Dave Casler
PO Box 98
Ridgway, Colorado 81432
Young Adult Novels by Dave Casler...
I've been told by publisher after publisher that there's no market for Young Adult novels. I think they're wrong! So I'm putting my novels on-line for you. Forget the publisher! Read to your heart's content--it's free! And, I'd like to hear from you, too! Contact Page.
You're reading About Phillip. Be sure to check out About Dan here.
Phillip is a computer nerd who suddenly discovers a liking for track. Everything would be fine except for his father.
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Index to All Chapters
Here are all the chapters, disguised as asterisks. Hover your mouse over an asterisk to see the title of the chapter. Click on the asterisk to go straight to that chapter.
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(About Phillip Home) (Last) (Next)
The Run
Phillip slammed the door and ran down the steps of the old house. He hardly noticed the birds singing and barely acknowledged the neighbor who hollered hello. He adjusted his glasses again.
It was springtime in every sense, meaning it was already warm, maybe 70. Phillip felt the sweat form as he jogged down the street to the Boulder Creek Path.
Boulder is an athlete’s paradise. Biking and running paths crisscross the city. Many sport tunnels to keep runners, walkers, cyclists, and strollers from crossing roads and mingling with automobile traffic. In fact, in winter the City of Boulder plows major thoroughfares and then the paths, but not the city’s side streets.
One of Boulder’s most-used paths is the one that runs along Boulder Creek. The paved path starts east of the city and runs all the way through downtown to the west side, terminating at Eben G. Fine Park. But it doesn’t stop there; though unpaved from that point on, it runs several more miles into the canyon, finally ending where Four Mile Canyon Road branches off Boulder Canyon Road. All told, the path runs nearly ten miles end-to-end, uninterrupted by any street crossing. Many parts run hard on the creek under a canopy of high cottonwoods. The scene in spring and summer is one of the most beautiful Boulder has to offer.
It’s popular, too. On summer afternoons there can be a veritable traffic jam as cyclists, joggers, runners, walkers, those with baby carriages and those walking their dogs all clog the more popular sections, particularly downtown. The cyclists have a speed limit and bicycle-borne city police patrol the path. There’s even a yellow line down the middle.
Phillip reached the path about seven o’clock, so he was there before the traffic. His plan was to run downhill, away from the mountains and to the east, checking his pacing against a stop watch. He’d arrive at certain landmarks according to a schedule. If he got to a landmark early or late, his pacing was off. Coach Johnson told him he was trying too hard during the early laps of the race. Then he had no strength left for the final stretch.
Phillip’s mind wandered as he ran. Richard’s latest weekly e-mail from Russia was interesting. Russian language lessons were frustrating and progress was slow. He was having a hard time adjusting to his companion—a native Russian—and the culture gap was wide. Phillip smiled: cool quarterbacking skills don’t help much with language issues.
Phillip reminded himself he had an interview with the bishop soon. He wondered if he could somehow get along with his dad until then. It was to be an important interview; Bishop Parker would talk with him about becoming a priest in the Aaronic priesthood, something Mormon boys do when they turn sixteen. He thought he remembered that priests could perform baptisms; he wondered if he would ever baptize anyone.
Today’s run was plotted to go east to 55th Street, turn around, then finish with an uphill run to Eben G. Fine Park. It also meant he’d be running into the sun for the first phase. Phillip hadn’t planned for this; he wished he’d brought his sunglasses. He fell into his pace and checked his stopwatch. He ran without effort. Sometimes he was alone on the path—past Foothills Parkway there wasn’t much traffic.
Pad, pad, pad. His breath was a cadence of woosh, woosh, woosh. He was in his own little world, his body working and his lungs, legs and arms blissing out together. His glasses used to flop while he ran, but now he had an elastic strap he hoped would keep them in place without pulling them too tightly into the bridge of the nose. He adjusted the strap again without breaking stride. When he went through the tunnels, the cool air tasted as sweet as ice cold Gatorade.
He thought about Melanie and wondered why she always wanted to have dinner or a snack after work. Why didn’t she just bring something to munch on if she was so hungry?
Phillip continued padding down the creek path east of Foothills Parkway. He looked at his stopwatch and decided he needed to slow down. He adjusted his pace and took a swig of cold water as he ran; a winter storm in a bottle.
The eastern part of the creek path is open to the sun; Phillip felt the heat. He reached 55th Street, jogged himself around, checked his stopwatch and headed back. The rest of his run would be gently uphill. He checked his pace again as he worked his way under Foothills Parkway. Once past the parkway he was in the shade. More padding and he crossed under Arapahoe. He worked his way past the CU Extension building and headed downtown.