After leaving the little frozen fish hatchery, we drove for quite a ways to the third stop (forth aid station for the runners), Twin Lakes. Tucked back away in the mountains, with Hope Pass looming in the distance, this little sleepy camping community was alive with the buzz of excited, cheering crew, fans and family. The trail itself came out of the forest and did a severe rocky descent, so the end of the leg was dramatic. We were very suprised no one fell.
After taking a short nap and regrouping ourselves, Sunday and i went to join the L'Alpe-D'Huez crowd (minus the body painting and raucous alcohol consumption) to cheer on the incoming runners. We waited for longer than we expected before we saw Brian's telltale orange stripping peak up over the hill. Sunday and i both saw it at the same time, Brian was favoring his left leg.

Through the limp, he still smiled, checked in and told us of his slippery mishap on the slick, loose, rocky trail. In an effort to avoid falling of the side of the trail in a mistep, he hyperextended his knee, tweaking/pulling/tearing (?) someting behind this knee. In a great deal of physical pain, he had a decision to make: call it now and face the painful knowledge of dropping the race, or pushing on and risk hurting himself far worse on the top of a high mountain pass. Decisions, decisions...
He filled his belly with good nutrients and waited for Kyle, pledging that if Kyle made it into the station before the time was called, Brian would press on. As luck would have it, Kyle came into camp 6 mintues before the cut-off time. Unfortunately, Brian decided to plow on, through the searing pain.
After a brief rest, the boys took off on the trail, trekking poles out. Before we saw them again they would have to climb a steep hill and mountain pass that reaches 12,600 feet at its summit. Good luck gentlemen, God's speed.