Ridin' The Storm Out

REO Speedwagon released a song titled, “Ridin’ The Storm Out” in 1973.  A couple of years later the live version of that song was recorded at several U.S. concerts and was added to their 1977 album named, “You get what you play for.”  Undoubtedly its the live version that rocks, as songs go, beginning with the the sound of a wailing storm siren.  The lyrics were written after band members survived a snowstorm following an ill-advised hike to the top of a mountain. While I wouldn’t say my plan was ill advised, it could easily be argued that I pushed the limits.  I wanted to winter camp in snow and cold - to ride the storm out as they say.  I probably got more than what I had asked for, with the accent of extremes falling on the snow and cold.

My mid February drive up North was immediately met with snow covered highways and slow traffic.  Stopping for a quick break at the REI store on Madison’s west side, I randomly pulled into the lot since the parking lines were hidden under several inches of white fluff.  I looked around at various selections of gear and settled on a pair of Kühl Renegade brand pants that as advertised promised to be quick-drying, abrasion & water resistant, in addition to being lightweight and built for both action and motion.  They were undoubtedly an excellent addition to my arsenal, especially considering the fact that I had room to wear several layers under them.

Unfortunately I forgot the one thing I had stopped for, a box of hot hand warmers to try to ward off the extreme chill that was promised.  Although my hands happened to survive the trip just fine, my toes would hold some disdain and resentment for a solid 12 to 14 hours regarding my forgetfulness.  They eventually forgave me, but only after I promised to never subject them to such conditions again without adequate defense.  It was probably because I had worn new and exceptionally thick wool socks within a new pair of Rocky-Blizzard Stalker boots - which are both waterproof & insulated with 1,200 grams of Thinsulate mind you.  My toes could at least sense that I had had good intentions of trying to take care of them.  Although I’m a little apprehensive to say it to their “face”, my toes are borderline hyper-sensitive; understandably so after having been frostbitten numerous times back in the day.  It’s a beast to come inside when you’re having fun playing in the snow as a kid, or performing at halftime of a Northern Michigan high school football game during a snowstorm - wearing little more than thin, black, band shoes.  Those are the kind of events that can come back to haunt you when they begin to thaw, or decades later when you’re tucked away in your tent and out in the woods while the snow is falling.  Like the halftime performance, or the last few runs down a hill on a sled, apparently the show had to go on - or so it had seemed like it should at the time!

So on snow covered single lane state highways, and a handful of back country roads, I drove Northwest.  Anything approaching 40 miles per hour felt borderline too fast.  I aimed for the village of LaFarge and the Kickapoo Valley Reserve Visitor Center.  Once I arrived, I came inside and talked to the staff at the front desk.  Like the lady I had talked to on the phone the week before, these people were very friendly and helpful.  I bought a season pass for parking and access; knowing that I would be back in the summer.  I had already reserved my campsite for the night online.  Jason came out of the back offices and went over a map with me so I could see exactly where I could park.  From that point I would sledge my gear down towards the river’s edge.  While I have been to this area numerous times for spring, summer, and autumn trips, this would be my first time camping on the west side of the Kickapoo River; all while in the middle of a winter snowstorm and under arctic temperatures.

I drove a few miles North to where “X marked the spot”; literally since I had reserved campsite X.  It’s the only site in that whole section along the Kickapoo River, and back in off the nearest roads, which helps it feel remote.  Nobody else in their right mind was out there anyways - which probably helped explain a few things!

The access drive went up a steep hill.  It was what allowed farmers to drive equipment into the neighboring fields.  I liked the protection afforded by the hill since it helped hide my old, silver, Jeep Grand Cherokee from passersby down on the small road.  It wasn’t like it was easy to see my vehicle anyway, as the snow was still driving and temperatures were nearing the single digits; far below the 32 degree freezing point for Fahrenheit.

I got out and changed into my cold weather clothes and new pants.  The process was only slightly awkward and chilly.  I tried to quickly warm my fingers and load gear into my sled, peering out over the snowy valley to the east with squinted eyes, and then began trudging through the corn stubble remains of the past season’s harvest.  The hike took me down through a couple of fields and tree lines.  Site X itself is typically only accessed by canoers during warmer weather.  This time of the year the river is sealed under several inches of ice in all but the fastest of currents.

The Frozen Kickapoo River

The site looked good when I arrived, other than the wobbly 30 foot free standing trunk near the tent pad area.  I might have been able to push it over but was nervous that the top might give way and snap off midway up in the process.  You have to think these things through when you’re on your own and the night is quickly approaching.  I decided to pitch my tent within a fairly level cluster of trees and off to the side of the firepit; away from any possible sparks pushed from the light breeze out of the North.  It wasn’t until the following day that I realized that this too was below a large broken branch hanging in the canopy; often referred to as a widowmaker.  Fortunately the wind wasn’t too strong and what you don’t know can’t keep you awake at night.  These are the things I try to learn from though so I can be more vigilant in the future.  If I was a betting man, nobody had probably camped here in almost 4 months, so a lot can happen in the woods in that amount of time with storms and blowdowns.

Once the tent was up, I set about cutting some deadfall into firewood to cook my dinner and heat my body.  It worked on both accounts.  For dinner I had gotten a thin ribeye and wrapped some potatoes in aluminum foil.  I’ve never cooked a steak like that in a skillet before, and in retrospect, I wished I would have stuck with a meal that was tried and true.  It was, however, somewhat edible, and I had accomplished the goal of trying something new.  I made a mental note to myself that it doesn’t take long to cook a steak over a hot fire.  And when scrambling to right that wrong I nearly over cooked my potatoes.  Luckily I’m not picky and can eat most things.  I was getting so cold that I felt like I needed to move quickly from task to task and didn’t have a lot of room for error.

I drank some hot chocolate and took a beautiful evening walk to get blood pumping through my body before packing away the loose gear and getting into my tent.  It was time to hunker down and ride the storm out.  The falling snow was so dry in the extreme cold that it made a cool sound when it built up and slid down off the tent fly.  My tent is by no means a cold weather tent.  It is a shelter, however, and blocks most of the cold breezes and it keeps me dry.  So there’s that.  I imagine that those who have camped in a hot tent with a small stove, experience winter a bit differently.  My experience was intimate, personal, and cold!

It was at about that time that I realized my error in not purchasing hand warmers.  I peeled off my outer layers and jammed them down next to the hot water bottle inside of my sleeping bag, and added a few more clothes, a fresh hat, and dry wool socks.  I had a sleeping pad rated with an r-factor of 2 and an insulated pad rated at 4.8 for a total of 6.8.  The total possible rating was an r-factor of 7, so I felt protected from cold seeping up from the ground.  My sleeping bag, which states that it’s good to 15 degrees F, was wrapped in a double layer of wool blankets.  With the layers I had on I felt fairly confident that I would be protected from the penetrating cold that was certain to come looking for me throughout the night.

I spent a few minutes journaling on my day and then laid down.  It wasn’t rain on a tin roof that lured me to sleep, but I did have the sound of snow plinking off the nylon tent fly.

Give or take, I slept throughout the evening in 2 hour stints; waking to either pee or check out February’s full moon which is ironically known as either the Snow Moon or Hunger Moon.  Both labels were deemed appropriate!

The Full Moon Through The Canopy

Moon Shadows

Once the snow stopped, and the skies cleared, the moon became visible like a huge nightlight in the celestial sky.  It cast dark, distinct shadows like on a hot summer’s day; except it wasn’t.  Temperatures inside the tent hovered at 15-16 degrees.  Outside registered at 0°!  I’ve winter camped before, when outside temperatures were in the teens, but this was going to be at another level.  Honestly, after waking each time, looking around outside of my tent, and then laying back down, my toes struggled for a while before they’d warm up and I’d drift back off to sleep.  Each time the moon was at a different location in its arc across the sky.  If not for my cold toes, I’d have otherwise slept fairly comfortably!

Inside The Tent At Night

Outside The Tent In The Morning

That all changed after getting up at 6:00.  The toes on my right foot just wouldn’t cooperate and warm back up to the point where I could feel them.  They were all done trying to keep up with the rest of the system.  I laid there until 7:00 and then finally got up.  I walked down along the river to a few different places.  The rising sun in the blue skies off the white snow was absolutely blinding and beautiful at the same time.  When I cut across a field to a couple of bluff tops of sandstone that overlooked the Kickapoo, I saw tracks that indicated that the local deer population had had a late night dance party; playing, prancing, and pawing through the snow in search of hidden kernels of corn.  Out on the frozen water, coyotes had used the ice as a highway.  Otters had climbed out of select slots of open water to run and slide to a neighboring hole.  Tracks of all sorts of critters were abundant, but I didn’t risk going out onto the frozen river to identify what I couldn't see with the naked eye.  Brave they were to venture forth in such extreme cold, but I was glad to see signs of life left behind in storybook form.  As the lyrics from REO’s song states, “It’s a hard life to live but it gives back what you give.”  They’re words to live by on multiple levels.

Once back to my campsite I heated water for a bowl of oatmeal with several toppings of fruit, granola, and brown sugar sprinkled together on top.  I may have melted a few small plastic storage containers trying to semi thaw them.  My toes continued to remain numb with cold, but I kept moving and began packing the gear, dismantling my tent, and loading up the sled.  It was hard to believe that my total stay had been less than 24 hours with as much work that I had put into each decision and action, but I felt good about how my winter overnight had gone.  While the cold had been an issue that demanded my continuous attention, the natural beauty around me was unprecedented, and brought to the forefront in the now cloudless, clear, crisp air.  Thank goodness this unique driftless area was saved decades ago from being flooded behind a proposed dam in what is now known as the Kickapoo Valley Reserve and protected by both the State of Wisconsin as well as the Ho-Chunk Nation.

After Coming Down Off The Hill
Where I had Parked For The Night

I was not finished with my outing though, as I still wanted to hike and explore some of the snow covered footpaths.  Upon reaching my Jeep, I brushed off the snow, loaded my gear, and drove to a nearby trailhead.  Once there, I parked and cranked the heat.  I removed my boots, laid my wool socks over the dashboard vents, and wrapped my hands around my toes.  It took a while, and there was some minor pain involved, but I eventually started to regain feeling.  Socks, boots, and snow gaiters were put back on before I stuffed a backpack with a sit pad, small camp stove, my iron frying pan, utensils, and ingredients to make a backcountry skillet.  With that, I hit the trail!

A Massive White Pine Growing
On The Lip Of A Limestone Bluff

The freshly fallen snow emphasized the fact that my human tracks were the only ones out exploring along with the occasional deer, rabbit, squirrel, and curious coyote.  My footsteps squeaked in the several inches of crisp, cold snow and after the first quarter of a mile, I was plenty warm; hiking uphill on the switchbacks.  It was still brisk to say the least, with temperatures in the low single digits, but I was content to see the sun as I hiked along the trail.

While walking, I only stopped once when I checked out some deer beds left behind by a small herd that had been hunkered down in the snow, but scared off by my approach.  At the one mile mark, I stood on a bluff overlooking a distant valley that faced in two different directions.  Clearing away some snow, I broke out my stove and set aside the necessary ingredients for a skillet breakfast.  As I cooked the potatoes and cubed up Johnsonville brat, I had to place the eggs with them - still in their shell.  They had froze of course and broke through their shell as the insides expanded.  Eventually they were added after they thawed.  Once cooked, I sat on a downed log and ate; savoring both the moment and the experience.  It’s one I won’t soon forget!

Thawing Frozen Eggs!

My Classic Backcountry Skillet

As the time edged into mid afternoon, I began the return hike with the sun high above me.  I was glad for my sunglasses with the glaring reflection off the snow.  Even with the lingering frigid temperatures, I could feel my face being slightly sunburnt.  Being cold was now a forgotten memory as I was easily generating heat, trudging through the winter wonderland.  On my drive back home, I again stopped by the Kickapoo Valley Reserve Visitor Center.  I talked a little bit to some of the workers at the information desk and filled them in with a few of the details from my overnight.  They had wondered how it had gone.  I looked through their museum area that explained the land, the water, and its history.  I also bought a T-shirt to commemorate my excursion.

A Display Marking High Water
Floods From Previous Years

As outings go it had arguably been a bit on the extreme side of an adventure.  And although not perfect, it went about as well as I could have hoped for as I settled in, camped alongside the frozen river, and found myself ridin’ the storm out!

See you along The Way…

And I’m not missin’ a thing

Watching the full moon crossing the range

Ridin’ the storm out

Ridin’ the storm out

(Lyrics from REO Speedwagon)

CLINK ON THE LINK AND CRANK IT UP!

Concurrently

It was a beautiful day today as early spring days go.  The fact that the sky was cloudless and the temperature was above freezing didn’t hurt.  Plus, the winds were moderate to calm, which was a change of pace from the gale force tempest we’d been having to endure for the last week or two.

After a morning run, and watching the Iowa women win their first game of the NCAA Basketball Tournament, I started gathering together my outdoor gear.  While prepping, I called and talked to my Dad to catch up on life.  I also texted with my cousin Sean to let him know that I planned to head out to the woods to cook up some venison of his - from a deer he had harvested an autumn or two ago.

He didn’t exactly give the venison to me, but his Dad offered me some of it during a visit - to help clear out a little space in his freezer where it had been stored for a period of time.  I appreciated being the recipient of the decluttering, and was finally in the perfect position to put the meat to good use!  Thanks Uncle Bob!

Sean said he might go out too, make some coffee, and read a book; both of us thinking that we’d take our dogs, and soak up some sun and vitamin D.  The temperatures promised to be in the mid to upper 40’s.  Although we’d both be heading out to the woods at the same time, we’d unfortunately be on opposite sides of the big puddle called Lake Michigan - and a mere 337 miles away (from point to point) of where we each planned to set up our day camp.  Even though we were far away from each other, we'd be enjoying the outdoors concurrently.

After parking, pulling on my new hip boots, and hoisting my pack, Kora heeled and trotted alongside my left flank.  I figured that I’d wear the hip boots in case I had to slog through any water and also to ward off any early season ticks.  I had my pant legs tucked within my thick wool socks and down inside the boots as an extra precaution.  Kora had her monthly tick & flea treatments as a defense, plus I’d check her over as soon as we were back home and I’d brushed her out.

Once we were through a water filled ditch we plunged into a thicket of prickly ash.  You have to duck and dodge the branches like a prize fighter to keep from getting poked or maimed by the thorns in those woods, which is why I like to periodically go there, nobody else attempts it!

There’s a massive sycamore tree back in that section of woods that sits on the bank of an old oxbow.  The base of the trunk is 4 to 5 feet in diameter and its bone white branches raise their arms in perfect praise to the heavens.  You can almost hear its sigh of relief at not having to worry about strong currents eroding its roots any longer.  It’s content to sit and bask in the setting sun and find liquid nourishment beside calm water that is little more than a kidney shaped pond; once an outside bend to the bigger river now a couple hundred yards away.

As Kora sniffed and explored, I cleared away a few branches and set out both her flannel lined blanket and my sit pad.  We would relax together as I studied from the book entitled, Aldo Leopold: The Man And His Legacy.  With the sun on my side and the Grandfather Tree at my back, I read about Leopold’s quest to set aside wilderness.  According to Craig W. Allin, “Leopold was pioneering the science of wildlife management.” (26)  Before Leopold, wildlife was simply known as game.  Resources were often taken for granted and the relationships misunderstood (i.e. the erosion of soil & the elimination of predators).  Leopold himself enjoyed hunting and fishing, and recognized the need for raw materials, but was also trying to learn how things could be governed with responsible stewardship - animals, plants, and the entire genre of living and nonliving entities.  This was something that the native peoples of our land had always understood; as their lives were interconnected and dependent with the land & water.  As Aldo studied and gained knowledge, he made some mistakes, and found himself in the midst of a learning curve early on, but as Allin also wrote, “It [Aldo’s message] was, at its core, a plan for natural and cultural diversity and an effort to stimulate effective political demand for wilderness as a critical element in that diversity.” (29)

At the time, this was new thinking and the foundation of what was to become Aldo Leopold’s “Land Ethic.”  The idea of renewing ecosystems and healing what had been exploited was revolutionary, because prior to this mankind simply moved further into the landscape to find more of what had become scarce in their present setting.  A yeoman's share of his ecological journey took place in the 1920’s, and yet the struggle to put some of these crucial concepts into place continues even today - over a hundred years later!  Susan Flader wrote about Aldo’s goal even further when she explained, “He would motivate not by inciting fear of ecological catastrophe or indignation… but rather by leading people from esthetic appreciation through ecological understanding to love and respect.” (23)  Can you imagine such a thing?  What a novel idea to move away from attempting to force feed others into a platonic relationship with the outdoors, and instead, create a positive and intimate association with nature that leads to an an intricate understanding of how land and water - in conjunction with the biotic (living) and abiotic (nonliving) - must work together!  Wouldn’t you want to learn more about such things under those conditions?  He’d be the kind of teacher we’d all want to have; the outdoors as our classroom!

As Sean walked with his dog Kali in a grove of white pines, I put aside my book and started a fire from flint and steel; fueled by dead and dried branches that had fallen from the sycamore's canopy.  I had snowshoed with Kora in deep snow a few winters back, to this very spot, to cook a breakfast skillet.  Today I was moving concurrently with my cousin who was a half day’s travel away, but contiguous to the bank alongside the familiar oxbow; same place - different season.

Kali & Sean Hiking Into Their Base-camp

To the venison in the iron skillet I added a shredded potato, and eventually a diced onion; pulling aside some of it to avoid giving Kora the onion which apparently isn’t good for dogs.  The venison, which had come from a rather big 7 point buck, had been mixed with some pork during processing to add flavor and to keep it from drying out.  Once it was ready, I added a sprinkling of Colby Jack cheese.  Kora and I ate as the sun began to settle into the treetops beyond the still water.  Sean had his hammock up and was reading.

Sean And His 2022 Buck

My Plate Of Venison Hash

Sean's Hammock Near Day's End

In the distance I heard the booming calls of a barred owl.  Somewhere this raptor had a clutch of eggs that would soon hatch.  Canadian geese honked overhead in conjunction with the whistling of wind through wood duck wings, peeping at me as they searched for safe backwaters.  Surprisingly, a decent sized painted turtle paddled by; sticking his head above the tensioned surface to peer at me.  Just two weeks ago this water was covered in thick ice and the turtle was buried deep in mud and decaying leaves.  A fat headed bullfrog, still in tadpole form, propelled out from the shoreline and into deeper water.  Birds chirped and a few flies buzzed the tower of the nearby bushes.

As I leaned against the tree and drank my hot cocoa, Sean pulled Kali onto his lap to swing in the hammock and watch the final rays of the setting sun.  I pushed my books, cookware, and various supplies back into my pack, and in the growing shadows, began the hike back to my old silver Jeep.  It was an afternoon of hope for warmer weather, something we appreciate in the Midwest’s changing seasons.  Especially after the excitement for fresh snowfall has worn out its welcome.  It’s something that Sean and I both, even two states away, could enjoy concurrently.

See you along The Way…

Enjoying The Setting With Some Cocoa

Kali & Sean In Southern Michigan

Kora & Me In Northern Illinois

Out On The Trail - Running With My Son

The Run Clark Lake 12K (7.5 Miles)
2015 - 10 Years Ago Now
After Todd's HS Graduation

I was a kid who grew up in the country.  I ran.  Once upon a time it’s what kids pretty much always did as a part of play.  The first time I ran as a matter of exercising, aside from getting from one place to another, was with my Dad; down the gravel dirt road we lived on along the ridge above Sparr, Michigan.  It was a tough way to start running as it was all downhill in the beginning.  It made you feel fast though!  The problem was that eventually you had to turn around and head back home.  The hills were steeper back then; albeit I was also smaller.  I went back that way a few years ago; they’ve graded the second hump of that road down considerably.  My guess is that since a couple of people elected to build homes on the north side of the second knoll, they decided to knock off the low visibility crown as a safety precaution.  That particular run was a starting point, however; both for me and the running craze of the 1970’s. (If you’re interested, I once wrote about my start to running in a 2016 blog entry found here: Running-Part#1: The History)

Over the decades of my life, running has taken on different looks, and appearances; sometimes a masquerade to what I’m feeling on the inside.  While the history of my running is something I’ve often felt good about and am proud of, I have also been known to peek down that narrow corridor shrouded in scary shadows; where I’m marred by injuries or frustrated by goals or training.  Fortunately some of that history isn’t all about me, and as we know, a fresh display of sunlight helps burn away the mold of disappointment.  Enter our kids!

My wife Cindy and I spent some great years following our son and daughter to high school cross country and track meets in addition to numerous summer road races.  It was fun to cheer and support them during those years; something we always looked forward to on race day!  Their running was an avenue (or trail) to a bigger picture, where they learned about motivation, discipline, teamwork, and everything in between.  Running the paths and trails of a cross country course was a favorite for our kids.  It helped that they had great coaches that encouraged them and the team.  As parents, we couldn’t have asked for too much more!

Both In Tears
From Pride & Exhaustion
Todd Runs 17:03 (5:41 minute/miles)
For His Fastest XC Meet Ever!
Senior Year - October 4th, 2014

When our son Todd graduated from high school, he decided to run XC (cross county) his freshman year in college.  He was running so much that fall of 2015 that it made for an easy jump into a half marathon race.  I did some research and found one in Waukesha, Wisconsin called the “Last Call Half Marathon,” that was held the first Saturday of December; a perfect time following his cross country season.  That day we earned our medals, running an average of 7:26 minute miles and finishing in 1:37:37.  It was a great race and moment to share together!

Last Call 1/2 Marathon - 2015

I’ve continued running that race ever since.  I enjoy both the course and the community.  When running that half marathon I carry memories of others I’ve run that race with; typically in cold, snowy, or blustery weather!  My daughter Jodi and I ran it in 2016 after her senior year of high school cross country.  It was a race where we started with dry ground and finished with several inches of snow.  I’ve also run it with teaching colleagues I’ve trained with all year long, as well as with former students; now grown adults.

After having a rough second half of running in 2023, when I was battling injuries and the effects of Lyme Disease, my son Todd asked me to join him in running a mid November 2023 run called the, "Abominable Trail Race”.  I was able to piece together an ample amount of training to feel like I could give the 5 kilometer race its due justice.

Race day for the Abominable was pretty darn cold and we nearly froze waiting for our start.  They had fires and heaters available to help ward off the below freezing temperature while we waited, but those were over taken by non-running spectators who were thoroughly enjoying themselves!  Fortunately the race was worth the time it took to start.

November 2023

Todd and I wound through the woods and single track paths in the hills around Lake Geneva, Wisconsin that day; finishing together for our first tandem race in the eight years since the 2015 half marathon.  That race, in retrospect, was also a kick-start to what we’ve been able to run these last 6 months.

While most of 2024 was a bit of a blur, I was able to get into a consistent routine of running.  Once Todd and his wife Emeris returned from Africa this past fall, where they work on Kijani Farm, he decided to once again join me in running the Last Call Half Marathon.   Training for him amounted to a self proclaimed, “Two Month - Couch to Race” program to be ready for the December first, 13.1 mile run.  To be fair, he was in decent shape and regularly played basketball and disc golf.

For me, the joy was in seeing Todd reconnect with a talent.  And while we were able to meet up and run on several different occasions over the weekends this past fall, he was finding self motivation to run and explore different routes where he could train on his own throughout the week.  Following an October weekend of running in Waco, Texas while we visited my daughter Jodi and son-in-law David, Todd and I met in Lake Geneva for two favorite training runs in November along the lakeshore path.  We hammered out a run of 10 miles one weekend as well as a 12 miler that took us all the way to Williams Bay and back.  Running was a side gig to simply spend time with my son; both of us talking and listening.  It was the venue that allowed us to spend time together, and I could learn what he was thinking about in relation to life and a host of other related topics.

Todd & Me Running With David
In Hot Waco Texas
October 2024

Todd & Me - On A Training Run
Along Lake Geneva's Shoreline Path
November 2024

For the half marathon weekend it was really cold!  Although sunny, the temperature read 12 degrees.  But with the wind, it felt like zero!  Due to the frigid weather, the race coordinator had us run 3 sets of a boomerang shaped course with the start/finish at the midpoint.  This was opposed to running a long way out and back where people could be dangerously stranded far from help; not a good situation when a person is already sweaty!  On the plus side, this allowed my wife Cindy and daughter-in-law Emeris to stay hunkered down in the car and watch us each time we passed.  It was the first time that Emeris had an opportunity to see Todd race.  We finished in basically the top third of the runners with a time of 1 hour and 53 minutes and felt good about the way we had run together under those conditions (I also managed 2nd place in my 55-59 age group).

Cindy, Me, Todd, & Emeris
Bundled For The Cold
At The 2024 Last Call 1/2 Marathon

With that longer race under our belt, we decided to sign up for the “Frozen Gnome” 10 kilometer race (6.2 miles) in Crystal Lake, Illinois.  I’ve also run this race on several occasions over the years.  It’s really well organized, has awesome shirts and medals, and is a tough course; up and down steep hills on what sometimes amounts to single track deer paths.  It’s like the good ole days of running in the woods as a kid!  Todd was familiar with the race site of Veteran Acres Park. It was where he and Emeris had their engagement pictures taken in the summer of 2019 - that was after Todd gave Emeris the engagement ring (ironically) on the Lake Geneva shoreline path where we had trained back in November.

Throughout December and into January, Todd and I continued to workout on our own during the week and then met in Crystal Lake to practice running the race trails on Saturday mornings.  A few of those training runs were brutally cold, but it was easier to run motivated with a partner; especially when we’d go out for breakfast afterward.  Chalk up a tally mark in the win column for community events bringing in revenue!

On Saturday, January 11th we got up (really) early and met in the lot next to Veteran Acres Park so we could pick up our Frozen Gnome race packet presented by OMR (Ornery Mule Racing).  For the race itself I decided to wear my “Runner's Image” dry-fit shirt.  I’ll probably have more to say about that in a later blog, but suffice to say, I wore it to honor the (now closed) locally owned running store by that name - whose staff had been there for our family since my wife and I settled in the Stateline area back in the late 1980’s.  It was the least that I could do to represent!

Although I had felt dizzy the day before the race, I was fortunate that it wasn’t an issue while we ran the trails.  With the narrowness of the paths, Todd led and I followed.  We jumped out to a quick start to avoid the bottleneck in the beginning, but then settled into a consistent rhythm.  Runner’s from the longer 50K race were mingled with the 10K that we ourselves were running, but together we were trail runners; which can be a unique group all of their own.

The 2025 Frozen Gnome

The details for that race are that we finished together in 19th and 20th place (3rd in my 50-59 age group and 1st in Todd’s 20-29 age bracket).  The course was technical as trail runs go, which was accented by the light snowfall, but it was also deeply gratifying.  I was running with my son.  My son who had once again found running and was loving both the training and the process.

Not only had we been able to share the experiences of running together, but as I watched him run ahead of me that wintery day, I noticed something else.  Within Todd’s cadence, style, and personality, I could pinpoint certain aspects of Cindy and I as well.  While he leapt logs, weaved around trees, and nimbly cascaded down steep inclines, I saw Cindy’s tenacity and fortitude as his foundation; both he and my wife find ways to forge ahead - even when life is difficult and tough.  At the same time, I could see a bit of myself in his running that day.  He talked easily as the miles clicked by; checking in and encouraging me as we worked up and down the hills.  And when we passed a herd of deer watching us from the side, he raised his hands in thankfulness and spoke softly to them; just as I had done during a practice run a week or so beforehand.  Todd gets it.  He understands the physical and mental lift that running can offer.  And although there are always ups and downs involved with an activity, running can gift us little things we can benefit from while out on the trail; and that’s important.  It’s been memorable running with my son.

See you along The Way…

Rockford Register Star
Father-Son Look Alike Contest
June 2005