I spent a day as an instructor this week with the Beckwith Experimental Education (BEE) program at Bear Basin Ranch. We live adjacent to Bear Basin and have known owners Amy Finger and Gary Ziegler for many years.

The program is an outdoor and experiential enrichment program for youth. When Amy decided to get Bear Basin involved with BEE, she asked me to teach a class in Pack-Burro Racing. It was the first in a series that includes other courses on topics like backcountry navigation, archaeology and gardening. Twelve homeschool students ages 12-15 signed up.

Amy didn’t want me to teach these kids specifically how to race burros, she was more interested in the lifestyle and career choices I’d built around the sport along the way. And it has been a long way — I recently finished my 47th consecutive Leadville Boom Days long course. It was reflective for me to sort through my professional life from the viewpoint of where burros have led me. I’ve been a freelance writer and editor for several publications and businesses, an adjunct professor, author, ranch manager, running coach and substitute teacher, among other things, some of which I may have forgotten.

I introduced myself jokingly as a “Professor of Burrology.” Woven into my spoken autobiography was a discussion about burros, how they evolved in relation to other equines like horses and zebras, their quirks and proclivities. We talked about their anatomy, care and feeding. There was, of course, a discussion about pack-burro racing and its lengthy history in Colorado.

At last we got to the practical part of the class. I went over safety precautions, and then saddling and gear. I had brought Full Tilt Boogie, Oliver and Blue Rodeo for show and tell. The students got a chance to saddle a burro. Then we hiked a short distance to the Bear Basin arena for a demonstration and a taste of running with a burro in a controlled setting.

Standing back and watching these young people discover the wonder of working with these animals, I realized the burros were perhaps teaching them more than I had all day — a metaphoric and poetic conclusion to the course.

Be sure to check out our serial book, The Blur Goes to College, soon to be in print!

A couple weeks ago I was up Mosquito Pass, having a conversation with a few old friends of mine who were not going to be running in the Leadville Pack-Burro Race. Mainly they weren’t running because they have passed to the Other Side. After reaching the 13,179 summit from the Leadville side, I had tied Oliver to the sign on the top. I was on the north side of the sign looking over the vast mountain scenery.

I heard a vehicle coming, and soon a white Jeep pulled into view from the Fairplay side. It stopped, and out jumped a woman with her phone, squaring up the picture of Oliver and the sign. Ironically, I had just taken the same shot.

As I walked out from behind the sign, the woman seemed startled and confused. She said something to the effect that she didn’t realize this was “real.” She apparently thought Oliver was just part of some fake display.

As I untied Oliver and walked away, I chuckled, “We’re just ghosts.”

She let out a slight gasp as I headed back down the pass.

Not far down the narrow road, I let the Jeep go by, and I had already decided that Oliver had failed his job interview. This left me in more figurative rocky terrain than descending the remaining 2,000 vertical feet of loose talus. Harrison had been counting on running the Leadville short course with our other veteran burro Full Tilt Boogie. I had been looking forward to my 47th consecutive finish in the Boom Days long course, which has become somewhat of a nonsensical streak. If Oliver wasn’t up for it, I had no reliable burro for the race.

This year organizers made some course changes. The short race was reduced to 6.5 miles with a steep rocky downhill on Breece and Iron Hills. The long course remained mostly historically accurate except for the same rugged descent as the short course.

🎥 Bob Sweeney

Enter Bob Sweeney, his burro Yukon and our good friend Emily Keener. Since Bob was not running this year, days before the race he offered that Harrison could race with Yukon in the short course. Emily would run Yukon’s pasture mate Sugar Ray. Emily, experienced with racing these two burros, would coach Harrison through their process. This would leave Boogie for me to run in the long race.

And thus, to use my high school Latin, alea iacta est — “the die is cast.” Harrison went on to place first out of 68 teams in the short course. Emily and Ray placed second. I finished my 47th Boom Days long course, placing 7th overall, learning about Harrison’s win during my five hours out on the trail.

While Yukon is a world champion and has won every about race on the circuit, this was his first-ever win in his home town of Leadville.

Moreover, Bob, Yukon — and especially Emily — joined the exclusive society as official Co-Creators in Harrison’s life experience, which now includes accomplishments in burro racing and snowshoeing as well as running.

While Harrison got to be Big Man on Campus around Leadville for a couple of days, collecting congratulations just about everywhere he went, there is a larger story here.

It’s not about “winning” in conventional terms. The true meaning of the word compete” lies in its Latin roots — “to seek together.” It’s more about community and compassion — Yukon’s nose crossed the finish line first, but everybody won. Many thanks to Bob, Emily and Yukon, as well as the entire burro-racing and Leadville communities.

Be sure to check out our serial book, The Blur Goes to College, soon to be in print!

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Leading up to the Fairplay World Championship Pack-Burro Race, I had only one real goal. I wanted to get out of town alive. There were 95 teams entered in the 12.6-mile short course, and let’s just say most of them — OK, probably all of them — were less experienced than yours truly.

📹 Scott Lutz/Beso de Burro Ranch

One of these was Harrison, who, in four seasons of racing burros, is really still just trying to figure things out. After two years of college cross-country and track at Colorado Mountain College, and several years of trail-running competition, he’s a lot faster than me. However, there are still some finer points I can teach him about pack-burro racing — after all, I did win the 29-mile long course Fairplay World Championship seven times and the short course once.

This was our third race of the season with burros Oliver and Full Tilt Boogie. If I had another goal beyond surviving the start, it was to finish in the Top-10.

The sport has grown considerably since I started and many associated growing pains haven’t been addressed. Fairplay’s Front Street is too narrow for this many burro teams to start safely, and race organizers there and in other towns hosting burro races really need to do something about it.

Nevertheless, we got out of town both of us more or less in one piece, though amid the chaos of getting lined up Harrison got bumped and had a brief meltdown. Both our burros saw this as an “out” and took us careening through tourists into the ”Prunes, a Burro” park. Fortunately nobody was hurt. A complete stranger waved her empathy flag by helping calm Harrison. Then our friend Brad Wann jumped in to help us manage the critters until the starting horn sounded.

Even back when my time for the mile started with a “4,” I knew better than to blast off at that pace for any race over . . . well, a mile. Apparently about half the field doesn’t know this. We got out of town in the middle of the pack, and had worked our way into the top-20 by the time we hit the trail along the South Platte River. After turning onto the main section of the course, we picked off a few more places to be 10th and 11th.

In the last couple miles, Brian Pedretti, who ran cross-country and track for D1 Rutgers, caught up and accompanied us on the rocky path through a mine, where we picked up another place and at last came to the steep climb up the trail leading into Fairplay.

As we came into town and the final block of the race, we were picking up speed with Harrison and Oliver now leading. Brian ran Miles up alongside Boogie and passed. And that’s when things got weird. Quite suddenly, these two collegiate athletes went from what I consider a sprint to another gear altogether. One that I no longer have.

The problem was, Boogie — all 900 pounds of her — didn’t get the memo we were just going to let the young dudes battle it out. I had a little excess rope so started playing some of this out while simultaneously picking up my RPMs. Unfortunately I had too little of either precious commodity and found myself at the end of the rope with about 30 meters left.

I had to let go.

I immediately looked to my right for a reference point as to exactly where I lost her. Pack-burro racing rules state that you must return to the spot you lost your burro before continuing, or be DQ’d.

Meanwhile, Harrison finished 9th and Brian 10th. Ironically, and incidentally, Boogie charging up fast behind Oliver may have pressured him over the line by a nose.

In the resulting chaos at the finish line, it took five (5!!!!) minutes to untangle Boogie, walk her back 30 meters, then jog her back to finish. I also lost three more places in the process. Not lost on me were continuing education credits in Sport as a Metaphor for Life, letting go, and the ever-present passage of time.

• • •

Be sure to check out our online book, The Blur Goes to College. We are also working away on design for the paper and kindle versions. Expect these to be available in the new few weeks!

Harrison recently started a new job at the Cloud City Farm in Leadville. This is a third job in addition to his continued work at Community Threads, where he does shop chores and runs errands for Smokey Burgess, and City on a Hill, where he is learning sourdough baking.

Cloud City Farm is operated by the Cloud City Conservation Center, known locally as “C4” and supported by Lake County. At 10,000 feet altitude where summer typically lasts about a week, most of the growing is done in high tunnels and greenhouses.

There’s a serendipitous story behind all this . . .

Back in 2011-’12, I was the media specialist for Arkansas Valley Organic Growers, a co-op of seven organic farms in the Arkansas River Valley. One of the things I did for AVOG was produce a newsprint magazine called The Farm Beet. This was undoubtedly the best journalism job I ever had — and I have had more than a few. Besides being fun, the work itself held redeeming value as opposed to laboring for specialty publications like Annie’s Attic and The Pueblo Chieftain, neither of which I would ever admit to on a resume. But I digress . . .

For The Farm Beet, I mostly traveled around to these farms taking pictures and talking to the growers about their crops, methods and philosophies. Sometimes Harrison tagged along on these farm visits. He was around 7 years old then.

One of the AVOG farms was Venetucci Farm in Colorado Springs, where Susan Gordon and Patrick Hamilton were practicing regenerative agriculture, transforming former mono-crop pumpkin fields into a biodiverse operation where improved soil health produced high-nutrition vegetables and meats for local markets.

In addition to touring farms, I also visited high-end restaurants, like Blue Sage Cafe, The Warehouse and The Broadmoor, to interview talented chefs using local AVOG ingredients in their dishes. I never left any of these places hungry in any sense of the word. All of this information-gathering went into the production of The Farm Beet, which at the time was leading-edge reportage on the local food movement in Colorado.

Fast forward about 15 years to a couple weeks ago when I took Harrison for his interview at Cloud City Farm. I introduced myself to the farm manager, Sarah Hamilton. She seemed familiar but I couldn’t quite place her. Then Sarah said that we actually had met previously. She went on to explain that her parents managed Venetucci Farm when I was doing the aforementioned journalism. It all came back to me. We even published the essay Sarah wrote for her Boettcher Scholarship application, “My Old Winter Coat,” in The Farm Beet!

Full-circle — Sarah now carries on the local foods mission at Cloud City Farms, surely the highest altitude community farm in the nation, and Harrison is helping out with tending plants, landscaping tasks and harvesting. It’s meaningful work in a positive environment, and Sarah seems to project a remarkable calmness.

From The Farm Beet to C4, I remain grateful for all the people who have taken a chance on Harrison, and myself, over the years.

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Several months ago I was contacted by Erica Palgon, outreach producer for a global media company called RadicalMedia. Erica is based in New York and we had worked together previously on a project for Apple.

It seemed random, but she was looking for stories for a new launch called Stories by Us. Its slogan is “Everyday Americans Taking Action.”

Stories By Us is commissioned by a coalition of nonprofit organizations working in communities across the United States. These include Realize the Dream, the MacArthur Foundation, More Perfect, Giving Tuesday, Stand Together and Goodwill. The platform shares personal stories about people making a difference for their neighbors, in hopes of inspiring others to do their part.

Erica inquired about Harrison. I told her about him graduating from college at Colorado Mountain College in Leadville and the support he received from the entire community.

This quickly spun into a discussion in the RadicalMedia office and led to me helping them produce a photo essay about the support system Harrison was fortunate to have found in the nation’s highest incorporated city. It was recently released, just in time for the July Fourth holiday.

It’s good to see Leadville get some recognition for all the support the community has provided. Here is the link:

https://www.storiesbyus.org/story/view/eYqzF

Be sure to check out our recently finished online serial book, The Blur Goes to College!

When Harrison entered the Leadville Trail Marathon last winter he had a decision to make. He could enter the race as a Para athlete and likely win that division, or race in the open division

Harrison qualifies for the Para division because of his autism diagnosis. He decided on the open category.

The Leadville Trail Marathon is known as “The Nation’s Toughest Marathon.” It is slightly longer than a regular marathon at 26.4 miles, includes almost 6,200 vertical feet of climbing, with a starting elevation of 10,200 feet, and topping out at 13,187 feet on Mosquito Pass. Much of the course is extremely rocky. The past two years, Harrison had run the Heavy Half version, which is 15.4 miles on much of the same route.

While Mosquito Pass is obviously the focal point of the race, the mining district section that includes Iron Hill and Breece Hill also comprises significant mileage on some very steep and rugged terrain.

After holding down 12th place for the first 10 miles, Harrison reached the Mosquito Pass summit in 20th place. Then he opted for self-preservation on the extremely rocky and technical downhill, getting back to town in 31st place overall out of 730 starters — good enough for the third-place award in his 20-29 age group.

Mountain running has become an extremely competitive endeavor, with more than 1,400 runners in both races traveling to Leadville from all over the country on a weekend with several other popular events in other states.

Other Leadville running friends also had stellar performances. Emily Keener, who we know from pack-burro racing and Black Cloud Run Club, placed fourth overall and first in the mens 30-39 age group. Molly Pendleton, who graduated with Harrison from Colorado Mountain College, placed 10th place overall female, 68th overall, and first in the women’s 20-29 age group.

Be sure to check out our online serial, The Blur Goes to College, which we completed just last week!

For the past few weeks, a major focus has been on Harrison’s training for the upcoming Leadville Trail Marathon — the most difficult marathon in the country — on June 27. In addition to being 26.4 miles, slightly longer than a standard marathon, the course ranges between 10,200 and 13,187 feet in altitude and includes more than 6,000 feet of total elevation gain.

So there have been long runs, and longer runs, including a 22-miler on his 22nd birthday back in April, and several other big efforts like the big vertical day on Hermit Pass last week, and then a double this past Wednesday that included nine miles with Black Cloud Run Club in Leadville, followed later by a hike up Mosquito Pass, the high point in the marathon. I’ve also made sure he has previewed unfamiliar sections of the course in recent weeks.

During this Wednesday hike, I was trying to count how many times I’ve reached the summit of Mosquito Pass. For certain, I have done so 87 times in pack-burro races from both the Leadville and Fairplay sides. I’ve also climbed that pass numerous times in training, including three memorable outings in which I crossed it twice in one day. I’m certain I’ve climbed that hallowed rock pile more than 100 times. Counting this past Wednesday, Harrison has five summits of Mosquito Pass — two in the Leadville Boom Days Pack-Burro Race, and two in the LT Heavy Half run.

All the while we have been putting the finishing touches on The Blur Goes to College. It’s hard to believe we are reaching the end of this written history. Looking over our final installments, it seemed strange to break any of it up into smaller parts. I’ve also been informed that this Sunday is Father’s Day.

So, on Sunday, we will be dropping the final chapter of the book in one longer episode called “Graduation.”

Writing this story has been an ultra-journey, both in word-count and in collaboration. People have asked what it is like to work with Harrison on such a project. The most interesting facet has been learning through his writing about things I never even knew happened. At other times it has been challenging, as I have kicked a few chapters back to him with questions or asking him to inject a little more emotion — he is amazing with facts, dates and the order of events, but sometimes writing his feelings is elusive and I do believe that is what people are most interested in. I do feel this book provides enough storyline that readers can implicitly understand our emotions without us having to state them.

I for sure could have written this thing, and much faster, without Harrison, but it wouldn’t have been any good. We’ll now turn our attention toward publishing this story on paper. In the next few days, we will have some exciting news about our front cover design. Stay tuned!

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Colorado Mountain College hosted its first-ever track meet at its Salida Campus this past Friday. The CMC Twilight Distance Carnival featured races of 1500 meters, 5K and 800 meters.

Several small college teams were invited, and the meet was also open to unattached runners as well. Since Harrison graduated from the college in 2024 he signed up as an “unattached CMC alumni” for the 5K, which is 12.5 laps on the track.

Colleges turning out for the low-key inaugural event included CMC, Central Wyoming, and Trinidad State Junior College.

Harrison had not run in a college track meet in two years. He hadn’t done much speed work in recent weeks either. When he stepped out onto the track, it was just him, Central Wyoming’s Henry Nava, and our friend Justin Walker from Salida in the 5K. As our friend Curtis used to say, “Hey, everyone was invited!”

Before the race I told Harrison to hang with Henry for a few laps to keep from going out too fast. This perhaps led to a coaching error on my part. Realizing that Harrison was chopping his stride to not pass Henry, I told him to take the lead 4.5 laps in, but he didn’t hear me, and around they went again. He finally left Henry on the sixth lap but it had already cost him some time. I probably should have had him go after two laps. Oh well.

Harrison ended up winning the 5K by more than 200 meters in 18:15, but he likely would have run a solid 17-something if he’d made a move earlier.

Coaches were enthusiastic about the track meet and hopefully this distance carnival will become an annual event.

Meanwhile we are nearing our 100th chapter in The Blur Goes to College, and ramping up for the final push to the finish expected this spring. If you haven’t checked it out, or want to catch up, click on the link.

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Writing in Real Time here, for a short break from The Blur Goes to College. On Saturday, Harrison competed in the Run Through Time Half-Marathon in Salida. This was his second time running the race. He placed 14th overall among the 243 entrants, running the 13.2 miles of difficult rocky trails and 1,732 feet of vertical elevation gain in one hour and 53 minutes.

Meanwhile, I was scrambling around on the course to provide support and take pictures at six different locations on the course. In doing so, I managed to run about six miles and more than 1,000 feet of vertical gain, and to not fall on my face.

Afterwards, we had lunch and did some shopping. Just as we were leaving, my phone rang. It was his longtime art teacher, Carrie Smith, who lives in Salida. Harrison was in her class from Kindergarten through his senior year. Throughout his 13 years of K-12 education, Carrie provided a consistent and steady presence in his development and learning. During this time, he also was included in several art field trips, including to the Denver Art Museum, and overnight excursions to Santa Fe, where we visited the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum and Meow Wolf.

Over the years in Carrie’s class, Harrison produced a veritable body of work, including numerous paintings, drawings and sculptures. His work was chosen for the student display at the Third Street Gallery in Westcliffe, and he was granted scholarships from the Sangres Art Guild to help pay his tuition at Colorado Mountain College.

Carrie was one of a handful of true mentors Harrison has been fortunate to encounter in his lifetime. When Harrison went off to college, we sort of lost touch with her.

Carrie said that she had seen on Harrison’s social media that we were in town for the race and asked if we could stop by her house. She said that she was moving away and wanted to see us before she left. I said we’d be there in a couple of minutes.

We had an amazing visit. Carrie said that Harrison had been a very special student to her and that she thinks of him often. She asked Harrison if he would sing for her, and he sang a choir song. Then she invited him out to her garage because she wanted to give him something.

In the garage, Carrie began leafing through a box of paintings for the right one. I noticed a painting of some planets and, knowing Harrison’s interest in space, I mentioned it. She said, no that it was painted by one of her students, but . . . she said . . . “You want planets?” . . . then she produced a painting of a young person looking up at a Solar Eclipse with a mountain range in the background.

She made this painting when she was 17 years old. I was stunned.

Anyone who knows Harrison knows this was the right painting for him. I immediately felt like Carrie had somehow painted Harrison before he arrived in this lifetime. Indeed, I have the theory that art — be it a painting, writing or music — sometimes comes through people as a message from a higher source.

We wish Carrie all the best in her new adventures and hope to visit with her more often in the future.

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It’s officially winter here in the Wet Mountains. As the second snowstorm in the last two weeks moved in, some big herds of elk showed up here on neighboring Bear Basin Ranch. Traditionally there is more snowfall to the south of us and this time of year many elk migrate northward to slightly lower elevations where there is more exposed vegetation to forage.

We recently spent four days camped out at timberline up Hope Pass —about 11,800 feet altitude — helping support the highest aid station for the Leadville Trail 100 ultramarathon. This remote checkpoint is situated about 43 miles into the LT100 course, and 57 miles on the return trip.

Our main job was to filter water from a nearby lake and pack five-gallon jugs on burros up a short hill to the camp for the runners. The llama packing crew which had done this for decades retired last year, so a group of pack-burro racers stepped in. This seemed historically and poetically appropriate to Leadville’s rich mining heritage.

Harrison and I joined fellow pack-burro racers John Anderson and Joe Polonski. As well as Harrison’s friend Adaline, a former teammate on the Colorado Mountain College running team. Also along for the adventure was Ryan Hillborn, a friend of burro racer Alexis Knight, who was unable to make the trip because her home was evacuated due to a wildfire. Ryan just happened to be a master plumber which proved fortuitous. Mary and our friend Kendra Jeronimus also made a day hike out of our pack-in.

The pack burros included our own Oliver and Full Tilt Boogie, along with Jake owned by Joe, and Alice, and Penny owned by John.

It had been quite some time since I’d camped out three straight nights at high altitude. We packed in our own camping gear, as well as food on the burros for the four-mile hike with 2,200 vertical feet elevation gain to the camp. Along the way we passed clear rushing creeks and a stand of Arnica flowers still blooming in the late summer warmth. We arrived at the camp and got set up for our first night.

After coffee and breakfast the next morning we saddled the burros and set to hauling hundreds of gallons of water. Right off we had the first of several problems with the filter system, which Ryan was able to solve with his plumbing skills. John, Joe and I made several trips with the burros back and forth to the camp.

Meanwhile, our aid station captain Paul Anderson, also a burro racer, arrived hiking in from the Winfield side of Hope Pass. Paul, who is allergic to bee stings, was a bit groggy, having passed out on the way up following an encounter with perhaps the only bee still foraging above timberline.

When the filter began to slow down we took a break from packing water. Harrison, Adaline and I went for a short but steep and rocky hike on the race course to the summit of Hope Pass, elevation 12,600 feet. This was a nostalgic and bittersweet jaunt for me as I had my own history with the LT100, crossing this pass several times in training and races nearly four decades ago. There was the DNF in 1987, when I dropped out at 79 miles. The following year I was running strongly when I cratered a little farther along, then crawled in for a 27:11 finish.

By the time we got back down from the pass Ryan had the pump going again and we made several more trips before dinner. More of our pack-burro friends hiked up to join us. Marvin and Lisa Sandoval arrived with their three mini donkeys, including the famous Buttercup. Roland Brodeur and partner Maggie Vail joined us as well. Soon the alpine meadow around the aid station had taken on overtones of a KOA Campground. The next morning Molly Pendleton, who Harrison also met at CMC, hiked in before sunup, stirring up a small herd of elk on her way. Other volunteers also began to trickle in.

With more than 700 runners headed our way from Leadville, breakfast was quickly thrown together. Harrison had a meltdown when one of the volunteers told him he could not make a pancake. He apparently had been under the impression there was some reasonable expectation of cooking his own. A few minutes after he had calmed down he was found guilty of dipping a finger into pancake batter for a taste test. This set off a day-long chain of tantrums large and small.

The outgoing runners began trickling in to the aid station about 10 a.m., starting with eventual winner David Roche who broke his own record by 13 minutes, and Anne Flower who finished second overall and broke the 31-year-old women’s course record. As the day wore on middle-of-the-pack runners crowded the aid station.

The burros were a big hit, drawing many smiles and compliments. Several runners stopped to get pictures or to simply pet them. In total the burros packed nearly 500 gallons of water from the lake to the camp.

Things quieted down and we awaited the onslaught of runners on their return trip. At the 4 p.m. cutoff, Paul headed back up Hope Pass to sweep the course to Winfield, trailing the last runner that we allowed through the checkpoint. Meanwhile, I was elected to be the cutoff emissary for stragglers still coming up. This was a solemn job as I greeted about 20 entrants and broke the news that their race was over, and I needed the electronic chip from their bib number. They were invited to help themselves to food and water before heading back down to Twin Lakes. I assured them that despite having to drop, they had accomplished something very few people are capable of doing. They were all very gracious and many actually seemed relieved.

As the evening progressed I was able to re-enage Harrison with handing out gels to incoming runners. However, the night concluded with him picking up a hot rock next to the campfire. This sent him shrieking into a nearby stand of Krummholz. After this Adaline and I finally convinced him that he was tired and should get to sleep. I was also quite frustrated and exhausted by this time. I’m not suicidal or anything, but I did go to sleep with absolutely no fear of high-altitude pulmonary edema.

People sometimes wonder why I put Harrison —and myself — into situations like this. It’s simply because I want to provide him with as many authentic experiences and memories as possible before I really am gone, and in hope that these experiences somehow lead him to a more typical life. Sometimes it goes well and sometimes it doesn’t. I am thankful for Adaline and Molly who did so much to help calm him down during several outbursts. Also to Lifetime Fitness and the Leadville Race Series for including someone like Harrison in the support staff at this aid station and several others over the past four years.

The final morning we woke up to ice and frost on the ground. Harrison was up early singing choir songs in the frozen meadow as if nothing had happened the day before. I badly needed coffee and wanted to use a table. However, the kitchen area was a stomach-turning aftermath of discarded ramen noodles, instant mashed potatoes, sports-drink mud, cauldrons of leftover broth, bags of trash, recyclables and surplus food. The scene triggered my ADHD so badly I would not have known where to begin, especially in my uncaffeinated state.

Thankfully, as I found my own camp stove and made coffee away from the disaster area, Lisa and Marvin jumped in and worked their asses off to get things straightened up for the outfitter to haul out. As the sacred hot beverage brought me back to life I noticed a single Canada Jay, aka “Camp Robber,” briefly picking through discarded noodles on the ground, and then flying off.

The bright sun hit the meadow and soon we had our camp broken down and the burros loaded up. As we departed I noticed the Camp Robber had returned with a few friends who were busily cleaning up scraps. Soon we were on our way back down the steep trail, past the smiling Arnicas and the singing creek. Down the trail, as we passed the 10,000-foot contour, I felt the refreshing resurgence of available oxygen.

On the drive home it occurred to me that often when Harrison has a meltdown, I have later realized he was actually correct on some level. I thought about the total chaos of the aid station, the mess, and so many runners passing through so late at night. Three nights of hypoxic camping. I realized internal meltdowns were endemic to everyone up there, including myself, but some of us were more or less keeping them contained.

Aside from all of that it was an amazing opportunity and experience, and it was quite beautiful. Below are some photos from the days spent in the shadow of Hope Pass.

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The Blur Goes to College got reviewed in our local newspaper, the Wet Mountain Tribune last week. The review appeared online and on the front page of the print edition. Thank you, Jordan Hedberg for the insightful review.

We’re just telling the story as it happened, but Jordan’s review gave me a better idea of how our writing strikes the emotions of some readers in ways I hadn’t imagined.

Here is my favorite quote from it:

“Other segments will jog the memory and feelings of many who remember the frustra­tion and isolation of college, but through the eyes of father and son with the emotional rawness dialed up to 20 on a radio that only goes up to 10.”

Click here to read the full review.

Click the image below to get to all chapters.

Please read, like, comment, subscribe, share, etc. Thanks!

When Harrison isn’t working on The Blur Goes to College, running, practicing music or welding, you might find him at Community Threads in Leadville, where he has a part-time job doing various tasks around the shop a couple days each week. Community Threads, locally owned and operated by Smokey Burgess, is a consignment and outdoor sports shop. It features high-end active outdoor clothing and outerwear, as well as a wide variety of new and used sports gear, including running shoes, clothes and accessories, snowshoes, ice skates, and snowboarding and alpine skiing equipment. Community Threads has the Arkansas Valley’s best selection of new and used Nordic ski gear, featuring skis, boots, poles and bindings by Atomic. You’ll also find sunglasses, gloves and a large selection of small items that make for great gifts. Stop in and check it out at 609 Harrison Ave.

It’s been several weeks now since we launched The Blur Goes to College as an online serial book. This experiment has been quite an adventure.

We apparently now have hundreds of people reading along with the story. We’ve enjoyed the encouragement we’ve received in comments, emails, texts and phone calls, and appreciate all those who have invested their time and brain cells to read the story.

We started writing this while Harrison was still in college, and together we have running files totaling more than 95,000 words. There’s still more to write. As we are producing the front end of the book, publishing it chapter-by-chapter, we are still working on the back end — writing about six months ahead of our publishing pace.

This gives us the opportunity to look for natural breaking points, and to go back and edit each installment. Occasionally we realize we need to write a transitional chapter, such as Harrison’s recent one on welding.

The serial format has allowed us to get the story out more quickly and broadly, and in ways that we could not have done with traditional print publishing. I think we are at 20 chapters published now.

Selecting photos to go with each chapter allows us to relive some of the experience, and provides another dimension to the story. I took a lot of pictures during Harrison’s time at CMC, never knowing what I would do with them. Now I’ve found a context in which it makes sense to share them. I feel the photography makes the experience more real and believable for the reader — something a paper book could never do.

We’ve also added audio components to some chapters with Harrison reading his parts. We are hoping to go back and record each chapter.

Recently, and ironically, The Leadville Herald Democrat began publishing chapters of The Blur Goes to College in its print edition. We welcome other partnerships like this. Just contact me to discuss.

In addition to writing, Harrison continues to work at Community Threads in Leadville two days a week, maintains his running program, and does small welding jobs here and there.

Thank you for reading and supporting our little writing experiment. Buckle up, the ride’s about to get even wilder!

P.S.: If you haven’t yet checked it out, the book starts here:

Early in Harrison’s experience at Colorado Mountain College, while taking a class called “Writing for Academic Success,” he started writing a book. The idea was partly my idea to get him interested in his assignments. With autistic people, helping them think the task is their idea can be key. In his mind he was writing a sequel to my previous book Full Tilt Boogie. He even designed a makeshift cover for this book before it was more than a handful of words. He called it Full Tilt Boogie, II.

The original Boogie was about my early experiences and acceptance of his autism, while also preparing for a last-ditch run at the World Championship Pack-Burro Race when I was 53 and he was 9. It made for an ironic title as the book really was not so much about the burro by that name as it was about literally and figuratively running or operating at full capacity.

What surprised me was that Harrison diligently stuck with the writing and suggested I join in. The idea of us co-writing the book seemed appealing yet daunting. I had not written much of anything in years, and was quite burned out on writing in general. In fact, any attempts at it were excruciatingly painful in ways I cannot describe. Friends would ask me why I wasn’t writing more and I could not explain it. It simply hurt my brain.

Nevertheless, the experiences we were living as he navigated college life as an autistic student and athlete were compelling— not to mention the complete absurdity of me living part-time in a college dorm at the age of 62 to support him. I began to take down some notes, sometimes just a couple of words, to spark my memory. I wrote some short passages. Slowly the story started to take shape and I found myself actually writing again, though it was still a rather painful process. Harrison had somehow managed to make me think this was my idea.

All the while, he insisted we call the book Full Tilt Boogie, II. I tried to explain that the title really didn’t make any sense because it’s not about Boogie. He protested. I thought about this for a long while, trying to think of some clever way to incorporate Full Tilt Boogie into the title. I realized I had been operating at full capacity for many years. Also, Boogie herself does make some cameo appearances in the book, including as Harrison’s running partner in his first pack-burro race. Suddenly the silly idea of Full Tilt Boogie Too popped into my brain. It still doesn’t make a lot of sense but then little in life really does.

We settled on The Blur Goes to College with the subtitle (Full Tilt Boogie Too). It’s part comedy and part tragedy, part train wreck, part triumph. Moreover, this is a story of empathy and compassion, and exploring the rights of people with so-called “intellectual disabilities.” We wanted to get the story out as soon as possible. We hope you enjoy this serialized rollout on Substack as we finish the book and eventually get it into print.

Start reading!

The day before graduation the class of 2022 gathered for the mandatory rehearsal. As these things go, the stage and chairs were all set up in the quiet high school gymnasium. The soon-to-be grads marched in, found their chairs, then stood for the National Anthem. From an overhead speaker a painfully tinny and static-pocked rendition of the Star-Spangled Banner shrieked from the PA system. After hearing this, Harrison interrupted the practice by raising his hand and asking out loud if he could just sing the thing. The school counselor, Troy, who was in charge of the event, waved me over and asked what I thought.

Harrison was the first documented student with autism to go through the entire system at Custer Custer School, from preschool through Kindergarten, elementary, middle and high school, and its first openly autistic cross-country and track athlete. The ceremony held a special significance for so many people — administrators, teachers, coaches, classmates, and especially his parents, myself and Mary. Not to mention this was an important milestone for the other 23 members of his graduating class as well. I told Troy it could add a really special touch to the ceremony — or it could go really badly if he botched it and melted down on stage. Countless public tantrums rushed through my mind.

After a pause for some thought I said, “I guess I'm willing to take the risk.”

The words were barely out of my mouth when Troy said: "Let's go with it!”

Though Harrison had sung the National Anthem several times with the choir for volleyball and basketball games, it had been a couple years since he’d done so. I knew the anthem is not especially easy to sing because of the extensive vocal range required. In the back of my mind there was the grim memory of a graduation ceremony he had disrupted with a meltdown as a member of the choir. On the other hand, Harrison possesses the rare ability for perfect pitch, and has an almost photographic memory of lyrics.

We went back home to prepare for the big day. Family and friends were arriving for the celebration. I insisted he practice the anthem a few times that evening. He seemed pretty comfortable singing to himself but I wondered how it would be in front of a crowd of several hundred people in the big gym. I knew I would not be able to relax until the anthem had been sung right down to “the home of the brave." I printed out the lyrics for him to have in hand in case of a brain lapse.

On the way to the ceremony the next morning we sang the anthem together in my truck. We both sang it perfectly, the way it always sounds in a vehicle, or the shower. I hoped he would do as well before an audience. I briefly entertained the notion of accompanying him on stage but quickly dismissed this as ridiculous. I dropped him off at the school’s library where the seniors were donning their caps and gowns and preparing for the big event. Carrie Driver, who had been Harrison’s special education teacher since 8th grade, waved me off with body language indicating I was not welcome to hang out. I left, but down the hall realized that I had not given him the printout of the lyrics. I turned around. This time Carrie was blunt with the tough love and told me to leave. He didn’t need the lyrics, she said, he knows them. It was time to let him go, time to let him fly.

When the graduates marched in file into the gym, a balloon ominously popped right as Harrison passed beneath the archway. There was a brief silent moment and I could feel the tension of a few hundred people expecting a meltdown. He laughed it off and marched on.

Then he took to the podium, welcomed the crowd to the 2022 graduation, and asked them all to stand for the anthem. What happened next was nothing short of extraordinary as Harrison sang the Star-Spangled Banner flawlessly. Before it was over the entire audience had joined in and quite a few of them were teary-eyed, including me.

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My name is Harrison Walter. I was born at St. Mary Corwin Hospital in Pueblo, Colorado. I was diagnosed with autism at The Children's Hospital in Denver when I was almost four years old. Due to my autism, I learn and process things differently than other people. It is also challenging for me to develop relationships with others. With my autism, I also have elements of ADHD, dyscalculia, and Tourette’s syndrome. I grew up in Westcliffe, Colorado, and I attended Custer County School pre-K through 12th grade. I'm the only known person diagnosed with autism to have gone through all 13 years in this school. My favorite class was art and Carrie Smith was my art teacher for 12 years. One of my best friends, Mara Backsen, who was in school with me until she moved away in fifth grade, helped me out through elementary school. Even though I am different from other people, I do not like to be called “disabled,” but rather someone who is neurodiverse. However, due to my difficulties, I had to have aides present with me in the classroom early on. This extended to middle school. Gradually through high school, I was able to function without an aide.

Early on in my childhood I was obsessed with doors, locks and door closers, as well as roads and clocks. In fact, I filled the walls of our utility room with dozens of cheap clocks purchased from Family Dollar and other ones that people from local businesses gave me. These clocks were all set to different time zones and I had printed out city labels and taped them on the wall underneath each clock. My curiosity about the doors kind of drove my parents crazy, especially at restaurants. I would just constantly open and close the doors. Of course, this obsession subsided over time. 

One of the clocks I had was an Audubon Society Singing Bird Clock, which would play a different bird song every hour. One day when I took it outside, I was turning the knob. I noticed that one of the burros named Jimi started snorting and running around in circles. I had no idea at first why this was happening until I figured out that it was the bird at 2 o’clock, a.k.a. the Northern Mockingbird, that triggered his snorting. I think this was because of him confusing it for some sort of predator or warning. Also, this was repeatable. So, every time I played that bird, Jimi would snort.

I have been a fan of Apple products since I was very young. One time, my parents took me to the Apple Store, and it felt like I was in Disneyland. When I saw an iPad on display, I was able to operate it in mere seconds. I got my first iPad when I was in the second grade. A lot of other devices followed. From the very beginning, Apple products have been an essential part of my daily life. I feel like a self-made expert on the Apple “ecosystem” and company. I am a virtual encyclopedia of the history and evolution of Apple products throughout the years, including specs, software releases, etc.

I am a runner. I live in Colorado. I often train at places near our home at Bear Basin Ranch near Westcliffe. I have been running competively since middle school, and ran hundreds of races in cross-country and track through high school. We traveled to meets in places like Avon, Gunnison, Pueblo, Colorado Springs, Salida and Monte Vista. Running on a team gave me a feeling of belonging and a built-in group of friends. Having a good race made me feel great. Running cross country and track gave me an awesome sense of belonging and accomplishment, and would eventually fuel my dream of running in college.

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By Harrison’s senior year of high school, it had become a common question: “What’s next?” There was no clear plan. His life had been school and running. Art and music were major focuses. He expressed interest in continuing his education, and running for a college team. College had always been my highest hope for him, but was this realistic, when several people had suggested a group home?

Also, I had been his coach for his entire high-school career. Could he adapt to another coach’s methods? Could another coach adapt to him? He’d not done anything spectacular as a high-school athlete but I also knew he was a late bloomer and that the potential was there. Some of the unconventional coaching methods I’d used with him might make it difficult for him to conform to another coach’s program. Also, running for a college would require a focus on academics, and traditional subjects were not his favorites. Nevertheless, he actually had earned 12 credit hours of early college while in high school, scoring A’s in Introduction to Engineering and Design I and II, Philosophy 101 and Ethics 101.

Harrison’s running career really began in sixth grade after the school's coach suggested he go out for the middle school cross-country team. I’d never considered at that point that Harrison would ever be on a school sports team, but when he said he wanted to do this, I was all in. I’d never considered this would lead me to being a coach myself. As those first after-school practices wore on, it became clear that I would need to be around in case Harrison had a meltdown. Before the season was out, Head Coach Jack Swartz was referring to me as “Coach Hal,” and I was starting to help the other kids as well as Harrison during practices and meets, and even substituted as assistant coach for one meet. During that same year I found myself in heated discussions with teachers about equitable grading, and experienced Harrison being escorted out of the school by sheriffs deputies for physically striking teachers and ultimately lunging at the principal. I had experienced so many lows that his running seemed to provide the only balance to an otherwise gloomy outlook on life. I was also reckoning with the fact that my lifelong career in print journalism was in a spiral with the decline brought on by the Internet. Mary had taken on the role as main wage-earner while I was literally now an unwilling and unpaid caregiver and working freelance side jobs both an editor and a ranch hand.

The running component had at least provided the potential for fun, though there were many setbacks along the way. A successful race could provide a glimmer of hope to a story that appeared headed toward a depressing future. I’ll never forget his first track meet in Mosca when I drove nearly three hours not knowing if he would have the focus to stay in his lane for one lap around the track in the 400-meter dash. But he did. There was a meet in Salida where he finished a race and smacked a clipboard out of one of the volunteer’s hands. Two friends — Tom Sobal and Curtis Imrie — and I formed a huddle around him and moved him off the field. It was cold, and when he emerged he was wearing Curtis’ Leadville Loppet beanie, which we still have.

In another meet he stopped and ran backwards, then freaked out. A group of runners from another school’s team came to the rescue encouraging him to continue, and he did — finishing the race and running away after crossing the finish line. It seemed the running community was his tribe and there were always angels ready to jump in and help him succeed.

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I was really lucky to grow up in the small community of Westcliffe, Colorado, where it seemed like there were people there to help me at every turn. I attended the same small school for 12 years. I went to daycare and preschool with several kids that were in school with me until I graduated. Two of them, Kaya Huffman and Brooke Flynn, went to Happy Hearts preschool and daycare with me when we were two years old, and were in the same class with me all the way to high school graduation. In a bigger school I probably would have never had the experiences I had at Custer County. So many of my teachers, coaches, classmates and their families supported me along the way.

Early on in school, I enjoyed music classes like band and choir. I also liked art. When I first started in band in middle school, I played a variety of different drums. Also, I had the same teacher, Carrie Smith, in art class from Kindergarten through high school. My art projects earned me awards in the annual spring fine arts show, where I also performed in band and choir.

When I got to high school, it was my chance to try again in the mainstream classrooms. In middle school I would spend most of my day in the resource room and go to just one or two regular classes. In high school, even though I went to more mainstream classes, I still spent up to two class periods in the resource room. This would continue throughout my high school years.

During my freshman year of high school, I joined the choir. Mrs. Peachey was a great choir teacher. She at first put me into the alto group because my voice had not changed yet. The choir was pretty big and almost everybody in it accepted me for who I was. We performed a Christmas show, sang the National Anthem at games, and had a spring concert. I have “perfect pitch” and it would sometimes cause me problems when people next to me were off-key. One of the choir members, Makenna Reiff, who has a brother with Tourette’s syndrome, helped me out with my occasional issues.

A highlight of my choir experience was a performance with two other regional schools at the Salida High School auditorium. That day, we had to leave our school early in the morning to get there in time to rehearse. We ended up practicing all day long with a lunch break. Then around 7 p.m., the performance began, first with the middle school choirs, then followed by us singing “Tres Cantos Nativos,” “Till The Stars Fall From the Sky,” and “Wade In the Water.” After this, the high school and middle school joined to sing a piece called “Stand Together.” 

Running on the cross-country and track teams opened up a whole new world for me. I loved being outside in the fresh air and the activity helped calm my brain. I started running cross-country in sixth grade. My first coach, Jack Swartz, had been my fourth grade teacher. My dad signed on as a volunteer coach to help out. I also started track in middle school with Coach Traci Terry.

There were some adventures early on in middle school. In one track meet at Mosca, I did pretty well in the 400-meter run, but in the 800-meter run, at the end of my first lap, I fell down. It took me a few seconds to get back on my feet. That was when one of the coaches from Alamosa, Justin Bethea, appeared and ran my second lap with me. After this, I threw a minor fit on the turf. I was feeling bad because I had cuts on both my knee and my hand. Then, my friend Bailey, who was a jumper on the team, came over to comfort me and said, “It’s OK. I can’t even run that far.” I felt better that she cheered me up. This was just just another instance showing how there were often special people looking out for me and helping me to succeed.

When Coach Swartz moved to Arvada, Jesse Taylor took his place. Eventually Jesse moved on and my dad took over as head high school cross-country coach and assistant track coach.

In high school we ran cross-country and track in towns all over southern Colorado. Between cross-country and track I competed in around 150 races, even though I missed my entire sophomore track season and had an abbreviated cross-country season my junior year because of the Covid-19 pandemic. I especially liked the courses in Monte Vista and Salida, though I usually placed better when there were more hills. There was one big hill in the Salida course. When you go down that hill, you have to be extremely careful not to fall and hurt yourself. It was fun running down it and it made me feel like I was flying.

I had some amazing teammates over the years. Kaya and Brooke who had been friends since daycare ran cross-country. Also, there were friends from other classes I’d grown up with like Joey Arnone, Brooke Bomgardner, Emma Rusk, Kyleigh Martin, Jonah Carichner, and the Zellers – Betsy, Noel, Elias, Micah and Laurel. Micah particularly was an inspiration. He and his brother Elias were Ethiopian and had been adopted by the Zeller family when they were very young. He was initially homeschooled, then went to a public school in Wyoming before returning to Westcliffe. In his senior year Micah placed second in the state cross-country championships and then won the 3200 meters in the state track championships.

I had so many great experiences in cross-country and track. A favorite memory is running the Cheyenne Mountain Stampede “Pre-State” meet at the Norris Penrose Event Center starting in my sophomore year. This is the same 5K course as the state championship meet. The year before, I ran in the Unified Race at state which is on a shorter 3K course. But this time I was excited to have this opportunity to run the full 5K. So I guess you could say I ran in the state championships in my mind.

When my dad started coaching he began taking us to the cross-country meet in Leadville early in the season. This course was on cross-country ski trails at 10,000 feet altitude. The start was on a flat field then went right into the forest where there was a curvy trail with many steep hills both up and down. Runners were warned by their coaches to not go all out on the downhills because then the uphills would feel impossible. One year Kaya missed a turn and got lost out there for over an hour. I thought about the song “Lost in the Woods” from the movie Frozen as a theme for what happened that day and even requested it for Kaya at Homecoming dance later that night. Little did I know then that someday these Leadville trails would become my home training grounds.

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What is autism? Nobody really knows. The diagnosis is at once a tragic reality and a myth. I have lived with an autistic person for two decades now and I don’t know what it is. It is not a medical condition or a disease, yet some medical experts say raising an autistic child is equivalent to the stress experienced by combat soldiers and comparable to parenting 10 neurotypical children. Though autistic people are often placed on medications and undergo various therapies, there is no treatment and there is no cure.

Autism is diagnosed through stereotypical symptoms and behaviors. Many people believe autism to be a “Spectrum,” and it is. However, it is non-linear, subject to change at any time and under any circumstances, and reflects each individual’s unique set of symptoms and manifestations. As the saying goes, if you’ve met one autistic person, you’ve met one autistic person.

In Harrison’s case this could not be more true.

During the high school years Mary enrolled our family in a genetic study being conducted by Spark for Autism. The organization is collecting DNA samples from families of children on the spectrum with the goal of better understanding autism and its causes. As parents of an autistic child, I think there’s always a tendency to seek out an explanation for why your child is autistic. We want to have some reason for it.

I always thought Harrison’s autism must have to do with some strange combination of genetics and environmental toxins like glyphosate or mercury, perhaps vaccines, or my being an older father, or other factors we have been conditioned to associate with autism.

Spark sent us sample-collection kits and we all spit into the vials and mailed them off. We really didn’t hear much back from Spark for the next couple years, though we received a regular email newsletter. From time to time we wondered whatever became of the study, then we forgot about it.

So it seemed random when one day we got an email saying the research had uncovered a specific genetic cause for Harrison’s autism, and inviting us to a genetic counseling session online. Mary quickly signed us up. There were a tense few moments as we waited to see just whose side of the family was responsible. As it turned out, it was neither.

In this conference call we learned that Harrison has a “de novo” genetic change in a newly discovered autism gene called ANK2. This genetic change is very rare. The Spark study tested more than 26,000 families of autistic children. It was mind-boggling that fewer than 10 individuals of those autistic people tested were found to have the ANK2 genetic change.

It appears this random change can happen early after conception during the gene-copying phase of development. Neither the parent’s genes nor environmental factors are to blame.

This makes Harrison very unique and the gene is present in every cell of his body. While ANK2 has been associated with cardiac issues in some individuals, this is clearly not the case with Harrison. While Harrison didn’t inherit ANK2, if he were to father a child, there is a 50-50 chance he would pass on the gene.

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