For Absolutely No Reason Whatsoever.

The reward of this venture, if there was one, would reside in the doing of the thing itself.

~ Kevin Fedarko, The Emerald Mile

Every once in a while, there are two experiences from my school days that come to mind. The first was seventh grade. Middle school, yay. For a reason that doesn’t seem to have aged well and could certainly contribute to real body shaming, our class was made to all line up during gym to be weighed. Yikes. Sure enough, after I stood on the scale, some dude in my class remarked, ‘Schroeder, you gotta put some meat on those bones!’ It being seventh grade and all I’m sure that stuck with me for a bit. Clearly, I still remember it. But whatever.

Fast-forward to ninth grade. Freshman year of high school. I was a terrible athlete pretty much my entire childhood. For example, I pretended to play baseball by myself in the front yard of our parents' house. So it was no surprise I got cut pretty quick from my having the audacity to try out for the high school baseball team. Turned out, playing solo didn't really prepare me for the team. However, in gym class again, at one point we did a couple weeks of track and field. After all the usual throwing of things and sprints, the program culminated with a long-distance run: the 800-meter. Half a mile. The gym teacher shouted ‘Go!’ or something to that effect and off we all went, the entire class.

I smoked everyone.

Truly, ‘smoked’ is the most appropriate term. My buddy Shim (also wiry but a little taller than me) came in second. The rest of the class were all a distant third. I remember smiling and thinking, huh, so that’s how it feels to win something athletic, competitive. Not too shabby. It felt good.

Fast-forward to yesterday. With K over on the west side for a few days, I got the gumption for absolutely no reason whatsoever to trail run the ridge between two peaks near our house, Castle and Twin. Gaia said it was six miles and change (it ended up being over nine) with three-plus-K of elevation. Not too shabby. The catch lied in the logistics, closing the loop on my own. There were two options, both included leaving my car temporarily at the Twin Peaks trailhead. I could bike down the road from Twin Peaks and run up the ridge or bike up the road and run down the ridge. The road climbs steeply at times about two-thousand feet over six miles from our house to the Canyon trailhead. A grind. 

I quickly opted for the ride down and run up. 

After packing some electrolytes and a bar, then filling my hydration pack with water and a camera, I stuck my gravel bike on our little RAV4 and headed up Canyon. The ride down was fast. Fifteen minutes. I didn’t even start pedaling until I was within a mile of our house. When I got back, I ditched the bike and helmet, trading it for running the trail through town over to Castle. A quick dip of my hat and sleeves in the canal. It was eighty-six degrees when I left. The heat of the day.

It’s a mile-and-change to the Castle trailhead. I came to call that ‘Leg 2-A’ ('Leg 1' was the downhill bike back home). K and I have run up Castle a lot. It’s the ridge between it and Canyon neither of us have ever done. I was excited for new territory. But first, there was Castle and, sort of towering above that another eight hundred feet, the Thimble. The top of that I designated ‘Leg 2-B’. It was a haul. At one point most of the way up Thimble, I stopped to rest in the shade of a giant sagebrush. There was a breeze. I munched on some sport beans and sipped water. It was warm and the exertion was getting to me. I knew though I was going up, where the air would be cooler. Also, the sun would continue to drop.

Below me, the only other person on the Castle trail turned around well shy of the top. Maybe it was too warm for her or for her pup. Confident the quick rest and cooler temps above would set me up to complete this thing, I shoved everything back in my pack and trudged up the remainder of the boot path to the top. A short distance away from that was the top-top. Of course, from that point it was still a worthwhile climb to the top of the ridge on Twin Peaks, another couple thousand feet and four-ish miles. The tippy-top. Then it would be all downhill, over an agonizingly-curvy mountain bike trail back to our RAV, waiting patiently.

The way down from the top-top of Thimble toward the ridge was glorious. The view, expansive. ‘Let’s go running!’ I exclaimed to myself after the slow jaunt up Castle and then Thimble to get to that point. New ground. The light was incredible, through broken clouds. A slight breeze. I had the four-mile ridge completely to myself. As it should be. Proper.

As I ran and celebrated the fact I was moving light at last,  I became acutely aware there was absolutely no reason whatsoever to do this. There was no one watching, no one with whom to compete, no one even with whom to celebrate at the end. I was doing it just because. Because it feels good to get hammered by the mountains. When I left the house, hauling my bike up Canyon in our RAV to ride back down and kick this thing off, I already looked forward to the feelings I knew I’d experience. The lightness of running along an open mountain ridgeline with views in all directions. The wonder of discovery covering new-to-me territory. The discomfort from doing hard things. The long, gradual jog back down to the car. The quick and easy ride home, to crash on the lawn, to make dinner. To feel wasted. Tired. Beat up. Spectacular.

There’s nothing like running ridges in the mountains. They’re hard, I make no mistake, with all the up and down, the zigs and zags. That all adds up. But the views and the feelings are without comparison. Of moving freely, through wide open spaces. Top that off with having the place to myself and I got to experience the distinct sense of being alone. With the only way home our car waiting at the end, there was no way to go but up and over. Take that for commitment. Then add that feeling to the mix, that I have to go forward. There was no going back. Like the ups and downs of ridges, all those feelings add up to something I’m trying to describe and something I’ll never be able to describe. Maybe that’s a good enough reason for me.

The first objective, the Thimble, looms large as I cross the street near our house. It towers 1,400-some feet above town. Castle is the sub-peak on the right behind the utility pole, and the ridge I'd trudge up connects the two.

Closing in on Castle, the steep ridge leading up to the Thimble is seen left of center.

The ridge leading up the Thimble.

From my rest break most of the way up Thimble, looking back down to the Castle trails and town.

From the top-top ('Leg 2-B'), the ridge toward Twin Peaks revealed itself in all its splendor.

The trail runs for four miles on the ridge proper, with only a slight deviation for a fifty-foot high rock outcrop about two-thirds of the way along. Incredible.

The top of this ridge is in fact on the left, not quite the true summit of Twin Peaks on the right. But close enough.

Ridge running at it's finest. I'd only see one rattlesnake, sprawled out across the trail in this spot.

Looking back north across town and to the Columbia.

Then back to the top-top of the Thimble, where the ridge began for real.

It was glorious getting up into the trees, which as expected brought cooler temps.

Ahh, open ridges to run, run, run…

Besides all the up and down, there was always the zig and zag to keep along the ridge proper. S's scribbled into the mountains off toward the horizon.

Close, and not.

A false summit right of center, the top of the ridge was actually another half mile and a few hundred feet higher than what I could see here.

The shadows lengthen, the setting sun. Finally, from the top of the ridge looking all the way back to the Thimble just left of center.

Welcomed and not, the ridiculously long and windy mountain bike trail back down to the car, and home.