A calm evening welcomed a robust roster of 11 skis and an outrigger. Course #2 was on the agenda - a leisurely paddle out to the Bowditch Ledge pylon and back. Conditions were excellent for a fast night, despite low tide being minutes from the start. We'd be paddling out at slack tide directly into a mild breeze, then coming back with a little help from the wind and incoming tide.
Mike, who has been absent for the past few weeks, showed up with a twisted ankle (unrelated to his previous absences). Throwing himself on the mercy of the court, he asked for a rare water start to avoid running down the beach, suctioning our way through a primordial ooze, and then high-stepping it out to water deep enough to launch. Ed doesn't usually cotton to such mollycoddling (hell, he once paddled across the Mojave), but he relented and allowed us a stand-at-your-boat start. To be followed by a normal running finish, of course.
After prying our boats from the foul-smelling muck, we awaited Ed's signal. With the gently sloping shore at Lynch Park, the run through calf-deep water seemed to extend forever. I think I hit my maximum heart rate before I ever sat in the boat. Once underway, I found myself 3 or 4 boat lengths behind Francisco (I have a shortcut set up on my computer so that when I hit Control-Shift-F7, it inserts those words). Matt seemed for a moment to be running a completely different course, but apparently was deliberately taking an outside line.
I caught Francisco after a couple of minutes and settled onto his wash for a breather (Control-Shift-F8). I never actually caught my breath, but I'm pretty sure it was getting nervous. I eventually decided to make a move on the right. Francisco apparently didn't get the memo from the head office that indicated in no uncertain terms that in an effort to maintain viewership, he should "throw Lesher a bone" to keep the point series close. He increased his speed by the 0.1% it took to match my passing sprint.
Through the parsimonious use of doping and a little echinacea, I was able to inch ahead over the course of the next ten minutes. By the time we arrived at the pylon, I was perhaps 2 or 3 boat lengths ahead - I'm not sure, because I was terrified of what I might see if I looked back. Once I had turned towards Lynch Park, I watched my GPS speed climb into the high 7's due to my flawless stroke and Lance Armstrong-like fitness level (see above). But mostly due to the wind and tide.
I threw a few quick glances back during the ride back to the beach to try
to spot Francisco, but I never managed to spot him. By the time I rounded the final point, however, I felt like
even with a longish run up the beach, I had enough of a margin to win the
night. I ended up 26 seconds ahead. Matt and Mike came in side by side a couple of minutes after Francisco, but poor hobbled Mike didn't stand a chance in the run.
This is the point in my tale at which I sheepishly admit that while I was coming off a weekend of reclining on my favorite divan being fed grapes by a trained monkey, Francisco had unwisely spent this time driving for 20 hours and racing in the 42 kilometer Festirame race in Alma, Quebec. Although he came in second, had a great time, and collected a cash prize for this effort, I'm confident that he's second guessing his participation now.
Due to favorable conditions, nearly everyone shaved 3 to 4 minutes off their previous times on course #2 from earlier in the year, the exceptions being Matt (nearly 5 minutes) and Mary Beth (more than 5 and a half minutes) - dramatic improvements. Here are the results for the night (skis only):
Francisco has a one point lead in the overall standings. I fear he'll have more pep next week.
Mike, who has been absent for the past few weeks, showed up with a twisted ankle (unrelated to his previous absences). Throwing himself on the mercy of the court, he asked for a rare water start to avoid running down the beach, suctioning our way through a primordial ooze, and then high-stepping it out to water deep enough to launch. Ed doesn't usually cotton to such mollycoddling (hell, he once paddled across the Mojave), but he relented and allowed us a stand-at-your-boat start. To be followed by a normal running finish, of course.
After prying our boats from the foul-smelling muck, we awaited Ed's signal. With the gently sloping shore at Lynch Park, the run through calf-deep water seemed to extend forever. I think I hit my maximum heart rate before I ever sat in the boat. Once underway, I found myself 3 or 4 boat lengths behind Francisco (I have a shortcut set up on my computer so that when I hit Control-Shift-F7, it inserts those words). Matt seemed for a moment to be running a completely different course, but apparently was deliberately taking an outside line.
I caught Francisco after a couple of minutes and settled onto his wash for a breather (Control-Shift-F8). I never actually caught my breath, but I'm pretty sure it was getting nervous. I eventually decided to make a move on the right. Francisco apparently didn't get the memo from the head office that indicated in no uncertain terms that in an effort to maintain viewership, he should "throw Lesher a bone" to keep the point series close. He increased his speed by the 0.1% it took to match my passing sprint.
Through the parsimonious use of doping and a little echinacea, I was able to inch ahead over the course of the next ten minutes. By the time we arrived at the pylon, I was perhaps 2 or 3 boat lengths ahead - I'm not sure, because I was terrified of what I might see if I looked back. Once I had turned towards Lynch Park, I watched my GPS speed climb into the high 7's due to my flawless stroke and Lance Armstrong-like fitness level (see above). But mostly due to the wind and tide.
This is the point in my tale at which I sheepishly admit that while I was coming off a weekend of reclining on my favorite divan being fed grapes by a trained monkey, Francisco had unwisely spent this time driving for 20 hours and racing in the 42 kilometer Festirame race in Alma, Quebec. Although he came in second, had a great time, and collected a cash prize for this effort, I'm confident that he's second guessing his participation now.
Due to favorable conditions, nearly everyone shaved 3 to 4 minutes off their previous times on course #2 from earlier in the year, the exceptions being Matt (nearly 5 minutes) and Mary Beth (more than 5 and a half minutes) - dramatic improvements. Here are the results for the night (skis only):
| Greg Lesher | Epic V12 | 0:44:49 | 12 |
| Francisco Urena | Stellar SE | 0:45:15 | 11 |
| Matt Drayer | Epic V8 | 0:47:30 | 10 |
| Mike McDonough | Huki S1-X | 0:47:39 | 9 |
| Ken Cooper | Epic V8 | 0:48:04 | 8 |
| Kirk Olsen | Epic V12 | 0:49:30 | 7 |
| Bruce Deltorchio | Epic V8 | 0:52:04 | 6 |
| Chris Chappell | Epic V10 (New) | 0:52:35 | 5 |
| Bill Kuklinski | Epic V8 | 0:52:47 | 4 |
| Mary Beth Gangloff | Huki S1-R | 1:02:25 | 12 |
| Sam McDaniel | Huki S1-X | 1:03:00 | 3 |
Francisco has a one point lead in the overall standings. I fear he'll have more pep next week.
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