Last year around this time I was relishing in the afterglow of my world class spectatorship at the inaugural Ride the Bull race in Jamestown, Rhode Island. I was yanked from the starting line-up in 2013 because the race organizers decided that death by “Bull” would be a too kind and gentle punishment for an overzealous rookie with only an SES to mount for battle. Thank goodness rookie hazing has its limits. I enjoyed watching in 2013, but wished to never spectate at a bovine paddle-party again. I was determined upon two fronts before the 2014 Bully-Bully: Buy a more stable kayak and spend lots of time in the rough water, and on it. I bought an old V10 Sport, and, what was the second part? Damn it! How could I forget the second part?
Tim in comtemplation at last year’s Ride the Bull.
Mary Beth having Fun as the time keeper at last years race. This year was more FUN paddling.
You know how, don’t you? You’re working on boat fit, endurance and strength training, starts and finishes, catch, leg drive, rotation, clean exit at the hip, hands high, drafting, interviews, paparazzi management, blah, blah, blah… Next thing you know, you wake up in June feeling good about all that you’ve done and, oh no, bull-crap! Literally, you left out the Bull crap, and now it’s June 21. You’re ready to get intimate with a bull calf, but a full-grown, foul-mouthed, foaming, fuming, grunting, bucking, crotchety bull? Slam (y’all thought I was describing Lesher right then, didn’t you?)! Slam, slam, and slam again, and so telling you that I stayed dry brings me no satisfaction at all. None.
“Yeah, but you had fun, right?” I’ve been asked that several times. Hmm. I have fun riding my tall unicycle in parades after a Guinness and shot of Jameson. I have fun tossing Frisbees on the beach, eating watermelon in the shade, reading Wesley’s surfski reviews… Unless I craft a new definition of fun, I’m having a hard time identifying the parts of joviality, or jubilation. Is it supposed to be fun, Borys? No, no, I can’t ask the man who was working on his catch in the womb. I need to consult with someone who picked up a paddle in his or her 5th decade on this side of the dirt. Mary Beth, did you have fun?
Tim H foreground, Mark Ceconi leading, Bob Wright (v8), Chris Sherwood(top)
Truth be written, I did have a morsel of fun in and out of Mackerel Cove. I didn’t hit or hurt or hurl chunks on anyone, and each time Bob and Rick passed my careening, slow-motioning carcass around Short Point I spewed the most vile and venomous acoustic filth; some would consider such a release of demons and guttural cleansing to be in or near the category of f-u-n, I’ll wager. Going with my old definition of fun, clearly the best part was the post-race dry-land training, sharing a beer with Bob Capellini in the emptying parking lot, testing out his chiropractor-recommended camping chair while making optical moves on his V10L 2G, the only moves I had left.
And then there’s always the fun in mystery. I like mystery. No, I’m not referring to how Lesher might choose to beat me down in his race write-up (i.e. haze the rookie). I’m talking about my last (3rd) approach and turn around the designated rock in Mackerel Cove. Mark, Francisco, and Steve got annoyed with having to wait so long for me to get around Short Point, so they were practically turning the rock for the 3rd time when I was attempting to break free from the wrath and get into Mackerel Cove for the 3rd time; and that pointing-and-laughing duo of Bob and Rick passed me yet again amidst the wrath. Taking the inside line like a champ, or so I thought, I was closing on the rock before the laughing hyenas. I turned the rock. No sign of Bob or Rick. Huh? Fast-forward an hour. Bob and Rick finished 7+ minutes ahead of me. Huh?
“Huh” was the entire intellectual output from my torched nervous system after the race, but later that night I was able to regain cognitive function enough to solve the mystery. Sorry guys. If I hadn’t experienced spastic paralysis around Short Point then you would’ve followed my lead to the land of the not so lost (no sleestaks there this time, fyi).
Score it. Bully-bully 1, Rookie 0. Would I do it again? Hell yeah! I was back out there three days later, putting in One More Mile For Glicker, and searching the waters for my pride.
One More Mile for Glicker!
Aye, all is well. As you may recall, the Temecula of Trouble, Greg Lesher, issued an onerous challenge to the paddling world: We are New England, come dip in our waters and taste defeat (or something like that)! For the Ride the Bull race I showed my dual citizenship card and joined the winning top-4 team of Borys (1st), Beata (3rd), Eric (4th), and Jan (8th), who bested Greg (2nd), Andrius (5th), Wesley (6th) and Tim D (7th). Score it – NY/NJ 16, NE 20! Reluctant disclosure: If you scored it like a top-5 cross-country meet? NE 29, NY/NJ 31 (that’s why I only scored the top 4, eh? Eh!). Bring it, Mass-titis (staying with bovine theme ‘til the cows come home)!
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