Western States

Part I: Mile 0-56

Western States is a 100-mile race from Olympic Valley to Auburn. In fall of 2020 as Bishop was full of smoke from the Creek fire, Matt, Ari and I decided to try to give this trail a try. Typically the race is run in the summer. Unless you are an elite athlete, it takes many years and thousands of dollars in race fees to qualify. We decided to attempt the course in the self-supported style instead of spending years trying to qualify for the race. Compared to other 100-200 mile trails in California (TRT, JMT etc.), there are far less people hiking this trail. We met no other thru hikers, and only a handful of hunters the whole time out on the trail. In a few years this trail will no doubt be a hiker highway as longer hikes continue to become more popular.

In keeping with the style of the race, we aimed for the 30 hour cutoff. In contrast to most racers, we did not do any running to prepare for this trip. We did get a fair bit of hiking in during the summer, but smoke kept us from doing much for the month leading up to the trip. The decision to do this hike was made the day before, which lead to us only getting a few hours of sleep at the trailhead.

We started around 2am. Our friend John was nice enough to join us for the first few hours climbing up to the top of Palisades, Tahoe. We said goodbye to John and started to jog down the western slope of the Sierra. All was going well and we were keeping the pace for the first 45 miles or so. Knee pain began to set in and we decided to keep the running to a minimum.

Around mile 45 Ari told us she wanted to quit the hike due to severe pain. I was feeling good (mostly because of ibuprofen and caffeine), but decided to hike out with her. We hiked with Matt for a few more miles and then sent him off alone as the sun set. As the caffeine wore off I grew increasingly more and more delirious. We camped in the dirt on the side of the trail around mile 54 or so. The next morning we walked (limped) to the small town of Michigan Bluff. We got word from Matt that he had not been able to finish the trail either. We got a hitch into Foresthill and Matt picked us up, generously driving all the way back to my car in Tahoe.

Overall Western States is a beautiful trail, and I’d recommend hiking it (even if you don’t qualify for the race). If I was to attempt it again, I’d probably slow down and do it over 3-4 days.

Part II Mile 56-78, 99-100

Nearly six years later, I returned to Western States to pace my friend Yiran. On the first day I drove up from an obscure campspot on National Forest land outside of Oakhurst. I drove up the beautiful CA 49, and as I approached Auburn, saw lots of runners out and about. I headed up to Foresthill, and did the 6 mile section from Foresthill to Michigan Bluff (where I had quit the trail earlier). I got a hitch back to my car, and spent the night at a hotel down in Auburn.

The next day, I met up with Yiran’s friends Sophia and Brian, we drove to meet Yiran at mile 30. It was wild to be here in the same spot again. The course awoken from its yearlong slumber, for one day a year by thousands of spectators. Suddenly Killian was running by, and Jim Walmsley, and Molly Seidel, and Tara Dower. All these larger than life people I’d only seen through screens jogged in stopped for a few seconds, and jogged off, looking fresh as ever.

When Yiran came in, he was not in a good place. His hip was throbbing and he had found some large branches to use as trekking poles. We talked him through as best we could, and sent him on his way. By the looks of it, he would be struggling to beat the cutoff times.

We took the bus and drove back to Auburn. The whole main street was alive with people and hubbub. Just a few hours after leaving mile 30, the lead pack was bearing down on mile sixty. Crowds lined the street to cheer them through. Each runner was followed closely by their crew, as this is one of two miles where crew is allowed to run with the runner. But in addition to crew, each runner was surrounded by a veritable paparazzi — brand wearing runner looking types with iPhones and gimbals, trying to get a few second shot of the runners running down the street. It was all just bizarre, the circus of brands and cameras such as far cry from how I had experienced this trail before.

Many of the runners were clad in bizarre looking “ACG” clothing. Shirts with holes in them, brightly colored billboards for different brands. All totally unnecessary gear, clearly designed to stand out and sell things, rather than to be functional. The more I looked around, the more I saw that was the true purpose of the whole event, or what it had become anyways. After watching “The Century of Self” earlier in the year, I saw this more and more. All the random niche interests that had sprung up, immediately followed by a whole cadre of companies selling to this niche interest. The runner identity was fully for sale here. Me and you will likely never be able to go toe to toe with the big dogs at Western States. To all these companies, that is a feature not a bug. Maybe if the spectator buys a shirt with holes in it, they too can run like the wind. Maybe if the scroller sees a one second clip of someone running at Western States, they will want to buy whatever brand the person was wearing. Thus a simple sport like running becomes just another side of the many sided machine.

I had lunch at a chinese restaurant and felt a lot better. Clax would be here soon, and I would get to run with him for 17 miles. His parents arrived, and I ate even more delicious Chinese food. They insisted over and over that the food was terrible in their humble way, but of course it was delicious. I jogged up to the edge of town to wait for him with part of the rest of the crew. He jogged out of the forest, and I was filled with tremendous energy. Soon we were all running down the pavement. The crowd had subsided, the paparazzi had moved on, but it was still electric. Every ounce of my being those next 17 miles was funneled into supporting Yiran in whatever way possible, encouragement, carrying things, talking strategy etc. The dark side of the race I had noticed was but a distant memory now. All of the aid stations were full of lovely people who also were funneling every ounce of their being into the runners. We all willed Yiran on, and somehow, he began to pass dozens of runners. His pace quickened, and he was now chasing down a sub 24 finish.

We ran along those rolling golden hills, slowly snaking our way down to the American River, and into the red and then blue hues of the setting sun. The sunset, and the last aid station was lighted by fairy lights, beckoning to us from around the bend. We pushed into the darkness and onto down to the river, where I would bid Yiran farewell. I mustered up the last stoke I had and sent him off with a rousing speech. The other pacers would take over from here. I watched him and Brian cross the river, and Sophia and I drove back to the hotel to get a few hours of sleep.

Three hours later, our alarms went off. “Yiran is going to finish in 30 minutes”, Sophia told me. We rushed out of the hotel and through the maze like streets of Auburn. I parked the car on some cul-de-sac, and ran at a good clip back up the course. I found the rest of the group, and soon we were all hooting and hollering, running the last mile with Yiran. At 3:30am, he started to sprint around the track so fast, half the crew couldn’t keep up. I ran with him until the 50, and peeled off. 22.5 hours later, Yiran had run from Palisades to Auburn, over the Sierra Crest, and through a lot of pain. Hugs, congratulations, and the like ensued. Everyone was completely exhausted but very happy for Clax. I drove back to my parent’s house into the predawn night, and fell asleep in the driveway.

I still have 21 miles to go to finish my section hike. Hopefully I can finish it this winter.