Circle Island Run
Circle Oahu Run
Circle Oahu Run
4/16/-4/18, 2010
The Purpose:
Why, you might ask, would anyone want to run around Oahu? No real answer to that, but I had been talking about a circle island run with Don for the last six months. But we could never seem to arrive at a good time. I wanted to continue with my Hospice Runner fund raising efforts and suggested that Don run for the Challenged Athletes Charity, which he has raised funds for before. We naturally thought Paul Sibley should join us as Paul had made a previous attempt at an Around the Island run while representing one of his Cancer charities. Ultimately we thought the ‘Three guys, three Charities’ would be a fun approach to a hard venture.
As the run time approached it became obvious that Don would not be able to attempt the entire run, so we decided he would do a relay, and Cheryl organized a team which became the ‘Girl’s’ team. Ultimately Don found he could only commit an afternoon to the race and the girl’s were pretty much on their own.
So after some adjustment the run became ‘Two Guys, Two Charities’.
Paul representing the Hawaii Children’s Cancer Foundation, HCCF, and I, representing the St. Francis Hospice of Hawaii, SFH.
Right here at the beginning of this piece, I want to request of you, that if either, or both Paul’s or my effort, impressed you, Please Take the Time to Make a Donation to the Charities We Represent. The links are provided. Both Paul and I would appreciate your kind consideration very much.
One of the hardest aspects of writing about epic runs is that they are generally extremely difficult events that one just manages to endure. The body tends to have a long residual memory of the hardships and great difficulty when the mind decides to revisit the event. The chronicler often finds the task of recording the experience almost as difficult as actually doing it. It can take a long time to write about what was painfully endured in the first place.
The idea of standing back at the Aloha Tower, with the prospect of running around the island again, creates an endless laundry list of incredibly important tasks that I suddenly found I needed to deal with before sitting down to record the experience. This is not unique for me, I have never really written an account of my 60 hour Birthday run, which covered about 125+ miles of HURT trails, three rainy nights, and two hot days. At the same time, I must note that it takes almost as long to write one of these pieces as it does to run the damn distance. Frankly I don’t know which one is more gruelling. I’d rather be on the road or trails than stabbing the keyboard.
With this failure in mind, I took along my camera and attempted to record some of the events and faces of the Circle Island run. I believe I got most every runner who helped us, but I know there were many miles out on the road where a camera was useless, or times when recording the events was an aspect of experience that was beyond my reach—either through sheer fatigue, or because I was too much apart of things. But the 150+ pictures I managed to take do help give a bit of an understanding of areas we covered, the people who participated, and many of the ‘special moments’ that were enjoyed during the run. If I missed anyone, or there was a great moment demanding a picture that went by unrecorded, the failure is mine, and my apologies.
The second reason I pulled out the camera was to note the feelings of the individual sections of the island. Pictures of iconic places, sign posts, or buildings, that carry with them a bit of the history and temperament of the land. For many of us, the island is defined by small stores, parks, or scenes, and we have our own memories of them tucked within the flow or our lives. So, in many cases I was not just taking a picture of the place but trying to capture a sense of where we were. It is a small island but actually quite diverse when you take the time to move through it slowly.
As a side note, it is amazing how close to the actual experience of running around the island you can come by using Google’s camera eye, which is now available for a large part of Oahu. A few days after the run, when I ran through the on ground maps it was just like being there. I played through the miles with Google occasionally while I wrote this piece and often found the shots from the Google cam as good or better than my own—surprise. Of course you don’t have the opportunity to feel those cars coming by, or the heat of the highway, or the chill of the night. With Google it always seems to be a beautiful day and there is never much traffic ahead of you—or coming right at you for that matter. And with Google there is not pressure to keep time, and you can actually stop and enjoy the scene for a while. I don’t know if it would take you almost two days to do however.
The Prep:
My preparation for this run was about as usual for my long ventures. I did a number of Hard Hot Highway runs in the weeks before. This was mostly to harden up my legs to the pounding of the highway, and to test different shoes. I didn’t do any speed work, or change my exercise routines other than that. I started eating large bowls of nine grain cereal a day or two before. I increased consumption of my whey protein shakes and upped my L-glutamine intake. The cereal seems to do me well over a long run and gives me the ability to go thirty miles or so with little added food intake. The whey shakes are really essential. I feel the increased protein and added amino acids go right to the muscle tissues setting them in an overload situation and permitting an extended period of energy consumption in the early stages of a run without pushing me into early deficit. For me this is important because it allows me to get into a rhythm without the early need to consume sugars and excess foods. I think it also acts as a backstop for when the body finally hits its stress state. The energy surplus is deep enough to allow you a buffer zone, or time period, to consume more energy while not stressing the digestive tract. I supplement this on the road with Muscle Milk with has a similar formulation, and high protein content.
I know the need for extra sleep. I have now been in over 24 hour run mode more than a dozen times, hitting the 36 hour mark regularly and doing that 60 hour session back in November—In most cases I could add eight hours to the run time to get the true ‘with-out sleep’ period. It makes a difference knowing what to expect, and when the mental and visual weirdness starts I am still able to concentrate on the next step. My mantra is that ‘What is threatening is indeed threatening, what is weird can be ignored.’ If you have ventured out that far on the endurance path you likely understand what I am saying, if not, it generally means that you are best advised not to become too entranced by what your own mind throws at you. Your entire system is tired, your brain is not screwing with you on purpose it is just trying to deal as best it can. Faces are easier to recognize than an odd assortment of rocks or debris. So you see faces, or people, or houses; all aspects of our societal being which we are geared to quickly recognize and sort. Our brain grabs the first and easiest path to identification and shows a face were a patterned rock might be. However one’s conscious mind can choose to believe that image or just step on it—literally and mentally. I think extra sleep offers a buffer and delays the hallucinations and mental stress. Quit frankly, I’ve talked to enough rocks. And as Rex said one day ‘Mikey, it’s not that you are seeing rock faces, it’s that the rocks have chosen to look at you.’ I believe I responded some time later, ‘Yes, but if this is all hallucination, what’s to say what I see when I am ‘normal’ is not any more, or less, of a hallucination?’ You start talking and thinking like this and chances are you have already forgotten what you are out there trying to do.
When ever question like this start to come up in your mind you have to ‘step on it’, in all three ways. And if you are tempted to ask the somewhat intellectual question of ‘What, then are you out there for Mike?’ The answer, my friend, is the not so intellectual ‘To take the next step.’ If you want to find God I don’t think an Ultra event is good place to look. (He may find you, but that is a whole different story!) Otherwise, go back out on the same trails at some other time and meditate if you wish to commune with God and nature. Until then, I advise you just get your ass in gear and put one foot ahead of the other, and keep your eye on your watch. If you don’t you will never finish the race.
I spent a great deal of time on shoe selection for this run. I tried a few different shoes, but ended up going with my HURT 100 shoes, Adidas …... They showed some wear, but they were comfortable and soft. I softened them up further with an extra double pillow Dr. Scholes insole, a green inner sole, and the regular inner sole. This may have been overkill, but it did save me from some of the pounding problems of a long road run. On the other had, I had some abrasion difficulty in the right heel that may have been because there was too much play in the heel. I went with a tested pair of smaller sized Ingingi socks and opted to put a thin sock, one of the HURT trail series socks, over the Ingingi. It felt very soft and cozy. I used no anti chaffing/blister stuff inside the socks. I should note here that the HURT socks were not meant for this kind of use. They gave out completely, where Thurlows would never have shown the beating of such a run. Looking at the socks later, I have to conclude that my blister problem was mostly due to the break down of the over sock. I used my ugly ‘Lazyguy’ gators. Even on roads these are essential. I went the entire distance with no sock changes, and took my shoes off only twice. Gators stop road debris from getting into your shoes and lessen blistering and foot problems as a result.
I put on my tried and trusted Nike compression Fit Dry shorts. Don’s ‘See Me!’ yellow long-sleeved Badwater Team shirt, and a neck bandana. I had three hats, a regular running cap, a sun hat, and a HURT stretch beanie. I also had a yellow running vest and carried a light fleece pull over. I had a pair of sunglasses. I went with a head lamp and a small hand held that had a strobe. I used Cramer’s Runner’s Lube, which outlasts Bag Balm. If you have chaffing problems this stuff is the bomb!
I had a couple different types of electrolytes. Scrounged S-caps from Paul and Cheryl, used Frogs Legs (frog mitochondrial extract)(lol), sucked on a few Guarana as a caffeine supplement. I believe I took a bomber Vit I out there one time, but I didn’t rely on the big ‘I’. I had an assortment of anti-oxidants that I took when I could remember I had them. I ate Nature Valley energy bars, avoided high sugar supplements. I relied very much on Muscle Milk.
I walked almost all the way. Race walk yes, but I did very little running, a bit of jogging, and was very careful about how much stress I put on my feet and legs. You have to do these event with the thought of what it takes to finish the final mile always in your mind.
Aloha Tower to Hygienic Store
I arrived at the Aloha Tower after 5:30 not feeling to well. I had an alternating fever and sweaty chills, a runny nose and sneezes, and was forced to take a Claritin D24 just before I walked out the door. I put on my fleece jacket because I was feeling chilly. When I got to the Aloha Tower I was kind of lightheaded and already sucking heavily on my water. Starts are never my favorite time so I knew what to expect. I generally don’t feel well before a long run, and the early stages of it are often the worst section. But this start was looking like the beginning of a difficult few days.
My friend John Keene showed up from St. Francis Foundation, and Louisa, another friend from St. Francis Hospice came down as well. Bob McAlester was over at Gordon Birche having a beer with Paul. I was supposed to have joined them but got there late, which was probably just as well as a draft of black beer would have done me little good. Ryan, Brenda, and Jeff Fong were there too. Ryan and Brenda had been with me through the roughest part of my 60 hour run, as I had stumbled along the edges of the narrow and steep trails of Nu’uanu and Manoa Valley’s. I felt blessed to start this run with them at my side again. We took a few pictures to mark the occasion.
As I stood there at the Aloha Tower my mind could not help wandering across time to the days when Honolulu Harbor was still known as Kou, a small poor fishing village, and no European traders had yet to enter the harbor. It was not until 1794 that the first English Trader entered Kou. The Captain was a former English Navy Lieutenant, an explorer, and Atlantic whaling Captain, known as William Brown. He had visited Oahu on a few occasions, had befriended the King and knew about Kou, but it wasn’t until November of 1794 that he actually sailed his two ships into the harbor. He threw over the anchor in ten fathoms of water and it came to rest just about where we were standing in front of the Aloha Tower. He promptly named the place Fair Haven. Brown didn’t know it at the time but it would be quite a visit and his name just a bit optimistic. I stood there thinking on that and said a silent prayer that my jog around the island would be far less eventful than his visit just over 200 years ago.
We departed the tower at 6:10 PM. Paul and I were running (my running is most often a fast race walk) with Ryan, Brenda, Jeff Fong. Frank joined us out at the old Fisherman’s wharf. It was a nice night, the rapid pace felt good and I warmed up a bit and was quickly feeling better. Julie Ng. caught us at the end of Ala Moana Park and took a few pictures and wished us all well.
We made our way over the Alawai and through Waikiki, regularly looking back for Rob Lahoe, who was running from home near Aiea, and planning to catch us. He finally came up on us after we had passed the Royal Hawaiian in Waikiki. Rob was tired. He had basically sprinted the distance and was feeling the pain, but he gamely joined in and we moved on seven strong.
Incidentally, Waikiki was at one time the capital of Oahu. The Kings of the Maui Brotherhood, who invaded and held Oahu, being the last to claim it as their seat of government before its ‘liberation’ by Kamehameha. It is said Kahekili placed a Kapu on the waves, reserving them for himself and his Maui royal guard. Then, as now, you don’t take the waves from the locals without some problems. Unfortunately for the Local Brahs of yesteryear, Kahekili was one mean Pahupu Warrior, which was a kind of Supermoke on Meth, tattooed half black, and schooled in the art of being socially lethal. Kahekili got his jollies smashing surf stealing Oahu blalah’s heads. Actually, he just enjoyed killing Oahu Ali’i and did a pretty good job of purging the entire island of its ali’i blood lines. His son Kalanikupule, was a better sort of fellow, in comparison at least, and let the locals have their beach on most occasions. The tradition was passed down through the generations, until it was considered a local right. The tradition of the Waikiki Beach Boy’s concessions originating in Kalanikupule’s beach permissions of long ago. Hence the statute of Duke Kahanamoku is an indirect honor to Kalanikupule, the last true King of Oahu. …What did I just step in?
Why, you might wonder, am I rambling on about the Kings of Waikiki, when I should be writing about running around the island. Have patience. I have 44 plus hours of sweating, farting, belching, and dealing with skin problems to relate to you, a little history won’t hurt one bit. And the fact is that it was here in Waikiki almost at the very spot I was standing, and a few months before Captain William Brown’s arrival at Kou, that’s Fair Haven, that Oahu’s King, Kalanikupule, received the disturbing news that his uncle Kaeokulani was going to be stopping by Oahu with a band of his Kauai Toughs. And, to try and tie this rambling back together again, he sent a company of elite warriors toward Makapu’u in hopes of spotting his uncle’s approach from Maui. We were, it occurred to me, kind of following in the footsteps of the King’s Men.
H1:M5 So, we had about seven people in the group as we strutted out of Waikiki singing the ancient Hawaiian marching song made popular by Kalani’s elite guards. Some people would jog for a while, and then walk, and I would catch them up, pass them and march on. When they trailed behind, or got tired of trying to walk at my pace they would jog on ahead again. We were expecting to run into Fish, and he found us down in Kahala. He had a couple of dogs with him, and a few friends along. So now we had a regular caravan. The dogs fell back pretty quickly, and it looked like we would lose them before the turn toward the golf course. When we made the end of the road at the Arco station Rob opted to head home as he was dead tired after the sprint out from his home. He eventually walked and jogged home covering a good 25 plus miles.—and then came out to find us, way out beyond Waimanalo and offer aid! What a guy!!
H2:M8 It was about two hours of walking to the Arco station, which I figured was OK since we were coming out of Honolulu and we had been polite, for the most part, while going along the pedestrian crowed streets. We made the turn and I knew I wanted to make Hawaii Kai by three hours. We played the same hop scotch games of pacing down Kalanianeoli. Fish caught us up with one of the dogs, who proved a great pacer, and we pushed on. Fish was another of the great friends who had stuck with me in the late hours of my sixty hour birthday run. He was there in the dark and the rain, always smiling, always assuring me I was doing well and that I’d finish. It was great to have him join us on this one too.
H3:M14 We reached Koko Kai Shopping center in just past the three hour mark. We took a few pictures and Jeff, Brenda, Ryan, and Frank left us there. Fish came along for a few blocks, but the dog was beat and Fish had to quit. Suddenly it was just Paul and I going up the steep hill of Hawaii Kai Drive and over into Kalama. Paul related a story of his push up that hill during a triathlon out in Hawaii Kai when he rolled past a few score of flatlander heroes, and I told him about the numerous times Ernest T and I had battled for dominance on that that hill when we were training with Don Fallis for the Badwater in ’07. I believe I also told Paul about how Ernest and Fish had kicked my ass one very long day on what I had finally named the Eastside Shuffle. That Eastside training route is a masterful killer devised by Fish, and which epitomizes his famous ability for understatement.
Throughout the early miles my gut had been acting up and by Hawaii Kai I had developed stomach cramps. It was painful but not serious and I kept moving, fearing that if I stopped I’d find myself with a case of diarrhea. I ate a handful of beano pills, restricted myself to water, and just pushed on, my gut churning, twisting and occasionally cramping on me. It was not unfamiliar, I’ve gone through an entire 100 Mile races with a gut that hurt and churned constantly, but recently I have had better luck controlling it. I did what I felt would work and kept moving, dreading the alternative. I was still chilling occasionally, and at Hawaii Kai I decided to put on my running vest. It was a good idea and the chills dropped off immediately. I ran with it through out the night and much of the next day. I had already developed a hot spot on my right heel and had to stop to pull up my socks every now and then. It was all just the kind of stuff I have to put up with in the very early hours of all long runs.
We made the turn on to Kalanianeole down near Queens and headed toward Makapu’u, getting our first taste of a dark narrow road and bright on-coming head lights. It was a bit of shock after the miles of well lit streets and sidewalks. My hand held had a strobe and it appeared to have an added ‘notice me’ factor, as many vehicles moved toward the center of the road as they passed. It turned chilly quickly, the wind picked up, and rain began to hit us like bb shots, but nothing much came of it. The wind would howl, drop off, and then howl again. The night couldn’t decide what to do with us. We were suddenly very alone and a long way from Hawaii Kai. It was blowing and the rain was spattering down as we began the climb toward the Makapu’u Pali. The mountains shielded us a bit and the wind died back once again, then howled hard out of the northwest bringing on drops of rain as we hit the crest.
In November of 1794 Kalanikupule’s uncle and hanai father, Kamohomoho, also one of his primary war chiefs, commanded the troops who were sent out to watch for Kaeokulani, Kalani’s other uncle. ( They were all related you see, all members of one great power but dysfunctional Maui Clan.) I doubt that Kamohomoho had anything against his half brother, they had fought together in other wars, and likely grown up in the same large complex household, but he was determined to see that Kaeo didn’t cause trouble on Oahu for his step-son and King. The concern was likely because Kaeo was traveling with a band of thugs from Kauai, young not so highly placed, second and third sons of Kauai ali’i, who had nothing better to do than cause trouble everywhere they went. Kamohomoho placed guards at Makapu’u head, along the coast of Kalapueo, the far eastern section of Waimanalo, and in the little bay beyond what we call Makapu’u beach, then known as Pu'u'kukui, a small poor fishing village. Kamo also made a visit to Waimanalo and shared a few cups of ava with the boys over near Waimanalo Beach Park, then known as the village of Muliwaiolena. He let the locals know that they might have Maui visitors and not to expect the travelers to be particularly sociable. He offered to leave some of his guards to help them out if Kaeo showed and things got difficult.
H4+:M19+ I’ve run Makapu’u a few times in the past months and it is not a nice venture during the day. The restoration work has created an unmarked jungle of loose steel plates that rise and fall like trap doors as cars move over them, hanging netting, speeding cars, blind spots along the road, and no place for a runner to hide if someone turns into a race car driver. If you don’t get hit by a car, you certainly risk losing a foot to the man eating steel jaws. We were fortunate as traffic was light, and our lights and highly reflective gear seemed to be seen far enough away that drivers slowed down and kind of looked for us as they rounded the blind curves. All the same I was glad to get down the pali and onto the broad pull-off area above the beach. We finally marched down to the bottom and passed by what used to be Pu’u’kukui. It was here, at Pu’u’kukui that some of the warriors whose trail we retraced out of Waikiki were stationed in anticipation of a visit from Kaeokulani—which was not such a bad idea because he showed up just as Kalanikupule had expected. Having reached Makapu’u head Kaeo chose to go along the windward coast, which was strange since everyone knew the King was living in Waikiki, but not that strange since his Kauai band of trouble makers would be up to no good anyway—better to do this far away from royal eyes, and spears.
The canoes of Kaeokulani pulled into the bay beyond the islands, in the lee of Makapu’u and what we call Rabbit Island and sent a few outriggers ashore, which was common in those days since fleets completing an inter island voyage were often in need of water. But immediately after they beached there boats they started stealing the village’s outriggers, tagging the sides of hale, taking whatever else they could get their hands on, and making beef with the local fishermen who were just a bit unhappy about the needs of the visitors. Say What Brah!? But they were Kauai boys, cheap punks from whom little else could be expected. So the Oahu special forces, who were hiding in the rocks waiting to see what was up, jumped out and bashed a few skulls, sending the Kauai boyz fleeing back to Kaeo’s fleet. The Kauai chiefs thought it pretty unfair, as they would never would have made beef with the defenseless villagers if they had known the Oahu warriors were there waiting for them—claiming a case of police ‘entrapment’.
Kaeokulani, was a pretty cool dude however, he wasn’t really upset to see some of his boys roughed up, but he still had all these hot heads to handle. He had figured to let them steal a few canoes and that would keep ‘em happy for a while. However, with the first failure he was forced to authorize another canoe jacking, and the fleet moved west along the great crescent bay of Waimanalo coming up on Muliwaiolena, one of the main villages of Waimanalo.
We did the section to Waimanalo Beach Park on the left side of the road. It’s a rugged stretch of very narrow ‘bike lane’ that I never like. Paul and I walked off pavement over the rough ground a lot. It slowed us, but it was safer than facing the traffic. My gut was still churning and cramping and I was in intermittent pain. I kept walking, hoping I could wait out the time it took for the Beano to begin to reduce the gas production in my gut. The night was a series of intermittent chills and sweats, gut pains and fatigue, and stops to pull up my socks. The wind would blow, the rain threaten and it would cool down the point where I needed to put on my stocking cap. Then, just as fast, the winds would die, and the land would throw off its heat like a thermal blanket, and suddenly I would be hot and sweating. I’d pull off the cap, let my head dry and wait for the winds to kick up and bring on another chill. All the while we were pushing as best we could, walking the road side when the traffic was light, and slogging through the rugged verge when the white lights lined up ahead of us like cars attending a midnight funeral. We talked some, but mostly it was enough to watch where we were putting our feet, and keep an eye on the cars moving quickly past us.
H6:M22 Waimanalo was quiet. Even before midnight it seemed as if the town had gone to bed hours before. We passed the area of the Beach Park, the old village of Muliwaiolena. What’s left of ‘the end of the sweet smelling stream’ is only a stagnant pond today.
It was here on a fine afternoon in the season of Makahiki that Kaeo tried once again to land a raiding party. And, just as we had moved swiftly down the beach from Makapu'u and Kalapueo, the warriors sent out from Waikiki had moved to join the hidden forces in the dunes of Muliwai. When Kaeo’s bully boys landed they ran smack into a mean bunch of Oahu elite warriors and there was a nasty blood bath, with many killed on each side. The fact was it occurred in the midst of Makahiki, the sacred season of the planting, a period of ritual and calibration dedicated to Lono, when wars were verboten. To say it was all very bad juju is to put it quite mildly. The Oahu forces were victorious and drove off the Kauai raiders, but it left them feeling quite uneasy. Lono was not a god to offend. He controlled the cycle of planting, and to break that cycle chanced famine and the disruption of the natural flow of life. It might be a lot like modern day people taking time out to honor the birth of Christ, sing carols of eternal peace and salvation, rise and come to the alter to profess their belief in the savior, and then go right out and fight a war. Well…. yes, that happens regularly now, but we have good reason. Unfortunately the Hawaiians were not such adept rationalizers. It bothered them greatly that they were breaking such sacred kapu, and despoiling the sacred period of Makahiki which demanded reflection on life that comes from the earth. I think we like to call that superstitious, but of course when we act in such a way it is often called ‘strength of character’. Depends on whose history we read I guess. I make this all very clear in my book The Vengeance of Kahekili, for those of you who might be interested, just contact me if you want to buy a copy. Vernon Char liked it a lot, so there’s a good recommendation!
H6+:M24+ We skipped the first 7/11 at the Beach Park but needed water at the second. We fit in well with the assortment of derelicts, party girls, and couch potatoes who had had to rouse themselves in order to buy some minor necessity. Well at least we didn’t fit in as well as anyone else in the place. Nobody really seemed to think we looked odd or strange standing there sweaty and smelly in our running gear waiting with the half dressed party girls, fat broads in tiny tank tops and short-shorts and guys with dreadlocks in old army coats. It was hard to tell if the store clerks were just bored or numb from overwork; but the Friday night shift at the Waimanalo 7/11 can not be the most sought after job on the island.
After Kaeo and his band of not so merry men had been driven off at Waimanalo, they sailed out to sea, and then sent a canoe in to see if they could arrange a meeting. They still needed water and their food was running low. Kalanikupule had nothing against his uncle, Kaeo, and he was feeling the pressure of the people of Oahu to stop the warring during Makahiki season, so he agreed to meet Kaeo over Kailua Beach way.
H7:M27+ We pushed out from the store in Waimanalo reaching the turn at Castle Hospital by about 7 hours (1:00AM). The night was hitting us pretty hard, and our pace slowed as it seemed that either Paul or I had been forced to pull off into a clump of bushes every few minutes. I had us at an hour behind the loose schedule we had figured. The trek from Hawaii Kai had been long, slow, and hard. It seemed as if we had gone twice the 30 miles we had actually traveled. Both Paul and I were more worn than we should have been. It was hard to say why. The night was wearing on Paul, his lack of sleep beginning to take its toll. The constant low grade pain in my gut was making walking uncomfortable and destroying my pace. We were both struggling.
The walk into Kailua was fast, but I needed to stop at the 7/11. I was sucking down water and was a bit unstable at the stop. Instead of one bottle I bought two, and with three liters, filled the bladder to the top, filled my bottle, and chugged a good half liter. The extra water, a couple of electrolytes and a block did me good. Paul had gone ahead and I didn’t find him until Kalama Beach Park.
H8 (2:00AM):M30+ It wasn’t far from Kalama—actually it was down at Kalapawai, near where Buzz’s and the Kalapawai market are, that the forces of Kalanikupule and Kaeokulani came together for a meeting to talk things out. They were, after all, nephew and uncle, and neither really wanted to ‘make beef’. So they sat around and drank ava and reminisced about Kahekili who had died only months before. The kahuna said prayers and made some sacrifices of food the family gods and special ones to Lono, all of which, according to Hawaiian custom, were eaten immediately—the Hawaiians believing consecrated food formed a bond of communion between man and gods. Nephew and uncle reaffirmed their love for each other and hugged and feasted and drank more awa and then, when you would think it was time to go to sleep, they opened up the English rum, and everyone got shit faced. It was an extraordinary bash and the only thing missing was a big bag of pakalolo. Which was kind of good because there never would have been the rest of this story if they had all turned into a crooning choir of Izes and sat around singing about what a wonderful world this could be. In any case everyone at the party was left with super bad hangovers and they needed days, perhaps weeks to recover, so it must be many miles before I pick up their story again.
We moved west through Aikahi, where the roads had decent sidewalks and lighting. We could almost travel without our lights. We had on enough reflective gear that it was fine. It was about 2:00 AM and both Paul and I were feeling the night. Paul much more than I, as he had not had much sleep the previous week or so and it was hitting his brain. In addition the constant walking was tearing up his legs and feet, as he had not done hard hot highway to any great extent. Jogging is not race walking. It started to play on his feet, his calves and his legs. We moved on, but with Paul needing to take short breaks to make adjustments to gear and I to pull up my sox. I tried to help him out with some caffeine, but it had only a mild effect.
H10(4:00AM):M34 By the time we hit Kaneohe Paul was walking on noodle-like legs and having problems focusing. We stopped at a gas station ‘quick stop’ and he got a sandwich and some Gatorade. A half tab of caffeine did me fine and I was bouncing around a bit as Paul tried to figure out which end of the sandwich to eat first. It seemed a long stop, but was probably no longer than normal, and the food helped Paul refocus. We moved off at a better pace. We pushed out of Kaneohe as the false dawn began to lighten the eastern sky. Seeing the night come to end was a huge relief for us both.
H11+(5:30AM):M38+ We came around the corner at He’eia down past the boat ramps and caught the sun rise. An orange disk pushed up out of the steel gray ocean throwing bright orange rays of light about, and then fled just as quickly behind a grey pot dome as the entire north-eastern sky was filled with ugly gray clouds. But it was dawn, and we could see. We pushed on for a few more miles until forced to stop so Paul could take care of a foot problem. The walking was tearing him up. The shoes that were so comfortable for a faster pace just would not cooperate with his feet at the slower pace I needed to move. I repeatedly suggested he jog on ahead and that I would catch up, but we both knew it is just another bad solution to the difficult problem of staying together. As we stood there buckling each other back up, a fellow across the street called over to us and asked us if we wanted a cup of coffee. I politely said no, he asked again, and ..what the heck! I thought, I could use it, and so both Paul and I ambled across the street and talked with the fellow. We had to repeat the fact that we were going around the island a few times. But he used to volunteer at St. Francis and was impressed with the charity aspect of the run. He disappeared into the house and quickly brought us out two freshly brewed cups of coffee, wished us a good journey and we headed out again, the coffee cups in our hands.
It was morning now, and commuter traffic was whizzing down the road. People tried to be nice and give us some room, but they wouldn’t be late. The traffic came at us in a more determined manner than at night, our reflective gear seen as a caution after thought to a pat schedules that allowed drivers to arrive at work with five minutes to spare. A garbage truck came up behind us and we were pushed off to the side as it slowly leap frogged ahead of us tossing bins about like styrofoam coffee cups. It was a relief to see it finally move ahead, but we saw the truck stopped up ahead again as we came around one of the hundred bends along that stretch of road. The driver and some yokel from a house on the hill were, it seemed, old high school buddies and it what better time to talk story? The garbage truck driver just stopped the truck there in the road and threw open the door and they chatted like nobody else was going down the road. So now we had to negotiate the truck, the bins, the driver, his friend and the half dozen cars that were fighting to get by a doublewide truck that is barely half off the road. Hey, Saturday morning in Kaneohe brah!
The road snaked slowly around each cove revealing picture perfect views and evoking memories of the Hawaii the once was, perhaps still is in the isolated bays of Kaneohe. But as beautiful as the vistas I began wondering if this section would ever end, and it seemed as if we were stuck on a loop of a bad DVD where awe inspiring vistas just run past over and over again. Then I spotted Don’s house up on the hill. As we passed I yelled and howled hoping he will come out and offer us breakfast or rolls or something. Unfortunately he heard us, knew it was me yelling, and ignored us completely, not wanting the neighbors to know he associates with road riff-raff, and we were forced to move on unfed, unwatered. (At least that’s the way I see it.)
H13(7:00AM):M41+ We hit the Hygienic Store at just under 13 hours, 7:00 AM. Both of us were tired, but relieved to have made it this far. Paul was limping a bit on occasion. I was feeling a bit better, as my gut seemed to be quieting. I was feeling so confident that my gut problems were over that I bent over and grabbed my ankles and farted so hard and long it blew me off my feet; a new kind of Runner’s High.
Hygienic Store to Turtle Bay
H13(7:00AM):M41 I called Cheryl when we reached the Hygienic Store and she told me the girls, who had left from Aloha Tower at about 5:00 AM, were already beyond Hawaii Kai. They were making good time and I figured they might catch us by the end of the morning.
The run from the Hygienic Store out toward Turtle Bay is the prettiest section on the island. It is wonderful country, and there can be no doubt why the people who live there have been in a constant battle to stop development in the area. If commercial interests had there way each and every inch of shoreline would be developed and the great valleys of Ko’olauloa would be filled with houses. That this is not the case is a testament to the fighting spirit of the people who live there. However, much land that once was small shacks is now hidden behind the high stone walls and lush vegetation of super estates. Money seeps through all cracks, or makes its own when necessary. But a few rich families on many acres of land is not hundreds of middle class families with thousands of cars, kids, and the supporting shopping centers, strip malls, schools, churches, and gas stations.
When the walking is good I often just lose myself in the pace. I don’t look up other than to orient and focus on the oncoming traffic. I often move through a four step pace as if it were a mantra. I’ll actually count, ‘1,2,3, Four’ again and again, or I’ll use my breath to push me, ‘Inhale, exhale, exhale, EXHALE’ repeatedly. Each set of repetitions is an opportunity to move at a better pace, too take the best steps I have taken, to perfect my stride. One can carry this a bit farther, combining the theories of Buddhist meditation, and let awareness of the body flow along with the pace. This allows you to become aware of any minor problems that are working their way to the surface and to make minor adjustments to stride or breath, or posture. “Alu, Alu, Alu, Alu loa!’ Each set of steps like the last, but better.
Many people have questioned me about this asking how I can do something so boring. The point is that making the effort to do well, to repeatedly attempt to improve, is about the least boring thing one can be doing. What is boring, and dangerous, is to lose focus, to dwell on how far you have come, or worse, how far you have to go, or how you feel, or to day-dream. In long events, running or walking, you are generally a long way from anywhere. So far from anywhere that your mind can begin to cry and whine if you lose focus, and you fall prey to questioning things. As the event unfolds you are never likely to feel great, but you can not really change where you are or how you feel, so the best thing to do is deal with the smallest bit of data you can change—your stride. Find the stride that you feel you can carry on forever, and work at making it consistent. Work on making it better. Deal with the tiniest things that allow you to keep moving efficiently and quickly. Push the rest of your concerns aside and move. When I practice sedentary meditation my mind will wander and I will lose concentration and have to restart the practice. When running I will suddenly find my mind has wandered and I have lost stride. When I will realize it I begin the process again without recrimination or upset. Just back to it with the intent of doing it more completely this time. That long stretch through Kaneohe was a good walking time.
Leaving the Hygienic Store in Kahalu’u one passes through an area that was once Kaneohe Ranch lands. About a mile down the road, on the left, one passes a line of old plantation style houses that I believe were once Kaneohe ranch quarters. I remember coming out this way in the 1950’s in our sleek emerald green 1948 Packard and going to my first Rodeo out behind those homes. It was a rough bunch of Paneolo’s who roped steers, and road broncs, and bulls. And my first real cowboy hero’s were guys named Oshiro, Kamaka, and Lee. It was all a great adventure with plenty of time to see the horses, and animals and eat teri-meat on a stick, drink sodas, and chew popcorn. Wonderful excitement for any four year old. Then the only way out this way was the way Paul and I had come, along the bay, and it was far country, even for somebody from Kailua.
H14 (8:00AM):M44 After a few bends in the road one passes into Waiahole, with its rich vegetation and small fruit farms. Even today there are plenty of places to stop and pull over and where one can buy ice-cream banana, papaya and vegetables. For a while the road leaves the ocean and winds through lush hilly country. The signs begin to appear on the sides of road. These are big, primitive works, daring unknown people to try make trouble, or telling other equally unknown villains to stay out, or go sell their shebei somewhere else. It’s an odd contrast to the tranquil glens and fields that spill out of the great valleys. I enjoyed the signs, as they have been up in various form since the radical protest days of the late sixties and early seventies, when the valleys were on the edge of open and armed rebellion against the developers, the state and the city. The walk under the trees was refreshing and both Paul and I seemed to be reviving after the long hard night.
About half way into Waikane we received a great and welcome surprise when Ryan and Brenda pulled up on the other side and honked their horn. They pulled over a few hundred yards down the road and when we joined them they offered us a McDonalds Breakfast of breakfast burritos. Brenda had some pie too, but I was still feeling my gut rumbling and was avoiding anything that might touch off the cramping again. Paul, for all his distaste for Chez Mac, was not timid about enjoying the high fat, salty meal. Real Food…ok…near real food, the first I had managed since leaving home, tasted great. And both of us moved off at a refreshed pace and with eyes that enjoyed our surroundings a bit more than before. Thanks again Ryan and Brenda!
H14+(8:30AM):M45+ We reached the boundary of Kualoa Ranch, and a while later Paul needed to rewater so we stopped at the Coral Kingdom hoping they would have bottled water, they did but in those tiny expensive tourist bottles, but the staff was very nice considering our appearance and allowed us to use the bathroom, where Paul watered up, while I wandered around looking at some of the different coral on display. After a few photo’s we headed on hitting Kualoa Beach Park and making the big turn that took us out of Kaneohe bay and along the narrow coast line of Ka’a’awa.
H16 (10:00AM):M51 My gut had calmed down by this point. I had managed to equalize inner and out pressures, and aside from the constant hot spot on my right heal I was doing well. Paul was back into his stride and we were both pushing along at a nice clip. We moved through some stunningly gorgeous areas. Through Ka’a’awa, Makua, Crouching Lion, and then into what I think is one of the most idyllic bays on any island, Kahana. If I were to sail into a bay and visit the natives it’s the place I would choose. Bad tides and shallow waters must make anchoring here a real problem as there appears to be no record of early visits to Kahana by traders.
H17(11:00AM):M55 We made the trip through Kahana, and then out and around the point, where we watered up again at a small beach park and spotted Ryan and Brenda heading back toward Kualoa on their bikes. They stopped and promised to bring us lunch. We were back on the road again feeling good, and pushed into Punalu’u where Ryan and Brenda caught us up and I got my first tuna fish sandwich of the day, and a large bottle of Muscle Milk. It was great. We said good bye to our morning support crew and headed on through the long stretch of road that is Punalu’u and into Hauula.
H18(12:00PM):M57+ A few miles down the road, somewhere outside of Laie we were accosted by a long haired tattooed guy driving a big white van. He yelled something seemingly obscene at us—‘Gooo Jawww Ayes!!’—and threatened to further accost us up the road somewhere. He pulled a big radical U-turn on the crowded road scattering the tourist traffic while smiling and waving all at the same time, and headed fullbore back up the highway. Our second support crew had arrived. Steve Dewald and his son Lindsey had come to escort us through the afternoon.
Having access to Steve’s van was great. It allowed us to shed some of our excess gear and cruise along at lighter weight. At first I was reluctant to drop my camel pack as it has everything I need on it. But after a while I realized that the stops were only a few miles apart and I could handle it with a 28 oz bottle. Shedding our loads helped both Paul and I push on farther and quicker. Steve had an assortment of good food in the back of the van, and the first thing that Paul and I grabbed was some greasyhuli huli chicken. The protein and fat tasted great. There was other stuff in the van and Steve and Lindsey kept offering us that too, but the container of chicken might just as well have filled the van, because it was all I saw. As much as I wanted it I was still a bit worried about my gut and I took some time to really get at it. But I would run down the road, a bottle of cold water in my hand, thinking of that chicken. This craving only increased when we passed by Laie Beach Park and the smell of everyone’s beach BBQ filled the air. The next time the van stopped I went for the chicken, relishing in the feel of my hands and mouth covered in greasy fluids. I think I growled a few times when somebody tried to offer me something else. I may have finally looked up and said something like ‘Arrrgggg!’
Cold water to drink, no weight on my back, the van always just up ahead, the warm sun shining down on us. It was suddenly a great time to be on the road. I think I actually started to jog a bit. Our pace picked up and we were once again making very good time. Which was good because Steve told us that the girls were not far behind and threatening to catch us up. Paul and I, fed and well watered, were suddenly much more competitive and vowed to push on a bit harder and make their chase just a bit harder and longer than they expected.
We went past the Polynesian Cultural Center and I got some great shot of the crew posing with the images of some of the lesser Hawaiian gods. Paul and I felt great and we felt we were barging into the realm of the Hawaiian demi-gods. We were burning up the road, and felt like we belonged among them. We pushed on through Laie, and past Malaikahana, another one of those beautiful beaches that few people bother to stop at.
H19(1:00PM):M62 We hit Kahuku, and pushed on. It was so easy with the van escorting us, the guys filling up a water bottles with cold water, and food was there for the taking whenever we wanted it. It was such a cruise! Both Paul and I felt great.
That stretch outside of Kahuku, near the shrimp farms was a bit tougher. The day had turned hot, and it was windy. I found myself flipping between a major sweat and a chill. It was like running along the edge of knife, not knowing whether I was going to be cold or be sweating profusely. This may have been the chill that I had brought along with me, or the time-on-feet I was dealing with, or just the strangeness of the day that seemed to be a bit schizophrenic. But Steve and Lindsey were always there offering us nutrition and advice. Telling us what the next section would be like and getting us prepped to make it as quickly as possible. It felt like a race, the girls were catching us up, but having a harder time than they had expected and we were feeling like we could go on at our good pace forever.
Turtle Bay to Haleiwa
Somewhere after the Turtle Bay sign Cheryl and the girls made their first appearance. The first thing I knew of it was when Jan went running by me. I tried to push a bit and catch up with her but she was going too fast for me. For a moment I actually thought they had caught us already, but it turned out to be a bit of joke. Cheryl had driven ahead, leaving Heather Howells to the run, to see where we were and to harass us. It was fun to see them and they stuck with us for a few miles before turning around to find Heather and continue their relay run.
The day was beginning to get to me and despite all the activity there were times that I could feel the long hours of pushing beginning to slide slowly over me. I took a half tab of caffeine and a hit of an energy drink, the next time I was at Steve’s van. It helped but I was still feeling sluggish, or more appropriately, dazed. I pushed on, knowing, like everything else, it would pass.
H21(3:00PM):M68 JulieT was running with us for quite a while, and then Don and Heather came by, and Don joined us. The added company woke me up a bit, and we took the turn and started the stretch toward Sunset Beach. It was fun to see everyone, but I had to fight the desire to just sit down and talk. Each time the van stopped I grabbed what I needed and pushed on. No stopping when you still have a choice.
Somewhere along this stretch Steve and Lindsey left us. They had come at the right time and had kept us going through the heat of the day. It had been really great, perhaps the best part of the run—after the difficult night and before Paul was forced off the road. On the last visit to the van Steve offered us everything he had, and we helped ourselves to a giant goodie bag. Once again we watched the van go down the road a ways, but this time it took another wide U-turn and Steve passed waving and smiling for the last time, heading back toward Kaneohe. It was sad, saying good bye to that great afternoon.
H22(4:00PM):M70 Heather was there in Don’s car when we Sunset, and Cheryl had come up to join us—HeatherH and Jan were only minutes behind us. There was all kinds of food and drink, and all our gear from the van had been transferred to the cars. Plus Cheryl had my stash can. The amount of choices we had for food was almost overwhelming. But I wasn’t hungry, and ate very little, relying on a Muscle Milk to get me through.
Sunset proved to be Paul’s Waterloo. You can see from a few pictures of that stop that he quickly faded. There is one where you see him sitting on the tailgate of Don’s car, and then in another he is in the back ground finally sitting on the ground against the rear bumper of a car. It is obvious he has crashed. When we got ready to move on, Paul confided in me that he felt done-in. I believe I could have cajoled him into going on, but being uncertain on your feet while moving against oncoming traffic is dangerous and not recommended. Smart people stop. He had come all the way from Kaneohe after his first crash, and this time he looked a lot worse. I suggested that he get into one of the cars and try and sleep for a few hours. It would put off any decision to do anything until we hit Hale’ewa. It wasn’t quitting, just resting, and he obviously needed some rest.
I headed on, Don catching me up as we moved down the pedestrian path that has been added to that stretch of road. It was great running with Don. We both had on our Yellow Badwater shirts, and the feeling was much the same as one of those long sections of Badwater, though this time I was the one dragging a bit. We made good time down the beaches toward Waimea. The great thing about the bike path is that there is very little interaction with road traffic. That was a tremendous relief.
H23+(5:30PM):M71+ However the bike path ends just shy of Waimea and we were back on the road again, moving around the bay, and then up and around the high side.
There is a heiau, Pu’uomahuka, up above Waimea, higher on the ridge where the church is. It may have been a luakini heiau, a place of sacrifice. In any case it was also a school for Lua, the Hawaiian art of warfare. It is said that it was a training ground for Pahupu, or Super Mokes. An interesting incident occurred here on May 12, 1792 which is worth recounting. A naval Lieutenant Richard Hergest, once a midshipman under Cook, was in command of the supply ship Daedalus in the flotilla of George Vancouver. He was supposed to rendezvous with Vancouver off Oahu, couldn’t find him, and needed water. Hergest had once been to Waimea when aboard the Discovery and chose to return there to rewater.
The Daedalus was an unhappy ship, and Hergest was a frustrated and poor commander. He compounded this failure by taking a small lightly armed water party ashore. He was met by a group of locals who offered to show him where to get fresh water. However these friendly souls were chased away by a group of pahupu warriors who had been watching the crew come ashore and came down off the ridge. The English should have known something was up when the big kanakas with the half tatooed bodies showed up. They led Hergest and his party farther back into the valley under the premise that the water was fresher. There they attacked the English crew with stones, likely tossed from slings, and three crewmen were killed, including Hergest, his science officer Spock, and a seaman. The others in the party managed to make it back to the boat by dropping their weapons and running for their lives. The primary purpose of the killings was to steal the English weapons. The excuse they used was that King Kalanikupule had a bounty out on weapons. However it is highly unlikely that the arms ever reached the King, and the pahupu simply kept them, and sacrificed the English officers to bust the mana of their gods. It is highly unlikely that Kalanikupule would have authorized killing English officers for a few guns. In the end the enmity of Vancouver cost the Maui Brotherhood dearly.
When Vancouver found out about the deaths, he was irate. Months later Vancouver demanded justice for the killings from Kalanikupule. The king turned to his main man, Kamohomoho, to settle the issue. Kamohomoho, being no fool, declined to arrest the pahupu warriors, who would not likely have cooperated anyway, so he found a couple of kama’aina and tricked them into going with him out to Vancouver's boat. There they were accused and tried for the deaths of the English at Waimea. Though even the officers under Vancouver understood it was a joke, a put up job, Vancouver insisted on a death sentence. In doing so he must have felt he saved face and ‘righted’ the wrong done to his command. But he never really forgave the Maui Chiefs, and Kalanikupule in particular, and this was ultimately instrumental in his strong support of Kamehameha, support which strengthened the Kona Chiefs and facilitated their attacks on Maui and Oahu.
H24(6:00PM):M75…Somewhere on the road toward Haleiwa. JulieH joined us again along this stretch, and finally, after just over 12 hours on the road, the girls caught up with us. I ran with Jan briefly, just to prolong the time it took for them to pass us, but once again I felt my legs scolding me and I backed off and Jan finally went by, moving off toward Haleiwa down the near dark road.
We reached Haleiwa, and it was time to reorganize. Cheryl was going to head back toward Honolulu and then toward Waianae to meet us as we came off the Kaena Point trail. Don and Heather were done running with us, and planning on a dinner in Haleiwa. Paul, who had been stone cold asleep in the back of Don’s car, roused himself, and showed me an ankle that had swollen up badly in the few hours he’d been off his feet. If the lack of sleep did not do him in, then the ankle certainly did. I said good bye to Don and Heather, told Cheryl I’d see her in four or five hours, and hugged and shook hands with Paul. Our run together was done. I felt bad about Paul’s situation, but I still had many miles to go before I could call the run over.
Haleiwa to Nanakuli
H25(7:00PM):M77 Bonita and Arvil had joined us in Haleiwa and were going to offer aid out toward Kaena Point. Bonita and I said our good byes and headed off toward Haleiwa town and then out toward Long Road. Darkness was suddenly upon us, my night vision did not exist, and the long stop outside of Haleiwa had allowed my body an opportunity to tighten up. This was well demonstrated when I suddenly found it necessary to relieve myself. The only dark spot was on the other side of the seawall. It shouldn’t have been a difficult task, more like a few quick steps, but I found it almost impossible. My balance was gone, my legs were tight, my depth perception was plain or, and I couldn’t see much anyway. Coming back over the wall I ended up on my stomach, scooting along the seawall like a beached seal. Bonita found this very funny, and it was, but I couldn’t manage it any other way. But I felt better for the trip. We wandered through the town trying to find a picture of one of the Shave Ice stores, and then made our way out of town.
H27(9:00PM):M81 The run from Haleiwa to Long Road was a malevolent section. We didn’t take the ocean side way, even though Bonita pointed it out, as I thought the route went right to Farrington Highway. Cars stalked us like strange Terminator Era beasts looking for John Carson, armed with laser weapons and piloted by the Govenator. They played with us as I stumbled uneasily along the roadside, blinded by the lights, unable to clearly see the road in front of me, uncertain of the dimensions of the rises and falls along the edges. I fought back seemingly ineffectively with the strobe selection on my light, and my reflective armament. I even started waving my yellow rags again. Despite my ranting on about road robots and laser weaponry, Bonita gamely attempted to carry on a pleasant conversation. I responded as best I could between my intermittent jousts with the man hungry road robopods.
To say that this was the hardest section of the run is to put it mildly. It took me a long while to adjust to the routine of the darkness, and my fatigue made it difficult for me to hop on and off the edges of the road with the alacrity demanded by the speed and close approach of the cars. My vision was uncertain and often what were just a few lights a mile down the road appeared as strange low horizon animated constellations, or neon signs advertising food or coffee. I was hallucinating profusely. My agitation continued until I reluctantly accepted I was going to be out on the roads for another eleven hours of darkness and unlikely to see much of an improvement. Achieving that hurdle allowed me to begin to work as effectively as I could within my reduced realm of sensations, waning physical ability, and heightened state of unreality. My anger and frustration slowly subsided, and I believe Bonita and I actually managed a reasonable conversation for the last hour we trekked toward Long Road.
We made our way past Waialua High School and I was reminded that along the beaches not a mile away was where Kaeo had brought his band of ruffians in preparation of making the crossing to Kauai. Things had gone seemingly OK, for him after the party at Kalapawai, but you know how it goes. You have one good party and you are expected to top it every damn Friday night. The Hawaiian week was ten days long, for sure, but Kaeo was still hard pressed to meet the demands of his nasty army of unwanted second and third sons of established Kauai families. So he promised every body one ‘Beeg Lu’au’ when they got back to Kauai, knowing of course that the entire island would be there to reign in the party making. But it didn’t wash, and the trouble makers didn’t take the bait, knowing they were not wanted back home, and in the end Kaeo discovered that the leaders of the Kauai boys were fed up with promises and were planning to throw him in channel on their way back to Kauai. This may have been the first planned incident of Shark viewing tourism. Some party, No?
Kaeo, however, was an akamai fellow who had survived worse, and he pulled his most trusted men together and they went down to the beach late one night and cut the lashing on all the fleet’s canoes as it lay out on the beaches of Wailua. No can drown him at sea if they no can get paddle out there no how. Da buggah smart brah!
Trying to stay one step ahead of a neck-tie party, Kaeo went on the offensive. He was very aware that there was quite a bit of unrest on the island over the rule of the Maui Brotherhood. True, Kalanikupule was better than his father Kahekili, but many on Oahu were just fed up with the Maui ‘No Ka Oi’ attitude. This was particularly so out in the boonies like Waialua, and over on the Leeward side, where plenty local ali’i were major losers in the many purges carried out by Kahekili. Then, as now, those Leeward Ohana’s were never particularly trustful of what came out of City Hall, and the only civic improvement involving the Leeward side had been a bone house in Moanalua made of the bones of departed Waialua and Leeward side ali’i. To put it mildly, they felt they were being screwed around big time, and were ready for a change. Kaeo, took advantage of this, suddenly nominating himself to run as the replacement Ali’i’ainu’u, da Mayor. He was no Frank Fasi, but he had a nice smile, plenty of past experience—he had been Ali’i’ainu’u on both Kauai and Maui. Plus he was a nasty ass SOB who carried a mean club, a magical head knocker, that was guaranteed to kick some Waikiki hula boy ass. True he was a Maui kane, but the Leeward Clans figured he was THEIR Maui kane. With Kaeo at the lead the Leeside crowd figured to finally push those Eastside punks around a bit.
Now Kaeo wasn’t oblivious to the dangers of his situation. For him it was the proverbial rock and a hard place, but he took it all pretty philosophically, at least Old Hawaiian style philosophically. He is said to have laughed to his barber one day while getting a nice shave, that if he was going to bite the big one he was going to make damn sure that a great many others bit off a good piece of it before him, and when he finally went to dance around the dark fires of Milu there would be plenty of guys walking down to the dance with him—Hawaiians believing that one’s might in hell—the only place a Hawaiian warrior was admitted after death—was a product of ones killing ability on earth. A happy afterlife concept not all that unfamiliar, actually. Incidentally one of the gates to Milu is said to be up in the hills above Long Road. It is said to be the place that recently departed warriors souls wandered as they found their way into the afterlife. I’ve often heard the whirr of the wind as it is sucked down through that gate into hell’s own void. Listen to the winds when you are up there late at night and see if you don’t find a few places where you can hear the winds being sucked into the afterworld.
I’ve always approached the bottom of Long Road with a lot of trepidation. It has always presaged the start of a long and arduous trek that was bound to push me toward the edges of my ability—I’ve written about it elsewhere. This time, however, it was a great relief to finally see a tiny light up where Long Road would be, and instead of hesitation, we pushed out on the last long section with a bit more vigor and a great deal of relief. Arvil, along with Jan and HeatherH, were there to greet us. I watered, and chugged a muscle milk while we kidded about the next stage of the run. The traffic had quieted and we all knew the road out to the end of the pavement. The next section would be easier, and Arvil and Bonita would meet us there for our last refueling before the trip around the point. HeatherH, Jan and I headed out at an easy pace, and I just followed along listening the girls and watching them move along just ahead of me—better than following Rex or Don. There were a few cars, the occasional idiot racing by, but in general it was a peaceful section with no real problems.
H28+(10:00PM):M85+ Arvil and Bonita were waiting for us when we reached the end of the road. We checked our gear, chatted a bit, they wished us good luck, and I thanked Bonita for getting me through the hard run out to Long Road. We headed off down the dirt road toward the point trail. It had rained out there sometime in the past few days and there were mud puddles in the bottoms of most of the ruts. Some had already dried, others contained a gelatinous clay-like goop that once stuck to anything, dried quickly and refused to come off. We took turns leading the way depending on who could find the best path around the largest of the goop lakes.
We were interrupted a few times by four wheelers coming out of the areas far toward the point. We could see them coming miles away, and moved together and off the road when they got close. The vehicles were noisy and moving fast through the rutted irregular furrows that was the road, but vehicles slowed and people waved as they passed before moving on. We made the gates or the reserve and wandered on. At one point we bumped into a fledgling turn or booby that was likely attracted to our lights. He was a surprised as we were, and he scuttled quickly along the trail looking for somebody more his size. Aside from the mud and the meandering trail it was a slow, not unpleasant hike.
It was here that HeatherH told us about her planned five day trek through the Kalahari. That she would ask me my advice was complementary. Frankly, not having run with her much, I didn’t realize how trained she was. My advice was my typical train slowly, train long, and wait for your entire body to respond fully. I believe I went through my dissertation on red and white body tissues and the terribly slow nature of tendons and ligaments as opposed to rapid paced muscle tissues.
Heather was really excited about the venture. Perhaps she feels more comfortable in the desert than I do. But I just could not get excited about being out in the heat of summer in an environment noted for nasty critters. I told her as much. She certainly has my respect.
Other than the off roaders we passed no one on the Trail. We were most concerned about the people we would run into on our way out on the Waianae side. This was probably unnecessary, but when we finally started coming up on people we didn’t stop to talk to the groups of campers/fishermen/drug smugglers we ran into along the farthest reaches of the Waianae side of the trail. It was amazing to see cars and trucks so far in on trails that were difficult to walk, let alone drive. When we’d hear activity I’d move ahead, put all my lights on bright and do the “Hey! Howzit!” greeting in my best local style. We didn’t stop to listen for any explanations as to just how they were doing, but moved on quickly before they realized just who we were.
H29+(11:30PM):M91 It got increasingly strange as we worked our way toward Yokahama Bay. The encampments increased and traffic picked up a bit. It wasn’t until we got to the final unpaved section that it became outright strange. Off to the left of us there were trucks racing along the rutted inland road—Beams of lights running helter skelter through the pall of dust. Off to the right we could make out a warren of what appeared to be semi-permanent encampments. Down the road there was music blaring, the steady beat of the bass carrying to us. We started to pass groups of people standing around their cars, drinking, talking and laughing. Impromptu parties seemed to be formed all along the road.
When we reached the pavement we found the source of the music. Some guy with a pickup as big as an aircraft carrier had a full sized quadruple set of gigantic speakers piled into the truck bed. It was throwing out a heart stopping bass vibration that threatened to disrupt the electron flow of every atom in the Yokahama area. A regular death horn. A large group of people were dancing out behind the truck, daring every molecule in their bodies to ‘stay the course’. Others were grouped around trucks and jeeps that were occasionally speeding off down the rutted inland track. Many of the trucks had coolers open and there was a sweet smell of smoke in the air. It was The Place, a unannounced yet official party at the dead-end of Oahu. I don’t know if there was a cover, but it seemed like the kind a place that would look unkindly at party crashers; particularly a guy dressed in tights, and reflective gear with a bunch of yellow rags hanging off his ass. On the other hand, I was kind of sure the girls would be very welcome.
H30(12:00AM):M93 We moved past the parking lots looking for Cheryl, and didn’t find her until we reached the gate to the radar station. It was good to see her and Julie and the stash at the back of her car. We were all relieved to be back together again. The trip had been strange but benign. We exchanged stories and planned the next segment, then I believe it was Julie and Heather who headed out with me on the next section. Jan had run a long portion of the North Shore section and done the Point trail and was ready for a break.
Cars raced down the road toward Yokahama without slowing much has they passed, and coming closer than necessary. I moved out ahead of the girls, my strobe and reflective gear easier to see. Often cars would give us a wide birth, occasionally they would slow to see what we were. Once a pickup with three punks in it slowed, eyeballed the girls, went down the road a hundred yards and came back to recheck us. I dropped back next to the girls, and turned up my lights and flashed the strobe toward them as they went slowly past us again. Cheryl was a half mile down the road. They headed off down the road, finally slowing to follow Cheryl. We kept walking and watching. I checked out the side of the road, which was at that point a large ditch with a tall chain link fence on the other side. It didn’t offer much of an exit.
The pickup finally went around Cheryl and headed back toward Waianae. When we caught up with Cheryl I asked her to stay a bit closer for a while. We moved one. Off to the right we caught sight of a pair of large green points along the fence, and when we came up on it there was a sudden flash of white that moved off down the fence line. In the distance we saw the green points once again. This happen a few times before we realized it was a Pue’o, an Hawaiian Owl. It was marvel to see such a beautiful animal out there at that particular time. It moved down the fence line as if it were escorting us through this particularly strange section of the run. Then, as we rounded a shallow curve in the road, the white wings circled briefly and headed off into the depths of the valley. We never had another problem with traffic after our brief escort from the Pue’o.
The night was pitch black, there was little verge on the mauka side of the road and the entire shoreline seemed to be a walled fortress. We had not seen a street light since Dillingham airport. Off to the left of us the island played strange games with me changing it form from time to time, shimmering in and out of focus. Off the right, across the road, there seemed to be an endless array of temporary dwellings and old cars. Part of this I realized was the result of my slowly failing depth perception, growing fatigue and outright hallucinatory state. I knew many of the strange forms on the left were illusions fabricated out of bits of reality my mind could no longer classify. also felt much of what I was seeing on the right was of a similar hallucinatory nature as it is often common to see buildings, communities, and even groups of people when fatigue begins to overtax the brain. We are social creatures, our expertise is in deciphering buildings, social groups, and people. When we get tired our brains do what is easiest for them—It sees the easiest world it can distinguish, a world of social groups and structures even if we are wandering through the wilderness. I just stayed five paces behind the girls not letting the strangeness of my surroundings bother me much.
H33(3:00AM):M98 We finally rounded a large curve and entered Makaha. Here there were occasional street lights, and the road was a bit wider. A cop car, the first one we had seen on that side, went by, slowed up to get better look, and then sped on. A few minutes later he was back. This time he rolled down his window and asked us what the hell we were doing walking down the road this early in the morning. When we told him we were walking around the island, and raising money for St. Francis, he was impressed, and wished us luck. In the course of the next couple of hours it seemed that police car came by half a dozen times. First the Pue’o and then the local cop; we were blessed with Leeward guardians.
If you rob the Leeside of its beautiful blue ocean, you end up with an arid dry region of dusty lots and dried grasses. Late at night, as the street lights began to appear, first singularly, then in small coveys, the world took on a dull, dusky-grey tone; so much so that it even seemed to fill the air with a low-grade smog. Increased lighting only heighten the effect. Run-down houses began to appear out of the haze on the left side of the road, each run down shack surrounded by dead brown grasses and leaf bare Keawe trees and broken down and rusted corpses of industrial convenience. On the beach side the warrens of homeless temporary dwellings hung like spider’s webs from the stunted trees that spread out behind the beaches. Lost souls would drift out of the hanging tarps, stare at us wide eyed and pale, like long dead zombies, finally scuttling off as we approached. I guess it was hard to judge who looked worse.
Finally we crossed into Waianae and the street lighting became more consistent, but it only accentuated the underlying ugliness of the land. New roads and sidewalks suddenly were everywhere. Kam highway morphed into a semi-industrial urban road. The new pavement had been slapped down over the land so quickly it seemed uncomfortable and unable to conform to it. The sidewalks rolled unevenly, the concrete seeming to have spasmed in the midst of its final set. It hung uncomfortably one or two feet above the roadside lots, what people must call their yards, creating a sunken world just off the man made cliffs of Kam highway. To make it even more strange, someone, or everyone, has opted to place chain link fence along the outer line of the sidewalk. Miles and miles of chain link gave the feeling that the neighborhoods have been fenced off from the main street. It appeared to be the City’s last gasp at containment. Like W’s fence, it was almost as if city flack catchers had thrown up their hands, and said to themselves, “We can not afford to put them all in OCC, let’s just fence ‘em in!”, or out depending on one’s perspective.
I guess things have not changed much in over 200 years. That was when Kaeokulani, having marooned his Kauai warriors on the beaches of Waialua, came across the Waianae range to court the people of the Leeward side. It didn’t take too much courting as they were fed up with the Waikiki gang, and felt it was time for a change from the standard taxes and death of the Maui King’s administration. Kaeo, hung around the Leeward side for a week or two, perhaps there was a good western swell, and then he led an army of rebels and ruffians south toward the Ewa plain. From there he planned to march on Honolulu and Waikiki much as we were doing at the moment.
H34:M100 I was hitting 36 hours of running when these thoughts were running through me head. Perhaps that is why the whole town of Waianae reminded me of the streets of North Las Vegas, or the seedier portions of LA’s Compton. But I was not alone. I suspected my weird visionary state and asked Julie and HeatherH what they thought of the town. Somebody said “Tijuana, or some other ugly border town.” So the vote was in and at 4:00 in the morning the ugliness of Waianae can not be disguised by the overpowering beauty of the Pacific Ocean. No, at 4:00 AM you can not see the ocean, or hear its drone, if there actually is any. Anyway the sound of the ocean is not that much different from the exhaust fans of warehouses that one passes, or the hum of generators and other industrial equipment purring along the roadside. That one could run through the purgatory of Vegas, or Tijuana, or any of four score of industrial wastelands and just as well be in Waianae is a none too positive judgment of Mufi’s urban upgrade of da Bruddah’s last homeland.
H35(5:00AM): M103 My contemplation of the beauty of the islands was interrupted by a stop at the McDonald’s in Waianae, an opulent landmark in the heart of a seedy worn neighborhood. It was before five but the parking lot was full of people milling around, waiting to get their early morning hit of cholesterol and fat. We were no different as Cheryl had decreed this an official break. I sat down at a table and rested, or at least tried to. It was the first time I had been off my feet for more than five minutes in almost 35 hours. It felt good, and I could feel my body beginning to shut down. I resisted putting my head down on the table, but needn’t have worried as Chez Mac has utilized advanced physiology concepts in the design of its seating which makes it virtually impossible to rest one’s head on the table without incurring incredibly painful back cramps. It was clear that this was not meant to be more than a temporary rest stop. ‘Move on please, or pay for a second cup of coffee!’
The people we met were all very nice, and suitably impressed by our venture. These were people who got out of bed at 3:00 am to do at least a four hour shift behind the burger counter; very hard working, if not highly traveled souls—“I’ve never been to Haleiwa.’ – but who did not seem to ever have been introduced to the concept of proactive fitness routines. But then it is not likely you will ever see that Greek clown Gavad in black tights set up his rubber ovals in the parking lot of the Waianae McDonalds, the blue ocean in the background, to film another episode of his exercise show and proselytize the ideals of staying in shape to the masses of Waianae. Anyway, when the food came, I had a bowl of saimin, per Cheryl’s direction, and a couple of breakfast burrito’s per my own inclination. Hey, when in Paris, do as they do at Chez Mac.
After the food we moved off in the growing morning light heading south, down the Leeward coast. The growing brightness of the day brought little to the experience, and echoes of a run down North Las Vegas still resonated as we crossed from one curb to another running along the edges of the endless chain link fence that keeps the world off the streets. Perhaps this area had once been quaint, perhaps it had its own kind of charm. In any case Civic Improvement has brought nothing to it.
The food settled well in my stomach and I began to feel the lethargy that often comes on with the first morning light. I tried to shake it off and keep pace with the girls as they pushed ahead of me. Off to the right the Ocean began to appear where the night had simply shown a grey ragged wall of buildings and make-shift encampments. The homeless were still there, but now in a more definite way, and with a presence that was broken up by the views of white sand beaches and a calm ocean that slowly morphed from quicksilver to an inky deep blue. It confirmed that we were indeed still on Oahu, but did little to soften the decrepit appearance of the beaches. This changed, however, as we moved along the coast, with many of the beach parks showing signs of being cleared, and long expanses of beach and park once again free of tents and tarps. But the road was wide, and we only occasionally ventured to the seaward to visit the beachside restrooms. The people we met at that time of the morning were friendly, and our strange group of runners were greeted with good mornings, smiles, and incredulous looks whenever we were asked what we were doing.
H37+(7:30AM):M105 Surprisingly Nanakuli, for all its long term negative reputation—I had Peace Corp friends who trained in the Samoan community of Nanakuli who spoke of it as considerably harder to endure than Samoa itself—which is saying something quite significant. Nanakuli was a place of desperation and depression for Samoan youth, a hot, dry, bleak warren of streets that produced so many trainee terminations the Corps decided it better to foot the bill of taking everyone to Samoa rather than endure the forty percent trainee drop out rate in Leeward Hawaii.—Nanakuli was a relief to the eyes. If there is a charm to the old Leeward coast perhaps Nanakuli has maintained some of that charm, or, given my tendency to approach matters from the darker side, perhaps what was once truly depressing, now shines as charming, in view of the urban destruction carried out farther north along the Leeward coast. In Nanakuli the beaches seemed cleaner, the ocean bluer, and the mauka side of the road more humane. The great chain linked drapes had disappeared, and many of the old stores were still around, road intersections seemed less threatening, and there were actually a few people walking on the verges of the road. Kam highway was still a part of the community, not some semi-freeway slashed through the land.
Nanakuli to Waipahu
H38+(8:30AM):M109 This freeway mentality, this urban aberration is not made more clear than with what happens as you finally get around the great long curve of coastline and come to the terminus of Nanakuli. There a beach park, once again populated with tents and semi permanent shacks, sits at the end of every road that offers a pedestrian some safety. At the end of Nanakuli a pedestrian or bike rider finds there is no place to go. The only option is to head up the long slope of limited access highway that has no sidewalk, or even much of a verge for pedestrians. Traffic sensing it superior status speeds up to fifty or sixty, and drivers become gods among their lessers. Being one of the lessers, I was not impressed with my status and longed for a fifty caliber handgun which would allow me to shoot down one of these charging beasts should it decide to stray off the asphalt game trail.
Rex had joined us, and he assured me that the only way was to go was along the roadway. I did this for a while, occasionally ducking to the right where the old rail line afforded a path, but finally even this option disappeared as the tracks turned far south. A ways down the road I stood looking at a vast expanse of concrete roadway, the traffic screaming down it at speeds beyond sixty, and the ‘way’ bordered the outer edge of a long curve that led to some exit I could not see. It was just too far down what I basically regarded as Freeway.
M110 I had been cussing this situation for a while despite Rex’s assurances that this was the way. But at the bottom of that long curve, under that overpass, I finally said “Screw this!” If this is what the city regarded as pedestrian friendly I wanted to strangle the design engineers, and kick Mufi somewhere painful. This is what he gives his people as a reward for loyalty? Well it IS the Samoan way, what was I expecting? Until my rage calmed a bit, Rex could only stand there and stare at me. I finally decided we had to do something else. It wasn’t just me, I had others who were running with me, and I wasn’t going to risk getting somebody badly hurt over the need to stay on foot.
H39+(9:30AM):M112 So we packed everyone into the cars and headed down the road; a road that was never meant for pedestrians, and after some backtracking came to the dead-end of Old Farrington Highway in Kapole. This was about as close to where we were as we could get. There, in Kapole we got out of the cars and returned to the road. It was unfortunate, but it wasn’t our fault. The fact is you can not safely walk around the island, the government has done its best to plan for the containment of the Leeward side and part of that containment is the blocking of all pedestrian access. Somebody in City Hall must have worked in the Kalanikupule administration. Who are these design engineers anyway?
Kapole is like suddenly finding oneself in California. It has that ‘Everything is a shopping mall’ kind of flavor, though, as Rex pointed out, they have never been quite as successful at turning it into a SoCal extension as they had hoped. So many of the sidewalks led down streets bordered by weedy plots of land, land I might add that was once judged among the finest agricultural land on the island. We headed down old Farrington highway, Rex, Julie, Heather, Jan, or a permutation of that mix as we moved along the concrete sidewalks of Kapole. Cheryl, as always, was up ahead waiting to provide aid. I can not say enough for the quiet dedication Cheryl showed in providing support. She was always there, always asking me what I was doing to keep myself going, always making recommendations, and when necessary, demands. We depended on Cheryl more and more as the final hours advanced.
Not a lot has changed when trying to break out onto the Ewa Plain. Kaeo found his entry just as frustrating as we had. His army dripped out of the Leeward side, no doubt everyone having to wait their turn on the only single trak trail along the beach cliffs, only to run smack dab into Kamohomoho and his Corps of highly trained warriors. Kaeo had hoped to just move across the Ewa plain knocking off some taro loi, chasing down a few pigs, and running off some poor kama’aina. Instead he ran into a shit storm. He couldn’t win, it was just like over Makapu’u side! Only this time he had more men, and Kamohomoho was forced into a sequence of delaying actions.
At one corner we were greeted by a fellow in skirt who was sucking on a sheep gut. Rather than quickly run by him as we had most other strange characters, we stopped to hear the ungodly sounds he managed to produce from the pincushion profusion of little pipes coming out of the poor stomach. Yes, Andy G had managed to track us down and marched up to us playing his pipes. I’ve never been piped into any town, and it was a real honor having someone take the time to do that for us. I believe the tune was something called Pipe Major Malcolm McKenzie, or something to that effect. Whatever the name is was great to hear, and we all had some good cheer and smiles over his appearance. Interestingly enough, unlike the myth of the piper, Andy had his biking gear beneath the kilt, and we saw him ex-kilt a little while later out on the road we trudged across the Ewa plain.
We can only speculate what occurred out on the plains of Ewa as Kaeo went up against Kamohomoho—I do quite a bit of speculation in my book The Vengeance of Kahekili, which is available from the Author, Me. History mentions little of the battles that were fought and the strategies employed, but it is clear that Kamohomoho delayed Kaeokulani’s advance for weeks, weakening the rebel army as he waited for Kalanikupule to deal with island politics and bring an army to the field. Each of the rutted gullies that cut the valleys out of the southern Waianae range must have been a point of contention, a point of delay and provided Kamohomoho with a defensive and delaying opportunity. And each battle slowly advance toward Hono’uli’uli. I could not help hearing the echo’s of those battles, seeing the ghosts of those Oahu warriors who fell to the dry red earth, and silently passed into the near forgotten history of the island.
When we finally reached the winding ravines of Hono’uli’uli, I felt I was marching onto familiar ground. The steep walled palisades formed a natural defensive line that I had fought to conquer just a few centuries ago. Little had changed really. Off to the right were the hillocks where Kaeokulani had located his few canon, and just ahead Koalaukani, the King’s brother, and supreme war chief of Oahu, if in name only, had positioned his men to defend the eastern ridges. When Jan, Heather, Rex and I moved down the old road, I moved to the left, instinctively taking the oldest path toward the bottom of the ravine and where there has been a bridge for ages, I could make out the ghost of the winding path up the ravine walls—The route that Kaeo’s warriors had taken as they attacked Koalaukani’s positions. We climbed out of the ravine and began to make our way across the old bridge, and off to the right, just before we stepped onto the bridge, I could see where Kamohomoho had brought his Oahu Special Forces team up from the south to attacks the flanks of Kaeo’s main assault.
Perhaps those running with me thought me a bit hallucinatory, for I kept muttering to them about these battles and pointing off toward old sugar plantation structures, or farming equipment, rambling on how ‘They came from out there, and moved over this way. It was bloody, but they pushed on.’ I got smiles and nods and people warily moved ahead of me and kept me at a distance, which was just as well, as I was running the land two centuries ago. I could see it all, really, I could feel the presence of these men of iron, these Hawaiians who gave no excuses, and would slit your throat just to take you with them into the dark cave of death. I could feel the power of that history few even bother to remember. Here at Hono’uli’uli and up toward Waipahu, the pride of the Maui Brotherhood, the remaining Elite of Oahu, the remnants of the strong and powerful of Oahu, clashed in a gallant self destructive conflict in one of the last great battles the Maui Brotherhood would fight.
H41(11:00AM):M116 We moved up out of the ravine and through the Oahu defensive lines, the road gouging out a deep trench in the earth almost as deep as the loses that Kaeo inflicted on Koalaukane, pushing him back toward Waipahu. At the top of the hill, off to the right, is St. Francis Hospice East, the sister facility to the one I work at in Nu’uanu. John Keene had offered to have some food ready for us at that point, but in the end the estimated times were so uncertain that it seemed better to just thank him for the good intentions and rely on what we could. Strangely, Cheryl stopped here, and we all watered and renewed just outside the gate of the Hospice. There was no sense in going in to say Hi!, we would have been as welcome, dressed as we were, smelling and covered road grit, as we would have been if I had brought in a company of Kaeo’s Pahupu warriors to loot the place. At that point in time the fact that my thoughts were with my hospice fellows was about the limit of what was permissible.
Waipahu to Aloha Tower
H:42(12:00PM): M119 As we wandered down Farrington Highway Rex and I argued a bit about where we could pick up the Pearl Harbor Bike path. Rex had not been there in a while and his recollections were not positive. I got the feeling that he was delaying getting onto it. I had studied the Map on Google and felt I was more of an authority on Waipahu despite the fact that Rex lived and worked there. But finally we turned off Farrington and a block or two down a side street we found the path. Rex’s immediate remark was that somebody had been very busy cleaning it up, because the last time he had seen it was so littered with sofa’s and TV’s that you would have thought half the town was living down there.
It was great to be running with Rex again. He had been with me for many rough miles out on the HURT trails. We had trained together, we had done a great deal of the sixty hour together—two dark wet cold nights, we had trained some more, and finally we had run much of the HURT ’10 together. HeatherH was driving Rex’s car. Jan had joined us again we were the same group that had done loops three and four of HURT together.
For those of you who have never been on the bike path, it cuts across the top of the two eastern bays or locks of Pearl Harbor. At the time we ran it showed signs of a great deal of clean up, and offered an easy off road alternative to Farrington. A little additional landscaping effort would produce a wonderful thoroughfare for the entire community from Waipahu to Pearl Harbor proper. I’m sure the same planning engineers that managed the Leeward side execution have other plans.
It was down along the second Peninsula that the English sailor, George Lamport, the Mate of the Jackal, brought his party of seamen and Hawaiians to attack the flanks of Kaeokulani’s advance across the Ewa lowlands after the defeat of Oahu forces at Punahawele. Lamport's efforts received mixed reviews, depending on whom you read. Since nobody wrote much Hawaiian, as there was no extensive written language at the time, the only people around to record the story were Lamport and his crew. This is typical of the times, and tended to lead to the common interpretation of ‘Near god White guy defeats dumb native Hawaiian guys’ version of the story. Suffice it to say that on his first foray Lamport had the stuffing knocked out of him and lost a few sailors. But it wasn’t all his fault, He left the safety of his boats, and trudged down the boggy lands of the Waipahu peninsula trying to find Kaeo’s forces. He may have found them down along the bike path or perhaps a little ways up the hill along what is now Farrington Highway, but he also met up with Kaeo’s European marksman, a Spaniard deserter and blacksmith from an English trader, who craved booze and brown young females, and managed Kaeo’s powder weaponry to obtain it. His trained platoon of musketeers attacked Lamport, and he had to hightail it back down and out the muddy ground to his boats again. It shows the thinness of the trader’s crew when one realizes that loss of two men was regarded as a very serious event.
But Lamport wasn’t fully dissuaded, perhaps the snickering and jibes of his Hawaiian counterparts were important was well ( Hauli sissy!), and after basing himself on Moku’ume’ume (Ford Island) he returned a few days later to rake Kaeo's forces as they continued their eastward move toward Aiea. Lamport and his crew remained in the bays and were present at the final battle of Kalanimanuia just west of Aiea, and they are actually credited with killing Kaeokulani as he fled in defeat from the forces of Kalanikupule. This factoid is about as reliable as any other individual news item of the times. I would imagine that if there were a Oahu paper at the time it would have read, Hauli Show Up, Fire Gun, Claim Victory as Oahu Forces Lose Thousands in Support. Making sense out of the times is an amusing venture in interpreting who is beating what drum for whom.
The English were reluctantly dragged into their participation in the Oahu war, likely because their ships were in a total state of disrepair in Honolulu Harbor, Fair Haven, and they could not have sailed away if they wanted to, and Kalanikupule did his best to convince Brown that Kaeo would raid the ships if he broke through. Though it is quite unlikely that the English were instrumental in the defeat of Kaeokulani, it is likely that the guns and powder they provided the Oahu King helped the Oahu forces defeat the Kaeo’s rebels. It is also likely that William Brown, Captain of the Jackal, gained a great deal of status from his support of Kalanikupule. How these two worked out the compensation is another story.
I was babbling again about Lamport, and the skirmishes that were fought along the shallows of the locks. Jan was briefly interested, but wanted a brief five sentence account of the war, and when I hemmed and hawed she eyed me sharply. It didn’t go down well when I said I had written a great account of the times which was only 500 plus pages long. Like I’ve said above, news headlines of the times would tend to lose a lot of the drama, let alone the accuracy. I didn’t see Lamport and his crew out there, but my trek down the bike path did give me a much better appreciation for his efforts. Standing there looking at what is left of the mangroves that must have belted that section of the island underscored to me the difficulty of moving men and equipment over this land before there was such easy access to the Pearl Harbor Bike Path.
Even with a bike path I was beginning to feel that this venture was overly long. We’d fought with Kamohomoho out on the Eastside. Joined up with Kaeo in Waialua. Then come out of Waianae with Kaeo, and we’d fought our way over the western Ewa plain, pushed through Hono’uli’uli and been victorious in Waipahu. Even the Pearl Harbor Bike path with its threat of English sniper attack had been overcome.
Rounding one turn I, like Kaeokulani, could see Diamond Head and Punchbowl off in the distance, and just as he must have, I could taste victory. But I knew what had happened to Kaeo, and I was wary that it might also happen to me. He, had been so close to victory, just a few men away from breaking through the lines of Kalanikupule’s army when he was blindsided by that kid Koalaukani! I could feel the fatigue and pain in my legs increasing, and quietly feared I would fall at the gates to the Nu’uanu plain, just as Kaeo. So close…so far. But unlike Kaeo, as I approached my goal my army of supporters seemed to grow stronger, and when I really needed some people around me new faces appeared when weary individuals took a break, and I continued on, while the girls, seeing I was in good hands planned their final assault on Aloha Tower.
H42+:M122 Among those who joined us was Jeff Fong who had run out from Ala Moana Park. Jeff was familiar with the intricacies of the path as it twisted over toward Nimitz and I just followed along trusting his directions. He had, after all, just come out this way. Things got confusing as we left one path, ran down a road and went back on another path. This was particularly so when we came off the path near the Bowfin/Arizona Memorial dock. We were on the roads, first with a big group, and then suddenly Jan, HeatherH, Julie and Bonita bolted ahead. We let them go, and then stood helplessly as the lights in that area played a sadistic game with us, never letting us cross the streets. Finally we got a break, ran a few lights, and went on our way.
As we pushed up the road we came upon a woman standing in the middle of the sidewalk. It was a toss-up: go left—or go right. I chose wrong. Suddenly I was facing my own Koalaukani, and being blindsided by this crazy-ass woman who had decided to defend the ass-end of a bus stop with terminal force. One minute we are walking along fine, and the next I am being accosted by a screaming harridan who is telling me “It is all written on the god damn f@#king paper if you wasn’t too stupid to f@#king read it.” And damn if she wasn’t right, for there on the concrete block pillar, was a hand written note outlining the treaty status of Her country—evidently encompassing the small area around the bus stop—and Ours. That I was too slow to understand what the hell was going on was evident by the fact that she came within a hair of slapping me around. The poor woman was lucky she missed me, because I had only the intent on moving forward, and was ready to do anything as long it didn’t impede my progress. I was not going to be stopped, bus stop trespass or no. Jeff, having experienced all this on the way out, thought the whole thing was very very funny.
H43:M126 I was still shaking my head, and laughing with Jeff as we rounded the turn toward the NEX and a promised stop at Cheryl’s car. Bonita caught a few shots. We were a hill or so away from coming down onto the Nu’uanu plain, that fabled area one must take to move into Honolulu and Waikiki. I had a good chance of doing what Kaeo had failed to do back in Aiea. But those warriors were dead now. I’d left them behind as we twisted through the Aiea lowlands. That killing field where Kamohomoho had waited with his trained troops as firm as a rock while Koalaukani and Kalanikupule had been the hammers that had beaten the defeated forces of Kaeokulani against the Kamohomoho’s Anvil. Oahu had been saved, if ever so briefly, from outside invaders and leeward rebels.
H43+:M126 We stopped briefly at Cheryl’s car. I filled up a water bottle and chugged a muscle milk and was off. I had gotten within range of being able to calculate a finish and realized that if I hustled I could break 45 hours. It brought a renewed sense of purpose. I was running with Jeff Fong and Julie now. We worked our way to Nimitz where the elevated H1 brought some relief from the heat of the day, and the bike path wound its way through the mauka concrete supports. Julie had a gps phone and we checked it occasionally, the miles slowly working toward four, my goal less than an easy hour away. But one can never. I put my head down and went Zen. As Jeff can testify I had been near zen for about an hour, my conversation limited to the occasional query ‘Where are we?’ or some rambling statement about Hawaiian warriors. But as we hit the overhead I knew I had to lose myself in the effort. I fell behind Julie and Jeff and just said “Do 15 minute miles, no less. Just go and I will stay with you.”
Now fifteen minute miles is a pretty easy sounding number, and it is if you are just starting out at Aloha Tower. But when you have walked/run around the island, and managed to relive the battle for Oahu in the interim, you get pretty tired, and fifteen minute miles begin to be something to strive for. So I strove. And it took most of my concentration to stay with it. But I had a reinforced goal and it was giving me some renewed focus, and off we went. Rex met us again just as we came out from under the viaduct. I told him the same thing and we kept the pace. We pushed down Nimitz, finally seeing the buildings of Honolulu in the distance. It was almost complete.
We hit the Sand Island intersection and there was Frank, standing there with a couple of homeless guys. Only his sign said ‘Not Hungry, Will run from Work.’ Nobody pays attention to those signs anyway. A couple of the Sand Island Access road sign regulars were out there and cheered as we passed. They may have been impressed with our achievement, but they were really glad to see Frank leave. We paced on, the intersections coming at intervals, the group dropping a leader off at the left turn lane, and another running out to block traffic coming up from the piers, as I jogged quickly across. It was like clockwork.
H44:20 M131+ We rounded a bend and up ahead the top of the Aloha Tower showed itself above the building of the wharfs, a mile away, maybe less. We pushed on, the pace never slacking. I wanted to run a bit, but I was worried about pulling something, so it wasn’t until we were a block away that I let myself jog a bit. We pushed on, a group of people out in front of the Tower to welcome us. Paul and his , Cheryl. Jan, HeatherH. It was nice to have a welcoming committee, but I had started to run and I wasn’t going to stop until we hit the Tower.
H44:42(2:52PM):M132+ I made it at an elapsed time of 44:42. It felt good to be done. You know it could have been 130 or 135 miles. It is hard to say, and I’m not going out there to do it again for at least a year. You can come along next time if you question the number. I’ll let you run every step of the way.
When James Lamport finished his part in the battle of Kalanimanuia, and the war of Ku’ukikapu, as the war of Oahu was finally named, he sent word of the victory back to his Captain William Brown. Brown was not a particularly stable man at the time, having been in the pacific for years, and evidently utilized the rum keg as a nurse for his many problems. In any case Brown decided to celebrate the victory by firing a salute as the English boat returned to Honolulu harbor, then called Kou. In all likelihood the Jackal was moored just about where the Aloha Tower is today, there being a hundred and fifty years of detritus and garbage provided by the residents of the beautiful town of Honolulu. Brown’s idea was really rather special, a nice gesture you might say. Well not everyone might have said that. Especially the American sailors on the Lady Washington, which happened to be moored nearby. They would definitely have frowned on the idea of a salute, particularly if they had known in advance that one of the guns Brown was going to fire was double loaded with heavy grape and ball. Not having the input of the Americans, Brown proceeded to fire the salute on his own accord and when he reached the one particular gun about which we have concerns it made a bigger sound than the others, and, by the way, blew the end of the Lady Washington right off , killing the American Captain, a few others who were lounging around eating, and making a mess of the crew in general. Brown apologized later, but the Americans didn’t seem to take it too well. Poor sports I guess.
For Brown it was the beginning of one of the many ways he choose to screw up a victory. If you want to know the rest you have to buy a copy of my book The Vengeance of Kahekili. I mention this to you just to point out that any good victory is ephemeral. Simply a point in time, from which the common tendency is to depart immediately on a disastrous course of action. History proves this, all the feel good slogans be damned, look good and you are destined to look bad very quickly. Man is a doomed critter and it is only our superb incompetence that keeps us alive. Old Captain William Brown is a grand example. He actually owned Oahu at one time, and in the end it owned him, or what the Hawaiians didn’t feel necessary to spread around a bit. The same goes for Kaeokulani, who took thousands of men with him into the dark Hawaiian afterworld, and Kalanikupule, the affable King of Oahu who after his victory at Kalanimanuia, managed to throw away extraordinary advantage and died of some disease while hiding in the hills of Oahu.
But in the end that is the story or life. We all strive and then suddenly find that we are reading the writing on the wall. It is inevitable. But it need not be terrifying or painful Every day that I go to work at the Hospice I see people, who for one reason or another, have found themselves at the end of their lives. They come through our doors and it is almost certain they will not leave through the front door. Some of those people’s stories are incredibly sad, others, as one good friend said to me philosophically of his own situation, have simply out-lived their own bodies. Hospice is a place people can come and find a bit of reality in a sea of panic and despair. A place where simple care and pain relief are what matters. A place where impending death does not mean there is no hope.
I’d like to thank everyone who donated to St. Francis Hospice. It is a donation that will bring better care to someone, whether a patient in a facility, or at home, or a the grieving relative of a patient who has passed. Your donation will mean something special. Thank you.
H45:M135+- We celebrated the end of the run with a drink at Gordon Birch. I managed to spill my glass of beer, but got another. It was good to see Paul, and to thank everyone who had come the last miles with me. There were so many others who had spent time with us, given us aid and encouragement. As we lifted our glasses in a toast to everyone, I noted that I have the tendency to believe that I can do these ventures pretty much unaided, and perhaps I could have, but friendship and the care of our friends was what got Paul and I as far as we went. It was a wonderful experience, entirely because of our friends. Thank you! Each and everyone of you.
posted by M.N.Muench @ 6:45 PM
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