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Sunday, September 17, 2006
The "Little Row"
Greetings, Gentle Reader. The end is near, but it's not here today.
Kathy is simply unbelievable in her maintainence of this blog site. Today I planned to write about yesterday's outing and, as is my practice, I went to the site first just to "check in." There it is...a picture of Peg and I pushing off for our "race," as well as an update on pledge receipts. Sheesh. I feel like such a slacker.
Yes, Gentle Reader, the pledge payments crested $15 k this week and, with last night's receipts of a wonderful, over-the-top check from Laura and a beaut from my son, we're nudging...are you ready?...$17k. This is serious money doing seriously good work, and I am overwhelmed at how so many of you exceeded your pledge amounts or weighed in with a check without pledging in the first place. Perhaps my early Public Radio rant had some effect or, more likely, I am simply blessed to know so many people with great hearts.
And yes, Gentle Reader, the boat went in the water again yesterday, this time at Wye Island, on Maryland's Eastern Shore, for the Wye Island Regatta. I had intended to treat this row not as a race, but as a liesurly row around some new and reputedly beautiful waters. I also intended bring Peg and Kathy along as a way of saying thanks for their amazing support of this summer's hijinks.
Had I been thinking ahead, I would have cast my boat as the Roman galley from Ben-Hur; Peg would have been in the stern, beating some crab mallets against the bongos we discovered in the basement...and Kathy, in the bow, would have employed a whip whenever she commanded Peg to get us up to ramming speed.
Alas, the day dawned drizzly, Kathy was running late (and elected to wait for a kinder day, thus sparing me the whip), and we pushed off from the dock late amid the "racing kayak" and 8's class. This regatta is advertised as being for, "all person-powered boats, including shells (sweep and scull, singles, doubles, 4's, and 8's), gigs, dories, racing and recreational kayaks, outriggers, canoes, and whaleboats." My Adirondack Guideboat fit none of these categories, so I was placed in the "Miscellaneous" group (stop your snickering!!!!) with three other vessels. Since I started late, I have no idea what the other "miscellaneous" vessels were, but I didn't see another guideboat there, which was a disappointment. We did get help pulling the boat from the top of the car by the crew of an 8-man War Canoe...a magnificent craft indeed...manned by a decidedly unwar-like but hale and hearty crew.
So...with Peg in the stern in her jaunty straw hat, a waterproof map, and a cooler in the bow (for balance only, as it turns out, because I couldn't reach it), off we went...the only boat in a fleet of more than a hundred carrying a "non-contributing passenger." We started amid a gaggle of racing kayaks; the double shells, 4's, and 8's were the only classes yet to start behind us. They stagger the start this way, I think, with the idea that these faster boats will catch the slower, earlier starters, and the mayhem of 100+ boats approaching the finish line at approximately the same in a Dunkirk-like spasm of desperation might engage the spectators.
Being back in the boat felt wonderful. The tissues of the protective callouses have have long-since been swept down the shower's drain (sorry for the gross image, but that's where I think my lil' tabs went, one by one), but otherwise I felt like I was starting just another day of The Big Row. Of course, having Peg along for company for the next 2:44 was the best part of all. Her presence in the stern made for an unbalanced and less efficient boat, yet her company, encouragement, and enjoyment of the trip more than made up for the hydrodynamic penalty. And, truth be told, it was fun passing (or even being passed by) other boats; I know they were envious of my companion, even if she did get to oggle the buff guys in the shells as they went by. It was also a welcome change to have a set of keen eyes facing forward. I don't think I had to turn around more than three or four times all day but, let's face it, with Peg along, why would I want to?
So off we went, in a drizzle that went to a steady rain that periodically abated and finally gave way to broken couds and patches of sun. Wye Island is a natural paradise; beautiful coves, enticing creeks, and solitude around almost every turn. It begged for further exploration and while I didn't intend to race, let's face it: if you put more than one "person-powered boat" in the water, somebody's gonna pee on the fire hydrant, the testosterone's gonna flow, and you're gonna pull harder. I was able to leave the kayaks behid me and pass more than a few before the finish...I even dusted the whaleboat (which I took no pleasure in, because its bulbous hull was being gamely propelled by a grim-faced husband/ wife team...and it was a very cool boat)...but the shells and sculls just kept flying by at what seemed to be twice our speed. Pretty demoralizing, but fascinating to see the teamwork and precision which differentiated the faster boats from the slower.
We (how nice to say "we") averaged about 4.8 mph (you readers may recall the The Big Row average was 3.89). I did work a good deal harder than on most legs of TBR because of the "competition" factor, and I suspect I would have bettered my pace considerably if I'd been alone and on a properly balanced boat. But I know I wouldn't have had a better time. I placed third in the MIscellaneous category (out of four...), but 1 & 2 didn't have Peg, the sandwiches, or the fun.
Car-topping the boat back over the Bay Bridge was kind of bittersweet. Looking over the impressive expanse of the Chesapeake, my now somewhat trained eye sized up the waves, wind, and current for "what it would be like" to be down there...knowing full well that my summer adventure and any serious rowing is most likely over for the year. The boat draped over our truck had been my passport to a delightful adventure this summer and was a loyal, trustworthy companion, and when we put it away last night in Bob's back yard I again felt like I was abandoning a dear friend. From childhood I have always been (too?) inclined to ascribe animate qualities to inanimate objects...and last night was no exception. Maybe I'll drop in tomorrow for an unexpected visit and an unconditional coat of wax and oil. It'll feel good for both of us.
What's next? Maybe the Northern Forest Canoe Trail (see last weekend's New York Times Travel section); no Big Water, but an attractive pending adveture nonetheless. Maybe more of the Intercoastal. Or maybe I'll take seriously Brian's call of last week. In a tone reminicent of The Graduates's "plastics," he uttered, "Duluth." It's the most distant point on the Great Lakes. I'm certain he meant that we should start from Duluth and row home...because, let's face it, "Pulling for Duluth" lacks the kind of motivational ring that "Pulling for Home" carries, yes? MUST...GET...TO...DULUTH is not a mantra that would inspire a 62 mile day.
Brian, incidentally, is the proud owner of a true cedar Adirondack Guideboat, a work of art, breathtakingly beautiful, and he knows how to row it. If he is to put his boat and person at risk, I want to be there to see it.
Gentle Reader, just know that if there's a "next," you're invited along.
Latah,
Mr. Frei
Kathy is simply unbelievable in her maintainence of this blog site. Today I planned to write about yesterday's outing and, as is my practice, I went to the site first just to "check in." There it is...a picture of Peg and I pushing off for our "race," as well as an update on pledge receipts. Sheesh. I feel like such a slacker.
Yes, Gentle Reader, the pledge payments crested $15 k this week and, with last night's receipts of a wonderful, over-the-top check from Laura and a beaut from my son, we're nudging...are you ready?...$17k. This is serious money doing seriously good work, and I am overwhelmed at how so many of you exceeded your pledge amounts or weighed in with a check without pledging in the first place. Perhaps my early Public Radio rant had some effect or, more likely, I am simply blessed to know so many people with great hearts.
And yes, Gentle Reader, the boat went in the water again yesterday, this time at Wye Island, on Maryland's Eastern Shore, for the Wye Island Regatta. I had intended to treat this row not as a race, but as a liesurly row around some new and reputedly beautiful waters. I also intended bring Peg and Kathy along as a way of saying thanks for their amazing support of this summer's hijinks.
Had I been thinking ahead, I would have cast my boat as the Roman galley from Ben-Hur; Peg would have been in the stern, beating some crab mallets against the bongos we discovered in the basement...and Kathy, in the bow, would have employed a whip whenever she commanded Peg to get us up to ramming speed.
Alas, the day dawned drizzly, Kathy was running late (and elected to wait for a kinder day, thus sparing me the whip), and we pushed off from the dock late amid the "racing kayak" and 8's class. This regatta is advertised as being for, "all person-powered boats, including shells (sweep and scull, singles, doubles, 4's, and 8's), gigs, dories, racing and recreational kayaks, outriggers, canoes, and whaleboats." My Adirondack Guideboat fit none of these categories, so I was placed in the "Miscellaneous" group (stop your snickering!!!!) with three other vessels. Since I started late, I have no idea what the other "miscellaneous" vessels were, but I didn't see another guideboat there, which was a disappointment. We did get help pulling the boat from the top of the car by the crew of an 8-man War Canoe...a magnificent craft indeed...manned by a decidedly unwar-like but hale and hearty crew.
So...with Peg in the stern in her jaunty straw hat, a waterproof map, and a cooler in the bow (for balance only, as it turns out, because I couldn't reach it), off we went...the only boat in a fleet of more than a hundred carrying a "non-contributing passenger." We started amid a gaggle of racing kayaks; the double shells, 4's, and 8's were the only classes yet to start behind us. They stagger the start this way, I think, with the idea that these faster boats will catch the slower, earlier starters, and the mayhem of 100+ boats approaching the finish line at approximately the same in a Dunkirk-like spasm of desperation might engage the spectators.
Being back in the boat felt wonderful. The tissues of the protective callouses have have long-since been swept down the shower's drain (sorry for the gross image, but that's where I think my lil' tabs went, one by one), but otherwise I felt like I was starting just another day of The Big Row. Of course, having Peg along for company for the next 2:44 was the best part of all. Her presence in the stern made for an unbalanced and less efficient boat, yet her company, encouragement, and enjoyment of the trip more than made up for the hydrodynamic penalty. And, truth be told, it was fun passing (or even being passed by) other boats; I know they were envious of my companion, even if she did get to oggle the buff guys in the shells as they went by. It was also a welcome change to have a set of keen eyes facing forward. I don't think I had to turn around more than three or four times all day but, let's face it, with Peg along, why would I want to?
So off we went, in a drizzle that went to a steady rain that periodically abated and finally gave way to broken couds and patches of sun. Wye Island is a natural paradise; beautiful coves, enticing creeks, and solitude around almost every turn. It begged for further exploration and while I didn't intend to race, let's face it: if you put more than one "person-powered boat" in the water, somebody's gonna pee on the fire hydrant, the testosterone's gonna flow, and you're gonna pull harder. I was able to leave the kayaks behid me and pass more than a few before the finish...I even dusted the whaleboat (which I took no pleasure in, because its bulbous hull was being gamely propelled by a grim-faced husband/ wife team...and it was a very cool boat)...but the shells and sculls just kept flying by at what seemed to be twice our speed. Pretty demoralizing, but fascinating to see the teamwork and precision which differentiated the faster boats from the slower.
We (how nice to say "we") averaged about 4.8 mph (you readers may recall the The Big Row average was 3.89). I did work a good deal harder than on most legs of TBR because of the "competition" factor, and I suspect I would have bettered my pace considerably if I'd been alone and on a properly balanced boat. But I know I wouldn't have had a better time. I placed third in the MIscellaneous category (out of four...), but 1 & 2 didn't have Peg, the sandwiches, or the fun.
Car-topping the boat back over the Bay Bridge was kind of bittersweet. Looking over the impressive expanse of the Chesapeake, my now somewhat trained eye sized up the waves, wind, and current for "what it would be like" to be down there...knowing full well that my summer adventure and any serious rowing is most likely over for the year. The boat draped over our truck had been my passport to a delightful adventure this summer and was a loyal, trustworthy companion, and when we put it away last night in Bob's back yard I again felt like I was abandoning a dear friend. From childhood I have always been (too?) inclined to ascribe animate qualities to inanimate objects...and last night was no exception. Maybe I'll drop in tomorrow for an unexpected visit and an unconditional coat of wax and oil. It'll feel good for both of us.
What's next? Maybe the Northern Forest Canoe Trail (see last weekend's New York Times Travel section); no Big Water, but an attractive pending adveture nonetheless. Maybe more of the Intercoastal. Or maybe I'll take seriously Brian's call of last week. In a tone reminicent of The Graduates's "plastics," he uttered, "Duluth." It's the most distant point on the Great Lakes. I'm certain he meant that we should start from Duluth and row home...because, let's face it, "Pulling for Duluth" lacks the kind of motivational ring that "Pulling for Home" carries, yes? MUST...GET...TO...DULUTH is not a mantra that would inspire a 62 mile day.
Brian, incidentally, is the proud owner of a true cedar Adirondack Guideboat, a work of art, breathtakingly beautiful, and he knows how to row it. If he is to put his boat and person at risk, I want to be there to see it.
Gentle Reader, just know that if there's a "next," you're invited along.
Latah,
Mr. Frei
