To Hell's Canyon and Back

One of my passions (outside of faith, family, football...and wine, of course) is running.  As I have gotten older, I have found that running is one of the few sports that I 1) can still be relatively competitive in, 2) have time to train for, and 3) can afford to play.  A nice unintended consequence of this "athletic hobby" is that it also provides an excuse for travel and - oddly enough - wine drinking.  As noted in a previous post, I have done a not-so-inconspicuous job of strategically choosing races in areas where the grape is prominent.

But this post, for once, isn't about wine.  The story does take place in a major wine-producing state (Oregon), and I did sample a few mighty-fine craft ales during the trip (Dale's, Deschutes, and Mutiny), but this experience was not drink-centric.  This is about friendly competition, making new friends, and a profound running experience in some of the prettiest country God has given us.

Cruising past the Snake River in Eastern Oregon.  No, I didn't take this while running.

Last spring, I was invited by some colleagues in Boise, Idaho, to join their team for a 210-mile relay race through Hell's Canyon in Eastern Oregon: the inaugural Hell's Canyon Relay.  Always one for a new adventure, I gladly accepted in invite...knowing very little about the other team members (12 total), the race logistics, or the course itself (which climbed over 11,000 feet - gulp).

As time passed and the September race date crept closer, more information became available on the race itself, and I did my best to prepare myself - mentally and physically - for the challenge.  Living in South Louisiana, we don't really have to deal with things like "altitude" and "hills", so I had to improvise.  Luckily, there are several parking garages near my office to provide somewhat of a climbing simulation during my lunchtime runs.  Of course, I was training throughout the summer which meant I was essentially training inside of a sweaty sock.  In the end, I think the lack of heat and humidity in Oregon helped to partially offset the altitude and elevation changes during the race, which I couldn't adequately prepare for during training.

Finally, September 20th was upon me, and I boarded a plane at dawn to make the trek to Boise, from which I would (after catching the Boise State - BYU football game) hop in a van with some of my new teammates and drive another 2.5 hours to Baker City, Oregon, and the Oregon Trail Interpretative Center to start our race the morning of September 21st.  Our heat would start mid-morning that Friday, and run continuously - switching legs amongst our 12 team members - until completing the 210-mile course...sometime the next day.

The Hell's Canyon Relay starting line near Baker City, Oregon.

Our team got off to a screaming start.  The first few legs of the race flew by as guys posted sub-7 and even sub-6-minute-miles.  My first leg, #8, was fast approaching - 7.3 miles and 600 feet of climb.  Baptism by fire for a Louisiana boy.

The morning chill had also burned off, and temps were in the mid-80's by the time I took the baton (a slap bracelet, actually).  Our team had built a commanding lead, save for one local team, whose runner absolutely smoked me in this leg.  The incline started just before mile two, and I immediately noticed the altitude as I started to suck wind.  I labored up the hill for the next mile and half before the terrain began to roll, eventually opening up to a nice, gradual decline to the finish.  I was a bit behind my projected 8:30 pace but, honestly, I was just pickin' em up and puttin' em down by the time I slapped that bracelet on the next runner.

A few seconds doubled-over, a quick glug of water, and it was back to the van as we wheeled off to support the next runner.  After leg #12, our van had some down time, so we grabbed showers at the local high school in Halfway (seriously), Oregon, for a small donation to their football booster club.  Then, we dined on lasagna and some of the best homemade bread I've ever eaten at a small and charming local restaurant that I think hadn't had "outside" customers in a long time (one of the goals of this race was to promote small towns in rural Oregon).  Next, it was up the mountain to Hell's Canyon National Forest to catch a few hours of sleep before our night legs began.

The alarm clock went off on my phone at 10:45 p.m. and I gingerly got up from the concrete floor of the rest stop where we runners were sleeping.  The temperature had dropped into the 30s and we all threw on some additional layers before we boarded the van to meet the rest of our team at the designated exchange point.  As before, my leg (#20) was the second in our van's sequence, so I got to watch at least one runner trudge down the dark forest road with only a headlamp before my quest began.

My leg #20 was 6.7 miles with almost 1,000 feet of drop into a canyon and then partially up the other side.  In addition to the dark and cold, nearby forest fires had created a haze that caused a glare from my headlamp and made it somewhat difficult to see when I took the bracelet from my predecessor a few minutes after midnight.  I'll admit I was a little anxious, as the race guide had warned of mountain lions, bears, etc. on the night legs...and running in the forest in the middle of the night by yourself is a little unnerving in and of itself.  That anxiety, plus a steep descent, propelled me to a sub-8-minute pace.  Luckily, my teammates were waiting at just about every mile to check in and provide water, and I did pass a couple of runners who were more than happy to talk for a few minutes before I moved on.  Needless to say, I beat my projected pace handily, which only added to the commanding lead our team had built overnight.

A few more hours of blurry-eyed van driving (we actually had to take a team member to another nearby town during our "down time"), and we finally stopped at a small diner for breakfast in Elgin.  With stomachs WAY bigger than minds, we all ordered ginormous breakfast platters and washed them down with chocolate milk.  Perhaps not the best choice since we had to run our final legs in a few hours, but we were starving.

After a good bit of stretching, groaning, burping, etc., we gathered in the center of Elgin to wait for our other team members to show up and pass the bracelet.  Out of nowhere, the runner from our team came flying into town, out-running a car (seriously), and slapping the bracelet on our teammate.  Our final legs had begun.

At some point during the wee morning hours, the local team had caught back up with us and were neck and neck.  During the leg before mine, the other team actually passed our runner and carried a 15-second lead going into the exchange.

My last leg, l#32, was 4.4 miles of flat or slightly downhill running, but my legs were dead (and the mongo breakfast I ate was weighing on me), so I could only make up a few seconds on the other team.  It was definitely the longest 4.4 miles of my life.  Legs screaming, lungs burning, head spinning...I slapped the bracelet on my teammate, who was able to overtake the other team, and we never looked back.

Finally, we made it to the finish in La Grande, Oregon, a quaint town with a nice local park and school where we could eat, shower, grab a beer, and just rest before the drive back to Boise.  I think the video below speaks for itself - winners of the inaugural Hell's Canyon Relay.  An unforgettable experience.  Can't wait to do it again.