In 2018 we were working on a long-term goal of completing a half marathon in all 50 states. This was an ambitious goal for two average, middle-aged runners, but we had started off well, having already accomplished Texas, Michigan and Nevada by the beginning of the summer. When we booked a trip to Ithaca, we knew this didn’t really fit the mission as we’d already run a half marathon here two years prior. Ithaca is a beautiful little college town tucked into upstate New York on the south end of Cayuga Lake surrounded by trees and well-known for its waterfalls and dramatic gorges.

As it was probably our favorite course to date, we determined that duplicating a state was worth the money and time. Excited and planning ahead, we had booked flights, a place to stay, reserved a car, and registered for the race several months prior to the run, expecting we’d be in prime condition to tackle the route again. The best laid plans …

Friday 2018 06 17

We arrived at the Ithaca airport late on a Friday evening, after a long day of travel. DFW to Philadelphia and on to Ithaca was a long haul, although easier than our prior trip when we didn’t realize there was an airport in Ithaca and drove all the way to Syracuse for our trip home. As mentioned above, a rental car had been reserved when this trip was planned many months ago. Of course, the organizer of this trip failed to verify transportation and other logistics prior to arrival in Ithaca. Much to our chagrin, the car we had reserved was patiently waiting for us in Elmira, 33 miles south of Ithaca. As any New Yorker knows (but evidently Texans do not), Elmira is not Ithaca. Not even close. Sitting at the airport in a town where we knew no one, with no rental car, a closed rental desk, and several miles of dark roads between us and bed, we sought out a taxi.

The driver of the cab was thrilled to acquire passengers amidst the apparent Uber takeover of upstate New York. Tired and ready for quiet, we traveled through Ithaca at less than 25 miles per hour while our driver expressed his intense dislike of Uber and everything they represent. We listened carefully and did not mention that Uber was our first choice of transport but unfortunately wasn’t available. “I’ve heard about Uber drivers offering their passengers marijuana”, said the driver, who ironically appeared to be under the influence of something himself. We wondered if this taxi driver was sober enough to navigate his way though the windy streets of Ithaca. Watching our route on Google Maps, we determined said taxi driver was taking an extended drive through the small town of Ithaca. Google says point to point? This driver responds with, “Screw that – I know Ithaca and I will take you where you need to go”.

Evidently “we needed to go” all over the town, drawing what should have been a five minute drive into thirty-five. Eventually, he delivered us to our destination – a large home tucked into some woods just outside of town and of the edge of the Cornell campus. We paid the taxi driver his overinflated fee and did not mention that we would most likely Uber our way back to the airport on Sunday.

The owners of the home met us outside and directed us to the small apartment in the basement of their enormous residence, while appearing mildly entertained at our rental car debacle. “It happens all the time,” female owner said, “once I booked a flight out of Elmira and arranged transportation to the Ithaca airport.” We felt slightly less embarrassed about our rental mistake as we retreated down the back stairs to our home for the next few days – an unusually clean apartment at the basement level back of the Ithaca mansion. Exhaustion took over and after killing a few mosquitos, the only sound was eyelids dropping shut.

Saturday 2018 06 16

On Saturday morning, all the runners of Ithaca were making their way up to the start line and preparing to exert all muscles while running over hills, gorges, chipmunks and other obstacles during their 13.1 mile race. While this preparation was happening, these two runners from Texas were still in bed in the unusually clean apartment tucked into the woods near the Cornell campus, aware of all that preparation only because announcements were echoing faintly up the hill from the starting line.

Why were we in bed on the morning of the race? Rewind less than 72 hours to a final training session near our houses. An aggressive training schedule combined with lack of proper stretching, extra unshed weight, and over-use (note, three half-marathons between February and May) had at least one of us limping when not running, with hamstring stress and a nagging pain in the right ankle. Despite that, it was time to put in some evening miles and sprint intervals at the track. Made it to the track, made laps at speed, and then started jogging back over the short mile or so home. Halfway down a quiet side street, something popped and running was no longer a thing for one of us. Hoping it was just a strain, said runner hobbled very slowly down the street, watching the uninjured party receding into the distance.

Getting up the next morning and being unable to put full weight on the right ankle, much less move faster than a slow walk, we had to admit that a half marathon was now off the table. Seriously frustrating, but plane tickets and lodgings were already reserved and paid for, so we’d proceeded to Ithaca with the thought that maybe one of us would run, while the other sat sadly at the apartment.

Back to the morning of the race – having arrived exceedingly late and not exactly fired up about a solo half-marathon for one of us, we rolled over and decided to forgo the run. New York had already been checked off during our 2016 trip, so we decided to consider other options for entertainment (if in fact, running 13.1 miles can be considered entertainment). Eventually, the broken bodied runner and the intact runner emerged from a very comfortable and clean bed into the world of green grass and tall trees, fresh coffee, and mosquitoes.

Remembering that we’d been deposited here without gas-powered transportation, we decided to walk to downtown to inquire about bike rentals at a shop we remembered from our prior trip. Bike riding seemed to be do-able even if running wasn’t, so the trip wouldn’t be a completely idle couple of days.

Walking down the winding back streets of Ithaca is a beautiful way to start the day, with the elevation above the glacial lakes and dense forests and creeks combining nicely. Along the way, we saw periodic reminders that steep hills and tall trees are sometimes incompatible …

Our route took us by the Morgan Smiley Baldwin Staircase, a memorial stairway constructed in memory of a soldier who was killed in the Battle of the Hindenburg Line, about month before World War I ended. The stairs went up in 1925. Repairs and general maintenance are required on structures in the area, given the terrain, wide temperature ranges between summer and winter, and frequent rains. During a routine repair in 2006, a mason came across what appeared to be a tin box. Administrators at Cornell University unsealed the container and found multiple newspaper articles, yearbooks, and some of Mr. Baldwin’s fraternity items, none of which had seen the light of day since 1925.

Unable to resist more history, we took a detour through the Ithaca City Cemetery – a quiet resting place for souls dating back to the 1790s. We’d evidently missed this one during our 2016 visit – an interesting and quiet park perched on the edge of the famous Ithaca Gorges.

Saying goodbye to the crowd of departed in the cemetery, we found our way to the bridge across Fall Creek, offering some pretty dramatic views (not done a lot of justice by phone photos) across the downtown center.

Once across the creek, the road transitions from downward hills to flat, tree-lined streets, some of which we’d run two years prior. Echoes of announcements from the missed race were still audible as we got closer to downtown.

With the injured runner in a grumpy mood, it was time to sort out some kind of exercise. Surely a long bike ride would suffice in place of a long run. Making our way through downtown, we ventured into The Outdoor Store, and were happy to see signs for rental bikes. Acquiring the bikes meant working our way through a lengthy conversation with an enthusiastic bike store employee. Aside from selecting bicycles and sorting out rental schedule, he was happy to give us his opinion on life in our home state of Texas, advising that he had once been “sentenced to a year in Dallas”. Fortunately the bike employee survived his sentence and many years later was able to air up some tires for these failed runners from Texas. Bikes and helmets secured, it was time to accomplish some sort of physical activity during our time in Ithaca.

A late breakfast / early lunch at the Ithaca Ale House got us fueled for our bike day. The two unaccomplished half marathoners set off on their trek to conquer Ithaca and make up for the missed 13.1 miles of running. Looking at our phone maps, Robert Treman State Park, a short 6-mile ride from downtown Ithaca, sounded like a great start. Forgetting to factor in summer and a Saturday afternoon in upstate New York, we found green grass and tall trees and calm town streets quickly turned into crowded roads, traffic, and shady liquor stores as we made our way out of town. Motorcycles, pickup trucks, cars, and 18-wheelers growled by noisily while cyclists struggled to find any sort of rideable spot on the sidewalk and/or street.

Peering up the road and seeing a disappearing shoulder and a steady line of impatient New York drivers, Treman Park and its waterfall was canned in favor of Buttermilk Falls State Park. At least on the map, it looked like a closer spot and a much shorter ride, which would ideally mean more relaxation and less roadway insanity.

Turning across the highway, we rolled into the parking area to find Buttermilk was packed with noisy New York families, all attempting to squeeze up a narrow, rocky trail to swim in a tiny little spot with a waterfall. All seemed to be simultaneously yelling at their children while attempting a “family fun” day in Buttermilk State Park. While the accents were different, this was starting to feel like a visit to Six Flags in our home state – jam-packed with too much humanity in too little space.

At this point, riders decided on a change in direction. Instead of heading south and playing Frogger on New York’s highway, or fighting our way into the Buttermilk pool, they would travel north to another state park which boasted canoes and kayaks for rent. Treman and Buttermilk only offered swimming holes, noisy families, and crowds. The problem with the option to head north? Just a long ride of … about 15 miles … each way. “No problem”, thought these riders, who felt that was appropriate substitution for not participating in the half marathon. This punishment included an uphill ride north to Taughannock State Park with one bottle of water, no sunscreen, and no bike shorts. Great idea.

Realizing that no day of punishment would be complete without beverages, we spotted a lonely liquor store that needed attention. Finding our first bottle of black vodka (!?!), we picked up mixers as well, and cramming all of that plus one rider’s helmet into an Austin Marathon Under Armour bag, we were ready to head uphill.

Having been out for at least two hours now, our pale Texas skin was slowly cooking in the ultraviolet-loaded NY air. Pointing our bikes up the trail, we realized that geography dictated this entire ride would be uphill. The promise of fresh, cold (we had no idea what “cold” meant at this point) water to jump into, combined with kayaks and canoes, sounded irresistible and helped on the inclines. As you can see on the map above, the trail was just about arrow straight – a reminder of the April Fool’s Half Marathon in Michigan a few month earlier. That run was 6.5 miles out, 6.5 back on a rails-to-trails track past some of the funkiest smelling chicken huts in the Midwest. This bike ride, while all straight, dirt roads with no hills or curves in the trail, had the benefit of nicer weather and beverages for occasional breaks. Whenever the trail monotony induced boredom, we took a stop for photos. And maybe a sip of a beverage …

We finally hit the top of the 15-mile long hill, and turned onto a potentially deadly downhill roll to the shores of Cayuga Lake. Sunburned, tired, hungry and thirsty, we arrived at our destination – Taughannock Falls State Park.

Before riding into the park, we stopped to check out the falls running through Taughannock Creek. We may have rolled past the signage indicating “no bikes past this point” but we eventually parked our transportation and walked the rest of the way to the falls. One of many beautiful spots along the edges of these glacier-created lakes, we had to use careful positioning to eliminate crowds from the photos.

Having communed with nature and hordes of Americans, we were starving. Working our way into the middle of the park, we waited in line for 30 minutes to consume possibly the worst chicken sandwich and fries we’ve ever had from a concession stand, whether operated by 14-year-olds or anywhere else.

“No”, said the employee when we asked to borrow an outlet to charge a phone, “We’re not supposed to do that.” He appeared appalled that we had requested such an impossible task. In Texas, the 14-year-old concession stand employee would have taken the phone, immediately plugged it in to the first available outlet, and apologized to us profusely for the inconvenience. Damn Yankees.

After waiting for craptastic food and dealing with phone charging rejection, we walked over to the dock area and requested a two-person kayak. “Forty-five minutes,” advised the (maybe) 16-year-old. “At least.” Well, we’d made it here and decided we might as well wait the forty-five minutes. The 16-year-old was wrong, and we were able to obtain a kayak in a reasonable amount of time.

Remembering our dreams of cooling off in the lake, we stepped into the water next to the kayak. Suddenly, the idea of immersion lost every last bit of its appeal. Texans are used to lakes the temperature of bath water and the color of coffee or pea soup. Lakes in upstate New York are the temperature of the deadly cold of outer space and the color of ice. Having determined that we’d see the lake from inside the boat instead of under the waves, the kayak did not disappoint, and we spent the next hour paddling around Cayuga Lake. Not a bad way to spend a Saturday afternoon, aside from the periodic splash of liquid nitrogen across our knees when a wave slapped our little boat.

Returning the boat, we were ready to head back to our relaxing apartment, or at least to downtown Ithaca. That rewarding (and sketchy) downhill on the way in? Grinding back to the top of the trail was not so rewarding. We pedaled furiously on our rented 40-lb bikes and managed an agonizingly slow pace up a very long hill. Exhausted at the top, we realized that the remaining mileage was largely downhill. Not exactly racing, we rolled back to town, secure in the knowledge that beverages and food were waiting at the end of travels.

Arriving in downtown, we dropped off our bikes and began the search for sustenance. Rounding the corner, we considered places we’d already visited, but fortunately spotted a patio attached to Simeon’s. Soup and some roasted vegetables with well-crafted beverages, led to great entrees under a calm June evening sky. Turned out to be the perfect patio to observe the Ithacans enjoying their usual Saturday night activities.

Because vacations equal beverages, after dinner we stepped across to Ithaca Ale house for post-dinner drinks. Realizing we still had a decent hike uphill to our house, and having returned bikes earlier, we made the executive decision to head home for the night. Somehow, we survived without toppling over a bridge railing into a gorge or falling down a flight of stairs. Stairs exist everywhere in Ithaca, even outside. Especially outside. We made it back to the quiet patio of the basement apartment which offered a quiet place to sleep off biking / kayaking /walking soreness and a likely inevitable hangover.

Sunday 2018 06 17

Getting up on Sunday, we sadly realized it was time to pack up and head back to the sweltering swamp of DFW. Trying to soak up as much Finger Lakes air as possible, one of us managed a nice lap around town, while the other one limped slowly around the neighborhood and waited for the Advil to kick in.

The run included a trek down Cascadilla Gorge Trail, which runs along Cascadilla Creek. The waterfalls and scenery distract a runner from the pain of five miles under an increasingly brilliant sunrise and gradually fading hangover.

Also on the five mile run route – the Cornell campus. Open since 1865, the campus spans 2,300 acres, and is notable for its irregular and rather organic layout and ornate architecture. A nice addition to the collection of campuses we’d run or biked through.

Exercise and recovery complete, we packed our things and dialed a taxi since Uber didn’t appear to be working on Sunday in Ithaca. Fortunately, this driver delivered us directly to the airport without a daylight tour of the city.

Clear non-turbulent air on the way to Philadelphia allowed for some pretty nice photos from the plane, before a short transit through the airport. Time for the final leg home – we hadn’t conquered the Ithaca Half and would spend quite a few months of idling while injuries resolved themselves. That said, our visit was fun, activity-filled, and a decent substitute for our original plan. We’ll try it again.

Postscript

As a closing note, in case anyone questions the validity of the injured runner’s complaints, a visit (after a month of waiting for the “strain” to heal) to an orthopedic doctor showed that the “strain” was actually a clean-through stress fracture of the tibia a bit above the ankle joint. Given a month, it had started to paste itself back together, but the injured party felt that an actual broken leg was probably a sufficient excuse for not running the repeat half-marathon. Fortunately, time has healed the break and a more moderate training regime and slightly more realistic event schedule has kept anything else from breaking off. Time will tell …