We all know of the benefits of exercise, from decreasing waistlines to decreasing depression. However, exercise can negatively impact sleep… when you are running all night on a 46-square-mile pan of salt instead of snuggling in your 33-square-foot bed. If that sleepless/saline combo seems about as likely as hotdog fingers, you might be on to everything.

The Dusk to Dawn Relay + Ultra is a destination race that circles over the justifiably famous Bonneville Salt Flats from sunset to sunrise. With two-mile loops, teammates can rally in one place and lounge while awaiting their turn to make tracks. Jason and I have participated in this unique event consistently since its inaugural year back in 2019.

For 2022’s race, we had so many interested contestants we decided to form two teams. This decision was also promoted by the desire of some to separate into “competitive” and “casual” groupings. That is how the Na Squad and Na Squad Too came into being. Jason and I joined the “competitive” faction. Jason is speedy, and I was part of his combo deal.

While having a large company amplified the fun, it also amplified the stress. We had to replace two teammates in the weeks and days before the event thanks to a move and a bone fracture. Ever tried to find a friend who is willing to run all night in the middle of the desert with no time to train? Yup, it isn’t something people usually say yes to. Fortunately, we know a couple of people precisely that brand of cracked.

Although this race takes place at night in part to avoid the exposed heat of the West Desert, the area can be blazing even near dusk in September. It was 102 degrees when we arrived on the flats at 6:00 PM. With heat reflecting off the white salt like a stovetop mirror, it felt even worse. Hence, my throat remained parched for hours no matter how much spare liquid I consumed.

2022’s Dusk to Dawn Relay + Ultra included 94 participants, 14 teams and 14 ultra runners. Our competitive consortium completed 62 miles over the night, which resulted in us placing 5^th in six-person teams and 6^th overall. The casual team finished 46 miles. They came in 9^th in six-person teams and 10^th overall.

I contributed 12 miles to our team’s total and so did Jason. He managed to keep his pace between 7.0 and 7.5 minutes per mile for the entire night. One of his calves started hurting on his first lap thanks to a poorly planned intense run just days earlier. Luckily, since I am always prepared, I was prepped with Advil in case of just such an ill-timed boo-boo.

As for me, thanks to an injury, which later was determined to be a fractured talus and associated bone lesion, I had been forced to reduce my training for this event. My speed was sufficient considering my current situation but a disappointment after my performance the year before. I managed to stay close to a 10-minute mile on all but my last loop. That last lap, my knees were hurting something fierce; it was only with immense willpower that I even pulled a 12-minute mile.

While keeping a runner out on the course at all times was a primary goal, it wasn’t our only focus. The astronomy club from a local university set up enormous telescopes and participants got to view the Orion Nebula, Dumbbell Nebula, Jupiter, Saturn, Mars, and the moon at different points during the night. That was in addition to the omnipresent glistening balls of plasma peppering the heavens with their thermonuclear fusion.

As you might assume, I was stiff after this event concluded, particularly my knees and ankle. (Remember, my ankle was fractured. I just didn’t know it.) I loosened that leg tension with a mile walk hours after the relay, which made my grumbly parts much better. (I’d highly recommend that tactic for reducing post-race discomfort.) The next day, I felt fine, but Jason was still hurting.

While it may seem like only the nocturnally masochistic would find substituting sleep with running appealing, this race truly is a remarkable occasion even for the most self-preserving. Aerobic ambitions sprinkled with salt, dark skies sprinkled with stars, scratchy cots sprinkled with family member… Yup, this universe has got some crazy sh#t too.

We had just enough time between traveling from Brian Head to our first play at the Utah Shakespeare Festival to take a detour to Old Iron Town. Old Iron Town is the remains of a mining settlement that was established in 1868 and ceased operations in 1876, though mining continued in the area into the late 20^th century with open-pit excavations and the building of a railroad for ore transportation. Predictably, Old Iron Town was an interesting stop.

After our visit into the deserted past, we were off to the most dramatic part of our vacation. We saw four plays at the Utah Shakespeare Festival over two days. Clue was Jason’s favorite in part because he understood the dialogue and plot fully, which isn’t always the case for him at the festival. I thought Clue was silly, witty, and fun to watch. Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street was perhaps less fun to witness. I expected it to be morbid; the involuntary gagging was slightly less anticipated. With that said, the acting was as well done as the flaky meat pies. The Tempest was showing at the festival’s smallest theater, and we enjoyed the intimate setting. This production turned male roles into female ones, a timely change if not entirely accurate to Shakespeare. Shakespearean tragedies often involve mutilations, dismemberments, and other such maimings. King Lear, with actor Anthony Heald in the lead, did not hold back on that front; eyeballs were gouged out and played with enthusiastically.

I promised I wasn’t done talking about our repeat encounters with rain, so let the torrent of information continue. Our King Lear performance was nearly canceled due to a heavy downpour that persisted for the first half hour of the show. Luckily, Jason and I were prepared as usual with multiple rain jackets and garbage bags, plus extras to pass around to those less equipped.

Between all those shows, we purged thoughts of meat pies and insane sovereigns with a hike to Thor’s Lookout via Thor’s Hideout from the Thunderbird Gardens Trailhead, a total of 3.6 miles. Temperatures remained in the low eighties, hot enough for sweat but not hot enough for no sweat. Apart from the abundant, shapely vermillion rock, Thor’s throne, a massive chair created from stone and wood, was the coolest thing about this hike. Before departing Cedar City, my family also took a 1.5-mile walk on one of the town’s agreeable paved paths, the Cedar Canyon Trail. While not quite as scenic as Thor’s Hideout, its mild incline made it a hit with those in all shape stages.

Upon leaving Cedar City, we stopped expanding our minds and started squishing our bodies. On the return drive, we stopped at the Tabernacle Hill Lava Tubes near Fillmore. We estimated we’d spend 1.5 hours there. Instead, we spent five. Our original guess didn’t account for the area’s many levels. Tabernacle Hill was an active volcano 10,000-24,000 years ago. Its numerous eruptions left a lava field nearly four miles wide. Atop that field are bizarre porous outcroppings and below it a fascinating system of lava tubes of varying sizes and in different states of ruin. We couldn’t leave one of these crunchy, aerated layers unsampled, so five hours it was.

We started our explorations by following a collapsed tube into a crater meadow before climbing through another partially collapsed tunnel. Afterward, we hiked to the top of the cinder cone adjacent to Tabernacle Crater, which was once a lava lake. The crown of this mound was mercilessly sharp, brilliantly scarlet, and jutted out of its crumbling base in a frenzied fashion. Excruciatingly uncanny! Later, we scoured the hillsides for more open tubes to discover. The tubes were prolific but finding entrance holes proved difficult. We succeeded eventually, and the cramped-quarters lovers amongst us went on a tight shaft romp in that find before we all returned to a sizable intact tube on the other side of the road. That large conduit provided much to encounter with a flashlight and a blacklight. Just as we were about to exit the cave, a downpour began, so we got drenched one more time. Later, we learned there was a flash flood in Cedar City just hours after we left.

Nothing eliminates cave funk like hot springs funk. With that in mind, after Tabernacle Hill we took yet another detour, this time to Meadow Hot Springs. Meadow Hot Springs are a string of geothermally heated pools located near Tabernacle Hill. Some of the pools apparently reach 100 degrees. The one we plopped into seemed more like warm bath water. A foot soak sure felt nice though. The nibbling fish, a little less so.

With that, our oddly adventurous trip prompted by a series of plays ended. Since the soakings were almost as prolific as the monologues, it wasn’t exactly what we were expecting. However, sometimes the unexpected is better… as long as you don’t get struck by lightning.

With the success of our Shakespearean trip in 2021, my family decided to give the Utah Shakespeare Festival another whirl in 2022. Jason and I opted to go a little early and get out of the summer heat at nearly 10,000 feet in Brian Head, which is only about half an hour from Cedar City. We sure did get out of the heat and then some. Here’s how our vacation turned into a deluge of water, culture, and conduits.

Per our typical M.O., we arrived in Brian Head just in time. On this occasion, just in time to hike 2.5 miles on the Manzanita Trail… or, more specifically, just in time to hike half that distance before dark and the other half not before dark. The Manzanita Trail is a mild path that runs along Parowan Canyon’s hillsides above State Route 143. While the highway can be heard and seen in sections, the trail feels removed from the road for the most part. If you want a quick introduction to Brian Head, this is a good track to take. You can access it from the Town Trail just where SR-143 intersects Aspen Drive.

The next day, we were uncertain if the weather would allow us to do another hike, but as the threat of rain and thunderstorms decreased and shifted to later in the afternoon, we felt reasonably comfortable attempting the trek to Sidney Peaks. Sidney Peaks are a trio of small mountains that range in elevation from just under 11,000 feet to just over 11,000 feet. The Sidney Peaks Trail, which is a section of the Bunker Creek Trail, crosses a saddle between the South and Middle Peaks. While there are no official paths that lead to the tops of any of the peaks, Middle’s apex is easy to reach. You can carefully avoid stepping on delicate mountain foliage by sticking to rocks and gravel as you climb a final incline to its 11,060-foot summit.

From its zenith, we could survey all our surroundings. We observed a sky stuffed with unsettled clouds and rain off in the distance. Although the storm seemed a considerable space away, we still set about the task of heading down with a little urgency. The first claps of thunder ripped through the alpine serenity before we had even returned to the main trail. That’s when the sprinkles started too. Soon after, as the cliché saying goes, all hell broke loose.

The storm kept worsening at a rapid pace as it struggled to chug up the ridgeline the Sidney Peaks Trail runs along. We were concerned about the hunk of metal Jason had on his back in the form of a tripod becoming a lightning beacon, so we ran the sections where tree cover was nonexistent, or the thunder seemed particularly wrathful. Out of the 2.3 miles of main trail we had to traverse to get back to the trailhead, we sprinted at least half with backpacks jostling and sopping pants clinging to tired legs.

The downpour escalated until we could barely see, and our shoes were so wet we didn’t even bother trying to avoid the large puddles and streams covering the path. Fortunately, the lightning wasn’t as plentiful as the thunder, and it never struck anything near us. The last part of the route, a downhill portion, looked more like a stream than a path as we sped through it. I felt certain floods were flashing in some of the surrounding hillsides. Sidney Peaks’ 5.25 miles would have been a mild and satisfying trek if it hadn’t been for all the effort required to avoid becoming lightning kabobs.

After the rain ceased later in the afternoon, we rallied enough energy to drive to the top of Brian Head Peak, which tops out at 11,307 feet, and enjoy its 360-degree scenery while dodging yellow-bellied marmot droppings. We also drove a few extra minutes to the North View Overlook at Cedar Breaks. We did not feel inclined to do any more hikes since we were suffering from post-traumatic storm disorder.

As we were heading out of town the next day, we discovered SR-143 had been closed since the previous afternoon due to a blockage of water, mud, and trees caused by a flash flood, an occurrence I had predicted. Fortunately, the debris had been cleared enough to allow one lane of traffic through the canyon, and we were able to continue with minimal delay.

I wish I could say we were done dealing with cloudbursts at this point in our outing, but that would be an inaccuracy. Next time, I will cover the rest of the trip and the rest of the deluge.