Hash House Hundred 100k Fat Ass

There's no question the COVID-19 pandemic has had a huge impact on the ultrarunning world. I'll acknowledge that, when looking at the big picture, race cancellations, physical distancing guidelines, and wearing a face covering while running are all minor inconveniences. There's no need to say any more about the pandemic here, except that hardly anyone was surprised on July 19 when the Twisted Branch 100k race director announced his race would be cancelled this year. And to be sure, he made the right call. The race would lose its luster and all the things that make it special if forced to adhere to precautionary measures required by state and local governments. The competitive and social aspects of Twisted Branch would be largely absent if a limited field size, wave starts, and elimination of pre- and post-race festivities were required to hold the race. 

I spent most of the summer running reduced mileage and struggling to find the time and energy to get out the door at all. I had no doubt about completing Twisted Branch within the 20-hour time limit, but the run would have been a struggle. When Pete Dady, a fellow Finger Lakes Runners Club trail race RD, invited me via Strava comment to his 100k fat ass run, I was naturally drawn in. The run was the weekend following the cancelled Twisted date. My wife was agreeable to letting me run it while she took care of the babies since she'd previously agreed to watch them while I ran Twisted.

The fat ass run, which Pete D tentatively titled the Hash House Hundred, is a single 100-ish kilometer loop through several state forests and many tracts of privately owned land, comprising a total of only three trails—the main Finger Lakes Trail, the Finger Lakes Trail Onondaga Branch, and the Link Trail. According to Pete, an Upstate New York trail map connoisseur an expert on all things FLT, this is the only area within the Finger Lakes Trail system where such a large trail loop exists. The terrain varies in technicality, and contains mostly rolling hills on singletrack, with some intermittent forest roads and two longer sections of asphalt. We were to run the loop clockwise, starting and finishing at a primitive campsite in Morgan Hill State Forest.

This was a true fat ass and by far the longest I'd be running in a non-race run, so I prepared to be largely self-sufficient. That meant carrying a CamelBak with a two-liter bladder, about 5,000 calories, my brick of an iPhone, a headlamp, and printed maps and directions. Pete provided minimal aid stations out of his '82 Volkswagon Type 2 (T3) Vanagon every 6-10 miles. This included our drop bags, water, some food, and camping chairs. Since details of the on-course support weren't ironed out in advance, I ended up carrying way too much stuff, but of course was happy to have more support than I'd expected.

The van. This thing is from the era of ultrarunning infancy. Its blunted angular contours, narrow tires, beige exterior, and front facial features that resemble a cheap Optimus Prime Halloween mask are enough to take you back in time when all trail and ultrarunners wore road flats and subsisted on water and king-size Snickers. In lieu of a double row of passenger seats, the side door opens to a stove, sink, refrigerator, and bed. Most U.S. automobiles are manufactured in the year before they're advertised, (i.e. a 2017 model is made in 2016), so that means the Vanagon is older than I am. As for the model name, the folks in Volkswagon's North American marketing department came up with lazy portmanteau to combine "van" with "station wagon". The ambiguity of "Type 2 (T3)" most likely didn't do well from a PR perspective. 

As it turned out, all the other runners and the few volunteers were Pete Dady's fellow hashers. I'd never participated in any hashing festivities—an acute aversion to booze + running leaves hashing less than desirous, IMHO. Most of Pete's merry band of hashers camped at the bivouac site the night before the run; at least a few walked from their tent to the starting line hungover. I elected to forgo temptation to partake in race-eve imbibements and instead drove up from Ithaca the morning of. I listened to Pete's pre-run instructions while organizing my gear, grateful that I hadn't been goaded into running an unthinkable 100-kilometer hash. 

Pete sent us off at 6:45. The small group made it easy to adhere to physical distancing guidelines. I ran the first mile within conversational distance of Mike Stone before pulling ahead and running solo the rest of the way. I hadn't run over 26 miles at a time since Beast of Burden in early February. Not knowing how my body would handle the distance, I kept the effort super easy from the start and enjoyed the time in the woods. 

The first 20 miles of the route are the most scenic. The singletrack Onondaga Trail takes you through Morgan Hill State Forest and into Labrador Hollow Unique Area, past the top of a mostly dry Tinker Falls to an expansive overlook with a hang glider launch spot. You then continue east on the smooth singletrack through Highland Forest County Park, with another beautiful valley view at Skyline Lodge. Continue east out of the park for a switchback-laden downhill mile, followed by a mile of asphalt around the north end of the DeRuyter Reservoir. 

Hang glider overlook.

The view from Skyline Lodge.

A brief but steady rain cooled me down and lowered the humidity as I cruised through the higher elevation portion of Highland Forest. I knew the rain was coming and actually looked forward to it for the previous two hours. Leaving Highland down the long and winding downhill, the smooth singletrack was marred by dozens of downed trees. The descent was slow going; I had to constantly climb over and around large trees, then stop an look markers to find the trail. This part was on private land. Someone had cut down a bunch of trees, but rather than remove them, they were left strewn across the trail. Parts of the hill were also torn up and transformed into a mudslide as the result of a makeshift logging road. On private land the owners can do what they wish, but I was saddened to see the careless destruction of what was previously a well kept mile of trail. 

I made my way down to the reservoir and the rain stopped before I reached the Vanagon and Aid Station 2. Conversing with Pete D as I refilled my CamelBak's bladder, he spoke excitedly about the progress of the other runners on the course. I only knew a few of them from other races, and wasn't at all familiar with their hash house nicknames. Now eighteen miles into the run, I was having trouble keeping names, faces, and aliases straight as I listened to Pete's stories, trying to ascertain whether or not Mike Stone and "Cool Hand Puke" were the same guy. Someone named Crusty Mike or Crusty Chris was apparently at the same fitness level as me, but he fell behind after taking a wrong turn in the first mile. Then there was Peter "Commando" Keirn, a guy I'd met at Eastern States a few years back who was known for running 50 to 100 miles in sandals and a kilt at some of the northeast's toughest ultras. For reasons unknown to me, Pete Dady held the moniker "Kickstand" and the rest of the motley crew referred to him as such. I guzzled a few mini cans of Coke courtesy of Kickstand Pete and left the Vanagon aid station for the trail, my chief concerns not getting lost on the next leg and fantasizing how David Foster Wallace would've had a field day recapping this experience in Harper's. 

***

The Onondaga Trail reaches its northern terminus at mile 28. Runners then head south on the aptly named Link Trail. This yellow-blazed trail runs south to north, linking the main Finger Lakes Trail with the Onondaga Trail, then continuing north to connect with the Old Erie Canal Trail in the town of Canastota. The Link Trail is relatively new and was build for this purpose. By connecting these trails it also allows for the continuation of the larger North Country National Scenic Trail, which overlaps these existing trails as it crosses Upstate New York. 

The Link Trail was fairly easy going until I arrived at a 4.5-mile stretch of road—a detour to avoid an unfinished section of the trail. Rather than simply pull out my phone and check Pete's map and directions, I decided to turn left. I walked uphill awhile, realized the mistake, and turned around, adding about 1.2 miles to the already arduous road trek. I ran out of water here too. After walking a few miles on the shoulder, I was relieved when the Vanagon rolled up so I could refill. The mid-afternoon sun beat down without mercy as I continued walking another three miles down the road. This was the only true low point I had during the run. I was frustrated that I couldn't bring myself to run a pedestrian 9-minutes-per-mile pace and 90% sure I'd be quitting at the next aid station 8 miles away. After a miserable uphill slog through some tall grass I finally gained reprieve under tree cover when the trail turned back into the woods. Then I remembered the emergency gels I'd packed and completely forgotten about—the Clif Shot Chocolate Cherry Energy Gel, with its bonk slaying 100 mg of caffeine. I duly choked down the nasty brown goo and felt reenergized a few minutes later. If only I'd remembered it back on the road...

With a newfound vigor the next five miles was a fun section to run. The Link Trail follows singletrack and forest roads through two state forests and some private land. It's well marked, well maintained, and not overly difficult terrain. This brought me through the Crumb Road Aid Station where I refueled with dill pickles and other Vanagaon victuals. 

I had the interim goal of making it off the Link Trail before dark. The white FLT and blue OT blazes were much easier to see by headlamp compared to the yellow Link Trail markers. I reached the southern end of the Link Trail at mile 45, well before dusk. At this junction with the Finger Lakes Trail the course turns right to head west, the blaze color changing from yellow to white. The monster climb through Mariposa State Forest was a real drag after 12 hours on my feet. However, the day-to-night transition in an ultra always feeds me new energy. It soon became dark enough in the woods to turn on my Petzl Tikka headlamp, which heightened my sense of hearing and altered the whole experience. The forest's fresh new look at early dusk helped quicken my step and stave off fatigue. 

I hobbled down a series of switchbacks to arrive at CR-12 and the penultimate aid station. I had my own mini cheering section with Commando Pete and Jared (whose hasher alias I can't recall) now helping Kickstand Pete manage the roving aid station in the dark. I learned I was the only runner still on the course, Commando Pete and Crusty Chris (or was it Crusty Mike?) having recently dropped. It makes all the difference when a crew tells you how great you're doing even when you know they'll so full of crap a small bowel obstruction is imminent. The trio got me fired up for the next 3.5 miles of asphalt. This time I was able to run the roads for a few miles before walking the final mile up a moderately graded hill as the Vanagon clamored past, headlights barely visible. Kickstand Pete met me at the top of the hill and told me a wiring problem kept making the headlights cut out. Sometimes he'd hit a bump and it would flash the high beams for a few seconds. 

At the top of Cuyler Hill is the Onondaga Trail's southern terminus where it connects with the Finger Lakes Trail. I parted ways with the FLT to follow the OT's blue blazes to the finish. Leaving the road for what I thought was the trail, I entered a tiny clearing and my headlamp illuminated a patch of four or five pale gray tombstones. Oops—wrong way! I poked around to the find the trail skirting the edge of a grassy field. I'd only thought to pack two extra pairs of socks, which I changed into and out of much earlier. Now my feet were shredded from hours of running on wet trails. Aside from flaming epidermis, though, I felt pretty good since I'd taken it easy in the early miles. I downed my second Chocolate Cherry Clif Shot just to make sure I could outrun any bored ghosts that popped out of the boneyard looking for someone to haunt. 

The next few miles were a shuffle-run in the dark and a steep downhill to NYS Route 13 and the final aid station. Jared, along with Petes Kickstand and Commando, again greeted me as I readied myself for the run's final leg. I chugged my last two Cokes of the day, pretty much ensuring Kickstand Pete would have enough 5¢ deposit cans to cover gas for the entire run. The crew then told me in detail how they were detained by two rednecks in a pickup truck who thought the crew were up to no good because they were cruising around Cortland County's backroads after dark. The vigilante highway patrol waited for a sheriff's car to arrive. The crew explained about the run, the deputy radioed to cancel backup, and everyone went on his way. Thankfully I never had to explain to any cops or rednecks why I was running down a rural road by headlamp hours after sundown.

I left the final aid station and was on my own for the final leg—a 4.7-mile "victory lap" that would take well over an hour. I went off-road and wandered around for a solid ten minutes looking for the trail on the edge of another cornfield. Inconsistent trail markers—the pitfall of the Finger Lakes Trail system's many private land crossings. In the light of day the blue paint might be easy to spot, but by headlamp it was a struggle. One gut busting climb later I was back in Morgan Hill State Forest following the blue blazes down an old logging road. A brief stint of singletrack took me right up to the bivouac site and the finish line. 

***

As I write this a week and a half after the run, I'm feeling very well recovered. If anything, my body feels better now than it did a month ago, when my legs frequently felt tight and sore. I don't know if it was the summers heat or lack of any races (or race-like experiences) that left me worn down, but the few easy runs I've done since the 100k went well. My next event, assuming it doesn't get cancelled, is the Can Lake 50 road race on October 10. After that, who knows? 

Pete Dady told me of his plans to make this course into a 100k or longer race beginning in 2021. Ideally he wants to hold the race on Labor Day weekend, and to alternate the direction of the loop every other year. I really hope this comes to fruition; the course is very runnable but not without challenging sections. With proper aid stations and race-specific markings, I could see a lot of interest in the single loop as a race. Lastly, thank you to Pete Dady and the rest of the crew for putting the run together and continuing to provide support after I was the only one left on the course!

Aid station chart. (Mileage is approximate.)