On the Road Again—But This Time, It’s Different
"On the road again..." The familiar refrain usually signals a casual road trip—maybe another journey to LAX or a weekend escape. But this time, those words carried a different weight. This wasn't just a getaway; it was an odyssey across the American Southwest, bound for New Mexico to take part in the 2015 Shiprock Marathon—a race steeped in culture, geography, and quiet endurance, set in the storied Four Corners region.
Flying into the remote Shiprock area would’ve required multiple connecting flights, with a steep price tag to match. We briefly considered flying into Albuquerque and driving the 3.5 hours to Shiprock, but once we saw the cost, we pivoted. A long drive offered something else: the opportunity to see America, the real America—its hidden deserts, forgotten towns, and sacred landscapes. That kind of immersion can’t be rushed at 30,000 feet.
So we drove—850 miles and nearly 13 hours of it—breaking up the journey with a stop in Las Vegas to enjoy the early spring desert weather and a little R&R at the Tropicana. Vegas might be flashy, but it made for the perfect halfway point, a needed contrast before plunging into the vast stillness of the high desert.
From Las Vegas, we left early Friday morning, heading north on I-15 through St. George, Utah, before cutting east through the rugged beauty of southern Utah and northern Arizona. That route alone was a spectacle—towering mesas, ancient plateaus, and the rust-colored geology brushing the southern edge of Zion National Park. I found myself wishing we had more time to hike, to explore the back roads, to get lost in that landscape.
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| Desert landscape |
But there was one unexpected detour I won’t forget: a stop at the Glen Canyon Dam near Page, Arizona. The engineering feat was impressive, but what struck me most was something seemingly out of place—a patch of green grass growing atop the crescent-shaped area between the dam and the powerhouse. Curious, I did a little digging. Turns out, the sod isn’t ornamental—it’s functional, laid to absorb vibrations from the powerful penstocks and help cool the plant below. Engineering meets nature. A strange but poetic compromise.
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| Glen Canyon Dam |
We couldn’t stay long, and though I longed for a full dam tour, none were offered that day. "Dam," I muttered to myself, grinning at the pun. Still, the road called. We had miles to go and a desire to visit the iconic Four Corners Monument, just a few minutes off the main highway. How often do you get to stand in four states at once?
The stretch from Page to the New Mexico border was stark—barren, hot, unforgiving. Not the kind of place you’d want your car to break down. But when we finally arrived at the monument, I was genuinely surprised. The site had undergone a thoughtful renovation, replacing the old concrete slab with an amphitheater-style layout that celebrated not just geography, but the spirit of place. The state seals, the brass BLM disk, the surrounding artisan stalls—it all felt alive, purposeful.
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| Four Corners Monumentation |
And yes, I’d heard the rumors: that the famous quadripoint was off by a couple of miles. But as a man who respects the craft of land surveying, I side with the professionals—the monument is exactly where it should be. In the world of surveying, monuments matter more than math. Physical reality wins. And here, four realities meet.
My wife and I had the privilege of serving as pacers for the marathon—her leading the 4:30 group, and I the 5:30. After years of racing, I was confident in my pacing, planning to use the Jeff Galloway run-walk method—four minutes running, two minutes walking—to hit my time target. The math checked out. The goal felt within reach.
Packet pick-up was at the Shiprock Youth Center—the race’s end point—where we met Tom, the race director, whose warmth and attentiveness stood out. He handed us our gear and ensured we were ready. Simple gestures, but deeply appreciated.
After settling into our Farmington hotel (sadly, no working hot tub), we grabbed pizza across the street and prepped for race day. Farmington, perched at the confluence of two rivers, served as our temporary base—a city of contrasts and quiet comfort.
Race morning came early. We caught the 0550 school bus—always a tight fit for adult runners—and endured a jolting half-hour ride over the cracked BIA roads to the remote start line near the Arizona state border. Before departing, Navajo leaders boarded the buses, offering a traditional blessing to the runners. That moment—a spiritual sendoff in the dark desert morning—was profound. A quiet reverence hung in the air.
The start line sat just a stone’s throw from Arizona. With the sun rising over the Colorado Plateau, we gathered in silence, the wind stilled, the earth cool. No National Anthem. Instead, a Navajo flag song—a haunting, powerful chant performed by six drummers—echoed across the landscape. A reminder that this race was more than a test of endurance. It was a passage.
The announcer read off the list of participating states, then shifted to the names of the Native American tribes represented. That’s when the real cheers erupted—a celebration of heritage, resilience, and unity.
Running Through Sacred Ground – The Shiprock Marathon
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| The anticipation |
The marathon began promptly at 0700. No delays. Just how I like it—clean, efficient, and with purpose. There’s a quiet discipline in starting on time, especially in a race like this, where you’re not just running miles, you’re moving through history.
I settled quickly into my planned 11:20 pace, surprised to find a larger group forming behind me than expected. I introduced them to my pacing strategy—four minutes of running, two minutes of walking. Simple. Repeatable. Sustainable. “Stick with me,” I told them, “and we’ll get there together.”
The early morning light was blinding. Even with sunglasses on, the low-hanging sun on the horizon challenged my vision until it finally rose high enough for the brim of my cap to shield it. There was something raw about that moment—running east into the dawn, chasing time across a landscape that felt untouched.
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| Pacers at start line |
I kept one eye on the mile markers and the other on my pacing. The Galloway method was working well—I was slightly ahead of schedule, but nothing drastic. Some runners dropped back, others surged ahead with adrenaline-fueled ambition. Experience told me I’d likely see them again when fatigue caught up.
Just after Mile 3, the course tipped downhill. It was a welcome shift, but I knew better than to get greedy. This wasn’t a course designed for spectacle. No cheering crowds. No music blaring from speakers. Just the volunteers at the aid stations, a few supportive families, photographers, and the open road.
The high desert stretched endlessly before us, and still, the Shiprock formation had yet to reveal itself. It felt like we were running toward a mirage—nothing but sky and a straight line leading into a vanishing point. The road narrowed my focus. There were no turns, no diversions. Only effort. Only breath.
Still, I felt confident and steady. I had a job to do: help others reach their goal, even if that meant resisting the urge to charge down the hill and run free. It wasn’t about me today.
At around Mile 6, I crested a slight rise—and there it was.Shiprock.
Majestic. Timeless. Rising from the desert floor like the remnants of a cathedral carved by gods and wind. Not a mountain, but a memory—the eroded throat of an ancient volcano, surrounded by jagged dikes that stretched across the land like dark lightning frozen in stone. It’s no wonder the Navajo hold it sacred. Standing alone in the vast plain, it commanded silence, respect, awe.
I was still using the run-walk intervals, but every part of me wanted to break free and run. Still, I held back. Patience was the name of the game, and the real race wouldn’t begin until Mile 20.
When we reached the first turn of the entire course—Mile 20, turning north onto US 491—it felt symbolic, like a new chapter. The long, two-lane BIA road gave way to a wide highway, and I saw my finish line for the first time, just six miles ahead. A straight shot into Shiprock, slight downhill all the way.
We talked. We laughed. We passed the time with casual conversation, and the desert’s monotony began to lift. Even a roadside billboard—a simple McDonald’s ad promising burgers “six miles ahead”—felt oddly comforting. Maybe it was just the thought of food. Or civilization.
The half marathoner began to fade, but the full marathoner stayed with me. We talked about training, about life, about the long journeys we take to chase a finish line. She was from Arizona—just a few hours away. Travel for marathons wasn’t easy for her, but today, it mattered.
Then, around Mile 24, her phone rang—her mother checking in, likely eager to see her finish. With a quick goodbye, she surged ahead. I wished her luck as she pulled away, strong and focused, her goal within reach. I had the energy to match her stride, but I held back. I wasn’t chasing time. I was guarding it for others.
With less than two miles left, I realized I was ahead of schedule—by more than a couple of minutes. I stopped at the final aid station, took my time hydrating, soaking in the moment. The sun was warm now, filtered through high cirrostratus clouds, but I didn’t feel drained. I felt ready.
The final turn came—a left into the Youth Center driveway. I crossed the timing mat with 5:27:35 on the clock. My sixteenth state marathon. My journey across sacred ground complete.
A tribal member greeted me with a firm handshake—quiet validation, not just of finishing the marathon, but of sharing in something larger than sport.
Oddly enough, I suspect the final 1.2 miles ran a little short. I had more than two minutes of buffer time, and my splits were steady. But I wasn’t about to argue. That’s part of the game. Besides, pacing a 5:30 marathon—that’s its own kind of endurance, and I learned I probably won’t rush to do it again.
As for the runner who left me behind at Mile 24? She didn’t apologize for flying ahead. She just smiled and thanked me for the support that got her across the finish line ahead of her goal.
That’s all the thanks I needed.
Age graded time: 4:51:01
Age graded score: 42.25%
Average time: 4:51:22
Standard deviation: 0:56:50
Refueling the Body, Reflecting on the Soul
Food. That was the only thing on my mind as I crossed the finish line and handed off the pacing baton. And thankfully, the post-race spread did not disappoint. Chocolate milk, watermelon, blue corn mush, crackers, hot slices of pizza, and a few sweet Halos—fresh from California’s San Joaquin Valley, not far from home. Those little mandarin oranges, easy to peel and bursting with juice, felt like nature’s reward for the miles behind me.
Large tents had been thoughtfully set up to offer shade and rest, a sanctuary from the high desert sun. My wife and I lingered there, savoring our well-earned recovery. We waited for the six-hour pacer to arrive, so I could pass on our pacing signs—symbols of a job well done. In the stillness, I found space to reflect: not just on the race itself, but on the place, the people, the purpose.
The Shiprock course could best be described as beautifully desolate. For some, that solitude may feel daunting. For me, it was liberating. There’s something profound about running through silence, with only the land and your breath as companions. I wouldn’t go as far as to call it my favorite course, but I deeply appreciated its stark, spiritual beauty. And no matter how many miles passed, I never once tired of glancing toward Shiprock, standing watch like a sentinel on the desert floor.
This isn’t a race for those who need constant crowd support or urban fanfare. But for those willing to trade noise for stillness, it offers something rare—space to think, to feel, to connect. The spectators may have been few until the final miles, but once we approached the heart of Shiprock, the community made its presence known. Their energy was quiet, but deeply genuine.
Logistically, this marathon was a masterclass in simplicity done well. NavajoYES—one of the most commendable non-profit race organizations I’ve encountered—handles every detail with care. Transportation to the start was prompt and seamless. Aid stations were efficient. The start line had ample porta-potties and a smooth gear drop. And while small in scale, the race held a gravity that far outweighed its size.
For any marathoner—especially Fifty-Staters—the Shiprock Marathon deserves a place high on the list. It’s not just a race. It’s a cultural experience wrapped in endurance, humility, and reverence.
From Sacred Lands to Route 66
By 1400 hours, we left Shiprock behind, heading west through Gallup and into Arizona, choosing a different route home. We made our way to Flagstaff, a city I’d never visited before, nestled in the cool elevations along historic Route 66.
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| San Francisco Mountains |
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| Paul Bunyan |
I must admit, as we passed Winslow, the thought briefly crossed my mind: “Should I stop and stand on a corner?” But I decided to take it easy and continued toward the mountains.
Flagstaff surprised me. The cool, pine-scented air was a welcome relief after days in the desert. Towering Ponderosa pine forests and the snowcapped San Francisco Peaks offered a majestic contrast to the barren landscape we had just left behind. The city had a calm, academic energy, heightened by its connection to Northern Arizona University—welcomed by a charming, slightly top-heavy Paul Bunyan statue beside his tractor. A true lumberjack greeting—even though he was a poser. The TRUE Paul Bunyan along with Babe is located in Klamath, CA at the Trees of Mystery.
My long-standing interest in astronomy and astrophysics led me to the Lowell Observatory, perched above town and surrounded by quiet trees. It was here that Clyde Tombaugh discovered Pluto in 1930—a humbling reminder of how much can be seen when we look up with curiosity. Unfortunately, we arrived too early for the next tour, and with several hours of road still ahead, I reluctantly let that opportunity go.
Back on the road, we rejoined I-40, heading through Kingman and toward the Hoover Dam. The descent from Flagstaff was stark. The rich, green forests gave way once again to the familiar beige and brown tones of the desert. The transformation was almost abrupt, as if nature had flipped a switch.
As we drove across the Pat Tillman Memorial Bridge, I couldn’t help but marvel. After years of reading about its engineering in civil publications, finally seeing it—driving over it—was a quiet thrill. The bridge spans the Black Canyon with elegance and strength, bypassing the once-congested switchbacks that twisted down to the dam itself. It’s a marvel, not just of concrete and steel, but of foresight.
Las Vegas: The Bookend
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| Brick wall of St. Valentine's Day Massacre |
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| Electric chair used at Sing Sing Prison |
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| I won't eat here |
Las Vegas welcomed us back with the usual glitter and chaos. But this time, instead of the Strip, we checked into the Downtown Grand, just steps from the Fremont Street Experience and the Mob Museum—a captivating dive into the underworld of American organized crime and the law enforcement agencies that fought back.
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| Looking north at Mob Museum |
Let’s just say... Fremont Street delivers on its reputation. With street performers (some barely clothed), live bands, flashing lights, zip lines soaring overhead, and enough sensory overload to last a week, it’s an experience best observed with wide eyes and a full stomach.
And yes, I resisted the quadruple bypass burger, the deep-fried Twinkie, and even the stick of deep-fried butter. Barely. But I did find joy in simply sitting and watching—a people-watcher’s paradise.
As quickly as Vegas welcomed us, it ushered us out. Before we knew it, we were back on I-15, headed home—another road trip complete, another state marathon in the books.
Top 10 Reasons to Run the Shiprock Marathon
10. Net downhill after the first 5K—think Boston without Heartbreak Hill.
9. NavajoYES knows how to organize a great race—34 years and counting.
8. Solitude: If you like running alone with your thoughts, this one’s for you.
7. Desert beauty: remote, raw, and refreshingly disconnected from city life.
6. The cultural significance of Tsé Bitʼaʼí (Shiprock)—a geological and spiritual icon.
5. Warm finish-line welcomes from Navajo volunteers and community members.
4. Race director Tom: passionate, helpful, and committed to a great experience.
3. Proceeds support Navajo youth adventure programs—run for a cause.
2. A powerful, authentic start line experience with a Navajo blessing and Flag Song.
AND, the Number One reason for running this marathon, drum roll please…
1. One-of-a-kind finisher’s medal and an awesome long-sleeve tech shirt!
As always, it’s onward and upward!
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| Marathon route shown in yellow |
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