Okay Racers,
We made it through Stephanie Ross's Sheltowee South. How crazy was that? When we entered the Beaver's Creek they immediately began a quiet gnawing of our medula oblongatas and whatever cranial lobe they thought interesting. Those Beavers created hallucinations, shape shifting trails and disappearing feeder creeks. The pinnacle CP (14, I believe) was findable but was a classic up-hill battle. Joe, of Team Race-COAR, and I traded leads, thrashing our way through. We bled, we grunted, I whined, we finally saw big stone and hoped it was a pinnacle. We skirted around and CP 14 was found. We did not die or leave limbs behind in the rhodo tangle. I felt fine. When we found an easier way back down we found ourselves somewhere in the Ozarks. Most of our group of six took a bus back to the trail while Kathy Jo and I swam our way back through stunningly beautiful rock formations and cool water. I felt sublime. We were all glad to reconnect with the trail of Babel. I would like to say more and more about our Beaver Creek experiences but it is all very blurry. Basically, for my partner Rob and me, it consisted of wandering about in a cloud trying to keep the comforting tender mumbling of the Beave close to our hearts, getting testy with one another, listening to the birdies establishing themselves, trying to decipher the lumps and bumps in the trailway/waterway and eventually experiencing the release of the Beave's tenacious choppers as dawn surrounded us with its loving arms.
Let us regress as the Beaver progressed to the South Fork of the Cumberland River. A more picturesque waterway I have not paddled. Rock formations, worlds beyond any human sculpture, rapids to make me squeal and laugh and yell, and a Duck Rock that gave us the most fun of the day. Getting dumped was just plain fun and funny. Rob and I giggled as we emptied our boat and collected ourselves. I would love to say more about the paddling but I can only say that it is inside me and feeds my heart, as do all the hardships and hard shit that we encountered throughout the race.
Speaking of hard! This sonofabitch was hard! Made even more so by the fact that the Beave was supposed to be a daytime trek but was dramatically altered when some Pin-Headed Bureaucrat, who had had the race plans in his possession for several months waited till the eleventh f-ing hour to tell Stephanie "you can't go in there." Thus a total redo of the 24 hour and a completely new 6 hour. Stephanie did not go on about it too awful much because, I suspect, that, as an attorney, she knew she would be an accomplice to murder or at least a sound thrashing if she let slip the Pin-Head's identity. In any event, it worked out well for Rob and me as we didn't feel burdened by all those extra checkpoints. It was gift enough just to wander and wonder about them. Plus we got a chance to deal with and laugh about our testy behaviors.
Okay, let us not fail to mention CP 10 (CP 7 in the 6 hour). We had it plotted somewhere out by the end of the Earth. Before one reaches the END, one must apparently need to go through one Hellacious Gauntlet. We were all clubbed, kicked, stabbed, whipped, burned and treated to other forms of meanness I cannot describe. What we needed was either a collection of mice or parakeets who could move about at will, report back to us and teleport our corporeal selves to the punch and back. Stephanie said that after setting this CP she had a relatively easy walk out to the road. She either levitates, or is a pathological liar. Since Rob and I had already crapped up CP 8, it wasn't too difficult to let go of 10 after 20 minutes or so of flagrant foul treatment. Four days later, I continue to laugh about it.
The 2010 Sheltowee South was my first 24 hour. Halfway through, in the quiet of twilight, I was convinced it would be may last. Now I am not so sure. It truly was one Hellacious good race, one Hellacious good experience. A bunch of very impressive humans really put themselves out there. This is good.
Yours,
Bill Donnelly
The One Who Strives for Mediocrity
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