Le Blond: RIP

Another climbing legend is gone. Details are completely lacking but a French newspaper has reported that rock legend Patrick Edlinger passed away last week, well before his time at 52. It does not seem as though it was climbing related.

Edlinger was a pioneer in the sport climbing movement but will be most remembered for his soloing on film, as well as his amazingly fluid style, which seemed to matter more to him than his achievements as he once said, "(sic) To only reach the top is a waste of time. What's important is that we do it in a way that is pleasing." DPM has a great compilation of his videos here. The one I've posted is a very French look at one of his rampages around the US, doing all of our hardest climbs at the time.

Sadly, there's no 'net postings of his showing at the first World Cup climbing competition in the US. This is the place I first saw him climb and it had a huge impression on me. Not only did he dominate the field, he did it as though God was on his side. After two days of climbing in dark cloudy conditions, the sun decided to make an appearance only after "The Dreammaker" (a name that seemed to be made up by CBS) latched the jug at the very lip of a huge roof, which not only lit up his face and highlighted his flowing blond locks, but sealed his victory and electrified the crowd. It was the stuff of legend, but only another day in the life of Le Blond. May he rest in peace.

If You Knew Caballo Blanco You Won

My friend Micah True (aka Caballo Blanco) passed away while on a run in the wilds of New Mexico last week. After an exhaustive search he was found by one of his closest friends with no injury, plenty of water, and no sign of struggle. Apparently he died peacefully doing what he lived for: running free.

Why an obit would make the Friday Psyche isn’t a question if you knew him. His infectious enthusiasm will live on. The common sentiment among the Mas Locos (a group of his closest running friends) was how fitting it was that he died doing what he loved. But amongst the tributes one person sorted out our true feelings when he said “what’s most impressive is that he lived doing what he loved.” That’s why he will always be an inspiration.

Caballo Blanco was the protagonist in Christopher McDougall’s (El Oso – Micah liked referring to everyone by a totem) book Born to Run. Portrayed as a mythical hero, who ran like a ghost through the remote Copper Canyons of Mexico aiding the Tarahumara’s (or Raramuri – “the running people”) fight against extinction, it was the stuff of legend. It was also true.



The Caballo Blanco I knew, however, wasn’t the reticent character in the book. He was gregarious and full of passion, which didn’t take me long to find out. After finishing Born to Run I decided to use the interweb to see just how hard the guy really was to track down. Turned out he had a web site. Seemingly only a few seconds after hitting send on an email I had a chat request from one Micah True. Ironically, the ghost-like character that El Oso had spent a couple hundred pages trying to find was contacting me less than five minutes after I’d begun searching. In the years since I probably haven’t gone more than a few weeks without hearing what he’s up to.

Oddly I never met him. We often seemed to be in the same places at different times. I made it down to the Barrancas (local’s reference to Barrancas del Cobre—Copper Canyon) a few years back but had to leave the day before we were to rendevous for one of the pre-race hikes. My dog had a stroke and I headed north. On the bus leaving Creel I received a simple note from El Caballo supporting my choice, “Dog is great.”

Like many of the Mas Locos, as soon as I heard he was missing I offered to help. I was in LA and had to get back to Utah, by which time many Mas Locos were already en route. I put myself on call with the SAR team, packed my van with rescue gear, and drove south to get closer should I be needed. My wife and I spoke about the possibilities. Once hopeful scenario I’s concocted was that he’d decided to disappear, like the character in the book, and that we’d never find him by his own design. And even though Romney only knew him through me and the book she rejected it. “He liked people too much,” she said. “And he’d never put his friends through this on purpose.” This busted my utopian bubble because I knew it was correct. If there was one thing Micah was about it was then name he’d bestowed himself, being true.

Caballo Blanco was about truth. He was quick to point out any hyperbole, be it about helping the Tarahumara, barefoot running, or even the book that lionized him. He understood why Born to Run was written in such a popular format but his tellings were more straightforward. For example, in BTR the scene where he encounters the Tarahumara plays out like Western (and is a GREAT read). But Caballo’s actual account is different. Not Hollywood at all but with its own style that those who knew him will appreciate even more. When I asked if I could use it on my blog he replied “stories are for sharing.” Click the passage below for some fine reading:

"Well, shucks; I really want to run this race, and am an old time, loyal friend of this event; won't you let me enter?" I had pleaded with the race director, who did not even remember my name, or who I was, even though I had run the "family'' like race four times. No chance; the race had grown big now, and entry was at a premium. The "New York Times" and many publications had written the story of the 55 year old Mexican winning the race. Leadville was now a huge spot on the ultra-running map! The race and their corporate sponsor, a shoe company, had benefited considerably from all of the publicity, the feel good story of the impoverished Indians running for their communities; and not JUST running, but winning; and a 55 year old in sandals at that! A deal was made with the 'gringo' promoter who had driven the Tarahumara north, to bring another team of seven Raramuri to the '94 race. I think that part of the deal was to wear the race-sponsor's shoes for a photo op.

I received a phone call from the gringo sponsor/promoter of the team of Raramuri. He was looking for help, someone who could run and knew the course, to pace some of "his" runners. "Sure, I'll do it, providing I can run the whole 50 mile return with the runner of my choice." "They tend to run faster as they go; you think you can keep up?" he challenged. "If I can't keep up, then they don't need me," I confirmed...

What happens to the Tarahumara in his wake is hard to say. Elections that could change things are about to take place and Micah, though he’d never run for office, was a serendipitous politician. As goes the bloody history of the Americas all indigenous peoples are under constant threat. Strange as it may seem, Micah’s race, The Copper Canyon Ultra Marathon and books like Born to Run are very effective ways to thwart these would-be vanquishers of history. The more popular a culture is the harder it becomes for it to disappear. I’m guessing if last wishes were reality Caballo Blanco’s would have been for everyone to appreciate this region enough to protect its land and people.

I had a hard time writing this because so many knew him better and I’m privy, even as a fringe Mas Loco, to all of their more beautiful and personal tributes. They were his family. It seems like theirs are the words should be heard. Then again, if you want personal feelings you should probably make a personal endeavor. Caballo Blanco’s stories will always be shared in las Barrrancas. Visit and you’ll be welcomed with open arms; along all the lore you’re willing to listen to.

This year, on race weekend, the Mas Locos thread was bustling with inquiries about results. And while the race itself is always competitive that wasn’t in any way Micah’s reason for staging it. He had little interested over who finished where. If you were out there, running free as he liked to say, he could not care less about how far or how fast you went. I don’t know if anyone was disappointed when he finally posted but it made my day and reminded me to get back down there next year.

He began by summarizing the race numbers (I think it was over 500 locals and 70 visitors from around the world, both records) and how much money and corn was raised for the locals. He thanked everyone for coming and posted the results. “Everybody won.” And that’s how it was with Micah. Life was simple: be true and you win. I laughed out loud, and then went for a run.

Jack LaLanne

"Billy Graham preaches the hereafter. I preach the here-and-now."

RIP
Sept 26. 1914 - Jan. 23 2011

Jack article 1

Jack article 2

Jack article 3

Jack article 4

Travels With Tuco

Everyone’s favorite canine, Tuco Benedicto Pacifico Juan Maria Ramirez (known as The Rat... and Kailo) passed on recently. Tuco lived an envied life and saw more of the western US than 99.9% of the population. This slide show is my homage to a life well lived. Buddy, you will be missed by many.

Bob also posted a slide show that can be found at:

King Dino

And Romney wrote a beautiful blog about him:

Tuco Benedicto Pacifico Juan Maria Ramirez otherwise known as, The Rat. 16 of the most solid years ever lived and sad only for the ones he left behind

Beata Romney Edwards (2001-2010)

Our youngest child, Beata, passed away tonight. She was the epitome of her namesake, angel; a perfectly well-mannered dog with a lovely disposition. For the past few years she has been my shadow. She would do anything that I asked of her, trusted me completely, and the only time I ever saw her confused was when I couldn’t cure her at the end. I miss her terribly.

The Straight Dope will go into mourning for a period. When I return I promise you a shitstorm. B died senselessly and, ironically, for part of the same reason that our country/world is in the health epidemic we are currently facing. Changing this has been my MO from the start but I’ve never been as personally affected. I guess you see, as advertised, the uncensored Steve on this blog, as compared to my work on our guidebooks and articles, but when I return it will be with a vengeance. If I said that I was mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore it wouldn’t be a cliché. I’m just getting warmed up.

But this is not the time to go into detail. Instead, I want to reflect on a life well lived. We can’t choose how or when we will die. Our only choice is to live as well as we can while we’re here and in this Beata excelled as well as any being I’ve known. She lived for each day. Not recklessly but with abandon. All she wanted was to be loved and for the people and other creatures around her (except gophers) to be active, healthy, and happy. And, when you get right down to it, these are the only things that really matter. She was beautiful through and through and will be missed by many.

A Tribute To Laurent Fignon

French cyclist Laurent Fignon died this week which, if you’re a cycling fan, you already know. Fignon was an ambassador for the sport who was involved in cycling for his entire life. He was a two-time winner of the Tour de France but, in America, he’s remembered for the guy who came in second in the greatest Tour in history.

My memory of the man comes from how that particular race changed my life personally. I’d always liked cycling as a sport. I follwed the Tour as well as an American could in those days, which meant that I knew most of the big name grand tour riders, had heard of Eddie Merckx, and knew that the USA finally had a rider who had won a Tour in Greg LeMond. LeMond, however, had been accidentally shot and his career was supposedly over (according to the press) when the Tour began in 1989.

During the Giro d’Italia, just two months prior, LeMond was so far behind the major riders that “the leaders literally could have stopped for a cappacino and not worried about him(sic)”, a line that stuck in my head, I recall, because I was so disappointed we wouldn’t be getting much Tour coverage without an American challenging for the win. Then LeMond won the stage 5 time trial, taking the yellow jersey, which ensured we’d get some race coverage. It also succeeded in turning me into a cyclist. Inspired, I cleaned up an old bike and, as the race progressed, did longer and longer rides until I was finally riding Tour-worthy mountains.

LeMond and Fignon spent the next three weeks trading the yellow jersey back and forth. In between they swapped psychological barbs. The press and the fans ate it up. It was epic; each day would present a new twist. And just when it seemed to settle in, one of the two would crack and the jersey would change hands again.

On one stage in the Alps LeMond was clearly stronger going up hill. And since he was besting Fignon in the time trials the race seemed over. But less than 24 hours after being clearly inferior on a summit finish, Fignon counter-attacked LeMond on the famous climb to Alpe d’ Huez. Legend has it that Fignon’s coach, Cyrille Guimard, saw a weakeness in LeMond’s pedal stroke, assumed his attack was a bluff, and told Fignon to counter. It worked, and LeMond found himself out of yellow and 26 seconds down.

At the finish, LeMond did the math and said on TV that he could still win the race in the final time trial. None of the stages leading up to it seemed to be difficult enough to make a difference amongst the leaders. Fignon, too, must have been doing some math because the following day he rode one of the coolest races in the history of cycling.

Fignon had been taunting LeMond throughout the race that he didn’t behave like a leader. He felt, in the old school tradition, that the man in the yellow jersey should stamp his authority on the race. Panache dictated this was how you rode. He had no respect for LeMond’s strategic style. To prove it he attacked the entire peloton on a lumpy stage. Today the the thought of seeing the yellow jersey alone in front of the race on anything other than a big mountain finish is like fatansy. But in ’89 Fignon did it; riding alone and putting time into LeMond, which is even more astonishing because LeMond knew that every second he lost was massive.

But on the final time trial panache did Fignon in. LeMond used a new technology, triathlon aero-bars and an aero helmet. Fignon felt this was an affront to the sport. Not only did he ride sans aero equipment but he didn’t wear any sort of helmet, which allowed his blond pony tail to fly in the wind. It was the ultimate act of defiance to modern sport and technology. Fignon surely thought the Tour winner should finish with his face uncovered for all to see. Instead, he lost by 8 seconds—closest margin in Tour history—and fell to the ground in exhaustion. He’d ridden over 33mph, very respectible for the day. To beat him LeMond had to ride what was til then, and for 15 years after, the fastest time trial the Tour had seen.

All these years later and I still can’t watch my old video of the 1989 Tour without getting chills, or wanting to get on my bike. And, while I rooted for LeMond, whenever things turn grim and I need inspiration my thoughts always turn to Fignon, in yellow, riding away from the peloton.

WFH: A Tribute To John Bachar

As I finished up the last workout of the first block of the Workout From Hell I was reminded that John Bachar died one year ago. Bachar was a climbing legend, arguably the best climber in the world in any given period between the late 70s and mid 80s. He was also one of the first climbers who attempted to utilize cutting edge sports science and apply it to rock climbing. No remembrance of climbing training past would be complete without a nod Johnny Rock (click here if you’d like to read my personal obituary).

I’d like to thank eMurdock (whom I don’t know) for posting this image of one of Bachar’s training logs over at mountainproject. Written in ’91, years beyond the time he was establishing cutting edge routes, Bachar was still training like a youngster at the top of his game. In fact, his tick list of solos for this given day was still state-of-the-art for its time.

Bachar was one-of-a-kind. In his wake he still inspires me the same way he did when I was a wide-eyed fledgling in the sport. But mainly what I remember about him was his passion. For those who don’t click on the link to his obit, here’s my favorite Bachar quote:

“Every day I go out and climb, like a dancer who works on his dance. He probably has some goals, some pieces he would like to perform, but his main goal is to work on his dance. This is how he expresses himself. Both he and I are interested in the same thing. It’s the dance that counts.” – John Bachar 1957 – 2009

Johnny Rock

John Bachar passed away over the weekend. He died doing what he loved, and ironically did better than perhaps anyone in history, soloing. He was 52.

Though I’ve known John for over 20 years he was never more than an acquaintance. I wasn’t sure whether to post something about him or not but it just seems wrong not to. There’s a thread at Super Topo with comments from many of his closest friends. If you knew him or are interested in his life, it’s the place to pay your respects:

Super Topo

Oddly enough, I had a small group of friends in town the night he died. As climbing is a small world, most of us knew him. We raised our glasses and told Bachar stories all night.

John was a hero of mine when I started climbing, as he probably was for everyone who began climbing in the 80s. This pic adorned my wall for most of my formative years in the sport. When I first met him it was like meeting a rock star for me. Coming from LA, I’d met a lot of celebs. He was, by far, the one that meant the most. But climbing celebrity is different. We sat in front of the Mountain Shop in Yosemite, alone, talking for an hour or so about the world of climbing. He didn’t know me at all.

He was, without a doubt, the best climber in the world for a period of time in the late 70s and early 80s. He was an odd dude, a bit of an enigma, but I also found him honest and straightforward. I always liked him.

People say that he mellowed with age, but I’m not sure that’s correct. My last few conversations with him centered on government conspiracies that, the more I learn, the more I’m likely to believe. He had a “Bush Knew” sticker on his truck, which is probably at the edge of that spectrum, but it’s pure Bachar. Opinionated and controversial; a position he’d defend with passion.

I think my favorite Bachar story is one I just read in Jerry Moffat’s biography Revelations. Moffat, too, found Bachar confusing; “capable of some of the most frustrating and incomprehensible behavior I have come across. At the same time, …also capable of the most amazing displays of generosity.” He could be cold, aloof, and downright unfriendly if you were crossing his personal line of ethics (which many did in the climbing world). Moffat wasn’t sure if Bachar liked him or not, until he got injured and couldn’t climb. Unable to heal his injury, he got a call from Bachar who recommended he see a specialist in LA, who treated pro athletes. John paid for his treatments.

Bachar was a soul climber; someone who doesn’t just climb for fun, but to live. Like an artist who paints or a writer who writes, whether they’re being paid or not, Bachar went climbing. I think it’s fitting he died this way. Too early, too gruesome; but fitting. He will be missed.

“Every day I go out and climb, like a dancer who works on his dance. He probably has some goals, some pieces he would like to perform, but his main goal is to work on his dance. This is how he expresses himself. Both he and I are interested in the same thing. It’s the dance that counts.” – John Bachar 1957 – 2009

A Few Words On Sir Edmund Hillary

Sir Edmund Hillary, the man who made the first ascent of Sagarmatha (Mt. Everest) with Sherpa Tenzing Norgay, died today. Here is what I wrote to the Nacirema Drinking Society:

This is so strange. This is a man who was profoundly influential on my life. The first thing that inspired me to climb was the book High in the Thin Cold Air, by Ed Hillary. On the cover was Amadablam, the mountain that inspired me to climb mountains. In fact, I was writing a blog on this topic, still unfinished, just this morning. I read everything that Hillary had written prior to ever lacing up a pair of boots. Hillary always reminded me of my dad. And here I am, in Nepal, Hillary's true home (he was the New Zealand ambassador and did a ton of work on the schools here) and most likely even drinking Everest beer, with Tenzing on the label, when he dies. Life can be poetic in the oddest sense.

I would recommend Chang as drink of the month but am afraid I'd be the only one who could procure some. In lieu of anything else particularly Hillary-esqe, I'll second a Beefeater martini and I'll find myself a few later this evening. After all, he was knighted by the Queen.

"I don't remember much about those seven days (stuck in a snow storm on Cho Oyu) except that somewhere around day 4 or 5 George (Lowe, Kiwi not ours) came over, stuck his head inside my tent and said, 'You know, Ed, some people wouldn't think this was fun. (sic)"

This is from memory from one reading of his first autobiography, Nothing Venture, Nothing Win (now out of print and nearly impossible to find), back in the early 80s. Influential is no exaggeration.

So tonight raise a glass to one of the most important people in my life who, at least, is directly responsible for me spending a good portion of my life in the thin cold air.

Cheers Ed. Ya done good, mate.