According to the approaching voices on the top of the hill, it sounded like someone was about to become a close second, so we ran off towards the next checkpoint, which was a phone booth that had something a little wrong with it. The thing that was wrong was the distinct lack of a phone inside the booth. Thankfully, we still had energy bars in our packs and didn’t need to worry about not being able to order pizza on the trail.
But like I said, trails are overrated. We already went over the river and through the woods, to Grandmother’s van we go… By the time we burst into an open field (and by “open,” I mean lots of nettles, but no trees to obstruct our view), there wasn’t anyone running in front of us. Yes, that’s right, even though some teams missed the checkpoint on the river and had a head start on us, we made it back to the bikes before them. Trailblazing rules!
We mounted our bikes and headed back using the same shortcut as before. You would think that it’d give us an extra cushion of time and we’d have plenty of space between us and the next racers. Well, much like finding the checkpoint on the river, you’d be wrong. Part of that could be blamed on the cramps that were starting to develop in our legs, but part was that the pair of racers were just really, really fast. They cruised past, said “Hi” and then Brent burst out with another yell. The other guys slowed down enough to find out that he’d had a major spasm in his calf, so they kept moving while we stopped to stretch our leg muscles. A lot.
The river had taken its toll and wasn’t done wreaking havoc. Brent’s legs were still angry with him, deciding to tighten up at inopportune times, a problem which (naturally) continued during the remainder of the race. I was starting to have similar problems, but with the extra benefit of my bike seat slowly sinking southward, so I couldn’t fully extend my legs and it put a lot of extra pressure on my thighs. It was starting to feel like the scale between the pain of racing and writing about it afterwards was starting to even out, but we eased ourselves back on our bikes and kept pushing forward.
When we finally reached the main TA, we got to dump those two-wheeled torture devices on the ground and not even look at them again until the end of the post-race barbeque. It didn’t really compensate for the toll that the biking section had taken, but it made me feel a little better nonetheless. Then we raced over to the second mystery challenge, which didn’t quite match our purchase.
To save time looking back to an earlier entry, we got a ball with a two-foot long tail that could be used for throwing, catching, jaw dislocating, etc. It seemed practical at the time, but we had no idea that the mystery challenge would also involve a golf club. Mind you, I’m capable of kicking some serious butt playing mini-golf, but in this case, we had to chip the ball into an ice cream bucket that was about ten feet away. I’ve also been able to get some serious air playing mini-golf, but that’s usually about twenty seconds before some teenager kicks me out of the course.
But the design of our ball wasn’t the only problem. The bigger problem was that neither Brent nor I play golf. (Really real golf, not mini-golf, stupid…) We knew that the club they handed us was a wedge and that getting the ball inside the bucket would knock a couple bonus minutes off our final race time, but that was about it. Consequently, when Brent stepped up to the line for his chip shot, the ball didn’t quite make it off the ground. It managed to roll forward for a foot or two, but that was about it.
Not that I was in a position to make fun of him. He gave me the wedge, I stepped up beside the ball and swung the club. The ball didn’t roll far enough to cross the line. I moved the ball back, then swung again. I came very close to sending a chunk of turf into the bucket (I don’t think that would have earned us any bonus minutes…), but the ball just sat there, mocking me. I wasn’t about to put up with that, so it was time for a third swing right into the gut of the ball, sending it soaring across the field and into some trees a few hundred yards away, where we’d have to scurry up the trunk before a squirrel grabbed the tail, swung it around and dislocated our jaws. Sadly, it didn’t work out that way. The ball stayed on the ground and trickled forward across the line, so I picked up it and shoved it into my pack so I wouldn’t have to listen to it snickering at me.
After stifling the ball’s laughter, we headed towards a hill that would take us to the kayaking section of the race. We met up with another pair of guys and we paced each other for part of the way down until Brent and I turned sharply to the left. Why? Because trailblazing rules! Blasting down the hill at a steep angle, hoping not to crash into big trees, branches, large woodland creatures or each other! Even though the slope made our leg cramps even worse, we got to the bottom of the slope, popped out of the trees and saw those other guys about 100 yards behind us. See why trailblazing rules?
We had to kayak upriver for… well, I’m not sure how far it was, but it felt a lot easier than our last race. That’s what happens when I’m not destroying my ankles while paddling across a lake and into the wind for several miles. That’s not to say that we didn’t have some difficulties, but at the beginning, we were moving pretty well. Pretty well enough that only one kayak was in front of us and the 100-yard cushion we had in front of the other team got us to the checkpoint at about the same time. (Obviously, paddling is not GT Frost’s strong point…)
We had to find out how many canoes were stacked up in the woods—it turned out “canoes” was only one. When I jumped back into the kayak to head back down the river, that’s when things got a lot less easy. My legs were feeling better because they were just lying there, relaxed. Brent’s… not so much. Every time he rotated his waist to take a stroke, the muscles throughout his legs would have rocking spasms that shook the shoreline. He yelled, he screamed, he scared little children across the river, but we managed to make it back without him dying from the pain. I have to admit, when you die, it’s a lot harder to write blog entries about a race.
Unfortunately, one team had passed us on the river, so we were in fourth place and standing (for the most part) at the bottom of a very steep hill with legs that didn’t want to move. We had the option of taking a round-about trail that would eventually get us back to the final TA, but what would be the fun in that? Where’s the trailblazing?! Well, it was there, but it was primarily on our hands and knees. If we had to crawl to the finish line, dang it, we were gonna do it!
And then suddenly, we got to the end and shared some group hugs with Dad and Justin. It was such a beautiful moment… Technically, though, it wasn’t quite the end of the race. Before we joined the post-race barbeque, we had to waddle to a building that had a climbing wall inside. Jump onto the middle of the wall (assuming you were capable of jumping at that point), then use the various handholds and footholds to move your way to the side of the building. If you manage to slap the wall without losing a handhold, slipping off or collapsing into a heap of muscle spasms, you wouldn’t get any additional penalty minutes. Thank God our hands were still in decent shape at that point…
We escaped the building, then headed to the park shelter to gorge ourselves on hamburgers, hot dogs, chips and various other food products that I didn’t bother to identify—I was just happy that they filled my tummy. As a final treat, Dan handed out awards for the super-duper fast teams. Shockingly, in the 2-man open category, GT Frost came in third. While we were the fourth team to cross the line, a team that had initially tied for second place couldn’t find their ball at the gear check. It didn’t drop them from first to seventeenth place, but it dropped them back far enough that we finished in front of them and earned ourselves a pair of glass 24-oz. “Wild Adventure Race” mugs and headlamps. (Sadly, when that team reached the second team challenge, they found the ball at the bottom of one of their packs—had they dug around in their gear more carefully, Brent and I may have been stuck coveting the gear that we now possess.)
As a final note to our faithful readers, we’re searching for a team cheer that will help our self-motivation and keep us moving strong on the trail, the road, the river or the pool of rancid sludge that we happen to be wandering in at the time. While singing “On Top Of Spaghetti” can be fun at summer camp, it doesn’t add much of a moral “oomph” as we’re trekking along. If you have suggestions, please let us know. And don’t bother with “I Want To Sex You Up”—we tried that and it seemed really awkward.
