Ride the Bull: Doubled Down

Somehow my name still appears as co-director of the Ride the Bull race, despite the repeated cease-and-desist letters sent to actual sole-director Tim Dwyer.  I could no longer afford the astronomical insurance premiums associated with sending paddlers careening back-and-forth amidst some of the most notoriously confused waters in New England.  If just one competitor splattered against the rocky coast, my priceless Hummel collection would be in real jeopardy.  Fortunately, conditions for this year were mostly benign.

Although a couple of intimidating registrants had bowed out - probably due to cowardice and/or an aversion to driving 3+ hours for a 75 minute race - the field was still rife with dangerous competition.  Since he clearly established himself as the regional Alpha at the Sakonnet last weekend, I now have to carry all of Matt Drayer's equipment, and I'm no longer allowed to meet his gaze.  However, even my Beta status was clearly on the line, with Tim Dwyer fresh off a Gamma finish, and perennial challengers John Hair and Jan Lupinski making for a veritable Greek salad of contenders.  There was also a wild card.  Although a Massachusetts native, youngster Rob Foley has been refining his abilities in Hawaii.  Like a migratory great white, he'll be prowling New England waters for the summer.  This would be our first chance to see how much carnage he'd be leaving in his wake.  In the doubles category, the formidable team of Mary Beth & Kirk Olsen would be giving the singles a run for their money.

Eager to avoid direct confrontation, I always taunt remotely.

I have to hand it to John.  A full hour before the race, he's priming us for a subsequent cramping excuse, wailing "My hammy!" and writhing theatrically.

I'd review the byzantine course with you, but as was the case when Tim attempted the same at the captains meeting, it would just end with tears of frustration, bitter recriminations, and a lot of indecipherable scribbles on scrap paper.  Suffice it to say that we'd be covering 8.8 miles over 2.2 laps of a roughly triangular course defined by an island in Mackerel Cove and bell cans G7 and G11.  I always tell fellow competitors that it's a foolish waste of a short life to get wound up in navigational details when you're paddling in such a spectacular setting.  And, you know what?  It's even more spectacular over there, which is not technically on the course, but you won't want to miss the view.

A fleet of 15 boats lined up in West Cove.  I was pleased to see several were toting their easels and oil paints, while others had opted for tripods and telephoto cameras.  With a light wind from the north and sunny skies, they'd have perfect conditions to capture the majesty of Narragansett Bay.  Tim soon counted us down.  I decided my best chance at a good start would be to expend at least 80% of my entire race energy quota in the first quarter mile.  That didn't put me out front or anything, but it at least kept me relevant.  Naively assuming that we wouldn't let him stray too far from the course, newcomer Rob wasn't afraid to take point from the get-go.  Jerry Madore, Tim, Matt, John, and I pursued.

What golden-tongued orator could command such rapt attention?

Tim.  Huh.  Maybe his co-director warmed up the crowd.

Two minutes into the race, a pecking order had already emerged.  Rob and Matt were clearly the cocks-of-the-walk, strutting away from the field.  With our dull plumage and bedraggled wattles (that's right, someone let turkeys into this mixed metaphor), the sorrier specimens started stringing out behind - me, John, Jan Lupinski, Tim, and Jerry.

By the time we had reached the first turn within Mackerel Cove, the lead had stretched to the better part of 10 lengths.  My vision of making up time in the beamy conditions to the G7 turn was not prophetic, nor was the "good feeling" I had after turning upwind for the subsequent leg.  I'd not be threatening to push Rob or Matt from the top of the podium, but at least I was a virtual lock for bronze.  That thought persisted for a solid 20 seconds after the G7 turn, at which point I noticed John's red-nosed Epic perhaps 20 seconds back on an inside line.

At the G11 turn, I verified that the Epic was now only a half-dozen lengths astern, with a dusky boat that could have only been Jan's about twice that distance again behind.  I made may way back towards the start, completing the first lap with the assistance of some small runners.  My unerring sense of hysteria should have been sufficient to verify that John was gaining steadily on me, but I nevertheless felt the need to goose my panic level by throwing quick half-glances behind.  With each hurried turn of my head, I confirmed that another half-length of my advantage had evaporated.  As I started the turn into Mackerel Cove, I glimpsed the bow of my tormentor pulling even with my bucket.  I could put it off no longer.  I turned my head completely to confront my demon face-to-face.  Hmm.  Odd.  Seemed like more face-to-face-face.  Where I expected to see the beastly visage of John (no offense, buddy), I instead saw the beatific countenance of my life partner.  And also Kirk - who himself has his own kind of non-John charm.  As you've probably surmised, my cursory scans had only registered the Epic-ness of my pursuer, while missing certain other superficial details.  In any event, I can truthfully say that I'd never before been so happy to see Mary Beth.  

Energized by my reprieve (because... out-of-class, out-of-mind), I matched the pace of the double for a while before they began to inexorably leave me behind.  At the Cove turn-around, I got a better view of my actual pursuers - Jan back the better part of a minute, with John several lengths behind him.  Over the next few miles, I concentrated on minimizing the disadvantage Mary Beth & Kirk were inflicting on me - a motivational gimmick that was largely responsible for keeping me ahead of my own pursuers.  I kept tabs on the latter at the turns, noting at some point that Jan had fallen behind John - weeds being one factor in this positional swap (if the be-weeded party is to be believed).

I'm told that "aloha" can be used as greeting or farewell - a duality that Rob exploited with clinical efficiency in his first area competition. (Photo courtesy of Andy Knight)

I often hold court after the race, regaling my loyal subjects with tales of derring-do.  Because these adventures often involve paddling in strong winds, many affectionately call me "Lord Blowhard".   (Photo courtesy of Andy Knight)

As we had feared, Rob made short work of the mild New England conditions to claim the crown at an even 1:15:00, although Matt kept him honest (and on course) by finishing less than 90 seconds behind.  Having little incentive (or ability) to push Matt, I cruised in another 275 seconds back.  If you do the math and round aggressively, that's only like 3 minutes behind the winner, so I'm pretty happy with my race.  Let's say that Mary Beth & Kirk finished "comfortably ahead" of me to take the doubles crown.

Thanks to Tim and, I suppose, to myself, for throwing a fine race with zero fatalities.  Next up is the Jamestown Double Beaver on June 29, run by Tim and only Tim.  Register at PaddleGuru (for free).  In an effort to promote tandems in this race, anyone paddling a double in the Double Beaver will be rewarded with 36% more fun for 23% less effort!  Your mileage may vary.