I was first contacted to provide a cell phone in case of an emergency for the day of the Mt. Si race. Although unable to do so, I was invited to attend the celebration picnic at the conclusion of the race, as long as I provided food and beverages for the attendees. I agreed to the conditions and arrived at the designated time. I joined Dana, who had been there from the start of the race, at a nearby picnic table. After a bit, Dauna and Marie arrived with more food.
I went to the trail head a number of times hoping to see one or both of the racers. About my tenth trip, I heard a tremendous pounding sound on the trail above. I cringed as round the curve came the elder of the racers intent on his task. He pounded past to the finish. I heard Dana shout "1:55"
I returned to the picnic table. The victor was full of his triumph (and his raging testosterone level). Sweat dripped from his torso. I should be able to recall his exact sentiments -- they were voiced repeatedly, but all that remains is the visual image of the apparition thundering down the trail and a recollection that the victory story was told repeatedly and at length for several hours following the event.
Nine minutes after the elder racer, the younger rounded the final curve and crossed the finish line. Much male bonding and race telling went on between the two participants. Larry Curnutt and his faithful companion, Tana, the race monitors, were still on the trail, so I decided to go up the trail to meet them on their descent. The race victor accompanied me. At some seemingly great distance from the picnic area, the victor pointed out the 1/2 mile sign on the trail. Regretfully, it was not the sign pointing out that one was 1/2 mile from the top, rather that one had come 1/2 mile from the start. I decided that I had climbed enough and sat on a log to wait. Thankfully, Tana came loping down the trail soon after, with Larry C following.
Once Larry C joined the picnic group, the detailed story of the great race had to be repeated, accompanied with more male bonding. When we were packing up for the return to our homes, Larry C recommended that we stop at the local ice creamery, and both the victor and I followed along. Fortunately for the victor, a couple who had shared the trail for a bit with the racers was also at the ice creamery and testosterone levels could peak once more in the telling of the whole race yet another time.
The chocolate malt was superb; it was a good day to be among friends. Would that there be more good days among friends, and more chocolate malts.