A small but cantankerous group gathered last weekend at Long Sands beach in York for the final race of the New England Surfski point series. Newly renamed the Glicker Downwinder in honor of Joe Glickman, this race would finally settle the question on every young surfski enthusiast’s mind: Lesher or Lupinski? Partisans from both sides confusingly adopted the L-on-the-forehead hand signal to show their support as they casually walked their dogs on the beach. Although there were a range of scenarios that might play out (one of which involved Jan and I starring in a short-lived sitcom on ABC Family), the long and the short of it was: win the race, win the series. Jan had already taken the SurfskiRacing.com title by thrashing me two weeks earlier at the Cape Cod downwind. This was my chance to even the score.
They asked me to pin my “6” upside down so it would be read correctly as I approached the finish.
Not only had coordinator Eric McNett balked at Chris Sherwood’s exorbitant demands for enchanting up favorable winds, he had insulted the necromancer (or “slug-eating charlatan”, to use Eric’s terminology) to the point that we were cursed with a counter-productive offshore breeze. Not one to be vexed by having his best-laid plans thwarted (this is a man, after all, who has spent most of his adult life shirtless), Eric gamely devised an alternative triangular course. From Long Sands beach we’d round Nubble Island (reluctant host to the picturesque Cape Neddick Lighthouse), then head south to turn at the buoy off the mouth of York Harbor, finally heading back home for a beach finish – 6.75 miles total.
We’d have a chase boat this year, as Eric decided to monitor the course from his small Whaler (with Sarah Waterman as support crew and photographer). After reviewing the course with the competitors, Eric left to take his boat to the nearest launch. Which was apparently somewhere in Delaware. As the hours stretched to days with no sign of our captain, there were mutinous whispers of starting the race without him. Surely his penchant for hugging the coastline too closely had finally spelled his doom, I argued. We had just about given him up for lost when our chief finally hove into view and called us out to the starting line. I knew all along the old salt wouldn’t let us down!
Eric designed awesome new medals for the renamed race. (Photo courtesy of Sarah Waterman)
In short order, we were set off towards the Nubble. Jan surged to the early lead, followed closely by Eric Costanzo. For reasons that escape me (or more likely, never existed), I had lined up well off to the right of the other racers. Unable to bar hop my way to the front (from draft to draft), I was forced to toil in obscurity for the first half mile, angling slowly towards the pack. When I rejoined, I found myself just behind Eric, a couple of lengths behind Jan. I soon managed to pull ahead of Eric, leaving only Jan between me and the prize.
As I struggled to close the gap, I noticed in my periphery that Jan was threatening to pass me. I bore down to successfully fight off the challenge. But hold on a second… something’s not quite right here. Before I could nail down the source of my unease, Jan counter-attacked from behind and I again had to concentrate on beating him back. Well, if nothing else this spirited sparring will make it easier to catch… uh… Jan. Slowly, the implication of this nightmarish paradox sunk in. I was surrounded by Jans!
My mind reeling with the implications, I ticked through the possibilities. Practical joke with hidden camera? Sounds like something Kirk Olsen might try, but it’d be darn tough to find a second Jan. Clones? Unlikely given the current state of somatic cell nuclear transfer capabilities. No, the only rational explanation was that we were dealing with a type of quantum uncertainty – both possible outcomes (Jan-beats-me versus I-beat-Jan) were superimposed in the same reality. While feverishly trying to devise a method to collapse this uncertainty in my favor (if only I could tweak the tau-zero factor…), I chanced to get a better look at I-beat-Jan Jan.
I’d be remiss if I didn’t include at least one picture with a lighthouse in it. And also in breach of the binding contract entered into by all visitors to Maine (read the fine print on the “Welcome” signs).
Who was actually not Jan, but newcomer Mariano Scandizzo. Same Think yellow-on-white color scheme though. Oops. A classic case of mistaken identify leading to a detour through the most abstruse areas of quantum physics. Could have happened to anyone. I wasn’t sure that I wanted to live in a Jan-beats-me world, but it looked like I had no choice.
Paddling between the Nubble and shore is the creepiest experience in the New England racing répertoire, and I’m including Tim Dwyer’s insistence that out-of-towners “Come spend the night in our basement” every time there’s a race in Jamestown. Tourists come to Nubble Point to view the lighthouse, where they stand shoulder-to-shoulder in solemn contemplation. They marked our mournful passage by bowing their heads in gray remembrance of another season past. The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Much like the stairs to Tim’s dungeon, I’m guessing.
Rounding the Nubble, Alpha Jan appeared to lose his focus. I quickly caught and passed him as he wandered aimlessly. Doubtless he was shaken by the close call he recently had with non-existence. Mariano continued to pester me as we headed towards the distant buoy, eventually over-taking me. Who was this stranger? We traded the lead a couple of times over the next mile, until I caught a nice run and finally got enough ahead of him to purge him completely from my view. I naturally assumed that he was beaten, and thus banished him from my thoughts.
He didn’t take that too well. With a half-mile to go before the turn, both Mariano and Jan made a mockery of that old phrase “out of mind, out of sight” (wait, is that right?) by making themselves quite visible while passing me. Seeing these two side-by-side reminded me that I should apologize to Mariano after the race for confusing them. (He swings. He really got a piece of that one… Yes! It’s a Jan Slam!)
Despite my best efforts (which were largely indistinguishable from whatever effort I had been using all along), I was unable to catch the duo prior to the turn. Mariano rounded the buoy a couple lengths ahead of Jan, who was in turn two or three lengths in front of me. Two and a quarter miles of a mild headwind with quartering chop separated us from the finish.
Within a few moments, the undisputed upwind master had taken the lead from Mariano, who fell in on the draft. It took me the better part of a mile to catch up, but I eventually settled in at the end of the train. Something about Maine must be conducive to close finishes. At the Casco Bay Challenge, the top three paddlers finished within 4 seconds of each other. It looked like this race might similarly end in a sprint for the finish.
After catching my breath on the wash for a moment, I decided to push the pace. I pulled out to the left and made my move. Although I managed to get abreast of Mariano, Jan wasn’t buying into the legitimacy of this so-called “attack”. He increased his pace. We continued in this formation for the next mile, with Eric and Sarah cheering us on from the chase boat. It’s surprising how much motivation you can get from someone yelling “Way to go, Greg!”, even if that same person immediately follows up with “You got ’em, Jan!” Although I’d occasionally fall off the pace by half a boat length, I was always able to claw back even with Mariano (during the “Greg” cheering phase, of course).
Mariano was ever-so-slightly out of sync here, but we worked out the kinks prior to the judging stage. (Photo courtesy of Sarah Waterman)
The straight-line path from the turn buoy brought us in at a shallow angle to Long Sands Beach. Although it was difficult to identify the actual finish line on the extended beach, I was becoming increasingly concerned that we would run out of water before we got there. I was on the shore side of the other boats, so unless I wanted to drop back and cross behind Mariano I’d have to defer to Jan’s navigation. We soon found ourselves paddling nearly parallel to the shore in search of the finish.
It feels a little ridiculous talking about the surf zone when the waves topped out at 18 inches, but we found ourselves encroaching in this deadly territory. We were perhaps a 100 feet off the beach when a warning shot was fired across our bows. Steepened by the shallow water, a wave passed under us and started breaking just a few feet shoreward. My balance compromised, I took a couple of half-brace strokes before recovering fully, allowing Jan to open up a boat length’s lead. I also got pushed in a little closer to shore than the others.
Fifteen seconds later I looked to my right to see a breaking wave. For a brief moment, I thought I was going to find Mariano’s boat in my lap, but he apparently knows how to handle modest surf. I manifestly do not. I followed my brace head-first into the foam. After reorienting my teakettle and removing the sand from critical orifices, I realized I was in knee-deep water.
Sigh. This kind of thing just keeps happening to me. (Photo courtesy of the unblinking witness to my misadventures)
The way I saw it, I had two choices. I could jump back on my boat, paddle 15 more seconds in the surf zone before getting flipped again, then say “screw it” and run up the beach to the finish. Or I could just say “screw it” right off the bat. Even though tumbling out of the boat is kind of my signature move, I chose the latter option given the stakes. As I hit the shore in full stride, I heard Jan ask plaintively from his boat “Are we running?” I still don’t know if he meant “Is the finish line on shore?” or “Are we running already?” But by the time he asked, there was nothing he could do to catch either me or Mariano.
A lot of people (mostly via their accusing eyes) have asked me, “Greg, how do you feel about your weasel win?” It’s true that if the finish had been on the water, there’s a 95% chance that Jan would have won (108% if you trust Jan rather than me). If we had come into shore at a preset position with 100 meter run up the beach, I’d decrease Jan’s chances to 70% given my Salem League experience at dry finishes (and don’t forget Mariano in the mix). In the dynamic confusion of the actual race, however, Jan drew the short straw. So to answer the original question… it’s not the manner I would have chosen to win (which would be slowly walking backwards up the beach, while giving the L-on-the-forehead hand signal to a still-paddling Jan), but we play the hand we are dealt. And also… mildly sheepish.
I can’t help but notice that nobody was hoisting the men’s champion. (Photo courtesy of Sarah Waterman)
Eric Costanzo and Joe Shaw rounded out the top five, followed by Tim, Bruce Deltorchio, Kirk, Jay Appleton (first SS20+), and Bob Capellini (second SS20+). Mary Beth finished off a spectacular season with another solo win (I saw her strutting around the beach afterwards, roaring “That’s right, ladies! Don’t even think about coming into my ocean and challenging me!”), easily taking the women’s point series trophy (to match her SurfskiRacing.com crown). In the men’s point series, Jan finished second and Eric (Costanzo) third. Congratulations also to Tim Dwyer and Joe Shaw, co-champions in the newly established 50+ division (with Bruce finishing closely behind them). To finish off the day’s festivities, Bruce added another boat to his unparalleled stable of V12s by winning the Epic drawing for the second time in three years. Thanks to Eric (and Cindy) for hosting the race and for organizing another successful New England Surfski season.
If we happen to go at the same time (I’m betting on “buffalo stampede”, but wouldn’t rule out “bowling accident”), please enlarge this photo to poster size for display at the wake.
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