Accidental Alabama Ultras — and Other Short Stories
In this Beta Blog post, the notorious Jeff Bonatti weaves together three tales from the Alabama backcountry. Originally published as part of his Ruff Guide series (if you haven’t seen Jeff’s Ruff Guides before, scroll on for the original artwork — or check out a few on the walls at Rock Mill), these stories are a reminder: the joy of endurance and adventure sports lies less in our own distinct successes or failures, and more in the friendship, grit, and conservation efforts that make our favorite activities possible.
LAWSON AAF, GA — JULY 1990
Just after sunrise, somewhere on the Chattahoochee, 3.5 hours into what was billed as a 5k jog…
We discover we have actually gone 16 miles!
Arguing with my companion Kenny, we had lost track of time and distance. It was at that point I knew I had been <a class="highlighted-link">sandbagged</a>. I became peeved.
Kenny assured me he had stashed food and refreshments near the river.
Sure enough, a waterproof bag was found under a rock — filled with beer, outdated <a class="highlighted-link">MREs</a>, and a flask of “local” moonshine. My displeasure with Kenny became real and venomous because I did not imbibe with DEVIL Juice. Kenny could see my agitation and took some small joy in watching me whimper.
“Is someone coming to pick us up?!”
“NO no Man. We gotta run back.”
I laughed.
And he laughed, and said it’s shorter on the way back — if we swim across to Ft. Mitchell, we can take THE SHORTCUT home.
Due to Kenny’s many high crimes and misdemeanors, I was now pissed off and swimming in the Chattahoochee. With the taste of stale crackers and warm cheap domestic swill beer in my mouth, we enter Alabama wet and glistening…
Sunrise on our shoulders. Drunk on rage.
My quads swoll and cramping, my patience at an end, I lashed out at Kenny.
I blamed him — or at least his great-granddad — for slavery and Jim Crow.
He blamed me for the war of northern aggression, the hypocrisy of the Union, and the burning of Atlanta. Red-faced and outraged, I called him out for stiffing a bar in Panama City, FL — a $360.00 martini tab, not to mention an illegal invasion of a small country that December.
The Gulf between us seemed unbridgeable in the moment.
Three more hours of equal suffering and sweltering in the morning heat, our differences dissolved as home drew near, and as we crossed the Dixie Rd bridge, we sang a few bars of <a class="highlighted-link">Sweet Home Alabama</a> as we ran back to the airfield.
Equally exhausted, I was hooked on distance and arguing for a more perfect union.
PINHOTI TRAIL — 1991
Over the years I’ve been fortunate enough to make my way south — including a 1991 trip to thru-hike the <a class="highlighted-link">Pinhoti Trail</a> with a group of juvenile delinquents.
Court-ordered to spend time in the outdoors, I was to guide them on a journey of self-actualization in the wild, and they picked me to help these young felons find the strength to complete a 100-mile hike, hopefully transformed by their efforts — inspiring them to stop being Naughty Normans and doing crimes.
I hope those little felons went on to do great things.
HORSE PENS 40 — 2006-ish
Years later, 2006-ish, I hitched a ride to Steel, Alabama for a different type of adventure: bouldering —
Home of the <a class="highlighted-link">Horse Pens 40</a> campground and boulder playground. For climbers of the little stones, this place is the bomb. Owned and operated by local legend <a class="highlighted-link">Mike Schultz</a> — kind and hospitable, the Schultz family are caretakers of a literal Fortress of Solitude.
This is a world-class bouldering destination.
The <a class="highlighted-link">Leave No Trace</a> ethic is in full effect — and it shows! Running, climbing, or hiking here is worth the effort to get here.
Indeed, thanks to Federal, State, and Local partnerships, the region has been reborn.
The level of maintenance is evident as soon as you set foot on the trail. The scars on the landscape from 100 years ago are barely perceptible.
Mike is a stickler for rules, as well as a charming host atop his family’s mountain.
He’ll greet you at the gate with his Glock and spin ya yarn about Alabama history.
Mike says: “Pitch in so we have these sacred places for our grandchildren.”
Just one more reason to head south for the winter — besides all the top-notch 100-mile races.
However, even with the diversity of its landscapes and endless recreation opportunities, these gem stones don’t pay for themselves.
Thanks to locals and thoughtful volunteers expressing their love and southern pride, the trails are maintained — but with the current federal cuts to the parks, it will take everyone’s efforts and donations to keep recreation free and fun for all.
