Fain Ranch to Mingus Mountain Camp Aid Station 108.3 miles
(12.4 miles w/ +2,862ft of gain and -284ft of loss.)
This section packed some punches. I was aware that the climb to Mingus was going to be tough. Very tough. Especially as it would come more than 100+ miles into the race. What I wasn’t quite prepared for, was some of the rough patches I’d hit getting to the base of the Mingus climb. They snuck up on me. I left the Satisfy aid station full of their energy and music and some hashbrowns and pretzels and of course, Coke. Once I got off the racetrack parking lot and back onto ranchland I found this hint of a trail or maybe a herd path that I just kept moving along, looking at the Black Hills that were rising up in the distance. I had a good clip going. It was one of those times when everything went silent. It was just me, moving across this Arizona landscape, watching my feet fall on the dry soil. I felt like I was following a ribbon that was leading me somewhere special when all of a sudden, I heard someone yelling. But it was muted yelling, as if their mouth was being covered. I turned around and saw two people with their arms waving at me. I could hear their voices but not what that they were saying. It seemed urgent, so I turned around and started to move towards them as quickly as I could. As I got closer, I realized that they were trying to get me back on course. They’d been shouting to me that I was going the wrong way, but acoustics on a windy ranch were hardly ideal. Their arms were waving to both get my attention and point me in the direction I should be headed. I thanked them profusely and we all began to amble our way onto the double-track I should have been following.
When you’re attempting to travel 250-miles, on foot, in less than 125 hours? Any unnecessary distance that you tack on does not feel good. Backtracking does not feel good. Maybe there are people who don’t get lost on a 250-mile, point-to-point run, most of which is on trails, but I’m not that person. While there is always that deflation of having added some extra time and miles, I felt so grateful to these runners for caring enough to stop and try and bring me back into the fold. Who knows how long I would have continued to follow the path I was on and where it would have led me?
Their kindness meant a lot. In that moment, we were all just vagabonds that were more or less moving towards the same destination and we could choose to look out for each other or not. But there’s something about ultrarunning and something in particular about these 200+mile distances and particularly this race, that bound us all together.
Eventually we made our way over another A-frame ladder and then followed along a road that was familiar to me. I realized I must have traveled it on my visit the month prior when I climbed up Mingus. There were a bunch of runners along this stretch. We were on a double-track that wasn’t too exotic as there was some trash that people had thrown out of their windows and we were at times so close to the road that it made me a bit jittery. It was hard to get lost in my own thoughts when there were trucks and cars going by. Some of them were crew vehicles or race supporters who honked in support of us, which I always love.
Whatever energy I had felt from the Fain Ranch aid station was starting to leave me. I felt like my insides were one of those tumble weeds that were blowing from the ranch onto the road. I was behind a man who had bright white tights and arm-sleeves, I’m assuming as protection from the sun. While I thought that was a prudent idea, I was still so hot, that looking at legs being covered with anything made my core temperature rise even more. I tried to stop thinking about how hot I was and instead make sure I was sipping my water and electrolytes and trying to wash down a few pretzels. I knew that any amount of food would help, even if it was just a few calories.
I saw a pair of runners or more likely a pacer/runner combo up ahead. They had stopped and were pointing to something. As I got closer, I realized it was the 100-mile sign. That gave me a boost. I’d already covered a 100-miles! In my mind I was hoping for some cowbells to start ringing. But it was just wind and cars driving by and clouds of dust. Still, it was exciting. When I got to it, I took my phone out to snap a picture. Underneath where it said, “Mile 100” there was smaller text that said “How long is this race?” As If I’d forgotten, which I had not, I was quickly reminded that I still had 150 miles to go. It was too big to think about in its entirety. So, I tried to quietly celebrate the 100-mile mark in my head while I stumbled onto a large field that seemed to have no path. The markers were hard to locate because of the topography of the landscape. We were just all zig-zagging our way cross-country. There were lots of things that could attach themselves to your shoes or ankles or legs. Cacti and catclaw and high, sharp blades of grass as well as scrubby desert shrubs and other menacing looking growth. I had to keep my eyes out for the Fred Flintstone ribbons while at the same time making sure I didn’t kick a cactus or shred myself up with catclaw. Just trying to find footing that did not include being cut, poked, pricked or stuck was a challenge. This was a hot, messy, thorny, confusing stretch that I just had to get through. Moving from one marker to another, often through sandy sinkholes and scratchy brush.
Eventually I got to the last A-frame ladder that took us off of Fain land and onto a gravel road. The road felt so good on my feet and finally my brain was able to disassociate a bit because I didn’t have to watch every step. The sun was now setting and my goal was to try and get up Mingus before it turned completely dark. If there was a spot in the race to see a sunset, this was a damn good one. Looking at the Black Hills which separate Prescott Valley from Verde Valley, begin to capture the last bits of sun as it descended was a visual feast. There were more pinyons and juniper trees and as we got closer, there was the refreshing smell of pine needles and running water. My entire body began to cool down and at one point, I stopped to put my jacket on. It was a rain jacket but light weight and I used it more as a windbreaker in this race because there was no rain to speak of.
Once the gravel road ended the trails did become tricky and I was grateful that I knew which trails to follow because of my earlier visit. The closer I got to the climb, the quieter my mind became. I knew that I had to move with purpose but also conserve my energy. This climb had felt tough on fresh legs. I tried to embrace it and just let the hard wash over me. The climb started off gently and then began in earnest. I was using my poles and trying to find a pace that was not too taxing but where I didn’t have to stop. It did have to change out of my sunhat into my beanie and put my headlamp on. I have no idea when I did that, but it was getting dark and the wind was blowing and the temps had dropped. I tried to keep my breath measured and I felt pretty alone out there. I’m not sure if I was moving faster or slower than the other people that had been somewhat close to me on the gravel road but it didn’t matter. I knew I had to keep placing one foot up on a rock or a ledge or a root and then pick up my back foot. There were also some exposure on this trail, and at night, I needed to pay close attention to not fall off the rocky ledge to my right. That particular gnarly section of the trail got my adrenaline going. But other than that it was a put my head down and get it done type of climb. When it began to level out towards the top, I started to feel rough. My breath was loud and labored. My legs felt like lead. Maybe it was the exertion it took to climb those 2,000 ft in less than 2-miles or maybe it was the elevation, or possibly the 1-2 combination with the added stress of not having slept more than 2 hours in two nights or the lack of nutrition? I kept trying to get a gel in or a pretzel in but when you’re climbing, at night, 2,000ft up at mile 107? It felt harder to get food in than the actual climb. I think I had a gel at the bottom in the hopes of helping me fuel my way up.
I was both relieved and excited when I got off the trail and onto a dirt road. I knew the aid-station was close. As the miles stretch out so does the distance to the aid-stations. It felt like it took 10-miles to get there from the road. It wasn’t particularly far away, it’s just that distance starts to warp. Like the closer you get to the aid stations, the more they start backing up and receding from you. I wrapped my way around an inner-camp road and eventually got to the Mingus Mountain aid station. It was a nice little lodge. And it’s ironic how comforting it was to come in and get some shelter form the wind, seeing as I’d felt like I was being baked out on Fain Ranch like a cow patty most of the day. There were two or three massage tables where people where runners were getting worked on. Although in theory that sounded fantastic, on Maslow’s scale of needs, it was not high up there for me at the moment. I needed food. I had shelter and rest? Well…that was always the wild card. I went to the food table and they had this amazing lasagna that a few runners raved about and were coming back for more. I asked for that as well and some corn bread and it looked like a hearty meal. One that would serve me well on my descent down into Jerome in the night. I found a folding chair to sit on and tried to eat but after a few bites, I feared I was going to throw up. I tried some soup and that also, did not sit well. I think I just chewed on some bread and tried to wash it down with Coke. Even the Coke was starting not to work and that was never a good sign.
I thought that if I could get a few minutes of rest, just lay down somewhere and reset for 10 or 15 minutes that I could settle my stomach and get back out on the course. My plan was to sleep in Jerome. But I felt dizzy with fatigue and nausea and my brain did not feel too lucid at the moment. I asked the person who looked like they were in charge if there was somewhere I could lay down for a bit. She said that there were cabins down the road and that I could sign-up for one on a blackboard. She believed that one of the cabins was empty and I could walk down and take a nap and tell them what time to get me up. All of that was so very sweet and high level aid-stationing, but it seemed like way too many steps. Signing in and finding a cabin down the road and then having to get woken up and get back to the lodge and check out? My brain couldn’t manage it.
I asked instead if I could just lay on one of the massage tables. One had a person being massaged but the other one was empty. The woman told me that those tables were strictly for runners needing massage. I think I just started to stare at the people eating, the volunteers talking, a few of the runners sitting down on the floor. I went over to the corner of the lodge, or cabin and tried to lay down. There was a cold draft coming in from the door I was next to, so I sat back up. One of the masseuses said to just get on his table and close my eyes and if someone came in looking for some body work, he’d let me know. He was very kind and understanding and I took off my pack and poles and laid them against the wall and then crawled onto the table and set my alarm for 15 minutes, pulled the buff over my eyes and tried to rest. Even if I didn’t fall asleep, I needed to shut all systems down.
I was up before my phone alarm and thanked the masseuse. I gathered my pack and filled the bladder up with water, but not too much because it was night and we were moving downhill and I didn’t think I’d need as much as I did during the heat of the day. I craved caffeine and saw some coffee and hot-cocoa mix and decided to blend the two together. One would give me caffeine and the other would give me at least a few calories. As I sat on a chair and sipped on this hot beverage a man started asking me all kinds of questions. How I got into running and when how old I was when I started and where I was from and how the race was going this far? Answering the questions helped me focus a bit and come back to earth but then I started wondering if he worked for the race and was trying to gauge whether or not I was fit to go back out on the course? I got scared that he was like an undercover ultra-cop and so I started to say that I was feeling terrific and couldn’t wait to head out and tackle the next section to Jerome.
None of that was true, but I was becoming convinced that he was a Cocodona spy. Part of me wanted to warn the other runners about him, but I wasn’t sure how to go about it in this setting without tipping him off that I knew. I said it was nice to meet him and then I threw out the rest of my coffee. Put my headlamp on and checked out with the aid station captain. “226 out.”
As I made my way from the aid-station back to the road I kept looking behind me to make sure he was not following me. I was in the clear. The blast of wind at the top of the mountain certainly woke me up and I knew which direction I had to go to get to the cell towers and then the sky-diving launch pad and where to take a left to head onto the 17-mile trail that descended into the old mining town turned-artist community, Jerome. Just 17-miles of downhill travel and I would be with Kip and Seamus in no time and ready for a proper nap in the back of the rental car.
Or, so I thought. I didn’t realize at that moment, as I braced myself against the wind, and enjoyed a bit of a rush from the instant coffee, just what type of night I would be in for. Ignorance is bliss. At least at that moment it was.
—- Erin Quinn
Previous Cocodona 250 Race Reports and Articles:
Erin Quinn 
Leave a comment