Of Ducks and Racing

The only good thing about the 4+ hour drive between Ithaca and Lancaster is that it gives one time to compose one's thoughts--a LOT of time, so here's a report on this morning's 5&10. It starts with a duck.

We-- or at least our sailboat, an old Rhodes 19--were adopted by a solitary duck this summer. Every morning without fail, this creature would be bobbing by the old sailboat or at least near the mooring. I don't think I had morning tea once this summer without this duck looking at me. We never feed it (I think ducks have plenty to eat in Cayuga and I didn't want to attract a swarm or flock or a bevy or whatever you call it) but the little fellow just kind of likes to hang out with us. In fact, I dubbed the old Rhodes 19The Mad Duck in honor of this fun little friend who is always nearby.

My particular pre-race ritual always involves a few cups of hot tea early to kind of get things moving, as it were, so this morning, I wandered downstairs a little groggy after a spectacular Purple Valley gig the night before (a wedding at Ginny Lee's Cafe on Seneca), made some tea and sat down to regard the lake. There was our little duck, of course, but something was missing-- the goddamn sailboat AND its mooring.

I ran down to the lake and looked as far north and south as could from our dock but sure enough it was gone. There had been a lot of whitecaps on Saturday and actually two of our neighbors' moorings blew away this summer but ours was theoretically new. As in so many other instances, "new" does not necessarily mean "better".

Away, I figured I could spend the whole morning looking for the boat and miss the race or do the race and then spend the rest of the morning looking for the boat. So I called the sheriff, reported the loss and headed to the race at 7:30 because I hadn't registered. (Assistant editor's note: Folks, see why you should take our editor's oft-repeated advice about pre-registering for races?) Then I shot back up to the lake to look for the boat for as long as I could. I took our little rowboat out into some rather severe swells which were coming from the South and started my quest. The duck followed, I swear to God! Fortunately we live in kind of a cove and, lo and behold, about a half a mile away, I saw what appeared to be The Mad Duck bobbing on someone's beach.

Sure enough, thar she was. I rowed as fast as I could, then secured the frayed sheet (or whatever you call the rope attached to the front of the boat that had been attached to the mooring) to a large log on the property. Then I headed back into the wind because the 5&10 would be starting in about 40 minutes. Now THAT was a workout: getting the dinghy back to my house upwind... but that's not the point of this. (In fact, you're probably wondering if there is a point to this. Oh yes, the 5&10....)

Shades of Rick Cleary, I wheeled into the HS parking lot at

about 8:50, not even time for a final whizz. I found Rockin' John Saylor at the start which is where I wanted to be because my concept for the race was to run about 10 yards or so behind John the entire race and then outkick him in the last hundred because we all know he hath none. Of course we all also know that when he's healthy there's no way I'm going to stay with him but I figured maybe he'd stop at Ithaca Guitar Works on our way through town and maybe I could catch him at that point.

Somehow all the agita chasing The Mad Duck had invigorated me and left me very calm. That, after all, was a REAL problem, or would be when I got home. A race is just a temporary problem. So to the problem at hand. John had kindly informed me that he planned to go out in 6:20s and then see what happens so all I had to do was follow this human metronome to the first mile marker which, of course, we passed in 6:18. My strategy was working. We were on target at 6:20s and he was indeed about 10 yards ahead of me. But I then was passed by a very fit-looking blonde lady who came abreast of John at the first water stop. He took a cup but we had passed before the water guy could give one to her which caused her to complain rather vehemently, whereupon John Saylor proved, as he does on many occasions, that chivalry is not dead and gallantly handed his cup to her. I was pleased by this for two reasons. First, it was nice to see such a sweet human interchange, and secondly, while she sipped her water I was able to pass her and get a little closer behind John. I love chivalry.

We were coming up to the Ithaca Guitar works and I actually thought my plan might work when all of a sudden Saylor sped up a little and I was passed by Blondie who had apparently finished her water. And then I knew the only chance I had of catching either of them would be if they were hit by a falling tree or something but as most of you know it was a lovely morning, not a thundercloud in the sky. Damn!

So I contented myself with trying not to be passed by anybody else in the last half. This is kind of a boring goal but it was

working until I got to the park and saw there might just possibly be a little action ahead. John Saylor had just passed John Hylas and I was gaining on both of them. At the turn into Boynton, it looked like I might have a fleeting shot to catch Saylor--well, maybe 5 years ago when he was injured and I was fit-- but today my rubbery legs and rusted lungs didn't have a thing left. And speaking of rubbery legs, John Hylas's seemed to turn to jello at about that point so I was able to lurch past him just as I noticed Blondie passing Saylor with about 300 or so to go. Thanks for the water, Mac!

I finished in a shade under 32, which was what I was hoping for (okay, my whisper number was 31:40 but that won't happen again, at least not in this lifetime).

Hat's off if you're still reading this so I will conclude quickly by noting that The Mad Duck broke the jury-rigged mooring I had fashioned earlier in the morning and wound up further down the lake at the dock of a house appropriately named Journey's End. The sheriff had tied it up for me.

Incredibly, the little motor I hadn't used all summer actually

sputtered to life and I was able to sail it, er, well, at least drive it back home for the winter. And sure enough our duck was floating in the white caps by the dock looking around for his boat. Suddenly I realized I might never see him again, so I brought some bread down and threw it on the water near him. I thought he might be sad since his namesake was now safely beached. Not only is his boat gone but now all the waves are white caps, and the 5&10 is run and the summer is really over and ducks must have to go somewhere before the boats come back in the spring. Thanks for a great race, Lorrie Marnell et al.

Cheers,

Hooter (Ken Zeserson)