Casco Bay Challenge: Downwinded

Despite the gorgeous scenery, free boat shuttle, generous post-race gear drawing, and a reasonable chance at 16 miles of downwind paddling, the Casco Bay Challenge has inexplicably drawn fewer than 10 ski paddlers over each of the last three years.  I'd like to think that has nothing to do with the guaranteed presence of Chris Sherwood and myself (proud competitors at each of the 6 instances), but to be safe I've recommended that Eric stop advertising our appearance so prominently in all future promotional materials.

As we've done for the last few years, Chris, Mary Beth, and I car-pooled up together.  Chris' wife, Patty - apparently having lost some kind of high-stakes bet - accompanied us as the designated driver.  Pulling into the drop-off area for Willard Beach in South Portland in high spirits, my heart abruptly sank as I saw the distinctive van of a paddler who was supposed to be racing in Michigan that day.

Attendance at our Epic demo session in the parking lot of the Danvers' Stop & Shop was disappointing. 

It's difficult to say when I first started feeling nauseous in the presence of Jan.  Just as some people develop new allergies as they grow older, I'm now suffering from an acute case of late-onset Lupinski-intolerance.  If I know beforehand that Jan will be attending a race, I can take preventive measures to mitigate the queasiness, anxiety, and hives associated with paddling against someone who is definitely going to push me to my limit.  But when he shows up without pre-registering (which, let's be honest, is a good 85% of the time), the trauma of being unexpectedly exposed to such a potent competitor can send me into anaphylactic shock.  Given the added twist-of-the-knife misdirection of registering for a different race, I'm beginning to suspect that Jan is taking advantage of this weakness.  Fortunately my car-mates were able to resuscitate me before irreversible ego damage occurred.

I thought that Jan should have concentrated his pre-race questions on navigational landmarks rather than on Maine restaurant recommendations, but since he ended up with both the win and a killer lobster roll, who am I to judge?

Fellow surfskiers Matt Drayer, Hank Thorburn, Dave Grody, and Dale Hartt joined us on the beach.  We'd be supplemented by a contingent ten outriggers, many of whom were Washington Canoe Club members who'd taken the long overland trek from DC to join us.  Now that I think of it, there were a couple of SUPs at the start too.  Man, those guys!  Wonder whatever happened to them...

The course starts at Willard Beach and ends 16.8 miles across Casco Bay at the Mere Point Boat Launch.  It's a tricky navigational feat, but after a few years you either get weeded out, or you get the hang of it.  Having once again succumbed to the latest technology craze, Eric would be accompanying us across the bay in a paddle-less water buggy (on generous loan from Hank).  Over the sputtering of this contraption's god-offending propulsion mechanism, he counted us down to a water start.  I got off the line reasonably well and soon found myself trading advice on stroke techniques with Dale.  He insisted the catch should be on the far side of my boat, while I was adamant that it should be in his footwell.  We eventually just settled it like gentlemen - whacking each other's paddles for a few strokes and calling it a draw.

Matt had jumped to an initial lead some distance to my right, but by a half mile into the race I had pulled ahead.  Great!  This thing was in the bag.  How hard could it be to just hold on for the next 16 miles?  I had spotted Jan a few lengths back.  I usually do a poor job of keeping track of competitors behind me - in part because I always risk rotating around an unintended axis when I turn to check on other paddlers, and in part because of my fragile psyche.  But on this day, I managed to chart Jan's progress with heartbreaking precision.  Over the next few miles, as the downwind conditions improved, he methodically closed the gap.  Once we had cleared the seaward protection of Peaks Island, the added chop accelerated Jan's inevitable move into the lead.

At roughly the five mile point, I reluctantly handed over the baton.  For the next fifteen minutes, I managed to keep in contact with Jan.  Experts disagree on the exact definition of "in contact", but there's a general consensus that when you finally mutter "Screw this!", resign yourself to never catching your target, and start tabulating extenuating circumstances to explain why you weren't able - you have definitely "lost contact".  I hadn't slept very well the preceding night and my addiction to pre-race turkey sandwiches wasn't doing me any favors.  Maybe also weeds?  Having officially lost contact, morale was pretty low in the boat.  Fortunately, there was only an hour and a half left in the race.

Jan's lead appeared to stabilize at 30 or 40 boat lengths.  I suspect the gap was limited by (a) the extra distance he covered meandering among the islands and (b) his need to keep me in clear visual range for periodic course correction.  At some point, Eric pulled alongside in his motorized abomination to snap some daguerreotypes and provide words of discouragement.  Truth be told, I couldn't hear most of what he shouted to me so I had to rely on an unsteady combination of lip reading and subconscious interpretation bias.  I'm pretty sure I got "Jan is spanking you today, huh?" and "Matt's really closing on you fast!" right, but I'm less confident about "Collapsible monkeys eat ripe pears."  That may indeed be true, but it hardly seemed relevant.  Once he had completed his long exposures and finished conveying his important messages, Eric moved off to check on other paddlers.

With a few miles to go, Mere Point itself eventually resolved itself from the indistinguishable neighboring islands.  As we moved into the lee of Goose Island and Harpswell Point, the sea started to smooth out.  And, to my horror, I started to close the gap on Jan.  This was typical Lupinski behavior.  He wasn't content to just beat me, he had to crack me.  Between his less-than-linear navigation and slackening pace, he opened up the merest hint of a possibility that I might catch him.  Just a few moments earlier I had been content to coast in for second place (or third if Matt had the good manners to cruise past me in a definitive manner).  Now I'd have to subject myself to another 20 minutes of suffering in a futile effort just to get to the point where I could then be out-sprinted in the stretch.

Given that this is the happiest Mary Beth has looked in years, you gotta wonder about her overall quality of life.

And that's exactly what happened.  I managed to close to within 15 seconds of Jan, but he never needed to escalate his effort to take the win.  Matt scooted in soon after to claim the final podium spot.  Mary Beth took the women's gold.  Luke Rhodes repeated as OC-1 champion, with Marc Lessard and Michael Fairchild claiming the OC-2 crown.  After restorative food and drink, Eric awarded medals (as always, a nifty new design) and all competitors received great swag from a drawing.  All in the shade provided by the awning of Jan's van.  He may be toxic, but he's not such a bad guy.

My next race is out in Oregon at the Gorge Downwind Champs, where I'll be competing with Matt, Timmy Shields, and Tim Dwyer in the coveted New England Division race (which, much like pee-wee hockey, everyone else finds utterly adorable to watch).  For those remaining in the east, the imposing 20 miles of the Blackburn Challenge awaits.  Good luck to all!