Was it as epic as expected? You bet. There were packs of wild dogs, gators lying in wait in the shallow ditches of Abita Springs, machete-wielding vagabonds hiding under the overpass, and, of course, 9 pairs of utterly destroyed feet.
As you might expect, this group of men started out strong. After a quick COT where Tank prayed us in with blessings and thoughts of safety, we set out. At this point there was still a good deal of revelry happening on Girod Street, where Sips of the Season was winding down and more than a few men were teetering in and out of bars. Caught one doing the sidewalk, using the hedges to try and keep upright. Little did we know we’d have roughly the same gait by the end of the night.
But we passed the revelry with a smile and a bounce in our step, ready to tackle the road ahead. Gideon – the Navy Seal of Netflix and Pizza – got the party started with a killer mix, and we were off. Running now at a brisk pace, more than a few of us looked around and wondered, “Wait, didn’t we say we were walking this thing?”
Getting to the Abita Trailhead (approx 9.5 miles in) was relatively quick. Took a short break (with open facilities near midnight, no less), and forged ahead. Now here’s where things started getting dicey. Jose and Moby had decided early on that they’d keep at a brisk walking pace, and so the rest of the overzealous gang started seeing a bit of separation from them. A few of us would run back and check in but eventually they seemed to be going pretty steady, and so everyone just kept moving. Shortly after hitting the Abita trailhead, the trace goes pretty dark, a little less residential, and a lot more wooded. Being the merry band of travelers that we were, we happened to rouse a few wild dogs in the woods. Tank was in the lead when the barking began, and when it was clear they were following us, he quickly circled back to the group ready for war. The dogs stayed with us for a block or so, obscured by the woods, with Tank flashing his lights in and catching the glint of at least 5 pairs of eyes. As you can imagine, Tank was fired up. He flipped his headlamp into strobe mode (hoping to give our canine friends a seizure, or at the very least some confusion), Speedy pulled out a small knife, and there was a good half hour discussion on the weapons that would need to be crafted for the return trip through that section (Spears, bats with barbed wire, you get the idea). The dogs probably sensed all the testosterone and fell back as we forged ahead. (Either that or they were simply residential dogs behind a wire fence that couldn’t we couldn’t see, but hey, not a theory YHC was ready to verify!)
Soon thereafter we reached The Gipper and collectively felt pretty darn good about ourselves. Roughly halfway and everyone was still feeling fresh. Moby had been picked up by Vickie in Abita Springs and it was time to check in with Jose, who had now been traveling solo for a few miles. Tank was quite worried about the pack of wild dogs, and sent Jose an urgent text message warning him of the dangers ahead. Unfortunately, some other “Richard” in Tank’s address book would be receiving that midnight message about the wild dogs of Abita, os Tank was not wearing his reading glasses at the time. For some reason, YHC imagines that other Richard will not be that surprised.
Hammer kept it old school and broke out the Big League Chew, and after another short break, the men turned back to head for Mandeville. Covington turned out to be just as active as Girod street had been hours ago – and, with all the drunken revelry surrounding us, more than a few men were reminded of the time we bear crawled down Bourbon Street for the Grow Ruck.
Apparently Jose had turned on the heat after passing Abita as we caught him just a few yards shy of the infamous Butter Krisp and, for a brief moment, the group was in tact. At some point YHC got a little too close to a gator, who’s loud dash into the ditch sent me nearly knocking over Wacker. (A scene reminiscent of that Captain Sparkles surprise attack at the Scramble.).
Tank, Jose, and YHC eventually slowed down while the rest of the gang moved onward at a steady clip.
Jose was undaunted by all Frank’s talk of rabid dogs, and in fact, he started heckling them as we got close. Tank tried to quiet him and Jose said hey, if a dog attacked him, he’d sue the hell out of the owners. Tank explained that it was a poor area and he probably wouldn’t get much. Jose said, “That’s fine, I’ll liquidate their assets.”
Tank’s reply?
“I’ll liquidate those dogs’ nuts if I have to.” Cue the grunting and strobing headlamps.
Meanwhile, Speedy hit a physical and mental wall at Koop Drive and wasn’t sure he’d be able to continue. The men stopped to support him, but not for long, as Speedy drew down deep, found some reserves, and pushed ahead.
Tank, Jose and I made it through Abita without incident, and, after telling the legend of the machete man who lives under the overpass, we started approaching Koop Dr. Once there, Jose told Tank and I to turn it on, that he’d be fine the rest of the way.
Took a bit to catch up with the rest of the men, who had adopted a new strategy in our absence – run a song / walk a song. This was a total crapshoot with Gideon’s mix, knowing that there’d an 8-minute Rebirth song hitting at some point. But it was a great distraction and we quickly found our way to Grandmother’s tunnel for a photo op, before hitting the Mandeville trailhead.
Another break, Butt Splice bandaged a badly blistered foot, and onward we went.
It all got a bit blurry at this point, but here are a few things I remember: Tank and Bush passing me at the lakefront for their final mile, doing it at an under 8 minute pace; the heroic image of Speedy, who thought he was done 10 miles back, running to Survivor with fists in the air to the finish line; Splice, feet wounded but patiently awaiting the sunrise that would bring his hour-long Q.
The entire group finally laid out on the lakefront lawn, just in time for Garfield to show up, stretching for the a Saturday morning pre-thang. To no one’s surprise, Tank ran the pre-thang like he hadn’t just run/walked 33 miles. And then, Splice Q’d the hourlong beatdown like the beast that he is, and unabashedly included many, many box jumps.
33 miles. 1/3 of our final goal, and it was hard. Really hard. The road ahead to the hundo is dark, and yet because of you guys, YHC is undaunted. This night made us stronger, more prepared, and more knowledgeable. Most of all, it made us realize the incredible fortitude of the men around us. Success or failure, Hundo, here we come.
