I was up just before six o'clock yesterday morning. After the usual simple breakfast in my motel room, I packed up and headed for the race site.
The fifth River Rat Canoe & Kayak Race would be starting on sleepy Bayou d'Arbonne, a thousand meters or so above its confluence with the Ouachita River. We would continue down the Ouachita to the finish at Lazarre Park. The advertised distance was 7.7 miles (12.4 kilometers), though at least one person I know measured it as more like 7.8 miles (12.55 km). (I forgot to look at my own G.P.S. device when I crossed the finish line.)
Lazarre Park was a new finish location this year; past races finished at the Endom Bridge for a total distance of 6.5 miles (10.5 km). A tradition was established of awarding a Leatherman tool to any racer who reached the Endom Bridge in less than an hour, and the organizers decided to continue that tradition this year.
So, our work was very tidily cut out for us as we prepared to start up on Bayou d'Arbonne. Nearly 180 racers in a broad variety of craft lined up, and as soon as the command was given, we were off. I quickly found myself in third place behind fellow Memphian Adam Davis and Don Walls of Dover, Arkansas. Adam had just gotten married within the last month, but that apparently didn't stop him from working on his sprinting prowess. He maintained an astonishingly high stroke rate--around 100 strokes per minute, I'm guessing--all the way out of the Bayou and onto the Ouachita.
It was sunny and warm, with the temperature rising toward a Fahrenheit high in the low 90s. I pulled even with Don, and the two of us spent the next few kilometers in pursuit of Adam. I thought surely Adam would come to regret his early intensity, but he continued moving his boat well into the middle portion of the race.
I was two or three boatlengths back and struggling with the general languor I've been dealing with for the last several months: dead arms, no higher gear, not sharp, not aggressive... I think almost every athlete's career goes through some ebb and flow, and I guess that after racing quite well in the 2017-2019 period I'm due for a letdown. But it's sure not fun, especially considering my investment in a new coach this year and the better-than-ever results I was hoping that relationship would produce.
In short, I was feeling pretty miserable as I gazed up at a seemingly untouchable Adam for some 25 minutes. I alternated between trying to climb up the train of wakes off his stern and moving over to the cleaner water and trying to gain ground there. Neither was working. Making matters even worse was a problem with my grip. After suffering bad blisters in the race at Ocean Springs back in March, I outfitted my race paddle with some padded grips covered with electrical tape, and that had served me well in the months since. But yesterday my right-hand grip seemed inexplicably slippery and it felt like I had no control with that hand. Electrical tape had always provided sufficient friction for me, but now I was wishing I had some surfboard wax or something like that. I was feeling considerable stress on my right wrist as I searched and searched for a solid grip.
In my mind it seemed like the whole race was spinning out of control, but I told myself that if I could just get onto Adam's wake then maybe I could regroup and salvage a good result. I moved behind his stern and threw in one agonizing sprint after another to climb from four waves back to three back to two back. Finally, gears grinding to toothless nubs, I got my my bow right onto his stern.
By this time we had covered about five kilometers, and I told myself to hang out on Adam's stern until the 6.2-kilometer halfway point and then see what sort of challenge I could mount. Slowly, I began to recover a bit from the sprints and my outlook brightened. Even my grip felt a bit better. When we reached 6.2 kilometers I sprinted up onto Adam's starboard wake and then moved into the lead. I actually was hoping to sit on that side wake for a couple of minutes, but Adam let me move in front and I decided that fair was fair and I should lead for a while.
I was trying my best to conserve energy, but I knew that Don was still not far behind us. Don is one guy I'd rather not engage in a battle of wills with the finish line in view, so I tried my best not to let Adam and me get lulled into a slow enough pace for Don to reel us in.
Eventually the first of four bridges that we'd be passing under came into view. Adam, who had done this race at least twice before, remarked that the bridges were a welcome sight. The Lea Joyner Bridge was first, followed by a railroad bridge. The Endom Bridge, the finish line for the old race course, was third, and it was only a couple hundred meters below the railroad bridge. Adam and I were a lock to reach the Endom Bridge in less than an hour, but the old course record of 51 minutes 2 seconds, set in 2018 by Andy Capel of Maumelle, Arkansas, was clearly out of reach.
I decided I wanted to score a moral victory and be the first to reach the old finish line. As we passed beneath the railroad bridge and approached the Endom Bridge, I began to pick up the pace. But Adam apparently had similar ideas and he quickened his pace too. Before we knew it we were in an all-out sprint, and Adam was winning it. I'm pretty sure he had a quarter-boatlength on me as we hit the old finish line. I realized that out-sprinting Adam at the new finish line was not going to be a simple matter.
We had about 2 kilometers to go, and I backed off the pace a bit to gather myself for the dash to the finish. But just over my right shoulder I could see that Don was as close as ever, and I ramped the pace back up to defend our lead on him.
The river makes a sharp bend to the right at Lazarre Park, and the finish line was marked by a pair of red buoys against the right bank somewhere around that bend. In the lead with Adam on my left-side wake, I tried to maintain a solid pace without "going for it" quite yet. As we rounded the bend there was a fallen tree sticking out from the right bank, and a moment later the left buoy appeared about a hundred meters past the tree. I hung out for another 45 seconds or so, and then decided it was time. I surged to the tree with Adam holding fast beside me. Then I began an all-out sprint, and it was a repeat of what had happened back at the Endom Bridge. Adam pulled even with me, and then inched ahead. I paddled as fast and as hard as I possibly could, but I just didn't have the speed to hold Adam off. I'd have sworn that as we crossed the finish line Adam's lead was no more than a foot, but these photos show that he had almost half a boatlength on me:
Adam's time was recorded at one hour, six minutes, 16 seconds. My official time was 1:06:18, but I'm quite sure that the gap between us was no more than one second.
Don hung tough and crossed the line in 1:06:35. The top female finisher was Kim Schulte of Mandeville, Louisiana, who clocked 1:16:44. The complete results are posted here.
I paddled a slow cool-down and then carried my boat up to where my truck was parked. I dried off and changed into dry clothes and walked over to the pavilion, where I enjoyed the lunch that the race organizers had provided. In addition to Adam and Don and me, Phil Capel of Sherwood, Arkansas, had broken an hour in reaching the Endom Bridge. Don and I received our Leatherman tools, but a grander prize was in store for Adam and Phil because they had both accomplished this feat for the third time. They each got an axe. I looked on and re-lived my log-splitting ordeal from last Tuesday.
I socialized a while longer and then hit the road for the five-hour drive back to Memphis. I got home around 7 o'clock and was in bed not a whole lot later.
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