Pushing to the Peak

Driving toward Glen’s home, I rounded the bend that allowed me to see Pike’s Peak. Even though it was pitch dark, I could make out the silhouette of the mountain. The top was covered by dark clouds. I specifically prayed that as we moved up the Peak that day the clouds might move up ahead of us so the weather would not be a factor.

When I met up with Dad and Glen and Nikki at their home, I learned that when Glen woke up that morning, his congestion was gone. He said he was feeling great and anxious to climb the Peak. As we arrived at the check-in point and started observing other participants—being the southerner I was—I was amazed at the hikers’ equipment. They were wearing what looked like tights, though I am sure they were thermal and made from the best wicking materials available. Their backpacks were loaded. Their helmets had lamps strapped on. They also carried what looked like ski poles, except most of them had lights or glow sticks near the tips. Several people had retractable ones attached to their backpacks. It was truly amazing what these people were attempting.

The hikers would head up the face of the mountain and we would take the road; we had a different starting point—though the distance would be the same. All of those in our caravan left the hikers and drove to our starting point on the road.

The makeup of our caravan changed a bit throughout the day but mostly consisted of several key groups. My dad, Nikki and I were in Dad’s car. We had snacks and Glen’s regular wheelchair. The wheelchair representative was in a van with extra batteries. Accompanying her was Eric, a friend of Muffy’s, who would be taking digital videos (and later would become her husband). An AP photographer was in another car. The “chase” van would stay behind Glen and Muffy and was covered with banners warning of wheelchairs on the road ahead and bearing the Brain Injury Awareness and Pike’s Peak Challenge logos. Pam Mitzner, a nurse from Penrose Hospital, rode in the chase van, volunteering her time to medically assist Glen and Muffy.

When we reached the starting point, a little after 5 a.m., it was windy, foggy and about twenty-one degrees. We stopped on the side of the road to “suit up” Glen and Muffy. Glen changed into his warm boots and donned his jacket, helmet and gloves. Pam took an initial reading on their blood oxygen levels by placing a clamp—a pulse oximeter—on a finger of each of the two participants. A news reporter did a brief interview of Glen and Muffy.

At 5:40 a.m., Glen, Muffy and Muffy’s fiancé began their challenge. They headed into the foggy dark, talking as they went, their headlamps providing the only light for the path ahead.

When they disappeared from sight, Dad, Nikki and I got in the car to follow them. We ended up sort of leap-frogging up the mountain. We would drive ahead, stop and get out to take pictures and video as they approached and then passed us. After the chase van passed, we would leap-frog ahead of them. We followed this pattern all day, though sometimes our stops were not to take pictures but to give food and drink, change clothing layers or batteries or make some type of adjustment—medical or mechanical.

Another integral part of the caravan was Kathy. She had been on trial runs several times with Glen on other mountains. According to the amount of ground covered per battery, she calculated the number of batteries needed for the Pike’s Peak climb, and then doubled that estimate. We all laughed at the fact that she loaded the van with seventeen batteries. When a battery stopped working, she changed it with such speed that it would make the pit crews at the Indy 500 jealous.

Our leap-frog caravan continued to make its way up the mountain. The first several times when we stopped to wait for Glen and Muffy, before we could see them we could hear them. They were laughing and talking as they pushed. Most people would think of pushing a wheelchair up Pike’s Peak as a dreadful burden. But for two competitive athletes like Glen and Muffy, they were having the time of their lives! The laughter and cajoling attested to that fact.

At about the eight-mile marker, the terrain changed and the road emerged from the protection of the mountain. The road no longer wound through the mountain but instead clung to the side of it. As the road switched back and forth, one side was banked by the mountain and the other side dropped off at a steep and dangerous grade. Without the protection of the mountain, the wind began to gust and the visibility was hampered by fog. At about this same time, the pavement ended and became a dirt road.

As Glen and Muffy pushed around each hairpin turn, the temperature seemed to drop. Those of us in the cars had a hard time getting out, as the cold was so intense. We would huddle next to the car trying to use it as a wind break while we waited for them to approach. During one of the battery change breaks, we helped Glen get into his fleece jacket and put his windproof jacket over that. Then they pushed on.

As the wind gusted harder, the temperature plummeted and the wind whipped. I wondered how they would possibly make it to the summit. For hours they pushed their chairs around each switchback turn—facing the extreme elements. The friendly banter was gone as the two fierce competitors seemed to be putting all of their energy into the task at hand: reaching the top.