The start of the 19 miler in Dedham has the same flavor year after year: find a parking spot along the road next to the park, dump boats and gear onto the grass, grab your whistle and button to be traded for the race t shirt, then catch up with the usual suspects-familiar faces of folks not seen since early fall. Pre tear gel packs and duct tape to the hull, affix drinking systems, reset GPSs, and make the mad dash to the line up of Porta Potties before race start. It’s a comfortable and familiar routine.

The Run of the Charles is the largest canoe and kayak event in the United States, drawing upwards of two thousand participants. My usual cast of ne’er do well buds had opted for the 6 miler this year, wishing to avoid the portages, and put maximum blade power to the water over the shorter distance. With temps forecast to hit the 90s, contrasted with the cool and misty starts of previous years, that seemed to me to be a very wise choice indeed as I donned even the most minimal of CO2 PFDs, immediately breaking a sweat, just imagining the fine and pleasant misery the 6 portages to come would bring. I was again racing my Westside EFT, a deceptively fast boat on the flats, but also heavier than the K-1s, at roughly 38 lbs. sans drinking system strapped to the back deck bungees. Returning from a trip to the car to find my boat gone from the place where I left it on the lawn, I spied my two buds, Jim and Steve, giggling from behind a tree where they had stashed my pilfered kayak. (Smiling as I write this…) They were off to the start of the 6 miler. Thankfully, Dubai Tom, Timo, Roger G., Rob and a number of other friendly faces would be in the first couple of heats-no pun intended, but it was already building. As if by some unwritten rule, racers warmed up in slow circles, conserving energy for the miles and temperatures ahead.

The Unlimited Class K-1s went off in a fury of windmilling blades and whitewater, and some minutes later our Touring class followed suit. Immediately Roger catapulted off the line, pursued closely by Ben Lawry and partner in a K-2 with Dusi Marathon stickers plastered on the sides. A glance down to my GPS read 8.7 mph as they slowly slid into the distance and I concentrated on controlling my heart and stroke rate-too much too soon, and I’d be not only hitting the wall later, but ramming into it at full tilt. ‘Blade forward…slide it in…rotate…’ I focused on smoothness and keeping my HR pegged at the 160 BPM mark. At about the 4 mile waypoint, I was surprised to see I was slowly reeling in Roger, my speed staying at a fairly constant 7.2-7.5 mph with some current assist. At the first portage at mile 5 we exited the water at roughly the same time. A quick jog through the trees, and we were back in. The slight breeze made it appear cooler than it was-in the dead air of the portage take outs, you could feel the sun beating down.

The miles unfolded; I had my sights set on the Wellesley carry. At 1/2 a mile in length it’s the longest of the portages. I knew this was where the racers with wheels mounted would make up time, me preferring to suffer in purity and form-smile. Along the way I slid by fellow Facebook paddler Dave from Canada in his Think Legend. “That boat’s Touring Class?” he asked, smiling incredulously as I came by. At the takeout for the Wellesley carry, after scrambling up the steep and muddy bank, I spotted Brenda who was pitting for the canoe teams in the gauntlet of support crews. She offered water and enthusiastically cheered me on, setting a positive tone for the Bataan Death March to follow. Surprisingly, as I settled in to what sometimes passes for a ‘run,’ it went by quickly, aside from the patrons of the local Starbucks I passed by, who raised their double mocha Frappucinos enticingly as I gimped along the sidewalk, the heat radiating through the thin soles of the boat shoes. ‘That’s just wrong,’ I thought to myself, and to add insult to injury, at the entrance to the parking lot for the put in, here came Roger tippy tapping past me, the wheels of his cart droning on the pavement. I shouted out a term of endearment, quickly followed by words of encouragement, as we entered the put in at roughly the same time. Roger’s a fierce competitor, usually a speck in the distance, the kind of guy a fellow racer once described as: ‘If his leg fell off, he’d say: “I’ll get that later.” The heat had taken its toll on him; you could see it in the others as well. At the take outs, people sported ‘wobbly legs’.

At one point I must have passed one start of the 9 mile race-the river was churning with a multitude of rec boats and canoes, and I had to weave my way through the groups to get to the portage first, envisioning the traffic jam that would ensue. I watched my HR climb to 170 and hover there, and I wondered how long I could keep up this pace before I was clear of the assorted groups. Thankfully, it wasn’t more than a mile or so, but my water was dangerously low, and I just squeezed off my last gel pack.

Through the narrow bends in the river, I began picking off canoe team after canoe team and the occasional K-1-the Forerunner read 9.5 mph at one point, as the eddies at each corner would slingshot you to the next bend. Coming into the rapid, I shot to the left of a canoe team that hesitated going through and kept the power on-the water was so high that the usual mini haystack was just a series of foot high waves. At the last portage, volunteers asked if I wanted water over my head. As soon as I agreed, no fewer than seven water bottles engulfed me. Comically sputtering, yet nevertheless refreshing, I was laughing along with the volunteers as I scuttled across the grass to the last gravel put in.

In the remaining miles, the river widened and some pleasure boats chugged my way. I could see a red K-1 in the distance and set my sights on picking him off. Little did I know it was my good friend Tim. As I closed to about 200 ft. I was surprised to view a fishing line wrapped around my paddle shaft, tautly disappearing into the water in front of me. Coasting, I was able to unwind it from the shaft and continue on, only to have this happen no fewer than three more times. In my overheated stupor, I finally realized that it was Tim’s boat that was dragging the line, no doubt he was trolling for shad for the cookout to follow. (As he pulled his boat from the water at the Finish, he not only had line wrapped around the rudder, but a large lead sinker as well.) Had I known it was Tim in front of me, I would have most certainly have grabbed his line and hauled my rapidly fading self up to him.

As the finish buoy approached, I recognized Blake and partner in a C-2 several boat lengths off my right shoulder. Yelling for them to dig for it, we sprinted the remaining meters to the line, finishing strongly. Betsy Echols, Leslie and Thomas Chappell, and Helen and Chris Parkinson all were waiting with cheers, smiles, and waves, while looking for their spouses and dads in the ensuing 6 mile battle. Tom and I joined them to scream like maniacs for our teammates with what little energy we had left. Dubai Tom had a spectacular race-eyewitnesses claim they saw smoke pouring off the soles of his shoes on the portages.

Wesley, astride his one day new Epic V12, was skimboarding across the surface of the water, hotly pursued by Steve ‘I smell the barn’ Delgaudio in his EFT, then Chris, smoothly stroking in his sparkling new orange Mohican, and Jim, stylin’ as ever, in the ‘Men’s Health’ Fenn Elite. Mike ‘I’m a ringer for Bruce Willis’ Parkinson also made a strong showing in his 18X, fighting the headwind and current on the return trip around the buoy and back. Team ‘On a Wing and a Prayer’ and the cast of Surfski Racing.com represented themselves well! Ken Cooper ended up doing the 9 miler in the Kayakpro Jet, after almost not coming at all. Razz and he were in touring K-1s, but caught and passed some 19 mile K-1s along with Ted on the Mohican, working together until the last portage where he pushed it to average 7.1 mph. Race results can be found at: Click for CRWA Offical Result.

As boats were pulled from the water-the finish line festivities launched into full swing. The warm temperatures and sunshine had everyone in a party mood. We joined Rob Flanagan, wife, and friends from Charles River Canoe and Kayak for a barbeque on the grass. Burgers, sausages, steaks, and assorted treats were ravenously devoured, and racer after racer visited to preview the season to come and talk shop. Susan and Cliff, Dave, Bob, Corey, and many other friends stopped by to discuss the vagaries of hull speed and wetted surface area, eat, and drink profusely. Another year…and a good one at that. The Run of the Charles remains as a premier kickoff to the season.

Mark