When you talk about a "local crusher" in Mammoth, there's about 20 people you could be talking about.
Today, though, we're talking about Bentley Regehr. Bentley's been in the Western States lottery for 8 years. Or I guess he was, since his name was pulled in the lottery last December.
On Saturday, I got the opportunity to pace Bentley for 20 miles of his first Western States.
Bentley's pace chart was aggressive, lining out a 17-hour pacing strategy that would land him in Auburn around 10PM on race day.
Aid station after aid station, Bentley came in within minutes of his expected time. Like clockwork.
Crews around us commented on how calm and collected he was.
Fresh ice in his bandana, a new set of bottles, a couple gels. He was off. Rinse and repeat.
The thing about States, though, is that it almost never goes to plan. At least not the whole time.
I picked Bentley up at the top of Foresthill, 62 miles in, not far off of his goal splits.
A quick pierogi, a refill on bottles and gels, and we were off for the descent along Cal Street to the famous Rucky Chucky river crossing.
When I say Bentley ripped the descent, I mean he ripped it.
Between bouts of storytelling to distract Bentley from his tired legs, I had to stop talking in order to concentrate on not rolling an ankle. No way was I going to get dropped.
Eventually though, our pace slowed a bit. Somewhere around 75 miles in, I could tell the miles weren't coming as easily for Bentley as they had 10 miles earlier. At mile 80, I handed the pacing reins over.
A pacer switch at Green Gate brought a new set of stories and fresh entertainment for Bentley. They set off into the late afternoon, darkness quickly approaching.
At that point 17 hours looked like a moonshot, 18 hours was optimistic, and 19 hours was looking like a pretty good goal.
Then, a couple hours later, we got reports that Bentley's stomach had turned and he was having trouble keeping his nutrition down. As things do for most during Western States, things had gotten tough.
At 1:20AM, my partner Kelsea and I found Bentley and his pacer Erik at the top of Robie Point. We joined them for the final mile down to the track at Placer High.
20 hours, 42 minutes. He crossed the finish line.
Maybe that's the thing about Local Crushers.
Bentley could beat almost anyone to the top of any climb in Mammoth.
But the most crusher thing about Bentley was that even as his goal time came and went, midnight passed, and there were more people asleep on the track than awake, he still found a way to will himself to the finish line.
They say Western States is like life in a day. That when you arrive at the track in Auburn, you'll be a different person than you were at 5AM in Olympic Valley.
On that final descent into Auburn, I asked Bentley if after 20 hours he felt any different.
He said: "Not sure about me, but my legs sure feel different."
Fair enough.
Bentley, thanks for letting us join you on your trip across the Sierra. It was a pleasure getting a front row seat.