The Run of the Charles offers the perfect early-season opportunity to get your feet wet without too much risk of the rest of you following.  With water temperatures still in the 40s, I’d decided to bump my first accidental dousing to May.  Still not sure if I’ll go with “fiddling with the bailer” or “trying to remove crab from the bucket” though.  Those of us familiar with the 6 mile race would be paddling the 5 mile down-and-back course while trying to forget that someone – apparently out of pure malice – had tacked a 1 mile up-and-back course onto the end.  We dutifully taught the newbies the mnemonic our forebearers had drilled into us to remember the bridges we’d be passing under: “Eliot, Harvard, John Weeks, Western, and Cambridge, you idiots.”

Tim and Jen made some compelling arguments for switching over to SUPs, but in the end, most of us decided to stick with our 401k plans.

Although attendance was down slightly from 2017’s record-setting field, 25 skis would be running the race.  With the two champions from the past three years absent – Jesse Lishchuk and Jan Lupinski – there was a lot of pressure on Chris Laughlin and me to maintain alphabetic consistency.  Unlike Chris, however, Jebediah Lesher here was willing to get his name legally changed just prior to the race to get tradition fully on his side.  I expected noted iconoclasts Chris Chappell, Chris Quinn, and Craig Impens would be hell-bent on defying custom.

Wesley’s ability to identify a surfski’s serial number using only the sound made by a sharp rap on the deck never ceases to amaze.

Despite the occasional canoe from the 19 mile race cursing headlong through packs of inattentive 6 milers warming up, we managed to line up without any major incidents for our 1:03 start.  After three minutes of silence in remembrance of the missing dragon boats, we were sent on our way.  The course starts with a gentle left turn, so many of the faster racers group to that side of the line.  I stayed well right.  I was willing to give up a length or two in the hopes of getting through the first minute of the race with all my teeth.  Seemed likely that I’d need them for gritting during the final 5 miles of pain.

As expected, Chris C bounced to an immediate lead, with Chris L glued to his stern.  Craig has an atypical combination of explosive starting speed and grind-you-down long-distance consistency.  I hoped that in this short race the latter wouldn’t be a factor, but the former was on full display as he started way right on the line, sprinted diagonally across the leading edge and latched onto Chris C and Chris L.  By the time the rest of the field was up to speed, this trio was a solid three lengths ahead of everyone else.  As I worked my way up to the chase pair of Wesley and Tim Dwyer, this lead doubled.  I’ve evolved over the years from a tortoise to, say, a porcupine or groundhog, but I hoped the adage would still be legally binding.

The starting gun provoked something of a panic.

For reasons not entirely clear, race officials in a rowing launch plowed ahead of us as a kind of pace boat.  I’ve seen these craft advertised as “wakeless”.  This is true, but only if you’re rounding to the nearest foot.  The launch outpaced the leaders approaching the first bridge, with the resulting absence of wake splitting the group.  Impens veered to head under the rightmost arch of the bridge with some help from the non-wake, while Chappell and Laughlin elected for a central span.  Captivated by his zig-zag style over the opening half-mile, I followed Craig.

At the reunion a moment later, Craig was out in front of Chris C by a couple of lengths, with the Lves (as some of us had started calling ourselves) back as far again.  Chris C quickly made up his gap, settling only momentarily on Craig’s side wash before throwing down a blazing interval to pull cleanly free.  A minute later, I made my own watered-down version of this move, with considerably fewer flames as a result (as seen in Craig’s video).

It took me another couple of minutes to pull alongside the leader.  We settled into a wary truce for the next five minutes.  Naturally, I was suspicious of Chris.  Having lured us most of us into buying Brača paddles (I chose the economically named “Brača XI Van Dusen ’92” – a fine local vintage with a full body and a crisp finish), it could only be a matter of time before his motives became clear.  A cunningly planned time-delayed deterioration of the blade cement was my best guess, but who knows exactly what nefarious sabotage might await us?  Perhaps something related to that weird accent over the c?  Also, to those of you not already waiting for the hammer to fall, visit FastPaddler.com for all your paddling needs!

Due to the protected nature of the course, I was paddling my flatwater boat.  The adjective is not so much a description as it is a prerequisite.  When I’m paddling my V14, I insist that any deviation from a perfectly smooth water surface be best measured in ångströms (holy cow, it’s diacritic day here at Full Tilt).  If the perturbation is all the way up at “hair’s breadth”… well, that’s trouble.  So when the aforementioned launch swerved across our bows, the mighty ripple of its unwake threatened to upset the détente that Chris and I had established.

Fortunately, Chris was also in his flatwater boat.  And, while it’s theoretically possible to paddle the V14 in rough water (there’s video proof!), I’m not sure the same can be said for the Mohican.  Despite a disconcerting wobble, I was able to use the brief flatwater disruption to break away from Chris.  Going into the turn (beyond which the launch was now anchored, its crew doubled over in hysterical laughter), I had a tenuous lead of a length and a half.  As I gradually pointed my nose back upstream – you don’t want to rush these things – I saw Chris Q in dangerous pursuit, with Craig, Chris L, and Tim not far behind.

Fortunately, the camera adds 10 lengths.

Although the paddle back to the start was superficially uneventful, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being followed.  The occasional sing-song taunt of “We’re gaining on youuuuu!” from behind failed to ease my anxiety.  As I passed under each of the twenty-six bridges on the upstream leg, I made a point of throwing a wild-eyed over-the-shoulder glance to alert my pursuers to my growing panic.  I’m sure they could already smell the fear, but why not take every opportunity to further inflame their blood lust?  During one of these precarious peeks backwards, I managed to determine that Chris Q had passed Chris C and was now perhaps a dozen lengths behind.

Finally reaching the upstream turn (taken luxuriously wide, of course), I marshaled my strength for a final whimper to the finish.  If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Chris Q over the past year, it’s that everyone thinks he’s a nice guy.  Quiet.  Polite.  Respectful of those a dog or two’s life older.  I’m here to tell you that he would have passed me without compunction had he his druthers.  As fate would have it, however, his lack of time for actual training left him a couple short.  At that day’s druther exchange, that translated to 35 seconds.  Apparently Chris C has managed to carve out adequate time on the water, on the other hand, as he took an easy third shortly after.  This was the same podium order as at last month’s Narrow River race, but the 4 minute spread down south had now shrunk to under a minute – a worrying trend, to say the least.

Maybe if I had told Mary Beth about the things I had overheard Leslie saying about her before the race, the results would have been different.

Craig and Chris L filled out the extended podium.  On the women’s side, Leslie Chappell and Mary Beth stayed together for the whole race, until Leslie nosed out Ryan Bardsley in the final sprint for the win.  Not exactly sure how he got in there.  Francisco Urena and Matt Beaton, paddling together for the first time, took the doubles crown.  In the 19 mile race, Ed Duggan was the first ski across the line.

Of course, the ski racers don’t show up at the Run of the Charles for anything as mundane as the thrill of the competition or the camaraderie of their fellow paddlers.  Heck, those are the reason that Rhode Island was invented.  No, the ROTC marks the start (and finish, sadly) of the Capellini pulled pork season.  As we gathered greedily around the precious pot of manna, memories of past years flooded back.  The piquant sharpness of the pork in 2014… The playfully spongy buns of 2017…  And, of course, the Despair of 2016, when Bob and Linda were detained at the NY border for exporting seasoned meat without a license.  Needless to say, the seized pork mysteriously disappeared from the evidence room prior to trial.

A surprising number of participants at this year’s race had never seen a camera before.

In our next installment, we’ll be discussing the pros and cons of the Essex River Race.  With Tim Hudyncia sitting this one out, it’s anyone’s guess as to which lucky paddler will get decapitated by a rowboat this year.  As stipulated by the “within five minutes of the venue” clause of the Surfskis United charter, all competitors are invited back to our home after the awards to share grossly exaggerated accounts of their races over beers and snacks.