Rocked the Cradle

(Philly Cradle of Liberty Race)
 

So why do I always plan events the day before a race?  Ideally it's a relaxing day.  But K-Rocks comes first, and her adventure party is already two months over due.

5:00 am wake-up call to prep for the party—uggghhh?  As I scramble to get the checkpoints and challenges finished and set, I smile as I envision K-Rocks and her friends racing through the woods and the park looking for caches and K-Bucks. But it turns out about half the party girls aren't nearly as adventurous as K-Rocks.  Fortunately, the excitement of K-Rocks and the adventurous ones keep everyone going.

After spending a long day in the blazing heat I sat exhausted and pondered whether the effort was in vain. But K-Rock's giant bear hug removed all doubt.  Yeah it was worth it.

Of course, by the time we cleaned up, had dinner and went back to pickup all the checkpoints, I was in hour 16 of my day. I start to feel like the race will be more relaxing than the party.  I can't focus while organizing my gear and info, so I windup wandering bleary-eyed until about midnight checking maps and pulling things together.  Maybe this is good training for a 24 hour race.

Up at 6:30 am.  Still not feeling the love.  My partners won't be happy if I feel this slow at race time.  But sure enough, when I arrive at Memorial Hall in Fairmount Park, the adrenaline starts to flow when I see the other racers. 

I look like something from the Beverly Hillbillies as I ride the ½ mile to the start.  I'm balancing a gallon thermos of water in one hand while riding with the other.  Backpack laden with gear and a beach chair tied to the pack.  Not pretty, but it works great and makes for an easy ride down to the start.

The energy builds as the racers show up.  Ahh, the thrill of the hunt. That finally breaks me out of the fog.  Now I just need to find my partners.

Our navigator: Arlen. Ex-military from Chicago.  Several tours in the Middle East, but a serious injury during training cut short his career  Afterwards he started an organization to support service men and women injured in the line of duty.  We race under his organization's name:.ImOnPoint

Our medic and gear guy: Steve. An ER doc from Abington Hospital.  He's got the most experience—(thus the most gear).  And after a second hard day in tropical 90+ weather, I might just need an ER doc.

After fueling up, we get our passports.  Ummm, Houston we have a problem.  Our passport has the same questions printed on both sides (and we're not alone). The strain and fatigue of supporting the 24 hour race that started yesterday shows on Bill's (race director) face as he prepares corrected passports.  I can't imagine how many details he's had to juggle to put on these two races this weekend.

The biggest surprise is the foot section: half of it takes us on a romp through the zoo.  It's like we're on the Amazing Race.

Arlen navigates while Steve and I look for zoo workers to confirm we're headed where we need to go.  Instead of checkpoints, we have to answer questions.  Most are pretty straightforward as we visit the giant tortoises, lions, eagles and monkeys,  But my race came to a halt at the cheetahs.

We showed up at lunchtime for the cheetahs and I don't know what possessed me to ask, but I wanted to feed the cheetahs.  When the zookeeper said sure, the race had to wait.  I mean really, when's the next time I'm gonna get the chance to feed a cheetah?

The only rule: Don't throw it at the cheetah's head (”Here kitty kitty, enjoy your lunch”--bonk--yeah that seems wrong).  So here I am in the middle of a race with two guys I just met telling them to wait while I feed cheetahs.

After I toss the large meat covered bone I watch the beautiful animals attack the leg of meat.  But the moment was fleeting as my partners remind me we're still racing.  Thanks zookeeper, gotta run.

Last zoo spot: giant Lego polar bear to learn how many pieces he's made of (95,750—dang did somebody actually get put it all together?).  As we head out of the park we appear to be the second team out. Within a few minutes we've passed the first team.

On our way to Memorial Hall, we run through a throw back game of baseball.  A bunch of guys dressed in long shirts and long pants from the 1800s (and it's 90+ stinkin degrees).  I didn't notice the lack of mitts until a screaming line drive comes our way, and no one catches it.  Hmm . . .no mitts make the game much harder.  This is real mens' baseball. I wonder: can you peg a guy to get him out like in kickball?  That would be extreme baseball.

After Memorial Hall, we count tiles at the Japanese Tea House (beautiful spot) and visit some statues.  Did you know that Philadelphia has more outdoor artwork than any other city? A few nice bushwacking shortcuts and we're at check-in--but not without some controversy.  Turns out several of the spots had multiple legitimate answers and a few of ours don't match the answer key.  Finally, I get to use my trade skills—persuasion.  Fortunately, the judge graciously listens to the issues and we get full credit—along with several other teams arriving after us that had the same issues.

Off to the river.  Five miles of paddling on the Schuylkill in an ugly wind creating chop.  Super.  There are no check points to find.  Just grind it out to the Falls Bridge and back.

The Philadelphia International Cycling Championship (the second most important Philly race today) overlaps with our race.  Those guys are unreal!  The peloton rolls down Kelly Drive at a blistering pace.  It looks fast on TV, but nothing like when you see them live.  I swear they're riding faster than normal traffic on the Kelly Drive.  Their world class speed makes our paddling feel even more pitifully slow, but they are a nice distraction.

We close the gap on a team in front of us, but get passed by a twosome behind us. As we sprint the last part I again scold myself for ignoring any upper body training.  By the time we hit the shore, my arms are done and Arlen's back is screaming.  As I head to the TA for my bike Steve suggests I leave the pfd with the canoe.  Guess I got a little ahead of myself.

We fly up West River Drive to the first bike CP and run into the three young guys we've seen several times.  They definitely have youth, energy and speed on their side, but not navigation.  They start to follow us to CP2, and Arlen thinks we've overshot a trail entrance.  The young guys continue on in the wrong direction—and that was the last we saw of them.  Arlen proved his mettle navigating us through the labyrinth of trails in Fairmount.  The trails are crazy twisty and come in from all directions.  But Arlen's expertise got us through to the final CP with minimal effort.  Unfortunately, the last CP was no where to be found.  Another team shows up, and then another and another until there are 5 teams on bikes jamming the trail looking for CP 5.  We retrace and restart from a different direction, but nothing.  Finally a call to Bill confirms the CP is missing thus ending the gridlock.

Now it's just a sprint back to the finish—easy peasy—or not.  As I log hop the last obstacle I catch a branch and slam into the fallen log.  I look down and see twisted metal on my big ring.  Crud monkeys.  Don't tell me I have to carry my bike the last mile or two to the finish?  Fortunately it wasn't metal, just a guard.  We motor back and finish in 3:50.  The first team back in our bracket. In fact, there aren't many teams finished when we show up.  Not bad for a patchwork team.

A great day of adventuring was over—or so we thought. Turns out we had plenty of adventure left.

Smashed glass everywhere and lots of missing luggage.  That was the site at Arlen's car.  You've got to be kidding me?!?

All these people right across the street picnicing and no one saw anything?  This is what gives cities such a bad name. Three calls to 911 and two hours later, a cop finally shows up.  First words – why would you leave so much stuff in your car??  Nice.  Second words—this would never happen to a Marine.  If Arlen didn't have a long drive ahead, I probably would have needed to help get bail money.  Oh and the final insult—the cop wouldn't give us a copy of the police report to turn into the insurance company.  You have to order a copy so you can pay for it.  Welcome to the City of Brotherly Love.

After finishing with the police we cleaned out the rest of the broken window and patched it up with cardboard and duct tape – lots of duct tape.  Five hours of highway driving with no back window would be even more annoying than dealing with the Philly cop.

So finally the adventure was done.  The race was great.  We won our bracket, were the second overall male 3 team, and the 8th team overall.(Official Results)  Unfortunately, the denizens and officials of Philadelphia replaced the sweet taste of victory with a rotten taste of crime and incompetence.