First off, I want to thank the Masters, Chuck and Tony, for putting on another good race, soundly beating the crap out of us again. I especially want to thank Tricia and Jake for getting engaged during the race. I happened to run into them just minutes after. At first I thought that Tricia, who was behind this giant park sign, was peeing and Jake was keeping watch. I hung back till I realized that Tricia was beaming into a camera and Jake was a full meter off the ground.
Another thanks to Jody, who gave me some sense of direction when my brain was particularly addled.
From here on I want to sing of the wonders of CO1 (carbon monoxide). A couple of weeks before the race I had the heater coil replaced on my 14 year old pick-up. I had not yet taken my new coil on any sort of longish trip till the Friday night before the race.
The smell wasn't terribly horrid, so I just figure the new stuff was off-gassing a tad. I would like to say that I began to have hallucinations of Leonard Bernstein conducting Beethoven's Ninth (how can one not get excited about the choral section) on the hood of my truck, but alas, I had only headaches. So for the 6 hours of my 3 hour trip I went through a cycle of rolling up the window and taking clothes off till my head hurt too much, then rolling down the window and adding clothes till I couldn't take it. Like with any new job one develops a system.
From Northern KY to within 15 miles of the bed and breakfast that Stephanie Ross had procured for a bunch of us, this system worked well; so well, in fact, that I kept it up all the way to West Virgina. It continued to function back to within about 6 miles of the B&B and then on to the Ohio River again, going south this time This route was much more interesting because it was mostly back roads (although I saw no moose -- bummer). When I was confronted with a substantial looking guard rail, I decided to stop. This was probably around midnight. Headlamp, map (which I came to believe was not of Ohio but of our old friend Kyrgyzstan.) A very tender motorist stopped and asked if I needed help. I assured him that I did. I asked him if he knew where Zaleski was. He did not, but he was fairly certain that it was not near where we were. Just then, no kidding, a patrol car pulled up and after a few exchanges I finally believed that on the other side of that guard rail was the Ohio River, this time leading me to Kentucky, my home; (but alas, no bridge, and I had unfortunately left my truck flippers back at the house.) The nice patrolman suggested I turn around, head north and that i would hit Zaleski from Route 7 whose terminus I was visiting. I was happy for the help and for the fact that I had been right about Route 7 being of some import. My confidence returned. After a few short f-ups in and around Zaleski, I quietly made my way inside the B&B, bedded down for maybe 5 hours, actually sleeping nearly 2 of them, and headache free!
The morning began in a rush. I had several things to attend to, bladders, bike, boat, panties, etc. I cannot remember my full costume but I assume I had some decent colors. Lake Hope, excitement, the cannon blew and we were off. I promptly breezed by CP1 as the park road hit the highway. I saw this guy ahead of me fooling around with his pants and was thinking he had equipment problems (you know, little guy in the seams). Little did I know that he was putting his punch card back in his pocket. A few minutes later, Tracy asked if I had gotten CP1. "Where was that, pray tell?" I lost only 5 minutes or so and caught back p with a bit of a crowd. I was in fine spirits. From here on my memory fades to clouds with some mythical events returning like gorillas in the mist. I remember going up and down a hill looking for CP 3 or 4. Chuck was fairly surprised that I could not find it. I then headed to the next one, finding it easily and seeing Drake come out of the same holler on the other side. I clawed my way up the side that Drake used feeling pretty durn elated that I had caught up with Drake. (ha!) I did okay for a few more and then decided to head to a new moon. I went thought this village of tepees and cabins and dropped down over the hill, perhaps between the wrong two tepees, perhaps on the wrong side of the ridge. In any event, I saw a CP and punched it, feeling pretty smart. There was a slight color variation on the CP so I soon thought that perhaps I had punched a bike CP, since it was on a trail (about 9 inches from the Lake of Hope.) I headed toward the next CP and spotted it across this lagoon about the size of the Gulf of Mexico. I decided to drop my pack and pick it up on the return. After struggling through the crazy border towns of Texas, I picked it up and headed back. I think at this point I was near the bike TA. I may have been there before, or maybe I did not get the Brownsville CP at all. I saw smiling Chuck and he coached me about a CP that was quite close to me. At this point, I'm guessing that Chuck was becoming aware that I had lost a handful of my marbles. Of course, I was not aware of any such loss. When I came out to the bike TA, I waved to Chuck and headed up the road till I found my way through the village and down to the pack. I returned to Chuck and the bikes, although it may have been Ben Hart at this point.
On the bike, I'm fairly certain that I found a few CP's that may or may not have been bike CP's. I punched cards that may or may not have been the right ones because one of my cards had gone missing. Meanwhile back at the proverbial ranch, I entered the boat and paddled out to get 3 CP's, figuring that was plenty enough. Since it had been a little bit difficult because of the gustiness and since I really wasn't sure where the boat return was (I had seen a few colored ships on a hill but thought perhaps it was a rental place), I pulled my boat to safety on some concrete and figured that was fine. I made my way back to the TA on foot and Tony or Chuck asked where my boat was since I had come in on the road. I told him that I was not sure but that it was safe on some concrete. He may have entered or re-entered the Zone of Concern of Marble Loss at this point. At this point it was time for feet, both of which slowed to a shuffle. I also began the process of forgiving myself for the many, varied and colorful mistakes that I had made throughout the day. I had been feeling insecure because I had had several bad summer races, during an 8 week period when I averaged about 3 hours of sleep a night. (Stress can suck to poo right outta yer butt.) I had actually begun enumerating my florid mistakes so I could say to my friends that "I'm not that bad a racer, I just made some mistakes." Some were five minutes. Some forty-five.
I shuffled because I knew that if I lifted my foot I might come down on a hidden rock or root or moose, injure my ankle, fall down and not be found for millennia, hoping that my costume might at least alert a satellite before a turkey vulture. I also felt the need for a Numero Dos, but guessed that if I squatted too low to the ground I might not get vertical again. The concept of falling in human poo was rather unappealing as well.
Drawn to a foggy CP as to the Sirens of Titan, but being too demented to caress them, I shakily pressed the CP and returned to the trail without the use of ropes or mast.
Bingo, racers! Looking at a map of New Guinea. It was exhilarating. The first people in days. I felt saved. They asked if I needed help and I promptly assured them I did but that I had to keep moving. I shuffled along with a nearly 10 inch stride instead of my normal 3 or 4. A day/night or 2 cycled and I ran into Jody, who asked if I was okay. "No, I'm not having a dazzling time of it." "Where are you heading?" "Headquarters," I said brightly. "Well, you're going the wrong way." "Yes, of course, but I must keep moving." "Would you like Chuck or Tony to come and and find you?" "Why yes, that would be splendid. I haven't seen those fellows in days." "Still though, you are going the wrong way." As I shuffled off, another reminder, "You are going the wrong way." After another 75 meters or so, ground that I covered in no time at all since my stride had grown to nearly 12 inches (us carpenters still struggle with the King's foot length as well as his favorite inch worm) it came to me that Jody had sense, whereas I did not. I turned around and eventually was found by Chuck or Tony and returned to HQ, which, from what I've heard, I did not believe was HQ till I was led around it, finally accepting it as home.
The next great thing, second to Tricia and Jake, was Chuck's wife's food (I'm sorry I have forgotten her name.) She had made some fabulous beans for us vegetarians and some equally superlative cornbread, and in her tender way, encouraged me to eat and eat.
My next activity was fire stamping. I was not certain but was fairly concerned that each little solid spark that jumped from the large stone caves would, through twigs and leaves and tables, begin an inferno of unknowable dimension that might leave our wicking fabric stuck to our hides if in fact we escaped at all. I was saving the world.
My third post-race activity was clapping for finishers for whom I felt deep love and connection, particularly with those that I knew. Apparently throughout the evening I was pacing a lot; "keep moving." As my fatigue returned I remember testing myself by weaving between the tables where children and others were flopping and flapping their wings. No injuries or deaths. Soon a cycle of shuffling then sitting closer to fire, too warm, slide down the bench, back and forth. Eventually I crawled to lean against stone, warm on one side, cold on the other, stasis; nearly asleep.
Awards began. I jumped up, knowing that this situation required enthusiasm. So, with everything I had I clapped and whistled like a madman, feeling the depth of connection.
Ben found my boat, and I was given a ride to our B&B home. I'm pretty sure we ate again. My food was a tad weird for our group, maybe it was breakfast. In any event I was helped immensely along the way to recovery (which I understand can take days). The drive home the next day was not too bad because I could get by with less heat, in daytime and all. It was a week or two before I began to suspect good old carbon and good old oxygen. My friend Katy asked me why I was so late in getting to Zaleski. I repeated that I had made two major mistakes. She suggested that maybe it had been the fumes.
Epilogue
Generally I am tolerant of most people except perhaps the richest of the rich and their money juggling minions. I now understand that I have become a lot more tolerant, I mean breakthrough level, of myself and others. Trust that people often offer help even before you ask, on the road as well as on the toilet. Our species is not as crummy as we think. Trust also that your survival instincts will enter your scope up and down Denali, through that divorc,e or that scalpel that the surgeon left behind after your crainialectomy. Trust again that hydration, the one thing I did well that day, is yours and everyone's best buddy: water, electrolytes, nectar from Venus, Zeus and Michelangelo Leonarduzzi. Keep tinkling, my friends, and keep your carbon and oxygen consumption to a minimum. Again I thank Chuck and Tony for this opportunity to grow, Tricia and Jake for the Big M word, all of my friends for keeping me shuffling on this planet instead of another, and for CO1 for the big boost.
Yours,
The One Who Strives for Mediocrity
Bill Donnelly
