Running Across America Week 5
Rio Arriba County, NM — Las Animas County, CO
Day 29 | Rio Arriba County, NM to Dulce, NM
Morning found me on another unassuming stretch of US-64 headed east. After yesterday’s great run, I was convinced that the distance was now normalized and I could handle the day without necessarily being in “perfect” condition. Had it been the first couple weeks, waking up tired would’ve felt like a failure on my part to rest properly and tackle the day in peak condition.
A couple miles in, the road dipped down into a valley before winding through small mountains and grasslands en route to 7700' later in the day. There was no question now that I was headed higher into the Rockies as alpine forests returned and melting snow blanketed the ground. In the mountains, service was spotty, so the first crew stop ended up taking place only 6 miles into the day. While not that drastic, it did interfere with my focus and provided a false sense of achievement (normally I got a break every 10 miles).
More solitary miles passed as I wound through Carson National Forest and the Jacarilla Apache nation. Shortly after mile 20, the road veered north and the final 300' up to the day’s peak appeared. It felt surreal to be alone among the tall pines with nothing but a gentle breeze and sounds of snowmelt. Anticipation was high as I approached the top of the climb, not only because I’d reached a new highest point of the Transcon, but also because I might catch a glimpse of the peaks I’d have to summit in just a couple days.
Perched on a guardrail support at the top, I marveled at the faint mountain chain peaking out just above the tree-line. The thought of literally running over them was still unfathomable. That’s where I’ll be, I whispered to myself, a tiny insignificant speck climbing up and over those blanketed peaks. From my vantage point, the mountains looked so much taller than I was (10,000+ ft!), but I knew with blind faith and putting one foot in front of the other, I’d make it over.
Excited about what was coming, I hopped off the wooden post and began descending down to scrubland. The downhill was fun and still mostly devoid of cars. A lone 18-wheeler struggling up the opposite way, gave a couple toots of acknowledgement. I waved back and wondered if the driver was at all phased by my presence there. As a trucker, you’re bound to see it all at some point right?
In the late afternoon, the winding road and mountains ahead formed a dream-like atmosphere. The photo on the left, below, is what it looked like, but the photo on the right is what it felt like. It’s not often that we get to experience novel things and the lightness inside that comes with it. Having never visited the Rockies before, daydreams of a roadtrip or a hike there always conjured up feelings of late summer, mountains framed by trees, and above all, a sense of wonder and discovery. Along this remote stretch, it felt like I was transported into a fantasy where I was free to run wild and explore as far as the eye could see.
At sunset, I was shuffling out of the town of Dulce with just a couple more miles left to go down the highway. There wasn’t much to see, but it was always nice to have an image to match the name of a town that seemed to be in the middle of nowhere while I was planning the route. A lady at a gas station had also asked Christine what we were doing as she remembered our van from a few days ago in Farmington some 90 miles back. She was very impressed with the endeavor.
The goal was to get to 35 miles today, but I had a run-in with a rogue band of puppies in the final half mile 😅. Despite my effort to make loud noises, they didn’t seem fazed at all, but in an oblivious sort of way. Oh they’re just puppies, I realized, and sure enough they all kept trying to jump on me with wagging tails. They followed alongside very closely, while occasionally darting off into the grass to chase something. It seemed quite comical in the moment and I figuratively threw my hands up in the air. In an effort to keep the dogs off the road and make a quick getaway, I stopped a bit short of the goal and got picked up in a parking lot on the side I was on.
Day 29 stats: 34.84 mi, 1500ft elevation https://www.strava.com/activities/8800600758
Day 30 | Dulce, NM to Chama, NM
There was no turning back once I began moving today. Starting at 6800', I was about to be fast-tracked up the mountains to 8500' tonight, with 10,200' coming shortly after. It was a bit surreal to think that I’d go so quickly from ground level at the base of mountains to far above everything I could see. Like the Transcon itself, the conviction that I could do it was there, all that was left to do was to actually do it.
Eleven miles in, the highway ended at a T-junction marked with a weathered sign. Standing there, I felt a sense of momentousness — like I’d reached an actual crossroad in life. Turning left would take me backwards — north and west — while right would be a continuation of the journey. With a small nod, I pivoted and thought: onwards.
A wintery paradise slowly unfolded over the next stretch as I trekked deeper into the mountains. Snow appeared in small patches at first, but soon the entire landscape was covered in a layer of the white powder. With a clear sky and snow on the ground shining bright from reflected light, it all seemed very whimsical. I wouldn’t have been surprised if giant candy canes and reindeer suddenly appeared!
In the final straightaway before Chama, a wall of mountains lay directly ahead. To help pass the time, I tried to locate the point somewhere to the northeast that I’d be ascending to. The peaks were starting to disappear in fog as snow began falling at the higher altitudes. Just outside of the town, I passed mini train replicas of the Toltec & Cumbres Railroad and the Northern NM Welcome Center.
Chama itself felt a bit like a ghost town. The quiet lull that accompanies snowfall had already blanketed the sleepy offseason community. The soft crunch of my footsteps on the gravel was the only sound as I traversed down the main road, passing motels, pizza shops, and general stores. At the far end of town, a rail yard caught my attention as I noticed old-fashioned boxcars and a heritage snowblower unit all partially buried in the snow. The Toltec & Cumbres Scenic railroad runs during the warmer months, and it was really cool to see it continue the legacy of older railroads in the area like the D&RGW.
Snow started to fall harder as I left town and traversed higher into the mountains. With the deteriorating conditions, I began weighing what my options were. A glance at my phone revealed that service was dropping, and if I went any higher, I’d be on my own. Christine was somewhere up the mountain at the original end point, but at this point I didn’t know if I could make it there before dark or if the storm worsened. I’d texted her that I might need to get picked up if conditions deteriorated, but the message was taking a long time to send. Was I making a bad decision to continue forward blind? With one snack worth 200 calories and my Inreach, I figured I could probably make it downhill fast enough to service if things got really bad.
In the end, I made it a couple miles further, at which point the snow was coming down in large wet blobs and sleet stung my face. Christine received my message and had ran back to the van after originally trying to meet me on foot. Following a roadside pickup, we drove back down to Chama to spend the night.
Day 30 stats: 32.13 mi, 3123ft elevation https://www.strava.com/activities/8806014308
Day 31: Chama, NM to Antonito, CO
Morning came with the charged anticipation of a school snow day, only this time I was rooting against the snow. The blizzard had passed, but in an area as remote as this, updates were sparse. Late last night, Colorado DOT warned that today’s route could receive 7 inches of snow and gusts up to 61mph. The next update arrived after I’d woken up and reported icy roads with 40mph gusts. Not very helpful, but at least the wind speeds were going down! A couple traffic cameras also provided grainy images, and I gained a bit of hope as it seemed like plows had come through.
Plans were very much in the air, but I knew I had to at least try. It didn’t matter if I only made it 5 miles, anything would be better than nothing. I’d gathered everything I could from online, and now it was time to put boots-on-the-ground to see first-hand what the road was like.
Dark asphalt, slick from water, was visible at the start point, and I let out a sigh of relief. School would be open today, but it may still yet be only a half day. My confidence tentatively rose though as small milestones came and went: 2 miles… the Colorado border(!)… 5 miles. The weight of uncertainty lifted only when a familiar growl closed in from behind. An 18-wheeler rumbled up the switchback, followed closely by another. Elation shot through me as I figured if a huge truck could make it up the pass, I’d have no problem. Finally, my green light had arrived; now it was time for full steam ahead!
Figuratively speaking of course… 😅 the incline had grades up to 13% in places. Going uphill felt more strenuous than I was expecting, and I quickly switched to a run/walk routine. It was strange to feel out of breath, yet not see a high heart rate reading. Service was non-existent, and swirling snow created whiteouts at times, so Christine called in sick to drive next to me. To pass the time and keep the mood light, I goofed off by stumbling drunkenly or strutting while eating a bag of Doritos.
At some point, a guy in a pickup truck wearing a cowboy hat coming the opposite way slowed and stuck his head out the window. Just runnin’? haha! he said, and drove off before I had a chance to respond. To be fair, I didn’t remember the encounter until just now at the time of writing, but the sentiment remains accurate. His response seemed part incredulous, but mostly unfazed by my figure trudging along at 10,000 ft of elevation on a highway listed on dangerousroads.org.
When my position was right at the top of the peak on the elevation graph, every turn in the road was cause for excitement. Was this next bend hiding the elusive spot where the pavement finally starts sloping downward (on average) all the way to the Atlantic? At one point, I actually thought I’d missed the peak. However, a mile later, the tall snowbank on my left fell away, and there across the road stood the summit sign buried in snow up until just below where the text ended. View during the summer
To say that there were beautiful vistas on the way down would’ve been an understatement. The next 7 miles of twists and turns brought expansive views of a rift valley and immense joy. I paused many times to marvel at the sheer beauty of the landscape, and to try processing the fact that I’d gotten here with nothing but my own locomotion.
While flying down one particularly steep (and fun!) switchback, an epiphany hit me: the next two months were going to be awesome! A friend and mentor, Jason, had been telling me ever since I began, to enjoy the journey while it lasted. You’ll miss the open road once it’s over he said. Although I’d dreamed of the free-ness of the open road prior to starting, I couldn’t help but scoff at the idea once I was in the thick of it. Now, however, having conquered the trials of the first month, I thought I was invincible. I’d learned everything I needed to, and now the reward was getting to coast comfortably over the next 2 months. Oh to be so naive!
Back at “ground level”, around 2,000ft lower than the summit, I had a crew stop in what seemed like a ghost town. Everything was eerily quiet, with just the sounds of birds chirping and the Conejos river flowing past. Numerous well-maintained houses stood, but the area was devoid of anyone else. It felt like a winter village that wasn’t open to the public yet. A little past the town, I did encounter a lady jogging the opposite way though…
Service was still nonexistent so Christine and I passed the time by ‘Putting it in Drive & coast’ as she called it. Essentially, I’d race the van as it rolled no faster than the drive gear on its own with no pedal input. We were awaiting the arrival of two friends, whom we hadn’t met before, that had flown to Denver from NYC and were driving to find us. An hour and a some false alarms later, a white hatchback approached with a figure excitedly hanging out the passenger window. Rob and Tyler had found us.
The waning afternoon hours were spent getting to know each other and Tyler jumped in for some miles as a bonus. Tyler even drove the van for the final bit so I could run with Christine as the sun set. The four of us spent the night at the Steam Train Hotel, a small but very cozy boutique place. Following a hot shower (the best one so far), I felt a mix of contentment, confidence, and pride. I’d done well in reaching the Continental Divide, and knew for certain that I would make it NYC in less than 2 months from now. The only tricky thing now was keeping track of the day count past the first month!
Day 31 stats: 33.16 2513 ft elevation https://www.strava.com/activities/8810768402
Day 32 | Conejos County, CO to Alamosa County, CO
Just 2 more times? Piece of cake! It’s fascinating how our minds gain a false sense of bravado when the body is in a state of comfort. Here I was with less than half of the journey completed, yet I was already extrapolating my current feelings of excitement and pride to the remaining 57 days. After struggling for a month straight, I was practically an expert; there was no way each day could be as hard!
Leaving the hotel, the sky was clear and a bright sun helped warm things up at 8000 feet. Our new friends were pumped to join us for a day, and Tyler was determined to do a whole day with me. Having company to run with was practically a real-life cheat code at this point; every mile with someone was a free mile. Tyler is incredibly social, so the miles flew by as we chatted. In mid conversation at one point, a lady saw us running and offered some snacks. A minute later, we’re jogging down the road with a sloshing can of Pepsi in one hand and a banana marshmallow dessert in the other.
A surprise was in store at Antonito. Tyler and Rob had eaten at the bar in town last night, and befriended a good chunk of the town. They came back with matching ‘ANTONITO PROUD’ hoodies for all of us, and arranged a firefighter escort through town. As Tyler and I were rounding the bend into town, a procession of 4 firetrucks filed into the road and came to life with wailing sirens and lights. Having the trucks pace me was incredibly cool, and a surge of energy came amidst the cacophony of sirens, engine rumbles, and Tyler’s whoops as he hung off the side of a truck.
The next mile was a blur as we paraded down the Main Street. Local residents were extremely hospitable with many coming up to say hello or give a small goodie bag. A big group photo was held outside the bar and another at the edge of town with the whole firefighter crew. Those guys were the real deal, and Antonito holds a special place in my heart. I was also honored to learn that the last time the fire department held a parade was for the 1984 Olympic torchbearer.
Two. Bears?! Tyler asked to make sure he heard right. Two Bears, the bare chested man affirmed with a smile as he reined in his tall grey horse aptly named ‘Big Gray’. Two Bears had seemingly materialized in a ditch next to the raised highway when he turned to stop alongside us. He’d come from the Sioux tribe and told us a little of how he ended up in Colorado. We invited him to come ride alongside us and chat for a while longer, but he politely declined citing work he needed to tend to still. As he wheeled away, Tyler and I exchanged looks, bewildered by the randomness of the whole encounter.
The rest of the day quickly passed, and soon the sun started to sink towards the white-capped peaks to the east. We were currently in a valley some 50 miles wide filled with yellowed plains grass, headed northeast towards La Veta Pass which would take me out of the Rockies. Christine and I appreciated the energy that our new friends brought and especially how they made our normal, and sometimes gloomy, aid stops a lot more fun. At the hotel later on, Tyler was reportedly passed out from exhaustion, but I got to know Rob better over dinner, since he only joined briefly to run due to an injury.
Day 32 stats: 35.13 mi, 207 ft elevation https://www.strava.com/activities/8819747587
Day 33 | Alamosa County, CO to Fort Garland, CO
Christine and I scrambled to be (mostly) ready an hour earlier than usual. The guys were leaving today, so we decided to do the first 5 miles into Alamosa together. It was early still on a Sunday morning, so cars were few and the sun hovered lower in the sky than I was used to. A lone figure stood a mile outside of town who I thought was someone we’d met in Antonito, but it turned out to be a reporter for the Alamosa Citizen named Chris.
He was very excited to report on the story, and really good at keeping up too. Every time we thought he’d disappeared, he’d magically pop up on the next street corner as Christine and I zig-zagged through town. At the eastern edge of town, we drove back to the hotel and said farewell to Rob and Tyler. It would be a long (almost) two months before we’d reunite in NYC, but it certainly gave me something to look forward to!
An hour later, I stood next to a barbed wire fence, admiring the massive 14’er rising up from the desert. With a reluctant sigh, I knew it was time once again to begin plodding eastward inside the little sliver of road I claimed as mine. I’d thought that the second part of the day would be easier with less mileage, but in reality it felt like the equivalent of working double shifts. After a day and a half with company, only a heavy silence lay in the wake of their departure. Occasionally, I’d gaze up at the fuzzy condensation trails overhead to guess which plane was bound for NYC with Rob and Tyler onboard. What took them just 4 hours, would take me another 55 days to complete.
Over the course of a 15-mile straightaway, Blanca Peak, the 14’er, grew closer at an excruciatingly slow rate. In my mind, I was transported back to a valley in the Mojave that I felt was going to swallow me. No matter how long I’d been running, the far side never seemed to get any closer. Approaching the town of Blanca, a couple police cruisers passed me, before one pulled over a few hundred feet ahead. Being pulled over was definitely par for the course, and I started preparing the shtick that I was going to give. While it was a nuisance to have to explain my presence on the highway, part of me was goading the officer to pull me over. In the end, he actually did a U-turn before I reached him, and merely asked if I was alright before driving off.
Late in the afternoon, a car slowed alongside me and the driver’s window rolls down. Oh it’s probably just someone asking if I need a ride I think to myself. Instead, I hear Hey, are you Tim?! We saw you on Facebook! Turns out, 4 college friends had been driving back to Alamosa when they detoured upon seeing an update that Chris posted. I ran over to their side of the road, where we took a group photo together. As a parting gift, I got a bag of animal crackers, which turn out to be vegan!
Among the thousands of cars that whizzed by everyday, anonymity was the status quo. Rare was any sort of positive acknowledgment in the form of a friendly beep, but each encounter would leave me with a warm feeling from the brief human connection. This auspicious moment certainly amplified those feelings and made a lasting impression.
Golden hour today was special also. As the shadows lengthened and warm orange light blanketed the fields, I felt energized. The endorphins from the close of another day and the beautiful lighting meshed perfectly with the chorus of Take On Me. In the final mile, for a brief moment, everything was perfect as I lip-synced along and let the music propel me to the finish.
Day 33 stats: 36.03mi, 1145ft elevation https://www.strava.com/activities/8822666111
Day 34 | Fort Garland, CO to Walsenburg, CO
After almost a week without any truly difficult days, I’d become complacent. During my celebration of recent wins, the Transcon had been quietly plotting and today it returned in full. Upon taking just a few steps away from the start, I knew it was going to be a rough day. Winds were gusting and battered me relentlessly. Over the next 10 miles, I slipped back into a familiar state of frustration, and my rosy outlook for the next two months splintered. The rest of the journey wasn’t supposed to be hard, I thought I had it all figured out! Unwittingly, I was about to learn a fundamental rule of the Transcon: Often, the master becomes a student once more.
The ascent up to La Veta Pass was a losing battle with my emotions; grunts of annoyance and clenched fists grew more frequent as gusts strong enough to push me forward continued. The hood on my jacket only made matters worse as it would repeatedly flip upwards and flutter crazily. Efforts to mentally re-center myself and stuff frustration back into the pot were no match though for the sustained 40mph winds and 70mph gusts. Facing something so unyielding instilled a sense of vulnerability that overshadowed even the danger from traffic.
The van came in view 11 miles in behind a tall rocky outcrop. Sliding the door open proved to be a challenge, but when it shut, the howling wind vanished, replaced by a calming insulated silence. The van was my refuge — a safe pocket dimension that existed outside of the harshness of the Transcon. Although the van was safe, it was unforgiving. Every aid stop provided enough respite to keep me sane, but it was never enough to feel comfortable. Time ticked on, and soon I was at the mercy of the elements once more, dreading the fresh set of 10 miles to come.
La Veta Pass summit arrived a few miles later at an elevation of 9,413 feet. While incredibly high up relative to most of the Transcon, I felt far less fanfare than at La Manga Pass. There, it looked and felt like I was climbing an entire mountain, but here, the valley floor itself was elevated, and numerous other mountains protruded higher. A steady roar reached my ears at the start of the descent as an 18-wheeler, billowing gray smoke, came into view while cresting the final hump. Excited to let loose on the 3,000 foot descent, I picked up some speed, but was promptly blasted in the face with a full-on headwind. Due to the curved nature of the pass, the southwestern wind would work against me at each step of the way over the next 20 miles.
Past the initial curve of the descent, I had a clear line of sight for 3 miles down a straightaway. From my vantage point, I could see the far-off splotches of green and yellow that made up the valley floor and traffic along the entire stretch. 18-wheelers dotted various sections of the climb while moving like molasses up the 8% grade. The nice part was that there was little to no draft as they passed, however, the boxy trailers also wobbled to a concerning degree with each gust. Despite there being two lanes on my side of the road, trucks stubbornly did not move over at all, and I had quite a few choice words for the particular truck that got blown into the shoulder 20 feet in front of me.
Further down the descent, a new problem arose; the wind was at my back and pushing me too quickly. Instead of being a comfortable tailwind, the wind would violently shove me forward, requiring extra energy to brace against it. For many miles, trampling through the thick yellow grass flattened by recent snowfall was my only option. Although harder to run through, it was at least lower than the road and slightly sheltered. Just when things seemed to be okay for the rest of the day, Christine texted me the current weather alert. My eyebrows shot up as I found out that the gusts I’d been dealing with were 70mph winds and dread sunk in as the last section read … in effect until 7pm tomorrow. One shitty day I could handle, but another day like this? The Transcon had successfully humbled me once again.
At sunset, the wind died down enough to be manageable and the sky glowed purple, pink and orange. While turning to take it all in, it suddenly hit me: the Rockies were no more! La Veta Pass had been the final hurdle, and now I stood gazing at the eastern-most edge of the mountain range. I’d gotten accustomed to seeing mountains all around, but now it was time to say goodbye. The vast plains of the midwest were fast approaching.
Finding a motel that night was a bit of a debacle. Save for the Best Western that went for a couple hundred dollars per night, no other motel would allow pets in non-smoking rooms. Without any other choice, we went with the smoking room. It was a dingy space with decor from the 80’s that had a dank smell baked in, and featured formerly white appliances now stained yellow.
Day 34 stats: 35.85mi, 3504ft elevation https://www.strava.com/activities/8828173726
Day 35 | Walsenburg, CO to Huerfano County, CO
Today was one of the bleakest days of the Transcon.
It didn’t start off that way though. Spirits were actually high this morning upon completing my first new interview. Fundraising the whole way was difficult, and weighed on me everyday. If I was only going to do this run once, I wanted to have the most impact I could. Gaining new exposure for the run definitely boosted morale.
Even the first few miles weren’t that bad. Being sheltered slightly by gentle rolling hills and short trees made a world of difference as I shuffled along US-160 towards Walsenburg 5 miles away. With the increased wind, cars created an amplified whoosh sound as they hurtled past. The real trouble began when I crossed into fully exposed terrain and started to chafe around my crotch. At first, I thought my liner had somehow accumulated sand, but turns out pitting skin against fabric flapping crazily in 40mph wind, ends badly for skin.
Past Walsenburg the terrain was absolutely barren and open as far as I could see. The wind wasted no time in making itself known, and soon reached a level where it was an unrelenting howling in my ears that drowned everything else out. The road was relatively free from traffic today, but even so, the audio overload created a sense of heightened anxiety. The wind was perhaps an adversary even worse than cars — an ever present entity whose sole purpose was to strip me of resolve. Respite was simply not possible in the Great Plains, there were no buildings to provide shelter like in NYC, the only choice was to endure.
Then, there were the gusts.
It’s hard to accurately describe what 70mph gusts felt like. These were not run-of-the-mill blasts that send a hat flying, it felt like nature unleashing rage. The next gust was impossible to predict, and when it hit, I was little more than a ragdoll sent accelerating faster and faster down the road until the invisible force finally relented. Just a few instances of this reduced me to a screaming, swearing, and stomping mess. In one particular bout of frustration, I was overcome with the urge to pick up a rock the size of my fist and hurl it as far as I could. My shoulder hurt afterwards, but that irrational act at least provided a tiny semblance of control.
The second half of the day featured some hundred-foot climbs whose crests featured the full-body equivalent of sticking your hand out the window while driving on a highway. Up there, the wind no longer sounded like howling, it was closer to a massive piece of fabric tearing. Between bouts of gusts, the wind was still blowing at a consistent 40mph. Tiny particles of sand and dirt that I picked up with each step were constantly being flung back at my legs, stinging every time. Peeing was also a struggle the entire day. The stream would immediately form a 90 degree angle as it came out of the source and land far past my right leg. It required some maneuvering from me to avoid spraying myself, as I learned in California…
By mile 20 I was absolutely ready to quit. Sensing my defeat, the wind pounced with another savage gust as I crossed over to the van. Tiny shards of sand stung my legs once again as I braced against the sudden assault. Annoyance immediately welled up once the gust stopped, leading me to lash out at the soft ground with stomps and kicks. Inside the van, I sat with a thousand-mile stare at the ground while the van rocked back and forth in the wind. I was way behind schedule and couldn’t bring myself to fathom climbing back out into the cruel clutches of nature. The day did not end there thankfully. The more I vented about how shitty the day was, the better I felt, and somewhere in the back of my mind an ember with the desire to fight burned bright.
I don’t recall much of the 20–30 mile range, but I ended with 34 miles and Eye of the Tiger playing for the final hour. Originally, we’d planned to camp for the night, but snow was on its way, so a half hour drive back to Walsenburg was the only option. To say the vibes were off back at the motel would be an understatement. The owner acted like she’d never met us before, and gave a room that smelled 10x worse than the previous night and reeked of tobacco. We’d dealt with enough that day, so we threw the keys back (no refund) and drove over to the Best Western which waived the pet fee and applied a veterans discount for us.
Day 35 stats: 34.02 mi, 2454ft elevation https://www.strava.com/activities/8834396239
