in the soft soil of the unpaved road seemed to offer strong support to the landslide warnings that had been issued the day prior.  I cringed at the idea of 500 hikers and runners attempting to cross through here on their way to the Super Hike finish line just a half mile ahead.

Before long we transitioned from the road into the campground and collectively gasped at what we found there.  Everything that wasn't under water, clearly had been not long ago and where the water had retreated, thick mud was left in its place.

The pavilion that a year ago had been the gathering place of volunteers, race finishers and their family and friends stood bathed in mud, its picnic tables pushed this way and that.  A slick of mud along the top of the seats of the picnic tables made it clear that the entire pavilion had been beneath at least 2 feet of water.

Downed outhouses had washed up against the pavilion and were now resting on their sides a few feet away.

The grassy plot that had served as the tent camping/parking area for the Super Hike looked fine until you stepped on it and discovered that beneath the top layer of grass was several inches of soupy mud.  My first footfall caused the next several feet of grass to ripple and roll like water displaced in the bathtub.

Even the herons looked perplexed, standing on banks that normally provided a high vantage point above the creek but were now flush with the dark brown waters of the creek.

Being beyond the end of the summer season, the campground had already seen many of its usual resident RVs and campers leave for the year, but those vehicles that had stayed behind were likely not going to be put to use again.  At the western end of the campground, there was still a foot or more of water and the line of mud caked along one camper's windows proved that water had been at least another 3-4 feet higher within the last 24 hours.

Before the four of us who remained together for the return trip left the campground, I snapped a quick photo of my GPS, concerned that the battery was going to run out of juice before we topped out at Holtwood (it didn't).  I'd forgotten to turn the Garmin back on when we'd first left the Pinnacle earlier in the day but had received confirmation from another runner's GPS that I'd shorted us exactly 4 tenths of a mile.

Off we went.

The journey back found Cassie, Steve, Gary and I together throughout, basking (sometimes gasping) in the sun that now shone brightly in the sky, enjoying each other's company, pushing through growing fatigue and using each creek crossing to calm swelling, cool down and clown around.

It was a blast.

At Pinnacle we dug into the cooler that Cassie and Steve had hid there earlier in the day and fueled up for the final push.  The section from the Pinnacle to Kelly's Run provided a breathtaking viewpoint of the trail, river, dam and bridge way down below.

Earlier in the day, knowing that I'd slow to a snail's pace if I pulled out my camera and started shooting pics, I had passed through Kelly's Run without taking a single photograph.  Coming back the second time, I lingered a bit behind the group to get a couple of shots. 

Fueled by the want to try and run the last leg (especially with the Conestoga Trail Run just a couple of weeks away) AND, maybe more importantly, to stay ahead of what felt like a growing threat of cramping, I was able to crank out a pretty good pace on the run up to Holtwood Park.  I'm not sure, though, that I had anything more left in the tank once I got there.

Steve, Cassie and Gary appeared just a few minutes later and together we enjoyed the cookies and beer that the others had kindly left behind for us.

In the end, it may not have been THE Super Hike but any full day spent on the trail with good friends (and making new friends) while gaining perspective well beyond running itself is pretty damn super.