Every great story, and I guess every terrible story too, has a beginning. This one is no different. Except that it probably is neither great nor terrible but that's not really the point here.
The Freedom Race
The story of the Paddlephiles 2012 MR 340 begins 24 days earlier, at an unofficial preliminary event called the Freedom Race. At only 63 miles, this race should have been child's play for an experienced crew like The Paddlephiles, accustomed to 100+ mile days. Looking back at it now, I think that attitude is probably what made it such a troublesome day. If we had been gearing up to go 340 miles, I'm sure the guys would have taken more care, been more certain they had everything they needed to keep their bodies going in the extreme conditions.
The race began in Lamine, MO. It got off to a great start at 8:00 am and began with a 4 mile sprint down the Lamine River before slipping into the Missouri. The Lamine, being small, shallow and slow, made that quite a workout and by the time any of the 70 boats made it to the Muddy Mo the heat was getting oppressive.
Freedom Race 2012 preparations are underway. (Click for large image.)
When I got to Katfish Katy's, the race's only checkpoint, it was 100 degrees and climbing and still well before noon. We knew it was going to be hot. Missouri in July is always hot. We didn't know it was going to be the single hottest day of the year. The high in Columbia, MO that day was 110. This stop was only 28 miles from the start and when boats started coming in around 11:00 many paddlers were already looking battered, beaten and demoralized and more than a few were calling it quits. I was sure many of them were signed up for their first MR 340 just 3 weeks later and I doubted I would see any of them there. They hadn't yet made it a 10th of that distance. This river can teach you some very harsh lessons when it has a mind to.
The Paddlephiles hit the ramp at 11:28 and ,by comparison, looked to be doing pretty well. They were sweating a lot so I was pretty confident in their hydration regimen and after taking on some more fluids and choking down a quick lunch they were off. As I looked back at the long steep ramp I had to carry the water cooler up I couldn't help thinking they were taking the heat better than I was. I would rather have been looking up the north face of Mt. Everest. At least I'd be nice and cool.
We had originally planned for that to be the only stop on this short run, but with the extreme heat we decided it would be best to meet up at Cooper's Landing to make sure everyone was doing ok before pushing on to the finish. This change of plans cramped my schedule a little more than I realized and after stopping in Columbia to restock the water cooler and gawking at the map for half an hour trying to figure out how to get to Cooper's, I arrived just in time to see them paddling up to the ramp. Since I was caught unprepared they parked the boat and came up the ramp to rest a bit. That's when Patrick dropped a bomb on us.
"I'm done."
"What?"
"I'm done. I'm sick, I can't go any more."
Mike and Jeff were as surprised as I was. I guess he hadn't brought it up on the boat. This of course prompted much debate. There wasn't much further to go and Mike and Jeff put no small effort into coercing him to march on but to no avail. Mike and Jeff got back in the boat and Patrick hopped in the car with me. We decided to meet once more in Hartsburg to be sure the two paddlers were successfully managing the unweildy 27 foot boat built for 3. Patrick and I were able to get there from Cooper's entirely by gravel roads and we sat at yet another boat ramp to stare at the river and wait.
"So this is ground crew, huh?"
"Yep." It wouldn't be the last time I have that exact conversation before the end of this story.
While we were waiting in Hartsburg, something miraculous happened. The sky clouded up and dropped literally tens of tiny specks of water on us. It sprinkled for almost an entire minute. What was great about it though was that the temperature dropped what felt like 20 degrees. By the time Mike and Jeff came through it was downright tolerable. We shoved them back off and headed for the finish line in Jefferson City.
Along the way Patrick and I stopped in some God-forsaken podunk town, Bumblehump MO or something I don't know, and gassed up. Gatorade was on sale so we grabbed like half a dozen. Luckily Bumblehump had something the surrounding wilderness did not, a cell tower, and Patrick was able to call his wife Shari for some much needed medical advice. "Eat something salty." she told him.
When it's 110 degrees out, you sweat. When you sweat you lose water and salt. When you only drink water and your body has no salt, it can't retain the water and you dehydrate anyway. I read this on the internet just now so I can only assume it's accurate. Anyway, Patrick ate some salty chips and drank a Gatorade and while he wasn't exactly back in paddling form he was at least feeling better. Shari hopped in the car to come and get him in Jefferson City. Since there was going to be free beer there, the rest of us would be in no hurry to get him home and since he was in no condition to drink beer he didn't argue.
By the time we were nearing Jeff city the sprinkle had become a downpour, complete with lightning and severe wind gusts. While we were trying not to get blown off the highway things on the river were getting very hairy indeed. The strong winds were blowing up waves nearing 3 feet. Mike and Jeff were in a boat that, even without the weight of a third paddler, only clears the surface of the water by about 6 inches. They fought hard against the typhoon-like conditions and managed to keep the boat afloat and upright until things eased up. Not everyone was as successful and they stopped to help some capsized paddlers before pushing on to the finish.
I saw Patrick and Shari off and started looking around for the free beer. Mike and Jeff finished, 31st overall, at 5:28 pm. While we waited for the awards ceremony we sat down and over the course of a few beers came to realize that the Freedom Race left us with a lot more questions than answers about the Paddlephiles fate in the upcoming MR 340. Would Patrick be starting? If he started, would he finish? If he didn't, could we find someone else on such short notice? If we did, would they finish? If we couldn't, could Mike and Jeff take that boat 340 miles? Could they find a tandem boat in time? If the conditions are going to be like this do we want to tackle the 340 at all? What is that smell?
The smell was these guys. The remaining questions were left unanswered, and time was running out...
2012 MR 340 Part Two
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