I got a reasonably early start Friday morning and arrived in the town of Burkesville, Kentucky, before 3 o'clock in the afternoon. Scott Cummins was waiting for me there, and we promptly put his tandem surfski on the Cumberland River for a systems check. As we paddled for a half-hour or so, the most obvious issue was our differing stroke rates. Scott's natural rate is quite a bit higher than mine, and he said he would use a paddle with larger blade area in the race to slow it down a little.
The Mighty Cumberland River Run canoe and kayak race is part of a big annual festival in the town, so there was plenty for Scott and me to observe off the water. On Friday evening there was a "battle of the bands" on the main stage, and while the musical fare in these parts was about what I expected (i.e., bad country music), we had fun hanging out and watching all the goings-on. We availed ourselves of the on-site camping, Scott sleeping in his van and I in my tent.
We got up bright and early Saturday morning and drove up to the community of Bakerton, where the race would start. Scott and I were the only tandem surfski entered, so the race was basically a time trial for us. We agreed that breaking an hour for the 12-mile advertised distance was a reasonable goal, though a lofty one: it would require an average pace of about 20 kilometers per hour, and on Friday we'd seemed to be maxing out in the 18s. Still, we would have plenty of help from the current: the dam keepers upriver at Cumberland Reservoir were releasing generous amounts of water in the wake of the heavy rains a couple of weeks prior.
We warmed up, paddled to the starting line, and the race was on. Even with his bigger-bladed paddle Scott was wanting to paddle at quite a high rate, and I kept having to remind him to dial it back a little. I didn't want to be too fussy about it because I didn't want to pull Scott out of the zone he was used to, but then again it wouldn't do him any good if I were to blow up, so I tried to persuade him down to the highest cadence that I could tolerate for an hour or so.
The morning was mostly overcast, and there was some thin fog hanging over the river in places. This section of the Cumberland is quite a beautiful place, with wooded banks and rocky bluffs, and I tried my best to behold the scenery, but most of my attention was on Scott's back as I tried to keep my strokes in sync with his.
Our speed varied from 15 kph to over 18 kph. The current was faster in some places and slower in others, and at times we felt ourselves fighting a headwind. It became clear early on that a sub-one-hour time wasn't in the cards. Not having trained particularly hard for the last month, I felt pretty good and taxed as the race wore on. But the base I'd built up during the course of the year gave me what I needed to paddle decently all the way to the finish. We arrived at the Kentucky Highway 61 bridge one hour, 4 minutes, 48 seconds after we'd started. My G.P.S. device measured the distance at 18.2 kilometers, or about 11.3 miles.
We got a ride back to the start to retrieve our vehicles, and then Scott went back to the finish to load the boat. The race organizers fed us some barbecue chicken for lunch and handed us our awards, and we got in an afternoon nap back at our campsite. The evening's entertainment consisted of the "battle of the bands" winner at 6 o'clock and a headliner at 8:00. The headliner was a Kentucky-based band of some note. If there's anything I have rather snobbish opinions about, it's what constitutes good music. Maybe it's because I'm from Memphis. Anyway, the band had its moments, but overall it was pretty... meh.
Oh well. The live music wasn't my main reason for being there. Yesterday morning Scott and I had some breakfast and then put the boat in the water for one more paddle. We went upstream for four miles and came back. The upstream leg took us about 50 minutes, the return trip about 25 minutes. This time Scott used a paddle with even larger blades, and I think it was what he should have used on Saturday: he was much better able to paddle at a stroke rate that suited me.
We said our goodbyes and departed for our respective homes. My trip home was slowed by a big wreck on Interstate 40 near Dickson, Tennessee, and I didn't arrive until after 6 PM. Fortunately I was able to pick up most of the Saint Louis Cardinals game on several different radio stations. Once home I unpacked the car in between heavy rain showers, threw together a quick supper, and fell asleep in quick order.
What's next for me in terms of paddling? I have no idea. I'll keep tending to my aches and pains and see what develops.
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