The Day The Blogging (Almost) Died*

*Or, Nerd Tragedy in the Catacombs
**Or, If I Weren't Quite So Chubby I Wouldn't Have These Problems


The second most frequent question I receive via e-mail – behind a myriad of “what kind of shoe should I buy?” queries – is what kind of camera I use while running. I’ve discussed this once before, but a recent set of circumstances required me to get a new camera, which happens to be a lot like the old camera, but not exactly so. I’ll explain more in a minute. In the meantime, please indulge me in a little back story …

About two years ago I made what was possibly the best investment in my blogging career, purchasing a Canon PowerShot SD1400 as a dedicated blog-use camera. It was sleek, compact, super-easy to use, and took remarkably decent pictures that didn’t require a long set-up period to get started or a long shutter lag between shots. It gradually became a constant companion in my running exploits as well as my everyday routine. Basically, I took it with me everywhere.

It also turned out to be surprisingly resilient to sweat, dust, moisture from fog and rain, or the occasional accidental drop on account of my clumsiness. In fact, it had proven so durable that I rarely had any second thoughts about tucking the camera into a pocket for whatever strange adventure I encountered … which is how it ended up in my back pocket as I descended into the Catacombs.

This was perhaps the most notorious of the cave networks at Lava Beds National Monument, and before taking our group of 8th-graders underground, everybody was made aware that exploration of the cave would be extremely challenging in places. In other words, I can’t claim I wasn’t warned.

We eventually broke into small groups and made our way down into the tunnels, which started out relatively manageable …

… before becoming so low as to require some commando crawling …

… and ultimately reaching portions where the ceiling scraped against your back even as your belly was scraping against the ground. (On a related note, it’s definitely not the place to be if you’re slightly overweight. Or remotely claustrophobic.) It was in a section very much like the one shown above – a photo, incidentally, taken by a friend who is much skinnier than me, using a shock-resistant camera – that I felt the sharp protrusions of lava rock against my backside while I was wriggling through a narrow tunnel.

When I finally made it to an area when I could sit upright, I reached into my pocket and found the glass LCD screen on my camera had shattered. RIP, Best Blogging Investment Ever.

So the search was on to find a replacement, and my first instinct was to replace my old camera with the exact same model. But when I looked it up on the Amazon.com page, there was an automated “There is a newer model of this item” sign, which took me to the Canon PowerShot ELPH 300. After a bit of comparison shopping between the two, I decided to purchase the updated model.  (As a bonus, it was a few bucks cheaper.)

Canon PowerShot ELPH 300 on left, SD1400 on right; photo taken with yet another camera.  Yes, we have a few cameras at home.

Here’s how the two compare*: they’re roughly the same size, with almost all of the same user features. The main spec difference is that my old camera had 14.1 megapixels, while the newer one has only 12.1 MP. From what I read, consensus says that the lower MP value doesn’t sacrifice image quality or detail, but results in smaller file sizes. I suppose that’s good.

*This should go without saying, but I’m nowhere an expert when it comes to digital camera reviews. So all this is just one idiot’s opinion.

The case of the new camera is a coarse plastic, as compared to the smooth polished exterior of the old camera. I initially didn’t like this change, but now I think it might help me have the whoopsies less frequently when pulling it out of my pocket. One can hope, anyway.

ELPH 300 on left, SD1400 (with shattered LCD screen) on right

One downside of the new camera is that the back side controls are slightly less intuitive and user-friendly. For example, there’s no icon for the self-timer where the old one used to be; the feature is still there, but you have to make one additional click to the menu screen to find it. I’ll probably get used to this, but it’s still kind of a disappointment.

ELPH 300 on left, SD1400 on right

The nicest thing about the new camera is that it’s slightly wider and more square on the bottom, which means that it balances a little more easily for those aforementioned self-timer photos. If I can decrease the number of rocks or twigs I have to arrange to get my camera to balance, that will be good news indeed.

Time will tell if the durability of this new camera is as good as my old one was; my adventure calendar has been woefully empty lately, but that should hopefully change in the near future. No matter how well it performs, though, I’ve learned one important tip: if I ever take my camera underground again, I should probably invest in a nice little carrying case.

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VIVOBAREFOOT Neo Trail Follow-Up Review

“The first task of Blink is to convince you of a simple fact: decisions made very quickly can be every bit as good as decisions made cautiously and deliberately.”
- from Blink: The Power of Thinking Without Thinking by Malcolm Gladwell

Longtime readers will note that it’s been a while since I fawned over my favorite author, which honestly is probably good news for all of us. However, it’s worth noting that most of the crazy little principles of social dynamics he dreams up tend to hold fairly solid with real-world application.

Case in point is my review of VIVOBAREFOOT’s Neo Trail shoe this summer, which I composed after taking all of one run in them. If I had to give you a one-sentence synopsis of the shoe at that time, I would have said something like this: rugged minimalist trail shoe, a little too heavy and hot for my liking, but probably great for hardcore conditions.

VIVOBAREFOOT Neo Trail

Well, guess what? After logging about 150 miles on them – as well as some unorthodox use that I’ll explain in a second - here’s my synopsis of the shoe: rugged minimalist trail shoe, a little too heavy and hot for my liking, but certainly great for hardcore conditions. That is to say, I changed all of one word. But since I’m too compulsive to post a review of just one sentence, I’ll throw in some additional insights to make this post worth your price of admission.

And in case you needed reminding (and were too lazy to click the link to my review above), here are the vital specs for the VIVOBAREFOOT Neo Trail:

*  Weight: 10.5 oz with the removable insole, 10.0 oz without
*  Outsole: 4mm directional lugs on top of 2.5mm base
*  Standing height: 9.5mm with removable insole, 6.5mm without
*  Upper: hydrophobic closed mesh

With that in mind, let’s breakdown my little synopsis one part at a time, starting with …

Rugged

The upper material on the Neo Trail is super-durable, to the point of seeming virtually puncture-and tear-resistant. I had a unique opportunity to test their ruggedness while exploring caves at Lava Beds National Monument, which requires a lot of commando crawling to worm your way through narrow passages of irregular, jagged, occasionally sharp lava rock.

Crawling through lava tunnels

We went caving each day of our trip, and on the first day I wore my Vibram Trek LS, which performed just fine, but the leather became very scuffed and scratched. My son wore a pair of New Balance Minimus, and by the end of the trip the uppers were torn to shreds. On the second day we ventured into the caves, I switched my Vibrams for the Neo Trail, and it was the best decision I could have made. The uppers took a substantial beating over several days and held up remarkably well, emerging completely intact without any evidence of ripping. I can’t think of a more challenging test than that.

Of course, that ruggedness comes with a tradeoff, as I’ll describe in a minute. Meanwhile, continuing the synopsis …

Minimalist

I’ll make this part quick: every awesome feature of VIVOBAREFOOT shoes is present in the Neo Trail. Flat, low-profile, outstanding ground feel, flexible in all directions … the company knows what they’re doing here. Enough said.

Thick, angled outsole lugs 

Trail Shoe

Aside from the rugged upper, the outsole truly defines the Neo Trail as a trail-ready shoe, built to handle a wide variety of harsh off-road conditions. In my first impression review I described how the angulation of the lugs is different in the heel and forefoot to help with traction on steep hills, and the depth of the lugs allows you to shed mud or slush easily. Sure, you could use this shoe on the road, but that would be as much out of place as driving an ATV down Main Street.

Too heavy

This is the biggest drawback for me about the Neo Trail: it’s just too heavy for me to use for ultrarunning. When I’m running 50 miles or more, I want to carry as little excess weight as possible. The Neo Trail is 10 oz – by comparison, my Soft Star RunAmocs are 6oz, and most Vibrams are in the 6 to 7oz range. After enough miles, those few ounces make a big difference. When it comes to VIVOBAREFOOT models, I’d rather take on an ultra in my 8-oz Evos (as I did last year) than in the Neo Trail, and sacrifice improved traction for lighter weight.

Too hot

This is the tradeoff for having a practically bulletproof upper; you lose the ventilation that a more open mesh construction provides. Whether this is a good feature or not is a matter of personal preference and intended use; if you need a water-resistant upper for cold-weather use, the Neo Trail is awesome. If you like your trail shoes breatheable and water permeable to drain efficiently, look elsewhere. I happen to be in the breatheable/drainable camp, but that shouldn’t impact your own decision-making. Remember, I’m a warm-weather California boy.

Great for hardcore conditions

Many of my running miles were logged at Lava Beds National Monument, where the trails are strewn with lava rocks of all shapes and sizes, some visible and others hidden. It’s an area where accidentally whacking your foot against a sneaky rock or inadvertently taking a sharp impact on footstrike is a common occurrence. If I had run here in my FiveFingers, I would have been a lot less comfortable, and very likely would have stubbed or broken some toes along the way.

Because of that, I was thankful to have the Neo Trails with me; the thickly-lugged outsole helped absorb unexpected impacts, and the protection of the toe bumper and closed uppers prevented unnecessary bumps and bruises. If you frequent a lot of rocky trails, the Neo Trail is built for the task. Likewise, they would probably be a great option for extremely muddy or sloppy conditions as winter approaches.

Protective uppers and rubberized toe bumper

My final verdict on the Neo Trail is that if they were more lightweight and ventilatory, they’d be one of my top choices for next year’s ultra exploits. As it is, I’ll keep them in my lineup as a specialized model for harsh conditions, but switch to one of my other standbys for high-mileage training and racing days.

The VIVOBAREFOOT Neo Trail retails for $130 from the company website.

*Product provided by VIVOBAREFOOT
**See other product reviews on sidebar at right. If you have a product you’d like reviewed, contact me at info@runningandrambling.com.



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Running Back Through Time: The Symbol Bridge

Spending a week in the outdoors is awesome, and spending a week with a group of middle school kids can be highly rewarding. But spending a week in the outdoors with a group of middle school kids is enough to make you want a temporary escape.

(Click any photo to enlarge)

Such was the case on my trip to Lava Beds National Monument, which was a great experience, but occasionally left me a little bit restless for some time to clear my head. There was one other like-minded parent – who, as luck would have it, also happened to be a member of my training group at home – chaperoning the trip with me, so we stole a few early mornings to sneak out of our tents and go running before the rest of the campers woke up.

(And thankfully, he also brought a camera, because this run took place on the day after my blog camera broke, which qualified as a major catastrophe under the circumstances. It’s nice to have friends who are sympathetic to the cause.)

On a couple of our runs, we weren’t merely traveling away from the campsite, but almost literally back in time – through a volcanic landscape that describes the formation of the Earth so many years ago, and to a destination that is filled with voices from the past.

I guess if you’re looking to connect the present day to the remote past, a trail called Missing Link would be a good place to start. This trail was less than a mile from our campsite, and led the way to our ultimate destination at Symbol Bridge.

The Missing Link Trail makes for a pretty mellow way to start an early-morning run; it’s a fairly serene, almost completely flat trail that meanders through the high desert brush, letting your legs greet the day in a nice, easy manner.

To the casual observer, the terrain underfoot looks fairly gentle as well – and in some stretches it was. The trouble was that footing on this trail, like every other one in the area, is deceptively tricky, because …

… all the trails out here sit atop a massive volcanic field, where sharp, irregular lava rocks jut out from the ground unpredictably all over the place. Sometimes the lava rocks are shallow and hard to see, other times they’re tall and dense, without any flat surface for foot placement. In either case, these are trails where you need to keep your eyes open …

… and your feet a little more protected than usual. Although I reported that I wore my Vibram Trek LS for the entire week of camping and hiking here, I decided to go with VIVOBAREFOOT’s Neo Trail for my trail running, because I knew the thick, knobby outsole would give me better grip and improved protection than the FiveFingers would. It occurred to me that breaking a pinky toe while chaperoning a field trip might be seen as bad form.

Approaching the Symbol Bridge, we passed collapsed lava tubes that once were conduit channels for molten lava directly underground …

… before arriving at the Symbol Bridge, so named because … well, you’ll see in a minute.

This was our designated turnaround point, but before heading back to camp, we dropped down into the rocks to wander around …

… and take a look at the symbols and stories from the past, left here for our enjoyment by the Modoc Indians who called this area home for thousands of years. (By the way, this photo contains the image that was seen in close-up in last weekend’s Random Shot of Beauty).

The pictographs are prominent here, but there’s not much consensus on what they actually mean. According to the park website, the fracturing of the Modoc tribe by the US Army prevented any ethnographic study from taking place later on – and it’s also possible that the Modoc just felt like keeping some of their stories to themselves.

One fascinating aspect of these drawings is that they are all made with lines that are roughly one finger wide. If you stare at them long enough, it’s easy to imagine a Modoc choosing each particular location carefully – low weather exposure, enough sunlight to see but not to fade – before dipping his fingers in paint at this very spot to cast the lasting images on the stone.

This particular wall segment was especially interesting to us for a couple of reasons – one, because of the sheer density of paleo-doodles …

… and secondly, because my running partner that morning is a physician. Or, as I said to him immediately upon seeing the drawing on the left, Hey – that looks like a caduceus! Maybe the Indian who painted this was a tribal doctor! My friend could very well have been staring at the calling card of some long-passed professional forefather. I decided to look for any sort of ancient symbol that might represent a primitive blogger, but for some reason that profession was underrepresented on these walls.

As to why this place is called a bridge instead of a cave – it’s because the cave actually opens on two sides, forming a land bridge on top. You can go rockhopping down one side of this rock formation, and back up the other … and in between, you try not to think about the huge boulders perched perilously in the ceiling overhead.

Also, remember what I said about the Modoc choosing the proper place for their paintings? The bridge structure allows an ideal amount of light to filter through, but the rocks with the drawings are never directly exposed. Of all the caves and lava tubes in the area, this spot seemed just about perfect.

We could have spent a lot longer climbing around the rocks and looking at pictures, but we had kids to get back to, so after briefly stepping into the world of our forerunners, we retraced our steps …

… and returned to the present day, to the campsite where the students were getting ready for breakfast. By our normal running standards, this outing seemed relatively short – probably less than 5 miles in all – but in other ways, it might have taken us farther away from the everyday world than any we’ve done in a long time.

*See other photo tours under tab at top of page.



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Amazon Returns; Random Shots of Beauty

One important administrative note before today's post: if you read this blog directly on the webpage (as opposed to e-mail or some kind of feed service), you may have noticed that I've returned my Amazon.com banner ad to its former spot at top right.

The whole tax battle between Amazon and the state of California is far from settled, but something of a cease fire has been called while the two sides negotiate and the courts and lawmakers try to figure out some kind of compromise. So after heartlessly firing 10,000 of us a few months ago, Amazon has now decided to invite its California affiliates back. (I know, I know ... I probably have some self-esteem issues here - but that's a separate point.)

I've mentioned before that I don't do any real fundraising for this website, but affiliate sales certainly make the whole "labor of love" concept a bit more justifiable. There's a rundown of my affiliate partners on my support page, but suffice it to say that if you click through my website to shop at Amazon (at least for the next 12 months or so), I'd be extremely grateful. Help me help you, and all that.

Thus endeth the fall pledge drive. On to regular programming ...

**
They say every picture tells a story ... but what if those stories are told in a way that's hard to understand?

In my opinion, that doesn't make them any less compelling. Exhibit A is these pictographs from the inside of a cave at Lava Beds National Monument; I have no idea what the story means - but the mere fact that someone was on this exact same spot trying to tell it is pretty darn cool.

I have a story of my own about these rocks - almost certainly less dramatic than that of the original authors - which I'll tell next week sometime.



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The 'A'a Challenge

I’ll give you 50 extra credit geology points if you know the scientific name of this kind of land mass:

No, "lava rock" doesn’t count – at least, not for full credit. If you were an 8th grader on our week-long science field trip, you’d know* that this specific type of rock is called ‘A’a, (pronounced ah-ah) taken from the Hawaiian description of stony, rough lava.

(*At least, they knew it for the duration of the trip. There’s a better than average chance that some of them have forgotten by now.)

Furthermore, according to Wikipedia:

ʻAʻa is basaltic lava characterized by a rough or rubbly surface composed of broken lava blocks called clinker. The loose, broken, and sharp, spiny surface of an ʻaʻā flow makes hiking difficult and slow. The clinkery surface covers a massive dense core, which is the most active part of the flow. As pasty lava in the core travels downslope, the clinkers are carried along at the surface.

In other words, walking across this stuff is pretty challenging.

That was the premise for what has come to be known as The ‘A’a Challenge, where one of the instructors designates a rock about 100 feet into the lava field, and the objective for the kids is to walk out to the rock and back.

Oh, one more thing: they had to do it barefoot.

It was a purely volunteer proposition, so nobody was forced to try it. Consequently, after a description of the challenge, it was a fascinating scene to observe the kids yelling in disbelief, shouting things like “No way!!”, or “That’s gonna kill our feet!” … even as they were all taking off their shoes and socks to get ready to try it. The combination of ego, peer pressure, and reckless abandon was enough to persuade 35 kids to brave the lava field sans shoes.

35 kids and one adult, that is. An adult who loves going barefoot, and happens to have a weakness for crazy challenges. The rest of the grown-ups - or as I sometimes think of them, the “real” grown-ups – were sensible enough to keep their shoes on, choosing instead to spread throughout the lava field and take pictures of the idiots walking across the sharp, jagged, irregular lava rock.

I’d love to tell you that the challenge was no problem at all, and that my years of barefoot running have toughened up my feet to the point where even the harshest lava rock is easily navigable. I'd love to say that the kids were naturals, and tapped into an innate ability to use their feet just as our primitive forerunners did before the evils of modern footwear befell them. I’d love to say all these things … but I can’t.

Those rocks seriously hurt. They proved to be dangerous as well, extracting more than a little bit of blood from several naked feet, including my own. There was one point in particular where I lost my footing and had to quickly step onto a slanted surface to steady myself – and I can still show you the spots on my feet where I left a bit of skin on the rocks.

If you see blurs in the background, those are kids I airbrushed out, to spare them the ignominy of appearing on my goofy blog.

The kids suffered the same fate; some of them came away unscathed, but nearly all of them had scrapes and scratches, and pretty much everyone said this outing was the most physically painful part of the trip. What nobody said, however, was that they regretted doing it.

And maybe that’s the point of the whole thing: sometimes life isn’t about avoiding discomfort, taking the easy way out, or even exercising common sense. Sometimes it’s about doing something difficult, or that might be potentially injurious, for no other reason than it’s a completely crazy thing to do. And if walking across a razor-sharp lava field is the best way to teach this kind of lesson, I’m happy to be a part of it.

As to whether or not there’s a parallel to barefoot running in this little story, I’ll leave that open to interpretation.




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Education in Action: Lava Beds National Monument

Seeing as how I’ll probably be referencing it for the next several weeks, I figured a recap of my week away from Running and Rambling headquarters was in order.

I had the opportunity to help chaperone a group of over thirty 8th graders - one of whom was my son - for a week of camping, hiking, cave exploration, and various other outdoor adventures, all in the name of education.

(Click to enlarge any photo)

Our destination was Lava Beds National Monument, an area near the California / Oregon border that lies on the flank of an enormous shield volcano. It’s an area of remarkable geologic activity and a region of great historic significance – basically, it’s a place that makes science and social studies totally cool. This is a major selling point when you’re dealing with a bunch of moody adolescents.

Nearly every activity we did there could be the topic of its own post, some of which were practically writing themselves in my head while I was still in the midst of doing them (I love it when that happens). I also managed to grab a few morning runs, and took advantage of the setting to do some extensive gear testing – all of which made for a pretty fantastic week from a blog standpoint. There were a couple of notable exceptions, as I’ll explain shortly, but for now let’s get to the overview.

Actually, one of the first downsides (for me, anyway) came right off the bat. I’ve never been a big fan of camping; as I’ve told anyone who’ll listen, I’m perfectly willing to stay out all day and all night doing any sort of crazy messy outdoor activity you choose … but when it’s all said and done, I like a warm shower and a nice bed afterward. But for the entire week of this field trip, there were no beds or showers, or even a water feature like a lake or river to rinse ourselves off.

I thought I’d hate this aspect of the trip, but you know what? With my inflatable queen-size air mattress, goose down sleeping bag, and ergonomic pillow, it was … well, I still didn’t like it. But I guess it wasn’t quite as miserable as I feared it would be.

Our campground was situated in an area that had the feel and appearance of a high desert plain. We were at about 4500’, temperatures were hot (90-100 degrees) all week, and everything was dusty … the only difference between this and a typical desert is that the predominant feature of the terrain was dried lava rock.

We spent a lot of the week studying geology up and down: down, as in this mammoth crater (called, fittingly enough, Mammoth Crater) that is the source of almost all the lava beds we would explore …

… and up, as in a journey to the top of Little Mount Hoffman, one of many buttes in the region formed after a lava explosion, when the magma cooled in the air and fell back to Earth to form a cinder cone. In the distance behind the lava field is Mount Shasta, a massive composite volcano that dominates the landscape and is visible from most of the park.

(And if you’re wondering how I can throw around terms like shield volcano, cinder cone, and composite volcano so easily – well, it was an educational trip, after all; I figured I may as well pay attention.)

Our group activities centered mainly around “caving”, or descending into hollowed-out lava tubes. Some, like this one called Skull Cave, are enormous openings that you could probably drive a bus through …

… while other cave entrances are marked by nothing more than a sign and a hole in the ground with a ladder in it. There are countless caves in the park, with more than two dozen officially marked and mapped out, some of them containing miles of networked passages that drop hundreds of feet underground.

If you’re lucky, you can stand upright in the caves, but more often than not (especially if you’re 6’2”) you have to do some method of crouching or duck walking. Notice that I’m wearing kneepads, which come in handy …

… in the multiple areas where you have no choice but to crawl on your hands and knees. Things could be a lot worse, however …

… because there are plenty of tubes where all you can do is wriggle like a worm across the lava rock floor. Some stretches like this are 10-20 yards long; it’s definitely not the place for anyone who’s remotely claustrophobic. By the way, that’s my kid working his way through the opening with a couple of his buddies. Yes, I followed behind them; no, it didn’t go well.

In case you missed it in the earlier photo, I was wearing Vibrams in this cave – the FiveFingers Trek LS, which I’ll officially review next week. However, the thought occurred to me: am I the first one to post pictures of Vibrams in an underground cave? That would be kind of cool; I think I need to investigate this further.

From “down” to “up” again: the following day we climbed Schonchin Butte, a relatively middle-aged cinder cone at roughly 65,000 years old …

... in contrast to the eruptions from at a spot called Fleener Chimneys which are merely 10,000 years old – the blink of an eye in geologic terms.

The chimneys were also a cool spot to practice a little bit of lava rock climbing, as demonstrated here by my son …

… and here by me, again in my Vibrams. I don’t have any aspirations of becoming a rock climber, but there’s something very primal and rewarding about clawing your way up to the top of some enormous land mass. Small doses will suffice for me, though.

I mentioned the social history of the region, and the most memorable story took place right here, in an area known as Captain Jack’s Stronghold. It’s named after the leader of the Native American Modocs, who were the last tribe standing near the end of the so-called Indian Wars.

In 1872 and 1873, the United States Army was charged with relocating the Modoc north to the Klamath Reservation in Oregon. The Modoc tried to negotiate terms to stay in their homeland, the Army refused, and killings took place on both sides – the most significant of which was Captain Jack’s assassination of US General Edward Canby, which stood as the only death of a United States General during the Indian Wars.

Of course, the Army didn’t react kindly to the Modoc resistance, and came back with several hundred troops to remove the tribe by force or extinguish them entirely. The story didn’t end well for the Modoc – it never did for the Indians – but the final band of 60-80 Modoc used the caves, tunnels, and harsh lava terrain as a natural fortress, holding off the entire Army for nearly six months before eventually fleeing and scattering across the northwest.

It’s stories like that, told in the actual setting where they occurred, that bring history home in a way that no amount of textbook reading can accomplish. The same rule applies to volcanoes and caves: it’s one thing to learn about them in a classroom, but another thing completely to see and feel and experience them firsthand. That’s why trips like this are so awesome for the kids, and why I felt fortunate to be included. (I'm still just a big kid in a lot of ways.)

The fact that it gave me some great blog fodder was completely secondary – but it’s the one you’re likely to hear about more in the weeks to come.

*See other photo tours under tab at top of page.



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