Fairplay – Barb Dolan could not have done it without her brawny burro.
The 10-year-old multihued ass named Chugs chugged his way through a mountainous 29-mile course Sunday, delivering his bipedal partner her 13th consecutive win at Fairplay’s 57th annual “World Championship” burro race.
“Sometimes I wonder why I do this,” said the 49-year-old Dolan as she hobbled from the finish line toward a trailer with Chugs in tow, having spent the past five hours and 41 minutes running 29 miles and reaching 13,185 feet. “I was slowing Chugs down there at the end. He wanted to go faster.”
Once upon a time in Colorado, mountain miners would race their saddled mules into the hills to stake a claim and dig for precious metal. Man and beast, venturing into the great woods to carve their buried destiny. Today, mining is a corporate affair involving the demolition of mountains. And those mules, faithful and obstinate, have been relegated to little more than hay-powered tools used by the less fortunate.
But for a brotherly band of endurance athletes, jackasses are brainy and loyal partners capable of enduring long trots on rocky ridges that would deter all other beasts of burden. The animal, they say, is not just a sustainable and renewable power source, but a tremendous ally.
“My guy, he’s part of the decision-making process,” said Curtis Imrie, a 58-year-old blue-eyed burro breeder who has run in Fairplay’s annual burro race for 33 years. Every year, he says, he gets to gauge his “slide into incipient geezerhood.”
“This race, this honest ex-mining town, is true Colorado. This is Colorado’s only indigenous sport,” says Imrie, who likens the lead rope dangling from the snout of his tall-eared pal Hollywood L. Democrat to “the bow of my Stradivarius.” “I think of burro racing as a cross between wrasslin’, dancing, rodeo and distance running.”
Chat with burro racers, and the word “partner” comes up again and again. The idea is to establish a relationship while negotiating rocky mountains.
The burros must carry a pickax, gold pan and shovel as part of a minimum 33-pound saddle. No riding is allowed and dropping the lead rope is a no-no. Winners like Dolan and the men’s winner Hal Walter run the race, stopping only when their partners spot a stream or patch of tasty grass.
A few enviable burros have a built-in leadership mentality, like Chugs, who insists on leaving all other competitors in his dust. Chugs will fight to pass and will fight passers. Dolan’s job is to simply keep her feet moving and her grip tight on the lead rope, a daunting task for 29 unpaved miles. That mentality has to be uncovered and groomed with endless hours of training, which in turn serves as decent training for the upright racers.
“Barb is really, really good at teaching her animals to get out front, and she’s strong enough to keep up with them,” said Sue Conroe, who raced the “short” 12-mile course at Fairplay and runs the website www.packburroracing.com.
If Dolan, who lives near Twin Lakes, wins the next two burro races in Leadville (Sunday) and Buena Vista (Aug. 14), she can claim her 10th “Triple Crown” of burro racing. After that, she says, she may call it quits.
“Yeah, you say that every year,” said Mary Walter, who won the women’s 12-mile race.
It seems to be a sport not many can leave. Ken Chlouber, a former state senator from Leadville, has been racing burros every year since 1977. An ardent Republican, Chlouber raced a mammoth Jack named Masai he borrowed from Imrie, an equally zealous Democrat who once vied for Chlouber’s senatorial seat. Masai, a 1,200-pound beast standing several feet taller than his competitors, whipped 66-year-old Chlouber around like a rag doll at the frenzied start of the race.
“Burro racing keeps you above ground,” said a fit and trim Chlouber. “With this guy, I ran at his pace. My only obligation is to hang on to the rope.”
Staff writer Jason Blevins can be reached at 303-820-1374 or jblevins@denverpost.com.
