Git Yer Ass Over the Pass
Exploring the Curious World of Pack Burro Racing in Colorado’s High Country
By Scott Schumaker

Adventure Sports Magazine, June 2005

“I find events like the eco-challenge offensive,” says Curtis Imrie, 59, as he layers a glob of Vick’s Vapor Rub just inside the nose of Maasi, the extra-large, 1,200-pound burro standing next to him. “Those events are all about using hyper-technology and the lightest this or that to challenge yourself.”

Like any true rancher living in the heart of Colorado’s Rocky Mountain, Imrie has opinions, and he is not afraid to toss them around to anyone who will listen. He is a burro rancher, a two-time Democratic Congressional candidate, an ultrarunner, an independent filmmaker and an actor. He is also a 32-year veteran and three-time world champion of a little known sport called pack burro racing.

“Pack burro racing is much more about working in harmony with the environment [than adventure races],” he says. “It’s not all about the gear. This is just man and beast. If you really want adventure and the unknown, this is it.”

The strange, challenging and “unknown” variables of the sport and the reason why Imrie has his finger up Maasi’s nose will be addressed, but first some history and rules.

Pack burro racing originated in Colorado during the 1940s. Legend has it that the sport cropped up when two miners made a saloon bet – most likely while drunk on beer and ego. At stake: bragging rights for the person who could cover the 22-mile trail from Leadville to Fairplay – including going up and over 13,187-foot Mosquito Pass – the fastest, burro in tow. Or, as was often be the case back then – and is nowadays, as well – in tow of their burro. Rule Number 1: no hitching a ride on top of the burro. It’s a rule which, according to the sport’s one-page rulebook, persists today: “No riding. The runner may push, pull, drag or carry the burro, [but] the contestant shall at no time progress except under his own power.”

During the ensuing 60-plus years, the sport has survived due to a steady if meager supply of enthusiastic participants (two dozen in a good year), and the steadfast determination and organization of die-hards like Imrie. In addition, the mountain towns that host pack burro racing’s four event series – all of which takes place in Colorado – and their local businesses help by throwing just enough sponsorship money at the races and top entrants to keep the events kicking along. In return, the races draw tourists and add a unique twist to the towns’ various summer festivals.

In keeping with the sports roots, the hosting towns – Cripple Creek, Buena Vista, Leadville, and Fairplay – are also all former mining towns. In fact, the sport is as much a tribute to Colorado’s mining glory days as it is a collection of wacky endurance races. In the spirit of the gold-in-their-eyes prospectors from the 1800s – who would run into the mountains with their burros, stake their claim and race back to the assayer’s office to register it before another miner beat them to it – today’s races require each pack burro to wear a pack saddle loaded with 33 pounds of mining equipment, including a pick, a shovel and a gold pan. This extra weight may seem like a hindrance, especially when most sports these days have a “light is right” mentality. But the pack saddle does offer fringe benefits. It’s the perfect place to attach water bottle cages as well as stash grub for yourself and you burro. Nourishment and hydration are essential when the series’ longest event – Fairplay’s 30-miler up to Mosquito Pass and back, which has been dubbed the pack burro racing “world championships” – takes the winner over five and a half hours to complete.

At most of the races, there is money to be won – up to $1200 for a first place – which doesn’t sound half bad until you realize the winnings are just about enough to feed and care for a burro for a year. That certainly diminishes the chance that someone might list their full-time occupation as professional burro racer. Instead, the colorful individuals who participate in burro racing are people who love their animals, love the adventure and love running in the mountains. And, if the race swings in their favor, they also love having the right to claim that they have the fastest ass in Colorado.

Yes, when a synonym for the animal you’re racing with also refers to the human derriere, “ass” jokes are inevitable, and you hear them all at a pack burro race.

“Get your asses to the starting line,” the announcer, dressed up as a Confederate soldier, declares through the PA before last year’s Buena Vista Gold Rush Days Pack Burro Race. It’s a 12-mile event that will conclude the summer’s racing, and it’s a who’s who of burro racing.

A few minutes before the start, each team’s saddle is weighed. If it doesn’t hit 33 pounds, rocks are added. In what is burro racing’s version of performance-enhancing drug testing, each saddle will be weighed again after the race is over to ensure no weight is inconspicuously discarded during the run.

After last minute adjustments are made to straps, harnesses and shoe laces, the 21 entrants and their four-legged teammates mosey over to the starting line. Twenty-one competitors may not seem like a successful turn-out, but this is a relatively big number for a burro race. Besides, as the announcer notes, even though there are only 21 entrants toeing the starting line – begin drum roll – there are twice as many asses lined up. Ba-da-dum.

Plus, it quickly becomes obvious that due to the space this many burros take up, as well as the general chaos they cause being in such close quarters, 21 seems like just about the right number of entrants.

It’s also clear that keeping a burro under control at the start is the first challenge of the race. One tactic a few veterans employ is to hold a carrot right in front of its nose so it will focus on the root vegetable instead of the other burros. Once the gun goes off, they feed the burro the carrot and skedaddle.

But for someone like Mike Spalding, a river raft guide residing in Colorado for the summer, there is deeper concern for what will happen once the gun goes off. He’s a pack burro racing virgin who has had only one practice session with his burro. On top of that,  he’s hung over. “I’m worried about the start. These burros will take off and it’s going to be hard to keep up,” he says, before adding, “but I’ll never have a chance to race a burro again. I’m from Maine. We don’t do this sort of thing there. We have lobster.”

Then the gun sounds, and it’s an ass stampede. Burros have a pack mentality: when one goes, they all go, and, as Spalding predicted, they go quickly. Spalding manages to hang onto the tether that links him to his beast, but one woman is yanked hard, thrown off-balance and sent tumbling to the pavement. She loses hold of her tether and burro in the process, and eventually withdraws from the race.

Near the front is 20-year-veteran burro racer and race favorite Hal Walters, 44, and his burro Clyde, running just behind Bobby Lewis, 40, another favorite who is racing with his four-legged friend named Wellstone. Wellstone is on loan from Imrie, who, with his cowboy hat firmly in place, is also in the mix near the front of the pack with Maasi. And, right in there with them is burro racing’s female powerhouse, Barb Dolan and her burro, Chugs.

In many ways, Dolan symbolizes the “unknown” that Imrie mentioned earlier. Dolan, now 49, was once a member of the 1984 U.S. road cycling “B team.” Now, along with trusty Chugs, she has won the women’s division of what pack burro racers call the Poor Man’s Triple Crown – winning the three longer races in the series – nine years running. Often times, she’ll beat all the men at a particular event in the process.

As any adventure racer who has had to deal with a camel or horse knows, throwing a large, hoofed animal into the mix changes everything. Make that a large, hoofed animal that is skittish by nature, and human variables like age and gender, which, in most running races, usually preclude women from racing head-to-head with men, or older athletes taking on those twenty years younger – go right out the window. The “unknown” of what a burro might do during a race levels the entire playing field, and having the deft burro-handling skills that Dolan has displayed time and again is a huge advantage.

Dolan, a dental hygienist from Buena Vista, says the key is training. “People say burros are stubborn, but they’re not. They’re just cautious,” she says. “You have to train them to go over bridges, steams, manhole covers, lines in the road and all those sorts of things. Once they know you’re not going to put them in danger, they’ll do anything for you.”

Well, more or less. Let’s say a well-trained burro encounters a photographer standing dead still on the side of the trail with a huge, unsightly camera lens sticking out of his face. Nine times out of 10 your burro will want to run off the opposite side of the trail and into the trees to avoid the strange-looking, camera-toting creature. Broken hands and deep bruise have been incurred by human racers whose burros kicked them after being spooked by something as innocuous as a branch scratching across a saddle. And, there are always the inevitable disasters that come with mixing male and female asses in a race setting.

The reason Imrie was slicking up Maasi’s nostrils with Vick’s Vapor Rub before the race was to prevent his burro from smelling any jennet (female burro) pheromones and getting, um, frisky. Still, halfway through the race, Maasi tries to have his way with another burro. Curiously, no pheromones are involved this time.  “Maasi thinks that all bare-backed burros are breeding material, and another runner’s burro lost its pack saddle right in front of me,” a bruised and scratched-up Imrie says. “We had hell to pay getting them separated, and Maasi beat the hell out of me.”  

Up at the front of the pack, it’s a mad dash to the finish line in Buena Vista. Lewis, with Wellstone, and Dolan, with Chugs, are sprinting saddle-to-saddle, and it’s going to be close. Unlike cycling or running, where one competitor might try to hang behind an opponent as they approach a sprint finish, there is no slipstreaming in burro racing. Burros prefer to run side by side and they run faster when they do. Wellstone and Chugs are running so close and in synch with each other they appeared to be one, eight-legged beast.

The rulebook says the first equine nose to cross the finish line, not the first human, wins the race. And, this one is going to be close, really close. And, as it turns out, unlike the original Triple Crown of horse racing, the Poor Man’s Triple Crown of burro racing doesn’t have photo-finish technology. It is impossible to tell which burro’s nose crosses the line first. Instead, a tie is declared between the two asses and their teammates.

To celebrate, Bobby and Barb congratulate each other with a hug and give each other’s ass a pat.

After losing considerable time subduing Maasi, Imrie and his burro cross the line in fifth place. Imrie still has a smile on his face, though. “The adventure of this is not to win,” he says. “It’s that anything can happen with a burro, and if it’s his day to help you, then you can do very well. If it’s not his day, then you’ll be kissing ass, not kicking it.”
    
SIDEBARS

Burro? Donkey? Mule? Hinny? What’s what?

“Burro” is the Spanish term for a donkey. Ass, jackass, miniature donkey, jack, mammoth, jackstock, jennet, standard, Mexican Burro are all terms for donkeys.

Male donkey + female horse = mule, a sterile hybrid that can be male or female.
Male horse + female donkey = hinny, a sterile hybrid that can also be male or female.


2005 Race Schedule

June 25 Cripple Creek Donkey Derby Days Amateur Race (a.k.a – the Bare Ass Race) – 4 miles
June 26 Cripple Creek Donkey Derby Days Pro Race – 9 miles
July 31 Fairplay Burro Days "World Championship" Pack Burro Race – 30 and 15 mile courses
August 7 Leadville Boom Days "International" Pack Burro Race – 22 and 15 mile courses
August 14 Buena Vista Gold Rush Days Pack Burro Race – 12-mile “sprint” course

For more information, go to www.packburroracing.com or contact Mary Kuester, president of the Western Pack Burro Ass-ociation, at 303-688-5104,

If you would like to give pack burro racing a try but don’t have your own ass, contact Curtis Imrie. He’ll do what he can to set you up with a burro for the race. 719-395-8065, Little Menokin Ranch,Granite, CO 81228-2141.
 
 
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