Bighorn 100 (48)

The first climb up out of the Tongue River Canyon, and the heat, on the Bighorn 100.

The first climb up out of the Tongue River Canyon, and the heat, on the Bighorn 100.

 “I found that when I’m ground down to a fine dust physically, my mental excitement and passion for running dwindles,” – Mike Wolfe, professional ultra runner and former Bighorn 100 record holder, quoted in “Running on Empty”

The Bighorn 100 is a classic mountain ultra race that takes place in the Bighorn Mountains of north central Wyoming. The course is an out-and-back, meaning you run roughly 48 miles out to a certain point, then turn around and re-trace your steps all the way to the beginning, and add a few miles of running down a dirt road to land you in the town park where the finish line and festivities are, as well as round out the number of miles run at exactly 100. The course is rugged and remote. The vast majority of aid stations along the route have to be packed in by horse, as there is no road access. Although it is not designated as wilderness, the areas run through are waaaay out there. And while the course profile doesn’t make it look quite as hard as many other famous mountain ultras, the roughness of the track along the way more than makes up for its apparent lack of vertical.

I found myself toeing the start line of the 2015 running of the Bighorn 100 for basically one single reason: to gain a qualifier for the Hardrock Hundred, another ultra adventure that happens to take place around my home in the San Juan Mountains of Colorado. The Bighorn 100 is one of the few races tough enough to be included on the list of qualifiers that an aspirant must complete in order to gain access to the lottery for entry into Hardrock. All that said, I was dreading the painful experience that I knew was to come, while trying to tell myself I was up for the challenge.

The race began at 11:00 am on a Friday morning in the blazing sun of the hottest day yet this year. The roughly 330 runners and their attending friends, family, crews, pacers, etc. all huddled in massive piles of humanity beneath the few shade trees near the start as the sun beat down on the dry earth around us. Nervous, bubbly anticipation coursed through just about everyone’s veins. Strategies were discussed, the plea for the race to just start already was often heard, and worries about the hot weather were frequently expressed. Eventually the time to start had come, and we all lined up and began our respective individual adventures, all in each other’s wonderful company.

The awesome single track in the Tongue River Canyon.

The awesome single track in the Tongue River Canyon.

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Jemez Mountain 50

Mile 10ish of the Jemez Mountain 50 mile course. Still feeling good... Elizabeth Riley photo.

Mile 10ish of the Jemez Mountain 50 mile course. Still feeling good… Elizabeth Riley photo.

“Go toward your fears.”Dean Potter

“The essence of warriorship, or the essence of human bravery, is refusing to give up on anyone or anything.” – Chogyam Trungpa, Shambhala

After twenty miles of technical, rocky trail running at the Jemez Mountain 50 mile race in Los Alamos, New Mexico, this past Memorial Day weekend, I realized that this race was probably not going to end the way that I wanted it to. Although at that time I still felt relatively good, I was obviously slowing down. This fact wasn’t observed by marking split times on my watch, but instead by the steady stream of runners passing me one-by-one and slowly pulling away into the distance. For the first four hours I had run fast and strong near the front of the pack, but with my position continually declining and over 30 miles of running left to go, I could see that this race had all the makings of a classic death-march.

A “Death-March” in an ultra-running race is the very unpleasant effect of having not correctly paced yourself for the distance you are trying to cover, and thus reaching a point of physical degeneration that is exquisitely painful and can seem to persist just about forever. It is a condition from which there is no recovery, until you choose to quit moving and sit down, that is. Running long distances inevitably causes muscular damage, and running faster causes the damage to happen sooner. Muscles break down and begin to tighten up. Tight muscles cause limited mobility, ruining proper running form. A heap of accumulated miles induces pain – in the joints, in the connective tissue, and in the muscles themselves if they start to cramp. Add the pain and the limited mobility together and you get an ever-decreasing running speed, until running stops being an option and you are simply walking. But even at a walk the pain doesn’t leave, it persists as strongly as ever, and the amount of time you must endure to the finish only increases as your pace gets slower and slower. Staring down a trail that is twenty miles long, that will take a seeming eternity to finish, with jolts of pain at every step and smarter runners jogging past making you look silly… This is the Death-March.

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Black Canyon Ascent

Near the start of the Black Canyon Ascent. Elizabeth Riley photo.

Near the start of the Black Canyon Ascent. Elizabeth Riley photo.

As the dense grey clouds slowly lowered over the rim of the Black Canyon, signaling immanent rain on a quiet Saturday morning, Jan Peart, face adorned with a gigantic smile, began banging on a giant round gong. The peace now sufficiently disturbed and the few people milling about alerted to the arrival of the first runner, the way was paved for Peter Maksimow to come sprinting across the finish line to win the 2015 Black Canyon Ascent.

Sitting inside around frosty beer mugs and a blazing warm fire on the evening before while the rain and intermittent snow dumped down outside, Elizabeth and I wondered what we should do the following day. The forecast called for more of the same dreary weather that had kept us inside and restless with pent-up energy for the last week. The prospect of another Saturday spent trying to get in a long run through freezing rain was not inspiring. Hungry for more writing and photography opportunities, and figuring the worst-case scenario was we would meet some new people, we came up with the idea to check out the Black Canyon Ascent race outside of Montrose the next morning. Our plan was to take some photos and write an article and see if we couldn’t find a place to get them published. So the next morning found us scouting locations to take photos and watch the race on the road up to the Black Canyon.

This year marked the 40th running of the Black Canyon Ascent, making it one of the oldest running races in Colorado, and the second oldest on the Western Slope (the Imogene Pass Run is in its 41st year in 2015). It starts at the corner of US 50, just outside of Montrose, and the East Rim Road, which climbs for six miles to the entrance to the Black Canyon National Park. The road is paved the entire way, but the climb is continuous and rises over 2,000 vertical feet to the finish. Only in the last half mile, once inside the national park, does the road dip slightly on its way to the first parking lot where the finish line is located.

On this Saturday morning the light was perfect and so were the running conditions. The rain had ceased, but low lying clouds and fog hanging in all the nearby valleys made for quite an impressive scene. Although more rain was in the forecast, the sun decided to peek out from behind the clouds at just the moment that the race started, enhancing the already perfect setting. The runners quickly dispersed into a long line of very brightly clad dots along the road as they all settled into their own pace for the climb.

Peter Maksimow after his successful race. Elizabeth Riley photo.

Peter Maksimow after his successful race. Elizabeth Riley photo.

Immediately gapping the rest of the field were two Colorado Springs mountain runners Peter Maksimow and Simon Gutierrez. Maksimow was looking to defend his title from the previous year and hoping to challenge the course record, while Gutierrez was also a former champion. They were running neck and neck by us at our first photo perch roughly one mile up the road. Continue reading

Seek Adventure

Island Lake and the peaks of the Ice Lakes Traverse in the distance.

Island Lake and the peaks of the Ice Lakes Traverse in the distance.

wow, haven’t posted in a while. Here is a story that I wrote in my journal about an adventure last summer…


“Seek Adventure” – Micah Dash, Alpinist

Death beckons me as I look between my legs at the empty space below. That’s why I’m here in the first place. A man died up here a few days ago. He was an ultrarunner, a brother who takes inspiration from these mountains the way that I do. I had never met him, but his death of course saddened me. I ran up here to the ridge crest above the Ice Lakes to see where he had died. And to think about death.

For about the last year I have worn a bracelet on my left wrist composed of a string of tiny skulls carved by hand out of yak bone. I bought it in Namche Bazaar in Nepal, on a cloudy and rainy day. At the time I was reading The Tibetan Book of the Dead, which inspired me to spend quite a bit of time contemplating the nature of death.

When people say things like, “I was contemplating the nature of death,” our culture usually reacts by thinking that they are prone to committing suicide. Our culture, to me anyway, seems to be in no way curious about death, instead we are neurotically afraid of it. It seems that at our most fundamental level our culture strives to be entirely deathless–we will do anything to fight against our own and other people’s death. The Tibetan Book of the Dead instead taught me that death is another step in the process that is life, a transformative step. It told me that there is opportunity in death, there is a moment when our souls get to choose whether to be reborn into this world once again, or to realize that we have experienced enough and that we can instead escape it. The message to me was clear–escape the fear of death and you are truly free to live life to its fullest. I did not want to forget this epiphany, as it feels like I so often do with other sudden realizations and insights, so I bought the bracelet of yak bone skulls, and still wear it to this day to remind me to live my life without fear.

The beginning of the ridge that forms the Ice Lakes Traverse, Pilot Knob in the distance.

The beginning of the ridge that forms the Ice Lakes Traverse, Pilot Knob in the distance.

Most of the greatest people I have known in my so-far short life have seemed to possess the ability to live their life without fear. I suspect that the man who died by falling off of Pilot Knob, near where I now stood, was one of these rare and blessed individuals. He was up on this jagged, loose, and magnificent orange-tinted ridgeline trying to complete a route known as the Ice Lakes Traverse. It is a somewhat well-known, although rarely completed, linkup of many beautiful mountain peaks that surround the famous Ice Lakes, although one typically only undertaken by ultrarunners, who have the speed and endurance to complete such an arduous task. I heard that he had even completed the traverse himself one time before. The Ice Lakes Traverse had in fact been on my list of objectives, or ultrarunning adventures, that I wanted to complete during the summer and his untimely death was unfortunately a perfect excuse for me to wake up early and finally tackle it.

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Writing Work

Fishing at Island Lake, just another day in the San Juans…

One of the primary reasons that I started this blog was to begin writing with other readers in mind, rather than just writing for myself. With no writing resume to speak of, I figured it could also serve as a showcase of what I am capable of, as well as a place to practice one of the many things I love to do–write. With luck, I figured that writing this blog could eventually help me to get paid for writing. Well, it worked! I’ve been writing gear reviews and short histories of various pieces of outdoor gear for for most of the summer. With all of the writing work I have not found enough time to write about the adventures and thoughts I have been having, although I can hopefully catch up on those soon. Anyway, here are some links to the gear histories I wrote. The histories are smaller sections embedded within the larger reviews and are uncredited, but anyway… I plan to continue to showcase my writing work here once it is finished, so more to come!

History of Alpine Ski Boots
History of Binoculars
History of Carry On Luggage
History of Pedometers
History of Digital Cameras
History of Camping Tents
History of Trail Running Shoes
History of Bike Helmets
History of Hiking Boots
History of Pocket Knives
History of Sport Headphones
History of Sandals
History of Umbrellas

Life Lessons – The San Juan Solstice

Dawn at the top of the first climb up Alpine Gulch.

“…All of life is practice in one form or another.” – Thomas M. Sterner, The Practicing Mind

“What is the difference then between work activities and recreational activities?…the only difference between the two activities is that we have pre-judged them. We make it into work or play by our judgments.” – Thomas M. Sterner, The Practicing Mind

To say that “such and such is a great metaphor for life,” might be one of the most overused cliches when trying to justify the reasons for doing silly things like running 50 miles through the mountains. Never-the-less, it was the parallels between my current situation and my life in general that I contemplated in the pre-dawn murk as I ran along the Engineer Pass road just outside of Lake City in the first couple miles of the San Juan Solstice 50 mile race. My contact lenses would not sit right on my eyeballs, causing my vision to be blurry. Since the 4 a.m. wake-up call I had been fiddling with them, trying to get them to perform the duty they were designed for–correcting my vision without glasses. In frustration I switched to a brand new pair while still in the hotel room and vainly tried over and over again to spin them around on my eye so that the special areas that corrected my astigmatisms would sit in the right place. But the race began without a solution–or clear vision–and a couple miles down the road I was still fidgeting with them, running along the road with my fingers in my eyes. But no luck.

I tried to do the best I could to relax into the situation and not grow frustrated. I realized that perhaps this vision problem was going to be the challenge of the day, the unexpected occurrence which I would have to adapt to and overcome. The experiences of my last race at Transvulcania finally taught me that ultra-running is more about adapting to what you cannot foresee than it is about achieving a fleeting moment of perfection. A good plan and having goals in place for the day are important targets for which to aim, but in the end the brilliance of this game is that you cannot know what may happen until you have stared down the winding trail and felt the curveball being thrown your way. Rather than let a lack of perfection bother me, I now chose to revel in the uncertainty.

Saw this on the wall of a stone hut in Nepal. Seems appropriate!

So as I fought off the frustration in the early morning and accepted that my vision might not be perfect for a little while, I understood that choosing my attitude to the problem was going to be the key to overcoming this challenge. Just like in real life. And yet in real life I remind myself of this little fact all the time, but somehow struggle to match my attitude to my desires. Yet here I was in this invented and self-inflicted challenge which has no tangible purpose, and had no choice but to choose my attitude for my own benefit, or else just accept defeat, which I wasn’t going to do. It struck me in that moment how bizarre it was that I need these ludicrous challenges to teach me these lessons in an experiential manner. So it seems that ultra-running does serve a specific purpose after all, beyond just being a metaphor for life. I resolved to try harder to apply what I learn while running to my everyday problems.

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“It is wise to think of the dynamics that we think of as ‘failure’ and ‘success’ as not truly existing, because they do not, not from the position of truth, only from the position of judgment.” – Gary Zukov, The Seat of the Soul


“Attune yourself to nature, and understand what nature demonstrates so clearly – there is no such thing as failure… You have not failed, you have moved further along the learning curve.” – John Perkins, Psychonavigation

Staring into the great Caldera de Taburiente from somewhere near Pico de la Nieve on the Transvulcania race course, I contemplated what it meant to fail. I sat on a flat lava rock that somebody had carefully arranged into a seat about 15 feet off the trail along this great volcanic ridge line, taking in a view which included the entire swath of rocky peaks and points which this trail race traversed, all the way down to the black sand beaches of the Atlantic Ocean nearly 9,000 feet below. To my left was the peak of Las Deseadas, which I had run over in the dawn hours, feet treading continuously up the black lava sand as the orange sun rose over the great ocean of clouds which stretched away to Africa. Behind me on the horizon stood the giant volcanic cone of El Teide on the far off island of Tenerife, the only piece of land to pierce the bank of clouds which still rested in that direction. To my right curved one long unbroken ridge stretching around the entire caldera for another 22 miles, passing by the bare brown highpoint of the run – Roque de los Muchachos – still more than 10 miles distant and adorned with the white domes of star-gazing observatories. In front of me and so far below me so as to appear only as a scattered dusting of white dots amongst the surrounding green of the banana plantations was the town Los Llanos de Aridane, where this crazy race would eventually finish. But as I sat and tried to enjoy the view with one runner after another in a slow but non-stop trickle, a drip-drip of moving humanity, jogging past on the dusty trail, each one glancing at me, uttering an out of breath “estas bien?” before moving on inexorably towards their goal, I was trying to accept that I would not be crossing that finish line so far below.

Fuencaliente Lighthouse in the daylight.

Transvulcania is certainly like no other race I have ever done or witnessed. At the starting line in the dark of morning on a tiny point of land jutting out into the great wide ocean, beneath a lighthouse buffeted by winds which felt strong enough to lift the mast right off of a ship, I stood tightly packed into a corral with 3,000 other maniacal runners for 45 minutes, doing my best to stretch and get my gear situated perfectly in my small running pack while standing shoulder to shoulder with babbling European runners adorned head to toe in the fanciest and most choreographed spandex running outfits I had ever seen. AC/DC blasted us from speakers larger than those at a stadium show as people bounced up and down and turned on their white headlamps and red back lamps, bathing us all in an eery but fascinating light. I was starting to anticipate Guns ‘n Roses taking the stage and began to look around for somebody to sell me a beer, but instead a handsome man wearing a sombrero shouted “VAAAMOOOOS!!!!” over a loudspeaker, so letting out a collective scream that would have made Bigfoot or the Incredible Hulk proud we all tore off our shirts and charged raging and foaming at the mouth into the inky black night! Except for the tearing our shirts off part, that would have been too American… Instead we did something even more crazy and ridiculous: prancing abo in our Tour de France costumes all 3,000 of us simultanously sprinted at full speed up a 200 meter long stretch of tarmac before crashing like a sea breaker into a one-lane single-track trail heading straight up the black volcano. This process did indeed induce some people to scream and foam at the mouth – it was awesome! Being an American, I partook in this foreign process with the greatest of zeal and gusto, stumbling up the black rocky hillside while trying to tear my shirt off (stupid rip-stop nylon!) and learned the hard way why so many Euros choose to run with ski poles even though we were certainly not intending to ski – they use them as weapons! Even more awesome, except I forgot to bring my own weapons!

Running through the town of Los Canarios. Yep, blurry

After about five minutes of this madness my heart-rate monitor overheated and exploded in a fiery ball, making me wonder what exactly my heart was doing inside my chest. But soon things settled into what I consider normal for the beginning of a race, people spread out enough that I could begin to hear my own breathing, find my own rhythm, be happy I was near the front and not still duking it out in the Thunderdome under the lighthouse for a spot on the trail, and realize that I’d better slow down cause there’s still 49 miles to go until this ends. Things remained normal for another half hour or so until we arrived at the first town along the race course – Los Canarios – and were greeted by literally thousands of people lining the trail, the road, hanging out windows and balconies, packed in five deep against barricades, screaming and clapping and cheering for the runners in the dark, all to more loudspeakers and AC/DC and flood lights and red carpets and who knows what else, I might have missed something as I ran by. This went on for well over a mile and proved instantly that the fine people of La Palma are the greatest sports fans on Earth! In the US we line the streets of our city to cheer for and catch a real life glimpse of millionaires with fake muscles who are paid millions of dollars to “represent” our city, and are thus lauded as the pillars of our society, while they flaunt their newly earned diamond rings and trophies to us for winning a contrived game which most closely resembles war, all of which we watched on TV while drunk. In La Palma they spend all day picnicing outside while happily following and cheering for the thousands of friendly and healthy tourists who have come to visit their island to appreciate its natural beauty in an inspiring, if not somewhat puzzling and ludicrous, way, while also bringing all of their happy friends and family to absolutely flood the local economy in money. They were amongst the happiest and most welcoming people I have ever met, but then again, I don’t think anyone could find a reason to be unhappy on La Palma…

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Mustang Trail Race

Running across a bridge in Mustang – Richard Bull photo

“Every place distills an atmosphere–a state of mind–that can more easily be felt than described, a something that overshadows all activities and bathes all events in a peculiar light. Some places have a feeling of sleepiness, others one of loneliness and desolation. But every place in Mustang was, I felt, characterized by dynamism and an enthusiasm that infected the entire population.” – Michel Peissel, “Mustang”

“A rocky cave in the wilderness was the home of your spiritual Father. A deserted and solitary place is a divine abode.” – Marpa the Translator, from “The Life of Milarepa”

The wall of Lo Manthang on a fresh morning after snowfall – Richard Bull photo

The idea of visiting the forbidden kingdom of Mustang first entered my mind as I descended from the summit of the Thorung La pass on the Annapurna Circuit last year. The Thorung La is the highest point on the famous circuit and from it’s 17,000+ ft. summit the views in every direction are expansive to say the least. Technically, as one descends into the town of Muktinath far below you are entering the Nepali district of Mustang, but the heart of the kingdom, the area which the country restricts access to – Upper Mustang – remains mostly invisible behind 4,000 meter passes and peaks to the north. As Paulo and I walked slowly down from the culmination of our Annapurna trek, I peered restlessly off into that dry and desolate land hidden from view, feeling as if I could perhaps stand a little higher on my tippy toes and see what lay beyond the barren dirt hills, catch a glimpse of a magical land which had no reality to me but was only a concept. I don’t know why I was drawn to look yearningly in that direction in the first place, except perhaps for the mystique the area generated amongst the other Annapurna trekkers. The high cost for a permit and the low number of trekkers allowed in by the government of Nepal turned it into a fable around evening dinner tables in guesthouses from Chame to Manang. Everyone seemed to agree on one thing about Mustang: while very few had visited it, they all had heard that it was amazing. But our trail bent off in another direction, which we eagerly pursued in search of more adventure and growth, and Mustang was filed away into the very large mental bin titled, “places I would like to go one day.”

Flash forward almost exactly one year and I was poised to enter Upper Mustang from the town of Kagbeni, a green farming oasis on the edge of the wide stony Kali Gandhaki river gorge. The water carves its way through the hills and mountains blocking the way into Upper Mustang, yet still bends out of sight just above town so that the mystery of what lies to the north prevails. The circumstances which led to me being there were so bizarre and seemingly disconnected that I can only percieve them as a long tangled thread perfectly described as, “what is meant to be.” If I had set out with a firm intention to visit Mustang within a year it seems likely that other plans, obligations, new decisions – Life – would have inevitably intervened, as it always seems to do. But instead Life decided that my path needed an adventure through Mustang in order to develop the way that it is supposed to, and so the many random ocurances and decisions that could only be seen as related after the fact worked their magic, and I stood alone in Kagbeni awaiting the group with which I would venture into Mustang.

A happy group of runners above Kongcholing Cave on stage 4. L to R -> Mira Rai, Matt Moroz, Upendra Sunewar, PhuDorjee Lama Sherpa, Nicola Bassi, Marco Baretta, Andy Wellman – Richard Bull photo

The reason for me going to Mustang was an event which was right up my alley – the Mustang Trail Race. This second year race winds its way through the highlights of the land in eight running stages spread out over the course of nine days and covers roughly 200km of rocky desert on very runnable trails mostly at elevations of around 4000 meters. As the culmination of a seven week long “Nepal spring training running camp” of my own design, it was the perfect chance to inject a significant amount of volume into my training (the most running I had ever done in one week) as well as some intensity and speed – and I would get to explore Mustang! Buzzing with anticipation would be how I would describe myself at that moment.

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The Dream is to be Healthy and Balanced so that I can Run

Pumori, Khumbu, Nepal

“The first step of the dream-change process…is to define what we want, to make certain that it is a dream, not a fantasy… An essential next step is to give the dream energy. Constantly bring your dream out into the light of day. Think about it, meditate and journey on it. Talk about it with everyone you meet. Shout it out. Share it with the Earth, the sky, the clouds, the sun and moon, and with all the plants, animals, and minerals of the Earth. Give it voice and song!” – the shaman Manco, from The World is as You Dream It, by John Perkins
“The energy created by our dreaming is like air. It travels everywhere. Your ability to use this energy is limited only by your dream of its power. Your faith. Our dreams can affect everyone and everything else–if we energize them with enough power.” – the shaman Manco 

There was a specific moment which occurred this past year while trekking in Nepal when I truly came to realize what running means to me. My brother Paulo and I walked downhill in the morning sun along the main trail through the Khumbu region, the trail leading away from Everest Base Camp, which we had left that morning. As we strolled along we talked–musing, dreaming, contemplating–as we usually did. We were essentially ‘homeward bound’ as we were now headed out of the mountains on our final trek of the long three-month trip, so our thoughts naturally journeyed forward to what we would do next and where we were going. Within a few short weeks we would split and continue on following our own individual paths. Both of us intended to keep on traveling for many months. I had an entire itinerary planned for the next many months: the beaches of Thailand, then the northern mountains, on to the Indian Himalaya, Sri Lanka, then New Zealand… It was a dream trip that anyone would be envious of, but instead of looking forward to all the amazing sights and places I would see, I was instead pre-occupied with a dream of heading home and spending the summer in the mountains of Colorado, simply running.

Paulo walking down the trail where this story takes place, between the towns of Gorak Shep and Chhukung in the Khumbu

It didn’t make much sense, and I voiced my confusion to my brother in what I thought was a rhetorical question. “Why can I only think about running when I have so many amazing travels to partake in?”

By his immediate and pointed response, it seemed that he knew exactly why: “You need running to be who you are.” Continue reading

Crazy Thoughts on Knowing Your Future and New Years Resolutions

Moonrise over a long line of peaks – san juan mountains, co

“We have to continually be jumping off cliffs and developing our wings on the way down.” – Kurt Vonnegut

At a family get together in an apartment building in Denver just after the Christmas holiday I stood on the outdoor patio ten stories above the ground and looked west, towards the skyline of the Rocky Mountains which are visible from just about anywhere in Denver. The sun had already gone down, indeed much of the sky was already black, but the sky behind the mountains still shone bright yellow, perfectly outlining the long, semi-jagged line of peaks stretching from Pikes Peak far to the south, Mount Evans in the middle directly above Denver, to the obvious pyramid of Longs Peak to the north. A long line of black bumps on a skyline, it reminded me of something…

Recently on a long drive home to Colorado from spending a couple weeks in California I was listening to a book on tape to make the hours pass more rapidly. The book was “Slaughterhouse-Five” by Kurt Vonnegut. In it the main character, named Billy, is kidnapped by aliens from another world – specifically the planet of Tralfamador. The Tralfamadorians had mastered the art and physics of long distance space travel and took Billy to their planet where they put him on display in a zoo. To the Tralfamadorians, the most interesting thing about humans was that they could only view time in a linear fashion. They themselves were capable of seeing time all at once: they could view everything that would happen during a person’s lifetime just by looking at them. When Billy tried to warn them about the dangerous attitudes and tendencies of humans, they were unfazed, as they claimed to already know how the universe would end – they would destroy it. Anyway, the way that Vonnegut chose to describe it, when a Tralfamadorian looked at a person, they saw its entire life stretched out as a timeline, like looking at a “long ridge-line of mountain peaks.” And so staring at the long line of mountain peaks still faintly illuminated above Denver, I thought about Time. Continue reading