Shouldn’t there be an Escalator? Running the Bridger Ridge

After a long nauseating trip bouncing up Fairy Lake Road, we arrive at the starting area for the 2023 Ed Anacker Bridger Ridge Run, a race put on by the Big Sky Wind Drinkers in its 39th running. For at least some of us here, this is our big race of the season. Even for those who have ultras on their schedules I expect this race stands out. It’s been covered in national magazines and rates highly in the sub-ultra class of races: 44 of this year’s 228 finishers came from out of state, including a few Floridians.

Pre-race, we mill around, chat up our fellow racers, shake off the chill of this spectacular 45-degree morning we’ve been granted, stretch and get ready. Cheers go up as the Heat Wave runners start off at 6 am. Wave 1, with the fastest runners among us starts at 6:30, I’m in Wave 4.

My wave starts and I begin my fourth Ridge Run in the past 7 years. I lived in Maryland when I completed my first one in 2016. My orthopedist there told me it would never happen. I’d had a 12-day long episode of excruciating back pain in the summer of 2015, and was diagnosed as having an arthritic lumbar spine. He told me that I could continue to do short runs, but I could expect more episodes of pain if I pushed it too hard. He was right, until, that is, I got directed to a PT that specialized in back issues. The therapy worked and continues to work as long as I stick with the program.

What distinguishes the Ridge Run from the other local Bozeman races I have run is the trail. To the extent that there is one, it is rough, rocky, and steep from the first steps onward. Sometimes it is no more than dirt smudged footprints across limestone outcrops. In some sections, vertical blades of thrust faulted limestone protrude through the surface, seemingly lying-in-wait to impale the unlucky runner.

As we reach the top of Sacajawea, we come to the first stretch of trail that only exists due to the footsteps of runners pushing aside scree over many years. We stay just below the ridge as the east face of Sac is sheer, then cut across the face of Naya-Nuki. I couldn’t resist the urge to pull out my camera and document this scene; early morning light baths the east side of the ridge, runners race near the edge of precipice.

Beyond Naya-Nuki the ridge becomes an exposed series of cliffs, unrunnable even by the standards of this race. The trail leaves the ridge, making a 2,000-foot descent, that begins as an expert ski slope of loose rocks and drops before connecting with the foothills trail, the fastest, best section of trail on this course.

The foothills trail though is narrow and can be dangerous. In my first Ridge Run, I was closely following another racer who at one point looked back over his left shoulder, stepped off the trail with his right foot, rolled down a scree field, landed on his feet and was angling back up to the trail when I noticed blood oozing from his left knee in three places. I don’t think the pain had registered yet. That had to hurt.

Our pace lessens as the trail inclines upward towards Ross Pass—the 7-mile mark. The Pass is a beautiful green meadow. At the far side of the meadow is the first full-service aid station of the race. Volunteers jump up to feed us, pour us drinks, provide medical aid. I know two of the volunteers this year, Frank, one the Wind Drinkers co-Presidents and Tracy, his wife, who manages the Wind Drinkers finances. They are two of the many volunteers that make this race a community event every year.

Beyond the aid station we begin the climb back to the ridge. I stopped when I entered the Pass area this year to take a picture of the pretty meadow with forested hill rising in the background. That unassuming green hill is none other than the infamous Wall of Death, 1,000 feet of steep climbing. It was this hill that was my undoing in my second Ridge Run. Inconsistent training, and little sleep the night before left me low on fuel for this climb. Other racers started passing me in droves.

Last year, in my third Ridge Run, I made it as far as Saddle Peak before falling apart. Today I feet strong and I’m keeping up with the racers around me up these and the roller coaster of other climbs and descents that characterize the Ridge Run.

While we ran, Rick made it a point of showing me that he was using trekking poles. Rick has a knee issue. I complained at him in Old Gabe for not using poles. This time I complained at him because his poles had the wrong kind of hand grips. “You want grips with rounded tops that you can palm on steep downhills. Gives you spider arms, an extra four feet of feelers to poke into the ground far below you.”

Rob and I ran lots of miles together. Like me, he is a transplant from Maryland. He recently got a job at MSU. He is 23 and this was his first Ridge Run, I expect he’ll be back.

Rob stops to smile on a rare flat section of trail nearing Bridger Bowl

As we ran, Aly, a mom with two little ones, told me that to her "having women supporting women in these events helps take the edge off of what it all entails to even get to the starting line. Being out on the ridge and deep in the pain cave while being accompanied and cheered on by a fellow mom through the rugged terrain brings a sense of belonging that we don't always have off of the ridge. You feel as if you have found your tribe, no matter your time or placement." Being part of the running community and the volunteer work that it entails was one of the reasons she too was out here suffering through her first Ridge Run.

The community aspect of the race is most apparent in the aid stations. I was offered my first ever gulp of straight pickle juice atop Bridger Bowl. In that moment, it tasted great. Atop Baldy, a large forkful of watermelon was presented to me, I stuffed it into my mouth in one bite, and drank two cups of coke, that really hit the spot, but I passed on the opportunity to do a keg stand. All of this happened while my son-in-law Chris, who was helping to man Baldy Crew, topped off my water bladder.

Baldy Crew is a hoot. I have helped man it 3 times. You really feel that you are contributing at this and the other aid stations.

Conversations die down as we began descending Baldy. That last 4 miles is warm and steep and steep and steep. Feet are getting scrunched up in the front of running shoes. We are all tired, and all feel the anguish of our poor toes. We are checking off the sections of trail in our heads. I reach Halfway, the final aid station along the route. Last year Tucker convinced me to let him put some ice down my back. It felt amazing. Tucker is back again this year, and I beg him to dump a handful down the back of my shirt. Ahh!

We know how much pain we have endured and those of us who train here know that the steepest section of trail is still ahead. The 1,700 vertical foot descent from the ridge to the “M” trailhead is unrelentingly steep. Reserves are low, but we are so close, no time to stop, to tighten our laces, to do anything but suffer it out.

The ridge trail is unmarked. I didn’t know the trail in my first Ridge Run, and I missed the exit from the ridge at the Lookout and continued down the ridge, then into a ravine that parallels the face where the “M” is painted. It’s all random goat trails to uninitiated runners. The trail faded as I descended. I had to climb out of the ravine, but which way, right or left. I guessed right and saw two women I had been racing with earlier. I ran over and tucked in behind them on the run to the finish.

By the time we make that final sprint on the green lawn next to the Fish Hatchery, all our dreams of great performances will be realized just by the simple fact of finishing, be it for the first time, or the 20th. Each of us glad we survived, some bloodied, but all of us succeeding at some level.

At 6:21:17, I was slower than I had hoped but still nearly 49 minutes faster than last year. I saw this performance as firm evidence that the zone training I began last October works. Yahoo!

The author, displaying his trophy for placing 3rd in the 60-69 age group.