Like usual, I fall in with Peter Moore(VT), and then Angela Weatherill(TX) joins us. We carry flashlights, but don’t bother to turn them on. The moon’s bright and the road’s smooth, so we really don’t need the artificial light. Paul Schmidt(CA) is soon with us, then Butch Allmond(TX), Charlie Dermody(NY), and Kevin Sayers(MD). We begin with a seventeen-mile loop, which includes ten miles of dirt road, followed by
seven miles on the Ouachita Trail, some of the most wonderful single-track trail you could ever hope to run. We slowly roll along in our loose pack of friends until we hit the trail. I just love to fall forward down single-track trails, and like usual, I bomb every downhill section of this trail. It’s rocky and hard to follow, winds left and right at random, falls off the sides of hills, and climbs back up again. It’s not strait and it’s not boring, and I just love it! By the time I
find the end of the loop, only Kevin’s still with me. Three hours after the start, I’m back at Lake Sylvia (17mi), feeling great and smiling like a Cheshire cat. Damn that was fun!

My wife Joyce and good friend Neil Hewitt crew for me while a few others gather around just to watch. Everybody’s coming in all clumped up in bunches, so all the crews are gathered right here to wait and watch
for their runner. I remove my long sleeve shirt, put on my Team Texas singlet, drop my water bottle, and am helped into my Camelback water pack. I squat on my haunches to wrap a Velcro pocket filled with GU and
electrolyte caps around my ankle. While I’m hunched over messing with the straps, my buddy Phil asks, ‘What’s that bulge in your pants, Joe?‘ and I shoot back, without even thinking, like usual, ‘Well, what do ya think?’ ‘It’s my thang.’ I figure he’s just messing with me anyway and I don’t think about it any more. Kevin’s gone on while I’m changing my gear, but I connect immediately with Mike Suter(CA) and Max Roycroft(TX) right after leaving the Sylvia station. We climb a long uphill dirt road for two plus miles and then descend a rough road for a ways. Five miles
later, I’m cruising down a rough trail with Mike, when I notice a large lump just above my left knee. And then it hits me, and I start to laugh. I had gloves on when I started, but it was warm, so I simply removed them, tucked them into the bottom part of my spandex shorts, and forgot them. That’s what Phil was talking about. So I explain to Mike about the gloves and what I said to Phil. Mike just gives me one of those long looks out of the corner of one eye, without turning his head, but never says a word. Hell, I thought it was funny. Soon enough, I’m running by myself again. Small wonder! Who the heck wants to run with a madman? The temperature feels like it must be in the high 50s, and there’s a nice cool breeze occasionally sneaking through the trees. It feels pretty good and I’m enjoying the ride so far. Butch and Charlie are with me again and we hang together for a bit before they move on by. I’m
still pushing the downhills and taking it easy on the ups, while many of these folks are holding steady on both sides of the hills. I end up running by myself most of the time, but it’s ok with me, as I planned to not get caught up in anyone else’s run anyway. I’ll just run what works best for me and stay away from going too fast, or too slow.

From Lake Sylvia to the 212 Station, we run the perimeter of the Chinquapin Mountain Turkey Hunting Area. Its mostly jeep road, but too rugged for most vehicles to navigate, and there’s even a few blow downs to make it almost impassable for vehicles. The trail from Electric Tower (25mi) down to 212 (29mi) is probably the most rugged since the Ouachita trail. The rocks will eat your feet on this course, and especially on sections like this one. After 212, I leave the rugged trail for a well-maintained dirt road that leads me into Lake Winona (32mi). Unfortunately, it has a lot of traffic on it. Today’s opening season for
deer hunting with bow, and some of the hunters appear to be upset at us for upsetting their plans. A few of the trucks that pass me on the dirt
road speed up and spin their tires just to raise more dirt into the air. Sure does make it tough to breathe. I pull my bandana over my nose and mouth and ignore them. I focus on getting to Winona, where Joyce waits
for me with an ice-cold bottle of iced tea and a turkey sandwich. She refills my empty Camelback bladder with ice and water, hands me a small bag of salted potatoes, and sends me on my way. Neil warns me that the next section is the toughest. ‘Be smart’, he says. 

This section from Winona to Powerline is mostly uphill, it’s the hottest part of the day, and there’s precious little shade. Also, the rough and tumble section over Smith Mountain is going to be quite an adventure as well. So, I continue to walk the uphills, and more than a
few people pass me on these hills as they run on by. I figure it’s early and I still have a long way to go, so I’m saving my energy for the downhills, and the shade. My buddy, Paul Schmidt loves to run uphill and true to form, surges on by in quick time, with a smile on his face and looking strong. A welcome downhill awaits and allows me to run on down into the Dropoff station (40mi) where I meet some odd men wearing grass
skirts and coconut bras. The dirt road leading from here to Smith Mountain is a roller coaster of ups and downs. I continue to walk and roll as the hills allow.

Smith Mountain station (43mi) is owned by Mickey Rollins of Houston. I’ve run a few races back in Texas that he directs, so we know each other somewhat. I sit down for some broth and a chat, but he quickly kicks me out, tells me to be on my way. Mickey’s such a sweet talker. With all the tact and diplomacy of a crocodile. Jan Ryerse(MO) passes through while I’m visiting with Mickey, and I roll out just after he passes and catch up with him in just a bit. Within a half-mile of Smith Mountain, we’re off road again and back in the woods on a butchered up jeep trail. The trail’s been bulldozed for about a mile, with large dirt speed bumps every 40 yards that we have to scramble
over. Sure makes for an odd pace. These tank traps eventually disappear into an even more rugged trail, with loose rocks piled on more loose rocks, ankle twisting holes in the ground hidden by leaves and scrub,
and low hanging branches to keep you from looking down all the time, searching for the next obstacle. Keep your eyes down and you’ll get whacked in the head. This should be even more fun in the dark on the return trip. This maze of rocks and holes leads us right up to and into the BM Rd station (47mi). It’s usually manned by a very salty crew of Vietnam Vets, but only one fellow is here today. I ask about the others and he says they’re probably in jail. The drunken crew and their dog from two years ago are what I’m expecting. Instead, I find one quiet fellow who’s helpful and pleasant. Two miles later is Powerline and I’m halfway there before I realize, I’ve left behind my tin of electrolytes and Ibuprofen. Too late to turn back now, and I’m not going to be back here for many hours. Hopefully, the tin will still be there when I get back. I’ve managed my run well up to this point and I’m feeling pretty good, so I run the last uphill going into Powerline (49mi).

The Powerline station is a major psychological point for me. It’s about halfway and Joyce joins me here for the duration. She’s dressed to kill when I show up. Not only is she damned good looking, but she’ll run my butt into the ground if I’m not up to it. She’s fit and she’s ready
to go, but I stall her as I relax in a lawn chair and sip on some coke. We remove my Camelback and put it away. But first, Neil removes the bladder, fills it with ice and water, and drops it into the ice chest, ready for my return trip. I trade in my sunglasses for two water bottles, and lastly, I remove my shoes and change into fresh clean socks, before putting back on the same old shoes. The Montrail Vitesse is the only choice for this rocky mother of a run and I don’t need or want any other shoes. Quite a few of the others must have the same belief, because I’ve seen many pairs of this same shoe today.

Kelly, Scott’s girlfriend, decides to join Joyce and I as we leave the station. She craves a bit of a run and asks to join us for the journey down to the next station, where she’ll wait for Scott. He’s well
in front of me and she expects to catch him on the return trip. We run up the hill leaving Powerline and charge down a long decline before easing off to a much more sensible pace on the next flat. I repeat this
pattern all the way into Buffalo Gap, passing Tim Neckar(TX) on a long downhill, and him passing me when I slow. ‘You runnin’ fartleks’, he asks? I attempt to explain my big butt theory, about heavy objects
rolling downhill fast, but I don’t think he’s impressed at all, and quickly moves ahead.

Buffalo Gap (53mi) is jammin’ when we waltz in. Rock music is playing, fajitas are cooking, the Texas-Kansas State football game is on TV, and plenty of loud cheerful people are making lots of noise. I feel like
I’ve just stepped into Cheers to have a beer with Norm and Cliff. As a matter of fact, I do have a beer. The crew is a bunch of young guys and they get pretty excited when I come running in with two gorgeous women. I introduce them as ‘The Bud Girls’ and we get immediate first class attention. Actually, everyone here is getting first class treatment. As much fun as this place is, we don’t stay long. We check the football
score (Texas 14 - Kansas 9) and we move out. Kelly waves good-bye as we escape the party.

The next section seems to go on forever. I suppose it’s because we’re just going to turn around and come back the same way, but it just feels so endless. It’s fun to watch all the runners in front of us as they start passing us going back the other way. We yell our
encouragement to each of them as they pass: Stan(AR), Joe(IL), Chrissy(AR), Glenn Hamilton(TX), Scott Eppleman(TX), and so on. There are a lot of folks in front of me. Like ducks in a row, they file past us, and it’s a pleasure to see so many that we know. Kevin’s serious and Tyler Curiel(TX) is sick. Mike’s steady as ever while Paul’s still laughing and having fun. Paul’s a real treat to run with, especially at night, because he sings so well. We take the last little dogleg up towards the Turn Around station and it feels good to finally get to the end of this thing. I’ve been ready for a long time to turn around and start back the other way. The last half mile is uphill and we walk the hill on into the Turn Around station (58mi), feeling good.

I sit down while Joyce gets my drop bag and refills my water bottles. ‘Joe Prusaitis of Austin’ I hear. ‘You’re the race director of the Motorola Marathon!’ Yes, I am, I reply. How do you know that? ‘Glenn Hamilton just told me.’,‘Didn’t you drink a beer here two years ago?’ Now, how would you know that? ‘I gave you the beer’, she says. ‘A Lone Star’. Wow! What service! And to remember what I drank two years ago, also. Do you have any left, I ask? Next thing you know, I’m drinking
another cold beer. Of course, I have some warm potato soup also, but the beer is exactly what a madman needs. A local reporter is shooting pictures and asking questions while I sit and BS, but we manage to escape eventually and head back up the road. I collect my flashlight from my drop bag before leaving. It’s 6pm and it’ll be getting dark soon.

As we move up the road, we pass more runners coming in to the Turn Around, including Tom Crull(TX) and Angela. It’s mostly uphill, but we manage a staggered run/walk as the sun quickly fades to darkness. We
elect to navigate without flashlights so we can enjoy the stars and crescent moon for a bit. The woods grow load with crickets and an occasional runner approaches and disappears past us quickly.  Funny how the darkness has suddenly changed the run into an entirely different
look and feel so quickly. Like diving off a sunny riverbank into a favorite swimming hole, we slip from the bright hot day into a calm warm night.

Coming back into Buffalo Gap (64mi) in the dark, we are greeted by welcome voices and loud rock music. We check the score (Kansas 35 - Texas 17) and drink some water, but leave quickly, in a rush to get back
to Powerline. The run is going well, but all the uphill coming back has made the return much slower than the going out.

It feels good to be back at Powerline (68mi). I swap my water bottles for the Camelback again, which is already loaded with ice and water. It should be getting a bit cool, so I take a jacket as well. I start to walk out, when suddenly, I feel ill. My stomach begins to churn and I tell Joyce I’ll be right back. I step off the road just as my stomach rises up and empties. Damn! I didn’t even feel it coming. After just a few minutes, I’m done and I walk back into Powerline and sit down
again. I drink some water and sip some broth. I take my time and then head out again. With the temperature a bit cooler, I was planning on getting in a bit of good running in the cool night air. Oh well! The
best-laid plans unravel so quickly. It’s time to adjust my plan, to a ‘see how it goes’ and make my changes accordingly. I go slowly, not wanting to bring it up again. I need to keep down what I just ate and drank. After awhile, I walk faster and then I try to run. Walking fast feels ok, but running is out of the question until my stomach settles. So, I walk!

We connect with Pat Stewart(SC) and he appears to be in a walking mode also, so we walk together to BM station. I find my tin of pills right where I left them. We continue walking on up and over Smith Mountain, which may have been wise anyway, due to the pits, holes, and loose rocks scattered everywhere. I attempt to run on a few of the downhills but my gut’s still queasy, so we stumble slowly through the maze of rocks on into Smith Mountain station (73mi). Mickey greets my wife warmly, but then sees me and emits an odious string of syllables not worth repeating. I try some more broth, chat a bit, and escape with my wife. On we trudge, the three of us, content to moving forward, while realizing our pace is god awful slow at about 30 minutes a mile. This may take awhile. Pat begins to feel better and we tell him to go for it,
and he does, leaving us alone with each other. We walk into the Dropoff station (77mi) and they offer me all kinds of food and drink but nothing sounds good, so I skip most of it and settle for hot broth again. We
move on.

Soon after leaving Dropoff we calculate our slow pace and the time it will take us to arrive at Lake Winona only to realize we may not have enough battery power for our lights. Joyce turns off her light and I move up next to her so we can both use my light to find our way. We are moving so very slowly now, due more to my stomach than the lack of light. My light starts to go and we quickly switch to Joyce’s, but it should be enough to get us in to Winona. We had hoped to borrow some batteries at Pigtrail (80mi), but all they have are jugs of water and some cokes. I thought this station was unmanned, so it’s a pleasant surprise to find a few folks here. Lake Winona (85mi) is a welcome sight, as we eventually do roll in, with plenty of power still left in the flashlight. Also, my stomach is beginning to feel a touch better.

Joyce takes my Camelback, puts it in our drop bag, and hands me a water bottle for the final fifteen. I also change my socks one more time while Joyce collects our spare batteries from the drop bag and reloads
all our lights. We are all set now and should be good to go. As we say good-bye to our new friends, we find Max Roycroft walking back into the station. I’m not certain what his intentions are, but we ask him to come with us. We promise to get him in, if he’ll come with us, and he agrees to join us. It’s always easier at night when you’re with someone else. The three of us head out of the station again, walking. After a short time, I try to run again and I can now, but Max cannot. His ankles are
shot and he has a bad rash. We stay with him as we slowly move into the woods again. This section is very rough and we stumble about in the dark, but we’re enjoying each other’s company, telling jokes and lies.
All we need is a campfire and some marshmallows to make it complete. We find the Electric Tower (92mi) just as the sky begins to lighten and I check my watch. It’s been 24 hours and change since we began. We sit
down for a moment just to visit the lady who has sit in her chair right here in this one spot all day and all night just to keep track of us, and I can’t help but thank her for what she’s done for us.

But, now it’s time! We are eight miles from done and it’s morning. We say good-bye to Max as he tries again to run but cannot. My gut is fine now, so we begin to run. We go faster and faster until I feel the
old downhill-crashing Joe is back and we really begin to roll. We land at the Pumpkin Pie station (94mi), but don’t even leave the road. They bring us out a coke, which I sip, but no more. There is no one else around as we continue on down the road and then turn onto the last rugged section of rutted and rough jeep road. This is the only section of trail that has any standing water on it that we must navigate around, and we dodge left and right as we scream through here in mad fashion. We continue to move quickly and pass a fellow and his pacer who are walking slowly. He says something about how fast we’re moving and I reply something about saving up for this by walking for so long, but we’re
past him so quickly that I’m sure neither of us heard all of what the other said. We see a sign that says 95 hanging on an old rickety bridge and it makes me go even faster. We are both enjoying the quicker pace
after so much walking, and also, I want it done quickly now. Going over an embankment, we leave the rutted road and enter a more improved dirt road, and then a long climb. But, I’m feeling it now and continue to run
all the way up the hill, passing John Hargrove(OK) about half way up. A truck is parked in the road near the top and the driver applauds our energy as we approach him. He offers us some lemonade and it sounds so good that I stop long enough to guzzle a 12oz can. John motors by while I drink. We reach the top in just a quarter mile and enter the main road, only two and a half miles from done, and mostly downhill.

We accelerate as we descend, picking up speed as we go. I can see John about 200 yards ahead, and we close on him. He looks behind to see how close we are and picks up speed also. I don’t think he wants us to catch him, but it is inevitable now. The road weaves left and right, while we run the strait line tangents, and pass him quickly. Our pace remains constant now as we roll on down the hill, and then something very odd begins to occur. I start to hallucinate. I see a flash of something bright purple in my peripheral vision and reason that it must be more of those beautiful flowers we had seen yesterday on the trailside. Then I see another flash, and think it’s odd that there are so many of them, so I turn my head to look directly at them. But, there’s nothing there. I see more flashes of purple in my peripheral vision, on both sides now, high and low, and I start laughing. As we continue to pound downhill at a pace we hadn’t done in days, I tell my wife, ‘Joyce, I’m hallucinating like a big dog’. It scares her and she tells me to slow down, which I don’t really want to do, but agree to, after the next turn. But, the flashes continue as we motor on down the hill. What’s causing it I wonder? Lack of oxygen to the brain, sleep deprivation, extreme exhaustion, lemonade (with orange sunshine). The hallucinations disappear as soon as we hit the bottom of the hill and slow down.

We see Pat up ahead and exchange greetings as we pass. We haven’t seen him since Smith Mountain. He’s running well, but we’re still moving pretty quick, and move past him. We hit the paved road and I know that
it’s only a half-mile to the finish now. We get to the base of the last hill, push on up to the top, accelerate into the last turn, and charge on down into the campgrounds under the banner. It’s done. 26:06!

I’m feeling much better than I did most of the night, and Joyce, like usual, looks fresh as a daisy and gorgeous as ever. All things considered, it was a good run. I just love this stuff. When and where’s the next one?

Monday morning, I walk over to the Coffee Creek Fish Camp and try to buy a newspaper. I have high hopes of seeing the complete results and storyline before we leave Arkansas for our long drive back to Austin. I
lose ten quarters in the rusted news trap before I’m awarded the only remaining Arkansas Democrat Gazette. Prize in hand, I walk back to our room and pull up a chair on the patio. With practiced efficiency, I
surgically extract the sports section and dump the rest of the paper on the floor. Like most men I know, who are not looking for a job, the rest is just bad news.

And there I sit, looking at myself! On the front page of the sports section, I’m sitting down drinking a beer. And Joyce is right next to me. What a surprise!

I hear a gun sound, and everyone surges forward, and stops. We cannot move for a minute, and then we begin to walk. We cross the start line timing pad almost two minutes after the gun and the timing chips on our shoes are chirping like a field full of crickets. The crowd opens up a bit just after the start line, and we can finally run a little. But,
it’s still tight and restrictive, so we settle into a slow pace while our section moves forward as a single unit. A few lines break off here and there until we are more or less able to run our pace, but not in a strait line. We try not to hop about too much, doing the Texas Two-step: left, right, kick! 

Forced to shift to one side or the other time and again, we surge through different groups and couples. It opens up a few times in the first couple of miles as we pass through Streeterville and back downtown into the Loop, but we resist the urge to sprint through the openings, and hold ourselves back to short little mini-surges. Just enough to get through and then rein back to the same pace. We pass the LaSalle Bank on LaSalle St near mile two.

We're comfortable now, warmed up from the easy pace, but not overheated enough to sweat much at this  emperature and humidity. Downtown Chicago is a land of very tall buildings, and early this morning, we're in the shade most of the time. We pass City Hall and the Civic Opera House, then head north out of downtown towards Lincoln Park and Lake View. Just short of Wrigley Field, we cross the seven-mile timing mat in 1:04, and turn south back towards downtown and the Loop again. Subtract the two minutes lost in the beginning and we're just under a nine-minute mile pace. I wanted to go out slow, and as I expect, the crowd helps hold us back. The Runner's World pace teams are here, and they were easy to spot before the start, but impossible now. They’ve given every runner who wanted one, the same time stamped bib, and now
there are hundreds of them on the course. I can’t tell who's legitimate and who's a pretender. 3:20 is with 3:50, and even large packs of the same number are certainly not on the right pace. I wanted to hang with the 3:20 pace group, but can't recognize it, and give up on the idea. We
cross another bridge at mile eleven to enter back into the Loop. A six-foot-wide carpet covers the grate on the sides, but the crowd s still too thick and some runners are forced across the grate in the middle. We turn onto Wacker Dr and follow the contour of the Chicago River past the Sears Tower, and I accidentally drift into and trip Joyce while trying to see the top of the building.

We enter Greek Town and some sort of structure hangs directly over the half-marathon timing mat, filled with photographers. We cross it 1:43 for an overall sub ght-minute pace, which means we've been running faster than that for the last six miles. It's still cold in the shade, and we're in and out of the shadows, so the clothes we chose to run in are perfect. We make a few turns and end up in Little Italy. Lots of crowds in both of these districts. Pretty loud and rowdy too. We stop near mile fifteen to use a portolet, drink some water, and pop a few of the salt tablets I have taped to my race number. Not wanting to get in a rush, we take our time about it. For me, it’s like taking a breath of fresh air. I feel even more energized now. We cross the timing pad at mile seventeen in 2:12 on a 7:47 pace. Joyce begins to have a problem with her stomach, and we slow a bit as she struggles with her  nausea. She needs to deal with it and I’m feeling pretty strong, so we decide to go on separately.

Leaving Little Italy, I cross the Chicago River one more time and enter the south side of downtown Chicago. I stop at the PowerGel station and suck down a gel-pack before realizing there’s no water station also. I pick up my pace, in a hurry for some water to wash down the goop in my throat. It’s not that far and I stop for three cups of water to wash it down. In Chinatown, a long straitaway carries me toward and then around Comiskey Park, home of the White Sox, and then even further south. It’s invigorating to turn around finally and face back toward the city after
twenty-one miles. The skyline full of skyscrapers gets me motivated and keeps me moving while many around me are fading. Mile Twenty-two goes by pretty quick and with four miles to go, I turn right, and away from downtown. What a letdown. I think I’m heading home, and now I'm running parallel to downtown and thinking only of the next left turn. I finally turn left, cross mile twenty-three and then turn right again. Argggggg! Soon enough, another left again, and I’m finally moving north toward downtown. At mile twenty-four, my right ham lets me know it's ready to stop. There's a pain there that seems like it's been there for awhile, but I just now recognize its existence. Go away, I tell the pain! I have things to do, places to be, people to meet. I refuse to slow and instead, pick up the pace. Not much to brag about really, more proud of not slowing than anything else, but I get a burst of pride and panache. The smile slides into place and the attitude flags start snapping in the wind. Yehaaa! Let's get it done Texas!

I enter the enormous McCormick Place, using one of the roads that pass through the building, and cross mile  twenty-five just after the exit. This building is like a small city with highways running through and under it. I try to pick up my pace a little more, but feel a tightness in my right ham and throttle back. No sense in pushing myself
into an injury. Not now. Not ever. I've had a good run so far and I'm going in easy. I tell myself ‘just hold the pace and smile for the cameras’. I enter Lake Shore Drive and roll along the highway, with cars buzzing by at 50mph. There’s a divider of large orange drums, but the nearness of the speeding cars gives me the willies, so I move over as
far from the highway as possible and keep on moving. I’ve got a good rhythm going, but the road is thick with runners and walkers, so I'm  forced to zigzag through the pack again, just like we did at the start. I've probably put in an extra mile or two today, but what the hell. I wanted a long run anyway. I pass Soldier Field, home of the Bears, but
I'm close now, and look for the finish. Back onto Columbus Drive and Grant Park, I can see the finish line bleachers and the finish banner. It's a wide road, full of runners, and surrounded by crowds. I pick a line that appears clear along the right side,  next to the fence, and accelerate one last time. It feels pretty good, so I hold it. John Conley appears along the sideline with camera in hand. He yells my name
and asks about Joyce. I don't feel the urge to stop and visit, at the moment, so I continue on down the road and across the finish line and timing mat in 3:25:54 for an overall pace of 7:52. The first time ever that I have run negative splits in a marathon. I figure the lost time to
the start line will give me a real run time of 3:24:01 Hey, works for me. I wait for Joyce to come in for twenty minutes, but there are too many people, and I'm starting to get the chills, so I leave to find our meeting place back at the Blackstone Hotel. Joyce comes in at 3:44 and had a great time as well.

From Encyclopedia of Etiquette:
A Book of Manners for Everyday Use,
By Emily Holt (1901)

The accepted dress for the wheelman to-day is, in cool spring or autumn
weather, a complete suit -coat, waistcoat, and knickerbockers- of serviceable gray or brown tweed, the coat cut very like an English ea-jacket, or what we prefer in America to call a "lounging coat."  The waistcoat is high-buttoned; and the finish at the throat is a high roll-over linen collar and necktie of dull red or blue lusterless silk, with the alternative of a linen or pique stock tie.  Colored linen seems more in keeping with the rough-and-ready cycling suit than white.  Happily, the day has passed for the Scotch hose of vivid and eccentrically mixed colors and they are no longer admired and worn. Gray golf stockings, tastefully variegated with touches of black, white, and saber blue, or brown hose with very fine crisscrossing lines in yellow and red, now predominate.  High or half-high laced shoes of black or brown leather dress the feet in good taste---that is, in harmony with the conservative prejudices in dress so typical of the modern American man.  Heavy gray or brown gloves and
a small peaked cap made of the same goods as the suit, complete the costume.

It’s cold. We both wear long tights, long sleeved coolmax shirts, jackets, gloves, and a camelback. Unfortunately, all our clothes are dark, and we look like a couple of cat burglars sneaking about in the dark. Kevin at least has the foresight to wear a reflective vest, so we aren’t completely invisible to the oncoming traffic. I certainly
question this plan for the first 8 miles while we bounce along the busy roads. We’re on constant alert for cars, hopping off the road, and running blind past high-speed high beams. It just isn’t much fun until we finally make it to the C&O (Chesapeake & Ohio) Canal towpath. It has taken is about an hour and a half to get here.

The moon’s bright and it’s directly overhead and a little to our left, so we can see the path clearly without our lights. The canal’s on our left, long abandoned, free of water, and full of deep topsoil and a bed of leaves. The Potomac River’s on our right, wide and pretty, with the moonlight reflecting off the water. West Virginia lies on the other
side, a few lights twinkling through the trees. The towpath’s wide enough to drive a train on it, relatively flat, and obviously used quite frequently, as it’s clear and free of debris. Our sojourn on this 185-mile long path begins near mile marker 84 and will exit near mile marker 58, roughly 26 miles later, just a small piece of it.

The moonlight creates some real unusual effects. The shadows from the trees, the pale coloring of the leaves on the trail, the reflection of light from the Potomac, the sparkling glitter from ripples on the water, and the very dark shadows from areas completely hidden from the
moonlight. It feels as if I’m dreaming. It’s surreal, relaxing, and sublime. The Potomac has very long slow sweeping curves, that appear to go strait endlessly, and the only giveaway is the moon drifting to the left and right of us as we run. The towpath’s usually very close to the
river, but occasionally drifts away and allows some amount of forest to intervene. Sometimes the land’s open to our left and we find a road with  homes just off it, and other times we’re surrounded by steep cliff walls with a large drop to the river below. The trail’s well lit, but it lacks
any color, like a black & white photograph. It has the appearance of a snow-covered trail, and although I know there isn’t any snow, I stop once just to touch the ground and verify to my twisted senses. My vision is not all that great and my sense of reality needs the help from
another of my senses.

We click off the miles in workmanlike fashion, consistently moving at an easy gait. We’re beginning to work up a sweat despite the chill air and have to remove our jackets and gloves. Earlier in the day, we hid some water and sandwiches at Snyder’s Landing. We take a break when we
reach our stash to eat and refill our camelbacks. It’s only for a few minutes, but the decreased activity causes our bodies to loose some heat and we’re getting a chill. We have to cut our break short and start moving again just to stay warm. For the remainder of the towpath, we will remove and put back on our jackets many times.

The trail is so well lit from the moon that we don’t need to use our flashlights. We’re not talking much, running smoothly, not dragging our feet or thumping rocks, running rather quietly, listening to the river and the night sounds. We startle quite a few deer, trapping them between
the towpath and the river. They run along the shore for a distance before turning to leap across our path to enter the canal and sprint past us.  The miles and the river slide by, passing abandoned water locks and ancient buildings, not seeing another soul until we pass a troop of boy scouts camped along the shore near Antietam. The stone  aqueduct over Antietam Creek is quite impressive. We carefully walk
across it and check out the 150-year-old architecture. Soon after, approaching Harper’s Ferry, a train appears like a ghost across the river, caught in the glow of the moonlight off the water. It twists and turns along the shoreline, lights making it visible even when it disappears behind the trees. The sound of the train and the river is so 
relaxing. I ask Kevin to stop for a moment while I watch. And then we continue again as we run parallel to the train across the river. It disappears into the lights of Harper’s Ferry at the mouth of the Shenandoah River. The wind’s much stronger here as we pass under the B&O railroad bridge. The river’s much wider here where the two rivers join, but you can still see quite a few large trucks travelling the highway on the other side of the river in Virginia. The railroad tracks lead directly from Harper’s Ferry over the river and into the mouth of a tunnel above our heads. Looks like we’re back into civilization again.
Bridges, trains, trucks, city lights, yuk!

We still have a few miles left on the C&O Canal towpath, but I’m looking forward to getting off. I’m getting a little tired and forcing a few more walking breaks than Kevin wants to do. He humors me and stops when I do, but when we’re running, our pace is faster than it was earlier. Kevin wants to be on the Appalachian Trail by 2am, so we push
it a bit to try and make it. We have to cross the train tracks when we leave the towpath for the Appalachian Trail, and Kevin’s worried that we might get caught by a long train, and have to wait for 10 to 15 minutes while it passes. We already know what standing still will do to us, so
we move quicker now. A train passes us heading towards Harper’s Ferry, and then another just behind it. Then another comes and goes, and Kevin tells me we have less than a mile, so we really pick it up. We finally turn off the path and cross the train tracks, a paved road, and up a
short section of trail to our next drop bag of water and sandwiches. Another train passes just after we cross. The break turns out much like the last one and we have to move quickly. The shakes get us both before we push on. It’s 2am when we finally enter the Appalachian Trail and we turn on our flashlights for the first time. 

I have been looking forward in anticipation for this part of the run for hours. I so much loved the Appalachian Trail when I was a kid, and it feels like ‘coming home’ again, even at 2am in the dark of night. We climb for what seems like a long time, using the many large rocks that litter the trail as leverage points to push from one to the next as we
go up. It is the fall season, so leaves are everywhere, and a
multicolored blanket of leaves covers the ground. After the black & white world of the towpath, the colors startle me and steal my attention. I think I might be hallucinating again, so I focus my attention on a particularly colorful patch of leaves. If my brain is messing with me, the colors will disappear on my focused gaze, but they remain. I’m not imagining it this time. The colors really are there in the leaves. Spectacular! I thump a rock with my toe and quickly bring my attention back. We roll along the trail, climbing, descending, and winding about. Occasionally, we ride a ridge and you can see lights below us on both sides. Wonderful! The bed of leaves on the trail becomes even thicker and it’s now up above our ankles. We can no longer see the rocks below them and slow dramatically, ramming our feet into rocks and branches below the leaves. Stepping on uneven and pointed surfaces we can’t see, we get twisted sideways, and slide backwards, and fall over as we continue forward slowly. Dancing with rock trolls in the wee hours is exhausting work and I’m soaking wet with sweat. I still
can’t help but notice how pretty it is up her in the Appalachians. It must be drop dead gorgeous during the day. We shall see. The deep leaves thin finally and we can run again, but all my energy has flown. I’m whipped!

Gathland finally, and almost home. It took us 2 hours to cover the last 6 miles and we’re losing the time advantage we had from the towpath quickly. We would like to be done in time to take a break before we turn around for the return trip, but our time is fleeing. The rocks have done
some damage: my feet and toes are a mess. We continue as before, but I’m struggling now, having a problem hanging with Kevin as he continues to move quickly uphill. I hang back time and again. We stop for a breather and then both our lights go out simultaneously, plunging us into complete darkness. Kevin’s spare is on quickly. We stop, sit down, and
change the batteries in precious little time. It’s a welcome rest for me but way too short. We make slow time to the Electric Tower and then the very steep 1-mile long road down to an intersection. I think we’re going to turn, but instead, Kevin crosses the road and we’re back in the trees
again. He says we have 3+ miles left. 

We come out of the trees soon enough and then onto a dirt road, up a short hill, and make a left onto a paved road and immediately get hit with high beams. I’m suddenly blind as a bat again. The car goes by, and then another, and another. Traffic sure is heavy for 5:30am. Only 3 miles left to go along this road to the start line and I’m dragging my butt badly. My toes and legs are killing me, I’m exhausted, and so sleepy that I’m ready for bed. I don’t think I’m going back out again. I just want to get this done. I slide off the road berm as I get hit with another blinding light. I try to get back on and slide off again. I kick a piece of cinder block and my toes scream, but I’m too tired to say a
thing. Kevin asks how I’m doing, but I can only mumble. ‘You da man’ Kevin says to me. “Dead man crawling’, I say. I kick another brick as we cross the 2-mile marker. Mary, Kevin’s wife, pulls up and asks how we’re doing. We lie to her and keep moving. She says she’ll wait for us at the start line and rolls away in her van. We make slow time as we walk and run on into town. A car stops and a guy asks where the start line is. Another, a friend of Kevin’s, rolls next to us to visit with for a minute. We enter Boonsboro and because of the heavy traffic, we’re forced off the road and onto the sidewalk. I trip over a curb, blasting my toes really hard this time. That really hurt. We finally see Mary,
the van, and the start line. We make it there, and I sit down behind the van on the curb immediately. Mary sees me shaking uncontrollably and wraps a blanket around me. I’m having a problem holding my drink and getting it to my lips, so I sit it down. I try to relax and control it, but I can’t. Mary asks if I’m stopping when she sees me remove my shoes. I tell her yes, I’m done. I’ll settle for the adventure as it is and skip the return trip. Kevin can have it to himself and the other 1000 runners who will be starting the JFK50 in about 45 minutes.

I want to go back and do it again, but after my toes forgive me. It may take a few days.

At first glance, the course appears to be flat as a pancake. But after a few loops, I not only learn the deception of my initial perception, but I also learn exactly where all the inclines and declines are, which sideís higher, and where every ridge, bump, rock, and blade of grass is. The two sides begin to feel like two different regions. The high side loop being 17 feet higher than the low side loop stays warm, even after dark and early morning, while the lower side fills with fog on both mornings and gets a tad bit chilly at times. The north side is filled with park benches, picnic tables, large light posts, and many large trees. Falling leaves fill the air and cover the ground, as the wind
rattles the leaves and shakes the branches, and squirrels play about and use us for target practice. A group of laborers, working on one of the buildings, gather at one of the picnic tables for their lunch break and watch, but never ask what the heck weíre doing. And thereís one light in
the middle of the park that I can turn on or off by hitting just the right spot on the sidewalk next to it. This gave me endless hours of entertainment. What fun!

The lower loop began with the sidewalk bisecting the park, and then a sidewalk in front of the homes. Not much shade along here and I have a choice between sidewalk, road, and grass, which is so thick that I sink into it whenever I leave the sidewalk. I stay in the grass for most of the early loops, but as it becomes harder to lift my feet, I move back onto the sidewalk. The shortcut across the field is also sparse of shade trees and buildings, and the surface worn down to dirt and fairly uneven. This is the only part of the course that itís ever difficult to see after dark. The berm has 5 metal humps, all dead center and spaced
about 5 feet apart. Theyíre covered in chalk dust so that we could see and avoid them, and the trail splits on either side of them. About 2am, I can identify ghoulish faces in the chalk patterns of each one, and my wife finds this highly amusing! Imagine that!

The 48hour runners start Friday night at 7pm, and have 13 hours lead on us when we start on Saturday morning at 8am. All their running so far, has been in the dark, and it appears from the leader board that some have used this time out of the sun to push the miles, accumulating over
60 miles in the first 12 hours. There are 10 runners in the 48 and another 9 in the 24, but itís hard to tell for sure, as people keep coming and going. Between 2 and 4 in the morning, there were only 4 of us still running. The others have either quit or laid down for a nap somewhere.

From the start, I fall in immediately with Wes Monteith. We run together comfortable for a few loops and then he stops to walk, so I walk with him. ìIím doing a 25min-run and 5min-walkî, he tells me. So for every hour, on 25 and 55 minutes, I take a walking break. It makes sense, it's simple enough for me to remember, and Iím lazy enough to
steal his plan. This is my first 24hour run: another grand experiment of one. Wes and I hang together for most of 20 miles, even with him stopping three times to remove a stone from his shoe. But, his idea of walking and mine are two different things. He does a forced fast power walk and I do a very slow and relaxed resting stroll. Despite this difference, we still manage to link up and run quite well together. 

I know what works for me by way of fluids and foods, so I brought my bags of food and cooler of iced drinks and set it out under a large tree. Itís just off the trail and near the main station. I arranged all the gear around a chair so that I can sit down to change shoes and have easy access to everything from this one spot. My wife, Joyce, will be by
later to help, but mostly I will be taking care of myself and want everything to be as convenient as possible. If I want, I can run most of the course on the sidewalks, but I can just as easily stay off them also, so I do. There are only a few sidewalk sections, which can't be avoided. The widest and longest section of perfectly flat trail is along Houston St. and I use this section whenever my plan has me walking
through here, to turn and walk backwards for a little hamstring relief. It feels good to change up my leg motion occasionally, and it entertains the students walking by. Also, shortly after 1pm, a shadow cast from Kyle Field covers most of this stretch with a wonderful coolness that I want to savor as long as possible.

Davey Harrison has gone way ahead of the rest of us and is two complete laps ahead by 20 miles. He doesnít appear to be running any faster than Wes and I, so I assume that heís not taking as many walking breaks as we are, if any! But, as the sun comes up and the day warms, people begin to slow down and take longer breaks as well. Some of the
48hour runners retire to their air-conditioned vehicles to escape the heat and for a bit of rest. I religiously take two electrolyte caps every hour and stay heavy on the ice cold water, stopping for short breaks at my cooler for ice tea, cool seedless grapes, and dried apricots. I feel good, and even though itís getting hot, my running pace picks up just a little. The walking breaks make all the difference. I
look forward to them, but I also look forward to running again after each one. The 5min break is enough to give me a rest but not enough to allow me to tighten up. And the 25min run is enough to allow me to stretch it out and roll with it, but limits me from going too hard for too long. Wes's plan fits me to a ëTí. I think I'll keep it.

My pre-race quesstimate was to do the first 20 loops (50k) at a 10:20 per mile pace, or 16min per loop. I miss my mark by 17minutes, coming in at 1:37pm. Iím pretty surprised that I actually come close. After all, it was only a guess. Wes is having some sort of problem and has to slow
down, and so is Davey. I can see that heís now taking walking breaks. On my 35th lap, I move ahead of him. My next guess was for the 2nd 20 loops at an 11:38 per mile pace, for a slower 18min per mile loop. I miss this goal also. Probably, because Iím spending more time with my gear. I'm still running well, but I stop once to fix a hot spot on my sole, and change my socks. I also take a long break at dinnertime to eat some hot chili and enjoy some ice tea. I'm close enough to my initial quesstimates to be pleased with that, and also to how well I'm acclimating to this new form of self-abuse.

Joyce arrives just before dark and is now helping me to get through my gradually slower breaks much more efficiently. Sunset's around 5:30pm and Iím expecting the heat to dissipate soon after. Unfortunately, it feels just as warm and a maybe even a bit more humid after dark. Iím
actually sweating more now than I was during the day. I complain to her about this anomaly, and she suggests I lay off the ice tea and cut back on the electrolytes also. Willard Davis is running the 48hour and kept us informed with the Texas/Texas Tech football score, so I look forward to seeing him as often as possible. Even though he runs with a radio headset, he still disappears every so often to watch the game on the TV in his car.

My guess for the 3rd 20 loops is at 14:15 per mile pace, for an even slower 22min per mile loop. I knew I would slow after dark and also the 60 miles would have their effect, so I planned for it. The 50mile and 100K marks are now behind me and Iím well on my way to breaking 100miles. But, Iím still cautious. I know how quickly the wheels fall
off, from more than a few personal experiences. I watch as a few of the other runners go quickly from run to crawl, and I wonder when it will be my turn. By now, I know almost everyone else. I have run or walked with all of them for some amount of time. The only runners who escape this
awful distinction, have quit early and gone home. I pay little attention to my lap count and distance, except for 20 and 40 miles, until I near 70 miles, and then I check every lap to see what's left. All my thinking  is referenced toward 65 laps for 100 miles, and all the mathematical 
equations that my feeble brain struggles with after this point all have this same common denominator.

Joyce wants to run with me for a little bit, just to get in some miles and ironically, this is about the same time I begin to struggle with the 25min run. Conversely, the 5min walk is getting easy. I knew I would slow some, so this wasnít unexpected, but what to do? Chuck Zeugner is
running well. He and I are the only ones left on the course for the 24hour run. He is just a few loops back and has just passed 70 miles. I take another long break, sit down, and eat another bowl of chili. Within 10minutes, I'm back in gear and running better, but not with the same sustained energy I had earlier. I put on a long sleeved shirt for the
cold lower loop and slide the sleeves up when we rotate over to the high side loop. I decide to just relax and go with it, so I take the time to walk and talk with some of the other people I have met during the past 16 hours. I fall completely off the 25 and 5 plan for an hour or more,
and walk much more than I had at any point up to now. We find Chuck moving in super slow motion, and know that heís found the wall. We stop to talk for a few minutes and he decides to stop. He had one heck of a run, but his body is done. Iím still stuck on my too slow laps and want
to get past it. I ask Joyce if she would mind driving out and buying me some sort of egg & sausage meal. I'm craving something solid, and she immediately takes off to find it.

Michael Dorovitsine had taken a sleep break earlier in the night, and he has just come back pretty fresh and strong. I try to hang with him while Joyce is gone and it isn't easy. Davey suddenly comes back also, and then Wes. All the dead and retired runners are popping back up and the course is suddenly thick with life again. Michael and I make a few fast laps before Joyce returns. I'm at 90 miles when I stop for breakfast and suck down an Egg McMuffin and a cup of coffee. It completely revives me in minutes and Iím back, hard charging again. It was just what I needed. Joyce joins Michael and I for a few more loops
leading me up to 100 miles, which I hit at 6:30am. We flew for the last 4 loops,  and just as I hit the magic 65 loops for 100 miles, the sun finally rises for the 2nd day.  Joyce quits, while Michael and I continue to push the pace, collecting a few more miles before time runs out.

We have waited endlessly for 8am to arrive and now that itís near, we want a few more minutes to collect a few more loops for some additional distance. Wes is flying, doing 3 loops for my 2. Misty Fillus has come back to watch the finish, and the 48hour runners just kept spinning.
They still have another 11 hours to go and another sunset. My fastest loop was 15 minutes and I know I only have time for one more, so I slow down to relax finally and finish easily. Incomplete loops are not being counted, so I stop a few minutes short of 8am, and I sit down. Itís good to be done. I've collected 106.7 miles and it's good enough for me. Scott Demaree has done a great job putting this event together and making it work correctly. He wrote down splits for every runner for every lap, collected an excellent crew of volunteers to help, and kept a great sense of humor all night when it was just he and a few runners awake on the course. Thanks Scott. It was well done and I had fun.

48-Hour 11/12-14/99 College Station, TX Clear all weekend, high's low-80s, lows around 50 degrees Fahrenheit. Unofficial mileages pending lap sheet verification.

48 Hour
1.  Jeff Hagen  M 216.4
2.  Mark Henderson   M 160.87
3.  John Yoder  M 150.0
4. Tony Bridwell  M 141.23
5. Randy Albrecht   M 128.39
6. Barbara McLeod   F 125.30
7. Dalton Pulsipher   M 114.32
8. Willard Davis   M 111.37
9.  Mike Morrow-Fox M 64.97
10. Dan Baglione  M 44.86

24 Hour
1. Joe Prusaitis   M 106.73
2. Davey Harrison   M 74.25
3. Michael Dorovitsine  M 74.25
4. Chuck Zeugner   M 72.70
5. Wes Monteith   M 69.61
6. Jan Shirk   F 63.42
7. Chad Flint   M 60.33
8. Misty Fillus   F 35.58
9. Bill Shirk  M 26.30

One must remember that in 1988, the Gavia Pass was still largely a dirt road on the south side, which the riders ascended, and the first 3 miles on the descent were also dirt! However, all things change and this year, the last of the dirt was finally paved.  They key player in this whole drama and the winner of the 1988 Giro, Andy Hampsten, finally returned to the Gavia Pass this summer.  Andy has never given a full account of the epic
climb and descent, and it is almost ironic that on the day he rode back up and over the Gavia to tell the tale, there was a record setting heat wave in Northern Italy.  Your intrepid reporter accompanied Andy over the pass
on their bikes, attempting to record every comment between gasping for breath and hoping that Andy's legs would somehow fail him, something that clearly
did not happen on that fateful day 10 years ago.

Andy:

"From the start of the Giro, I knew the Gavia Pass was going to be the key stage.  The 1966 winner of the Giro, Italian Gianni Motta had befriended our team and throughout the early stages of the Giro he kept telling me "Andy, the Gavia is your stage to take the pink jersey".  It was really cool that an Italian was so supportive of an American and an American team trying to win his national race.

We knew that the conditions were going to be pretty bad on the Gavia Pass. The morning of the stage, the race director held a meeting with all the team managers and he told them that it was snowing on top of the pass
but the road was clear.  Armed with that information, our support personnel scoured the shops in Sondrio, where we were staying and bought all the warm gloves and wool hats they could find.  Each rider was then asked to
pack a special mussette bag which was to be handed to the rider 1/2mi before the summit of the pass.  All our warmest clothes including the hats and gloves went into the bag.

The stage had two climbs, the relatively minor Passo Aprica, a 2000 foot climb followed by a 1500 foot descent then a long, gradual 2000 foot ascent
up a valley to the 4500 foot, 10 mile climb over the Gavia followed by a 15 mile, 4500 foot descent into Bormio and the stage finish.

Things started to look grim on the descent of the Aprica.  I was wearing tons of clothes, but the rain had been coming down in buckets from the start of the stage and I was shaking badly from the wet and cold.  In the
valley going up to the base of the Gavia I was upset because this was going to be my big day and it appeared that it was not going to happen.  Slowly, I began to accept that it was going to be bad and that it was going to
be bad for everyone else.  I convinced myself that I should just stick to the plan that we had hatched weeks before.  I had a good relationship with my coach, Mike Neel, and I trusted him.  In 1985, my first Giro, he
and I had driven the route of my first stage win in the morning before the stage started.  Mike had shown me the exact spot to make my attack and I went on to win the stage.

I realized that I had to go 100% on the attack and hold nothing back. I had about 10 kilos of wet clothing from the weather, but I had to get rid of everything.  I dumped my leg warmers and 2 extra jerseys. I was down to shoes and socks, shorts, 1 undershirt, a thin  ong-sleeve polypro top and clear Oakleys.  I was wearing the "performance" jersey which is the rider with the best combined point totals in sprints, climbing and overall classification made of pretty thick wool, which was nice! My biggest asset was that I kept my neoprene gloves.  I
realized that I had to keep my hands warm or I couldn't function.

Going up the valley, the "boys" (i.e. my teammates) were doing everything they possibly could for me; bringing me hot tea every 5 minutes; taking my clothes, etc.  I was not sure how much I would have to suffer, but I felt that we were all going to have to go to a new limit to get over the pass.  I knew I could suffer, but I also knew it would be very hard for my teammates so I was trying to psyche them up as well.  I remember telling Bob Roll that this would probably be the hardest day on the bike in our
lives.

At the bottom of the climb, the Del Tongo team was at the front riding tempo for their race leader, Chioccioli, but, everybody knew I was going to attack.  When the road steepened, I went to the front and all the
climbers marked my wheel.  I could hear them muttering "Hampsten is going to attack" and trying to discourage me. At this point the road was still paved, but when I came around a left-hand switchback and saw the road turn to dirt and the 16% sign, I punched it.  I was definitely playing head games.  I wanted  the other riders to be afraid of both my strength and of the height of the climb.  The other riders knew I was strong, I had won the mountain stage to Selvino two days before.  I
was putting my cards on the table now, so early on the climb, because on the valley approaching the Gavia, I had re-affirmed my commitment to attack on this day.

I was prepared to attack multiple times, but I was relieved to see it break up so quickly into little groups.  Zimmermann, Breukink, Chioccioli and Delgado were all chasing, but it was definitely breaking up.  There
was a small breakaway of minor riders up the road that was coming apart so I concentrated on picking off those riders.  I was glad to finally be going hard again because I was still cold from the descent off the Aprica some 10 miles back.

Because of all the rain, the dirt was really shaky.  It was pretty soft, each tire left a groove mark.  I had to use my 39x25 to make progress. I think I was more comfortable on the dirt than everyone else; I trained
a lot on dirt in Colorado and I had ridden a lot in the snow in Colorado and in winters in North Dakota, I had ridden my bike 3 miles each way to school in the snow.

As I climbed higher and higher, my mind started wandering and the psychological aspects of what was happening started to creep into my mind.  I felt that I had achieved my results, to date, without taking any shortcuts, but when it started getting bad, I thought
about what I could do to make things better.  I gave up on asking God for any help, I was blessed already having the privilege of racing, instead I speculated on what I would bargain for if the devil showed up. Demoralized by this chain of thought, I realized that at the beginning of the day, I had relied only on myself to get me through the stage. On the Gavia, as always, there where no shortcuts and I had never looked for help from pills or other aids, although I was in such a mental
state that I doubt I would have resisted any temptation that delivered me to Bormio.  I must rely on myself to see me through.

At 4mi to go to the summit, my mind started going into a fog.  I was going hard, but it was not like I was murdering anyone, Breukink was the closest behind at about 1 minute back.  I started thinking about how cold I was now and the 15mi descent from the summit and the doubts started creeping in.....
were the team cars going to get through?  Would the soigneur be there at 2.5 mi to go with hot tea?  Would Och be there at 1km to go with my bag? What would I do when I got my bag?  I realized that if I stopped to put
something on, I probably wouldn't keep going, so I decided to just take the bag and keep riding.

About 3mi from the top, I went to put on a wool hat but decided first to brush the water out of my hair, but my hand went 'thunk' on a huge snowball that fell onto my back.

I got a bottle of hot tea from our soigneur ET at the point of the climb that was carved out of the ountain-side, which is about 2.5 miles below the summit. I tried to hug the mountainside and get a moment of shelter but the spectators where more determined to shelter themselves than move. At 1mi to go, the wind picked up and the snow was blowing hard into my face.
I was creating tracks in the snow from my tires, but the traction was OK. Now I really started thinking about the 15mi of descending and how cold I was and how much colder I could get.

At 1/2mi to go, I took my special bag with a jacket and gloves from Och. The wind was blowing so hard that I could barely keep the bike going and put my jacket on, no-hands.  In retrospect, I should have just stopped and
put the jacket on since I lost 40-50 seconds to Breukink and he eventually caught me at the top, but if I had stopped, I may never have started again!

When I saw the buildings I thought that was the top of the climb (it was!) and if I was going to stop, I should do so here.  But I really wanted to race at that point.  It wasn't survival yet.

By the way it was snowing and the way the flakes were coming down, I figured the storm was coming from the north so I reckoned that the conditions would be much worse on the descent.  Because of this, I didn't fly over the top but held back to save some energy for the descent.

When Breukink caught me at the top, at first, I thought I would follow him on the descent but he was going so slowly when the descent started that I figured I should go in front and make my own mistakes.  I learned later
that Breukink never put on a jacket.  Instead, his team manager, Peter Post followed him down the descent and kept him alert by yelling and cursing at him.

I only had one gear for the descent, all the others had iced up and I kept thinking that I must keep pedaling to keep that one gear free of ice. The road at the top of the descent was gravel.  It was better for descending than asphalt as it did not ice up.  I tested it a couple of
times to see if it was solid and it was.  The spectators on the descent did not know if the race had been cancelled so they were wandering all over the road.  On one turn, I almost hit a Carerra team mechanic holding a spare pair of wheels and walking down the middle of the road.  I remember he was wearing this beautiful gore-tex full body suit and I really wanted to have it on me!

As I descended, I got colder and colder.  I tried to shut out the cold and concentrate on the road ahead.  It was asphalt now, but luckily it was not icy.  I tried not to break too hard.  When I used the brakes, first I had
to break the ice from the rims, then scrape the water off before I got any stopping power.

I was concerned about hypothermia and just how much colder I could get before I was no longer able to pedal the bike.  My arms were basically locked up from the start of the descent, I just tried to keep pedaling
to keep my legs moving.  At one point, I looked down at my legs and through a layer of ice and lanolin grease, I could see that they were bright red. After that, I didn't look at my legs again.

About 10km into the descent, Mike Neel in the team car caught up with me.  There wasn't much he could do, the snow had turned to a cold rain, all I cared  about was getting down to a place which was warm and I could
stop.

At about 6km to go, Breukink caught me, but I was totally blocked and could not respond.  Breukink had no rain jacket on, just a jersey, so he could descend faster on the long straight drop into Bormio.  There was no
bloody way I was going to take my jacket off.

After I crossed the finish line, I headed straight for our our soigneur, Julie.  I was in such a rage trying to get down the mountain in one piece that when our team doctor, Max Testa, came up behind me and tried to put
his jacket around me, I didn't realize who it was and since he was keeping me from Julie and my warm clothes, I started punching him.  Mike Neel came
over and straightened me out and got me in the team car, which was running it's heater full blast!  When I started to warm up the pain started to come
back.  Mike then told me I had the jersey and the pain and the euphoria swept over me and I just started crying, laughing and shaking.  A whole wave of emotions covering the rage to finish the stage to the realization that I would survive me a brief and refreshing emotional meltdown .

Within 10 minutes of the finish, I was up on the podium.  The pink jersey felt good.  I slipped it on and all my doubts when away.  The TV interviews began and I remember saying 'Incredible, I have never seen conditions like this, even in Colorado. Today it was not sport, it was something beyond sport."

Everyone who made it over the Gavia that day was a winner.  Even to this day, there is a clique of riders whose bond is that they rode over the
Gavia that day.

One reason I think the Italian fans liked the stage was that it epitomized their lives, especially post-war.  All the suffering they had to endure to survive was similar to what I was going through."

Epilogue:  When Andy retired from racing in 1996 he bought a villa in
Tuscany which he and his wife, Linda renovated.  While their two-year old
daughter, Emma keeps them busy they still find time to grow grapes for
wine, olives for oil and run a bicycle touring company designed to
share the wealth of food, culture and quiet roads found in Tuscany.
They may be contacted via E-mail at hampstenale@etruscan.li.it for
further information about their bicycle touring adventures.