Jamestown Double Beaver: Nope

I can't with good conscience write another race report for an event in which I didn't really compete.  So let's get started.  The Jamestown Double Beaver has reduced better men than I to tearful bargaining with their deities.  I'd be perfectly willing to name names, but I've really backed myself in a corner with that "better" qualifier.  This year, however, the primary threat the course offered was probably that of drowning in your bucket.  Heavy rains were the order of the day, reducing visibility and carrying the possibility of thunderstorms.  A series of hushed and hesitant whispers were heard in the hour before the race, slowly gaining traction until a resounding chorus echoed through the land...  The race must be shortened!

Betsy and Alyce, shown here chuckling at us poor saps about to get soaked out on the course, ultimately got their soggy comeuppance on the chase boat and finish dock.

As per standard Rhode Island racing rules, a Petition of Course Adjustment was proffered, seconded, signed by a super majority, notarized by a Taco Bell employee (some kind of promotional arrangement, I figure), and accepted by the race commissioner.  Rather than not going around Whale Rock accidentally, this year we would not be going around Whale Rock purposefully.  To balance things out, Mary Beth would be given the option of rounding Whale Rock, provided, of course, that she did so by mistake.  Since Whale Rock wasn't in play, we'd turn around Beavertail can instead.  The course change would shorten the race from 12 miles (give or take 0.5 miles) to 10 miles.

Under Mike's patient guidance, Tim finally masters paddle assembly.  Next up - shepherding young Dwyer past the training wheel stage.

With a steady rain falling, we huddled under the small pavilion at the Conanicut Yacht Club as Tim handed out our survival kits and explained the contingencies he'd prepared for dampness-related emergencies.  I couldn't hear his explanations over the ruckus of the Double Beaver commemorative towel snap-fight that inevitably erupted amongst the Ocean Paddlesports East hooligans.  As a result, I spent a baffling ten minutes trying unsuccessfully to mix up a sports drink from what turned out to be desiccant packets.  In my defense, they only said "Do not eat" [emphasis added, but implied].

Rather than fight the elements, Tim chose to welcome them with open arms.  In gracious return, they clobbered him.

There's not much I can say about the actual race.  In deference to my supposed injury, I had decided (a) to use Mary Beth's V10 Sport (at an exorbitant rental rate, naturally) so as to have a stable platform, (b) limit my heart rate to fixed value X as a method to avoid over-exertion that might exacerbate any alleged strain, and (c) adopt a healthy attitude of "participation" rather than of "competition".  Alyce called out the start from the dock and next thing you know I'm 3 miles into the race in last place, with the leaders (and most of the followers) well out of sight.  I discovered that (a) while the V10 Sport is more stable than theV10, it isn't quite as stable as lying at home on the couch, (b) for a fixed value, X sure found a way to keep increasing, and (c) while participation may be fine for Hands Across America and the Census, my wiring is tuned more to competition when it comes to pretty much anything else (and scratch the Census from that list - when the 2010 results are made public in 2082, you'll all see that I crushed it).

In a rare show of common sense (albeit primarily driven by frustration and peevishness - as are most of my decisions), I turned around and sulked my way back to the Yacht Club.  Despite the fact that I only did about 7 miles of the course, it was only a matter of minutes before Borys materialized at the finish.  In due time, he was followed by Eric (McNett), Andrius, Beata, Jim, and the 15 other paddlers.  Amazingly, everyone had continued racing despite my devastating withdrawal.  They're troupers, I'll give 'em that.

While a bungee cord around the hull is sufficient for most of us, Borys' resistance training requires a little more planning.

There's apparently been some misunderstanding about the pool of miles that Joe Glickman has accumulated via the successful OMMFG campaign.  I was under the impression that it was like one of those "leave-a-penny, take-a-penny" dishes at the Sunoco station.  With the recent change in exchange rates, my 7 miles put me just 3 miles shy of a full double beaver.  So I figured I'd just take a few miles from the Glicker pool and, voila... everybody's happy and I win the race.  Unfortunately, there was universal push-back on this self-serving interpretation.  It was to be a DDNF (the extra D for "Dishonorable").  As a consolation, however, I was given a handsome participant ribbon.

Extra thanks this year to those who sacrificed their Saturday to support the race, only to get water-logged by the Double Beaver - Finn, Alyce, and Betsy.