Weren’t you there when the carousel burnt down?
The fire and confusion, the smoke and the sound
I swear you there when the carousel burnt down
We were all around.

— todd harry rundgren

—

The mission seemed simple enough. Say hello to Carlo the Hammer, and then run around in loops forever.

Little did I know.

How hard could it be? Sure, I hadn’t seen him in a few decades, but somehow I have managed to maintain my youthful charm over the years with virtually the same appearance as Third-Grade Gary. Surely he would be the same, yeah?

Just in case, I cheated. I asked the AI overlords to show me what he would look like after 30 years.

Other than being slightly dubious that he’s still wearing the same earring, I was confident. And so the day arrived.

I got there when the gates opened at 5 p.m. to get a good spot, which turned out to be between a deranged guy from Prescott who has been in the mountains a few kilos too long, and a 35-year-old woman with the unbound energy of a dalmatian puppy. This was her first ultra. She asked me for advice, given my appearance of being extremely old and therefore wise. I told her she should say hi every time she passed me on the course. This proved to be an unfortunate joke after the 350th time she came flying by. Damn kids. Stay off my lawn.

The rings charred and tarnished all over the ground
And our heads hung down
And we all left town
The next day

Where was Carlo? I was now On A Mission.

The loop is 500 meters, so I set out to walk around it before the race. This proved trickier than I had envisioned. I had to look closely at every person. This requires Eye Contact, which leads to “Hello,” which can trigger “Conversation.” Introverts do not like conversation. So I developed a head down, frowning, look like I’m searching for something, no not you, persona, with varying degrees of success.

A full loop led to no Carlo. But it was early. So I spent an hour at my little base camp, untangling my Christmas lights and swapping stories with my neighbors about Prescott vs. Georgia and Dr Pepper vs. Coke and Crown King vs. Whiskey Row. I was at the end of the loop next to the porta-pots to ensure that the aroma would prevent me from taking breaks. Surely Carlo would come by at some point, right?

But he did not.

And so I set out for another loop about a half hour before the start, thinking everyone would be here by now. So many faces. And none appeared to be his.

Imagine you’re going rim-to-rim-to-rim in the Grand Canyon. A friend has told you someone named Jordan is hiking there as well. So every time you come across a group of people, you ask “Is there a Jordan in this party?” Granted, nobody would ever do something this silly. Still, you can imagine the odds of success. Roughly the same as me finishing this race.

And nothing. No Carlo to be found. I may have seen Jordan, but he was in a party, so I didn’t want to disturb him.

The children all cried when the carousel burnt down
The old ladies sighed as the carousel burnt down
The rest of us lied as the carousel burnt down
And the flames did fly

And so we lined up for the race. I briefly wandered up to the front, where he would be, with about a minute to go. But who knows. Sunglasses and game faces. I hurried back to my starting spot, somewhere after the slowest person but before the dairy farm.

The race began.

I had barely started when the first runner passed me, already on his second loop. I was pretty sure it was him! Same body type, same running gait. He was wearing a baseball cap and nondescript shorts and shirt, so it was hard to tell. But then a couple of other fast guys came by. Maybe and possibly. They must have been running about a 7-minute clip, so there wasn’t much to see. But he had to be one of them, speedster that he is.

I ran the first few hours watching the results on the electronic board by the start-finish line. They had real-time updates, so I figured at some point his name would flash up before mine and I could see him in the distance. But nothing. The leaderboard isn’t really a leaderboard. It just shows the last lap and total distance whenever a runner comes across, so I had no idea how he was doing. I also never saw Jordan’s name, which is probably for the best, given that Buckeye is a long ways from the canyon and he would be quite lost.

And so we continued. For hours. I still couldn’t decide which gazelle was him.

And then. The turnaround.

The course changes directions every three hours, so I could see the faces of each runner as they came by. This was it.

Face face face face face face face face face face face face possibly Jordan face face face face face face face face face HI, NEIGHBOR! damn it’s that woman again face face face face face face face face face lost interest.

He HAD to be the guy I originally suspected was him. Still going incredibly fast. Too fast to get a good look at. But he was always a bit of an idiot, so this was his M.O. Not to be confused with Mo, who had opted out of the evening despite the lure of free hot dogs.

Curious as to my position in the field, I stopped at the car and checked the leaderboard on my phone. Which led me to see how far he had gone.

Which was: not at all.

There he was, at the bottom: DNS.

The pipes steamed and shrieked out a blazing goodbye
As the boiler died
And they melted down
The midway

What happened? No idea. Possibly because I posted about the race in advance, he was wary of the federales. The race info had said ICE would be provided, but I assumed that was a hot-weather thing rather than homeland security. Maybe it was the 107 degree start. If you’re a fast guy, that’s not the best weather for a hard effort.

Or maybe it has all been a hallucination. Maybe there was never a Carlo the Hammer at all. One of those ghost stories Grandpa tells at the base camp to an unsuspecting Georgian about to take her first step into the dark side.

Spirit crushed, I moseyed around for another nine hours or so until they started taking stuff down, which meant it was probably time to quit. An OK day. I beat the guy who doesn’t know I’m his arch-nemesis. The rookie finished strong. The guy in the van disappeared shortly after we stopped. I’m almost certain he was actually there. Jordan finished third in his age group, an amazing feat considering the vert still in his legs from the canyon.

Maybe some things aren’t meant to be. I’ve always thought memories are best left in that spot where you stored them, not to be disturbed.

Still, Marty Cortinas would agree it was ironic. I dreaded having to see him. I’m not a People Person. And now I’m left with a profound sadness that I didn’t. Not enough of a sadness that would cause me to look him up, given that we live just down the street from each other, but sadness nonetheless.

I hope I spot him again someday on the list of runners for an event I’m in, or possibly on the guest list for one of Jordan’s epic parties.

Yes, I’ll probably avoid him.

And we all left town the next day
And we all left town the next day

And we all left town the next day
And we all left town the next day
And we all left town
the next day