A Peregrination Of Quad Burning Love
Topping out at 4,700' above sea level, Mount Teneriffe sits well above the Middle Fork Valley. The peak is kin to the very, very (too) popular Mount Si. In fact, one of my favorite routes on the footsteps of the I-90 corridor is linking Mount Si and Mount Teneriffe for a 12 mile peregrination of quad burning love. On Friday afternoon, I opted for just Mount Teneriffe; after all, I'm still in the final stages of injury recovery. –That really only means that I'm not up for accustomed baseline training of 50 miles per week.– But Friday could not have been a better day on Mount Teneriffe to truly test out the ankle. To make the run even more meaningful, Mount Teneriffe is where I broke the ankle on Easter Sunday this year, and have since be mostly sidelined.
Getting out the door on Friday afternoon took a lot more work than I wanted. When I got to my car I couldn't find my Discover Pass, and I was not about to pay $10 to park at the trailhead. I walked back inside and to my disbelief I found my running shoes, jacket, and my water bottle positioned neatly in the middle of my living room floor. To make matters stranger, the Discover Pass was in plain sight closely watching over the gear.
I drove to the Mount Si trailhead, got the GPS up-and-running and right as I'm setting off a guy that had just gotten done running Mount Si says: "It's cold up there." Selfless, for the good-of-the-people actions are what I love about trail runners. We didn't know each other, but it didn't make him hesitate to start-up a conversation by offering helpful advice. We chatted for a minute, and then I was off running on Mount Si Road toward Mount Teneriffe.
The first few miles are aggressively slanted, but very run friendly. You only gain about 800 ft. in 3 miles, and the first mile is on the road. After that, however, the aggressive slant turns into an uphill plastered with switchbacks. The trail is carpeted with large rocks and you start doing a strange "hop, run, walk" jig. Occasionally I'd kick a loose rock and it would ricochet with anger and slam into my ankle. Each knick chipping away at the thin epidermis around my ankle and anthropomorphically whispering to me, "Hey, I broke the left one last time you were here." I find joy in the humble reminders of futility the mountain offers.
Just as you get to the end point for 99% of visitors: Kamikaze Falls; the trail ditches the switchbacks and the mountain takes over. From mile three to the summit, you can expect an earned 3,200’ vertical. That being said, from mile four to mile five your vertical gain is about 2,400’ of the 3,200’ to be earned.
It’s incredibly surreal. Your heart is racing, your legs walking, and the mountain sits inanimate: This is mountain running. Speed no longer defines running. One hundred feet below the summit, dirt falling off my cheek bones, I looked at my watch and made a last ditch effort to get to the peak in an hour and twenty-five minutes. Hysterically, I stopped my watch when I found the benchmark. I was sprawled out on the cold rock and laughing at the weirdness of time and personal records. DONE!
The view was beautiful. I’ve seen it before, but I took it in like it was my first. Set up the camera for some quick summit photographs, and then cautiously smiled during the five mile descent back to the car. The gravel parking lot was empty when I got back to my car. It was strange for such a busy trailhead. The quietude of the moment and the reminiscence of accomplishing a personal best filled me with determination and excitement for the oncoming season of cold, fog, and snow.
