Saturday, May 28: Bridgewater (#118)

Bridgewater is one of those New Hampshire towns I'd never been through and knew nothing about. It's in the northern end of the Merrimack River's watershed, just north of Bristol on Route 3A, with a prime stretch of shore on Newfound Lake and much backcountry to the east. Today's "Sprint into Summer" race, billed as a 5K, was my chance to get acquainted. For fun, I brought along Zahnna, our eight-year-old German Shepard, who would run if it was that kind of race.

But the adventure nearly didn't happen. Almost immediately after leaving my home in Bedford, we became snarled in a pretty good traffic jam on Interstate 293 in Manchester. After sitting completely still for 10 minutes, and with no movement in sight (and no local traffic info online or on the radio on Memorial Day weekend), I could see the Bridgewater race's 8:30 a.m. start time slipping away. Finally, we all started up at once; turned out it was a FedEx tractor trailer that had the misfortune to break down exactly at a point where there are no breakdown lanes, and somehow that had clogged things completely.

It was 7:25 a.m. Bridgewater (and that 8:30 a.m. start) was an hour away. I resolved to give it my best effort, mindful that troopers would be all along I-93 running speed on the holiday weekend. And people were really driving goofily, so you had to be on your guard. By the time I made it to Route 104 (the turn-off to Bristol and Bridgewater), it was 8:10 a.m., so I felt I had a good chance at making it. Except, that is, for this really slow van I was stuck behind. Damn! I kept just missing chances to pass it, but then we got into Bristol, where we had to sit in traffic for a church rummage sale. At least I'd lose the van here, I thought, but no. It kept going the same direction I was, out of town and north on 3A! Damn again!

With the clock hitting 8:20 a.m., we were in Bridgewater, and I knew it was going to be close. And then, to my relief, I saw one of those yellow "Fire Station" signs a lot sooner than expected. But at the same time, the van's blinkers went on, and it pulled into the fire station! I felt glad I hadn't been a more aggressive driver, but I still pulled around and in back of the fire station in case I had been irritating. How poetic for what I perceived to be my obstacle to actually be a part of the event I was seeking.

Anyway, all the rush was for nothing because 8:30 a.m. was when registration started, not the race itself. The race was one of the looser ones, in terms of organization: I checked in with a nice guy at a card table (who took my name for a raffle), made a $20 donation, and that was it. No bib, no chip, no timing. Simple! After awhile, a few other folks showed, many of them walkers, who were encouraged to just head out whenever they felt like it, which they did. Finally, a guy from the fire department hauled a tall step ladder out to the parking lot and mounted it to welcome us and start the race. He did this by just yelling "Go!" And off we went.

Because so few people were "registered," Zahnna came along and did just fine. The course took us up Route 3A, then west on a road by Newfound Lake (very pretty), and then south back to 3A and the fire station. Cloudy, overcast, not really cool but not warm either, nice weather for running. Started slow but surprised to see all ahead of me walking up the one sustained hill, so wound up passing several folks, including a guy I later learned was the town's police chief.

Finished strong on a good long stretch of 3A to the fire station, where there was no clock and not even any pretense of a finish line. Oh well! By polling a guy who finished ahead of me and a woman who finished behind me, we decided on a time of "about 35 minutes," which seemed slow. But then someone mentioned it was "more like three and a half miles," and so it made sense. (I later drove the route and yes, it was exactly 3.5 miles.)

But what about that raffle? This was the only race I've ever won that finished in a conference room, where we were all herded for the drawing of prizes as soon as all participants were accounted for. The same guy who started the race told us we raised $595, which would be used to pay to replace the department's carbon monoxide detector, which he said was destroyed last spring by a member of the department "but we won't mention any names." I never win anything, but was surprised to get named almost right away, giving me my pick of prizes. I chose a gift card of undetermined amount at Pat's Seafood and Pizzeria in Bristol. So guess where I'll be stopping on my next trip up north?

Afterwards, Zahnna and I felt good enough to tackle the summit of Mount Passaconaway (4,043 feet), which we reached by Dicey's Mill Trail (4.6 miles one way) out of Wonalancet, one of those strange villages in New Hampshire that you sometimes find on the back roads off the back roads. Left the car at 12:15 p.m., made the summit at 2:51 p.m., then back to the car at 5:45 p.m. Nice hike, except for a few scrambles near the top and people constantly mistaking Zahnna for a bear in the fog. Passaconaway has one of the most indistinct summits of any peak I've climbed: a dead-end trail leads into a flat wooded area, several subtrails peter out, there's no pile of rocks, and you're left guessing where the high point is. Zhanna laid down at what seemed to a good choice, so that's where I took the photo. This was Zhanna's 21st summit in her quest to climb all 48 peaks in New Hampshire that are 4,000 feet or higher. She's getting to the end of her "peak" years (har!) and so we need to hustle this year to close the gap. Just 27 more to go! Sounds like I should be doing a separate blog about this, but we'll see...

Saturday, May 21; Madison (#116) and Easton (#117)

Tumbled out of bed early on Saturday, May 21 and hauled myself two hours north to run in the John Nute Memorial 4-miler in Madison, N.H., a small community near the Maine border. Race held at Purity Spring Resort, a lakeside campground and recreation compound (also the King Pines Ski Area in winter) that's been in the same family for more than a century.

Not a big race, really a warm-up for a duathalon and triathalon the next day. Still, about 50 of us gathered for the start on a lakeside beach, including several dogs. It being one of the increasingly rare dog-friendly races, I used the chance to harness up Inca (our adopted mutt, Dog No. 3, one year old and with me for the ride) and bring her along.

Registration was only $15, the least expensive I've seen in a long time. Bravo to organizers for keeping the costs reasonable for us serial road racers.

One notable thing about this one was the bugs. This year has been the worst I can remember for bugs. They're out early, and everywhere--mosquitoes, gnats, you name it. My theory is that it's a fungus that's hitting the local bat population pretty hard. Each bat eats something like two pounds of bugs in a season, so with bats out of commission, the bugs are going nuts.

The race started on a beach, which was nice, but bugs were bad. As we stood there waiting for the start, everyone was swatting insects. If you didn't know any better, you'd think we were all very friendly people to wave at each other so energetically.

So it probably wasn't the best time for someone to sing The National Anthem, but that's exactly what happened. "Please take off your hats," someone said, and then we got the Star Spangled Banner, and of course it had to be the extended play version, with a talented young singer really holding onto those vowels.

The race was a four-mile loop around Purity Lake, much of it on an unpaved road along the eastern side of the pond. Inca did very well for her first race, despite being somewhat alarmed by the airhorn used at the start.

We've been stuck in a changeable but damp weather pattern, and those conditions prevailed on Saturday. Gray skies and patches of sunlight to start, but then windblown showers just after I finished. (Here's a photo of some people behind me who were caught in the downpour.) My time was 42:12, or pace of 10:34, which is pretty rotten but then again I haven't been training in any systematic way lately. Not sure how I ranked because info hadn't been posted.

As for the quest to run a 5K race (or longer) in all of New Hampshire's 234 cities, towns, and unincorporated places, this one presented a conundrum. I did it because I needed Madison. But almost during the first mile, we passed on of those "town line" signs that said Eaton. Eaton? Well, which town was it in? A check of the map later showed the four-mile course to be divided almost exactly in half between the two towns. What to do?

Usually, my methodology for a multi-town 5K is to count only the town where the race starts. In this case, because the course was slightly longer than a 5K, and because it was pretty much half in one and half in the other, I opted to give myself a break and count both towns. So that's #116 and #117.

Shaker Village 5K on Saturday, May 14

The Shaker philosophy centers around simplicity, but boy, you wouldn't know it from the route of the Canterbury Shaker Village 5K, run on Saturday, May 14 in Canterbury, N.H. :) The course, set up on the grounds of the historic settlement, twists and turns and goes up and down and all around. And that's one of the things that made it interesting and memorable.

I really can't think of another race I've run that packs its course into such a compact area. You go in and out, follow loops folded in on each other, and pass right next to where you were five minutes ago. Once we got underway, I saw runners on paths heading in other directions, and it was hard to tell whether they were ahead or behind me! But again, that made it fun.

Another thing that made it special was the setting itself. If you're going to hold a 5K race to support the Canterbury Shaker Village, then why not hold it right on site? It's a beautiful rural area of rolling hills and open fields with fine views, even on a cloudy day like we had. Even when you're climbing the many hills, the well-ordered and varied landscape helps keep you going. An usual aspect of the course were several sections of narrow one-lane paths through wooded areas, which forced us all into single file for some stretches, and with the volume of runners it caused things to back up a bit. It couldn't be helped, and I just pretended I was in the army while it lasted. :)

I've already run a race in Canterbury, but wanted to do this one to stay in practice and see what it's like. I wasn't disappointed. One of the special features was live music during the course, including a group playing bongo drums that were highly entertaining, but might have driven the old Shaker sisters crazy if they were still around.

Kudos to the Grappone Automotive Group, a large dealer in our region, for organizing and supporting this race. Hope it continues for many years! And congrats on a well-organized race as well. It's not often when race organizers seem to be able to take and post photos of all participants, including this one of me snapped about half-way through the course.

And it also had some of the most generous post-race food options I've ever seen. Usually it's a choice of bagels or some fruit, and maybe a nutrition bar. For this one, they had stacks and stacks of entire pizzas, all piled high in a Shaker barn. By the time I finished, people crowding was pretty intense around the pizza table, which looked like a bar in the Klondike.

And oh, results. Came in 226 out of 349 in this one. Time was 32:39, a little slow for me at 10:31 per mile, so all the ups and downs certainly took their toll. Also, I think I started too far back in the pack, as I seemed to do a lot of passing throughout the race and did get caught behind some slower-paced runners on the single file stretches.

Next up: a 4-miler on Saturday, May 21 in Madison, N.H., a town in the northern part of the state (just below Conway) that I haven't run in yet. We'll see if I'm up in time to get up there for a 10 a.m. start. :)

Sunday, May 1: A fine 5K in Cornish

Well, missed a race in South Hampton, N.H. on Saturday due to a prior commitment, but made it up to Cornish, N.H. on Sunday morning for a 5K—and awfully glad I did. Terrific day for a run, one of those early spring days when the winter chill is gone but the summer heat hasn't settled in yet, where the sun shines, the sky is a deep cobalt blue, the air seems like a cool glass of water, and you can see for miles.

That last part is true, not just because of the dry non-humid air, but also because it's still pre-green-up in that part of the Connecticut River Valley, about 90 minutes north of my home in Bedford, N.H., where the leaves are starting to sprout. Not up in Cornish—up there, the branches are still bare, allowing you to see the contours of the landscape with a clarity that's impossible during much of the year. Also, mud season is pretty much over, so the ground mostly solid and not a slippery sodden mess, at least up there.

I love towns like Cornish, which is Town #115 in my quest to run a race in all 234 cities, towns, and unincorporated places in New Hampshire. Cornish is one of those places that's small enough so that everyone seems to know everyone else, but somehow it avoids that "suspicious of outsiders" vibe, at least in my experience. I used to work at the area's daily newspaper, the Eagle-Times of Claremont, N.H. (next town over) many years ago, and in going up to Cornish, I always felt welcome.

And that was strange, I thought, because Cornish was the long-time home of reclusive author J.D. Salinger, whose home was only a short distance away from where this race took place. Cornish residents, respectful of the man's desire for privacy and subscribing to a "Code of the Hills," were famous for sending would-be Salinger seekers on wild goose chases on the endless back roads. I guess as long as you weren't looking for J.D., you were okay. I never put myself in that position, and anyway, Mr. Salinger passed away last year at age 91, so it's no longer an issue. (I do know where he lived, though, and was going to take my nephew from Chicago on a drive-by last December because he'd just read 'Catcher in the Rye,' but we didn't have time.)

Race registration on the grounds of the Cornish Fair, the county's annual agricultural extravaganza, which usually takes place in August. As a newspaper reporter, I got to serve as a judge for the Miss Cornish Fair Pageant of 1989. At the time, I had to fill out a long questionnaire about myself, which I did not take seriously; for "hobbies," I jokingly put "woodworking and golf."

I forgot about that, of course, so it was very funny to me on the night of the pageant to be introduced in front of a cheering crowd of thousands of people as "Mr. Jeff Rapsis of the Eagle-Times newspaper of Claremont! His hobbies are WOODWORKING and GOLF!"

Back to the present. As I experienced it, Cornish continues to exude a small-town charm. Driving into the grass lot to park my 2007 Subaru Forester, I came upon two men standing up ahead. When I slowed and pantomimed I wasn't sure which side to park on, one pointed to the left, the other to the right. They laughed, and then both switched directions simultaneously.

And even after all the years, some familiar faces emerged. Director of the non-profit that benefited from the race was Ellie Tsetsi, who had been a member of the Fall Mountain Regional School Board back when I covered it.

It was a fairly dog-friendly race, though all the canines turned out to be with walkers, I think. One was particularly impressive: a collie/black lab/Great Dane mix that was much bigger than you'd expect for that kind of dog. A weird extra-large black Lassie. Nice dog, though.

One piece of tarred road near the race mid-point was the sole paved stretch; the rest of the course was dirt or Class VI abandoned roads. Parts of New Hampshire are full of these "Class VI" roads, which typically are lightly used country roads that fell into disuse when the state's rural areas suffered from depopulation that began during the Civil War and lasted in some cases right through the Great Depression in the 1930s.

Most all towns have them, some more than others. Even where in live in Bedford, one of the most completely developed places in the whole state, there are little stretches of abandoned road here and there. What happens is that if a road isn't used or needed any more, then the town declares it "Class VI," which means the town stops maintaining it. No plowing in winter, no grading in summer. Instead, its left in the care of Mother Nature.

Well, just because you discontinue a road doesn't mean that it ceases to exist. The grade still endures, threading a patch along abandoned stone walls and former fields now growing crops of trees and cellar holes of former homesteads. In many cases, the road caused the soil to be packed down or was "paved" with ash, inhibiting plant growth in some cases for generations. So even though no one maintains a Class VI road, in some cases it can maintain itself for quite awhile.

And the course in Cornish took us on two excellent examples of Class VI Roads. One was a long extension of Peter Daniels Road, which had a stream running along one side of it. I don't know the name of the other but it was part of a long uphill that made up the toughest part of the course. The forest floor was bare and brown, and with leaves not yet on the trees, it was possible to see the terrain around you with remarkable clarity—the ups and downs, the escarpments, the big boulders called "glacial erratics" that are strewn everyone, remnants of the last Ice Age, and purposeless stone walls running up and over and seemingly to infinity.

It's a great landscape to run through, even if the ground was uneven, but I'm forever breaking my vow of no off-road trail races due to weak ankles. These roads weren't in bad shape at all—the worst thing was when one of the impromptu streams running down one side cut across and headed downhill, creating a small waterfall that you actually had to leap over. Never had that happen before.

People were friendly, the Boy Scouts directing us this way and that were appropriately gung-ho, and the little signs that someone created for the long uphill had just the right mix of color and artlessness. And coming down the final long hill on South Parsonage Road, I felt strong enough to really open up, taking off the brakes and pounding down the dirt road, passing several people in the process.

At the chute, the finish line was one of those traditional take-off-the-bottom-of-your-bib-and-stick-it-on-a-peg deals, a tried and true method if there ever was one. By the time I got there, I was #47, but that's about all I got to learn before leaving. I'm still waiting for an exact time and other info, but I can't imagine it was a fast run because of the steep upgrades. Update: Okay, results are in. My time was a god-awful 37:07, and place was 46/117. If I was up there, I'd measure the course again because yes, the uphills were slow, I really flew on the downgrades.

I have to say the one hill was really one of the major hills I've ever encountered in more than 100 races, right up there with the crazy hill in the Warner 5-mile Fall Foliage race and one totally unexpected one in Pittsfield some years ago. Usually, no matter how steep, I try to at least keep an "old man's gait" going, but in Cornish the hill won, forcing me to resort to walking for about the last third of it.

Quite a challenge, but the landscape of one of New Hampshire's most picturesque areas coupled with a perfect day was more than enough to make it worthwhile.

The only wrong note was caused by me myself. After finishing, I drove back up the hill and hiked into one of the Class VI roads to get the photos I've posted here. Lucky for me some walkers were still coming up the hill, enabling me to get some human perspective in the images. As the group approached, I noticed people were kind of hailing me from a distance, as if they knew me, and then I saw a very young child running ahead and up towards me, very excited. I snapped a few more shots, but then the kid stopped, and ever so hesitantly said, "...you're not Daddy!"

Wow, way to scare a poor kid!

P.S. I'd like to try building the audience with this blog and see where it goes. So what I'll do is have some cards printed up and add them to the pile of race brochures and other pamphlets you often see at road race registration tables. Couldn't hurt, and might lead to something. You never know. Well, the primary objective is to ensure that I stick with this, and that's one way of doing it.