The Big Alta
A 2-year-old classic
Last year I ran the inaugural Big Alta 50k on a perfect February California day. This year I ran the Big Alta 28k on a perfect March California day. I got 2nd place in both races in very similar ways, and had an amazing time both times. The race is in northern Marin County on perfect California singletrack and dirt roads, with some good climbing and descending, epic views, a finish line vibe second to none, and friends from all over kicking off the trail running season (is that a thing anymore? It seems like the “season” is all year). There’s great media presence, fast competition, Chinese food at the end, and most importantly (as previously mentioned) it’s in northern California in early spring time. Enough said.
To be honest, the only reason I signed up for the 28k this year is because my friend and training partner Ryan Hoeck was talking shit and said he could beat me. So I signed up to shut him up, and then he “got sick” and didn’t even show up. Since Black Canyon 100k in February, I recovered for a few weeks and then tragically hurt my foot right after I signed up for Big Alta about 3 weeks before the race. On a cold, windy, gloomy day I was running on my home trails down a steep and frozen dirt road, slipped, and fell in a strange contortionist position that I can’t describe except that my foot twisted weirdly. I had to take the better part of two weeks off, beleaguered by a swollen and painful big toe joint and top of foot that may or may not be broken in some way.
That being said, I didn’t have the highest of hopes for performing well at Big Alta, especially considering the steep dirt road downhills that required 5 minute miles to keep up with the fast boys. I decided to give it a go anyways, because my foot was (mostly) fine a few days before the race and because California sounded nice. I loaded up my car on Saturday and headed over Donner Pass and way down the western slope and through the ever-widening turmoil of Sacramento. Traffic, strip malls, angry motorists, construction zones. And then into the hills north of San Francisco: paradise, heaven, utopia, Eden. Bright green hillsides, intermingled pine and oak trees, happy cows, bubbling creeks, quaint $10 billion houses and ranches. My dog Pike sat happily in the passenger seat, smelling the spring fragrance of the coastal hills out the window. We headed to the beach in Point Reyes, a world-famous beautiful site that has understandably strict usage requirements. Pike had never been to the beach before, and I’m really not sure if salt water and sand is his forte. Never mind, we had a stupendous time.
Understandably, and necessarily, camping and car sleeping is intensely regulated in this part of the world. The beauty shan’t be marred by van lifers! So we headed to the neighborhood in Marinwood where the Big Alta started the next day, found a cozy cul-de-sac, and slumbered peacefully in the back of the Honda Passport. This isn’t an ad, but the Passport is great. I’m 6’ and can sleep without being diagonal in the back.
The next day was the 28k, preempted by a jog, a breakfast, a bib pickup, and greetings from friends that were also racing and ones that had raced the 50k the day before. They typical pre-race buzz was nice, but was derivative of the perfection of the cool California morning. What bliss. The racers lined up, pretended to listen to a speech, and the figurative gun went off.
We began in a pack, Andy Wacker, Johen Deleon, Paddy O’leary, Ben Robinson, Brody Barkan, others. Chatting for about a mile, and then the course went uphill and the group splintered into pieces pretty quickly. Andy and Johen went charging ahead, and I led a stretching chase pack that lost a few people off the back every minute or so. This section is composed of a mix of steepish fire roads, flat to gradual uphills on perfect winding singletrack through oak forests, some random fast downhills (one of which I fell pretty hard on when I slipped on mud on a quick right-hand turn), and views in every direction. A few times I glanced up ahead and saw that Andy had disappeared from view already, and Johen was not far ahead of me. Up we went into the fog, a respite from the sun. The top of Loma Alta was clad in a thick blanket of dense fog, hiding Johen from sight but adding a dramatic ambience to the race.
One thing about this part of California: there are almost no rocks, and the trails are almost too perfect. As such, the downhills are steep fire roads with no obstacles except for damaged quads and wimpiness. I tried to ignore both and bombed down to the halfway aid station as fast as I could. I saw Johen leave the aid station, and I hustled through without grabbing anything. I was carrying 2 soft flasks in a belt, one with a liter of Hyperlyte and one small one with 500 mL of water, and a couple gels. This was plenty for a short race so I just blasted through and started the long and gradual climb up Big Rock. This is the kind of climb I really like, gradual and consistent with epic views of the fog layer, dives in and out of oak groves, and the part of the race where you have no choice but to run as hard as you can. I came upon Johen pretty quick and passed quickly, foolishly hoping that I would soon come upon Andy in the same way.
I had a great climb, and then began the famously difficult Big Rock Ridge section. This part looks like one long downhill on the course profile, but in actuality is broken into ferociously steep dirt road downhills interspersed with 200-300 foot steep uphill kickers that not very nice. I saw plenty of friends on this ridge, all of whom lied to me and told me Andy was only 2 minutes ahead. If I pushed hard maybe I could get him? Last year I passed into second on the final downhill after the guy ahead of me blew up. No dice. Andy was actually 7 minutes ahead of me and doesn’t know how to bonk. I pounded down the vertical dirt road back into the neighborhood and rushed to the finish line in second place in 1:55. I was mighty pleased with this, especially that my foot held it together. Running hard and healthy in the California sunshine is a true blessing.
Finish line. Notice how green the ground is!
The rest of the morning was spent celebrating, socializing, eating, all the typical trappings of a trail race finish line. Vibes sky high, in short. Pike did great in the car in the shade, and we drove back over the hill in good spirits. Another race, another great experience, another time connecting with great people, and eyes forward. Freetrail and Daybreak Racing know how to put on a race-I’m sure I will be back at this one.
