2012 MR 340 Part Three: I'm Pretty Sure Jeff is Going to Die

Read part one here if you missed it.

Read part two here while you're at it.

"What?"

"I'm done. My butt hurts, I can't go any more."

"When Jeff finds out, I'm pretty sure you're going to die."

"I know."

I won't lie, Mike and I were really hoping Jeff would do the sensible thing and call it quits. We still had time to cancel the hotel reservations in St. Charles and get home to Kansas City in time for dinner. No more heat, no more boat ramps, a chance to sleep in my own bed. I could taste it. It was the only rational choice really. What was he going to do? Paddle a 27 foot boat by himself?

As it turns out, yes, he was going to do that. Rationality aside, Jeff did not see quitting as an option and Mike was too fraught with guilt to argue. So, against my better judgement, we put Jeff in the rear of the boat and shoved him off, agreeing to meet up again just downriver in Booneville. Mike and I assumed that a short jaunt would be sufficient for Jeff to come to his senses and realize that finishing solo would be impossible. With any luck, we could still cancel the hotel by 6 and be home by 9. It had to work. When he left, the entire front half of the boat was sticking up out of the water. He would be expending all his energy just trying to control the thing and lucky to make faster forward progress than a floating log. He wasn't even to the halfway point yet.

Mike, who's butt was already suffering, took a leap right back out of the car as soon as he sat down and did the most awkward dance I've seen in years. I'll always wonder if the bee had really just found it's way into his shorts at that moment or if he had been sitting on the stinger all day and it was the cause of his affliction in the first place. No matter, after 15 hours at that ramp, I was ready to get the hell out of Glasgow.

In Booneville we had brief instances of cell service and were able to follow Jeff's progress. As expected, it was slow. We took advantage of the free time to stock up at Snoddy's and then head into town for lunch. Neither of us had seen an A&W in ages and it was hard to resist. The food was just as terrible and the frosty mug root beer just as good as I remembered from childhood.


It's like the 70s threw up in here


If you think that looks tasty, click it and see it in high-res glory.

After a quick check of the SpotTracker we still had about 3 hours to kill and went looking for some frosty beers with a little less 'root' in them. By the time we were into our second round at the Main Street Pub the argument was well under way.

"No Mike."

"Why not?"

"You know why not. Our R&D budget is totally shot. Developing Patrick's robot arm nearly bankrupted Paddlephiles Skunkworks and it didn't even turn out to be a good investment! What was our return on that? Half a Freedom Race? That was a quarter billion well spent. He didn't even start the 340! Now you're asking me to sign off on your bionic butt? No way man. Besides, his arm was gone, like completely non-existant. Your butt just hurts and it'll heal."

"I'm sure we could pick up a couple contracts, the usual covert ops. The rest we can pay for by selling the tech when it's fully developed."

"Yeah, I'm sure it's a real boom time in the bionic butt market."

"Besides, it would be super cool. I bet my ass could take a real pounding!"

"You might want to watch the phrasing." I paused and sighed, tired of fighting it. "Fine, I'll run it by the board but I wouldn't get your hopes up." That should at least buy me some time until he figures out we don't actually have a board of directors.

"So this is groundcrew, huh?"

"Yep."

We were both too exhausted to risk a third beer so we finished up and headed to the ramp to wait for Jeff. Since we were fairly certain he would be ready to call it quits, we repacked the car to make room for him and got ready to strap the boat to the roof rack. We should have known better. When he arrived, two things were clear. One, something was going seriously wrong with the boat and he definitely needed to quit. Two, there was no way he was going to quit. The front end of the boat was riding farther above the water than when it left Glasgow and the rear, where Jeff sat, was barely afloat at all. When we lifted the front to pull him up on the ramp we made matters worse by submerging the rear hatch. This shouldn't even have been possible. That hatch, like the one in the front, is supposed to be full of air and water tight. Clearly it wasn't and since it was riding lower in the back without anyone sitting up front it was taking on water. Great, let's go home.

Or not. Jeff didn't seem too concerned about the leaky hatch and I got the impression that even if I pulled the boat up to the parking lot and ran over it several times he would just swim the rest of the way to St. Charles. That would only prolong the misery. The worst news as far as Jeff was concerned was that the radio and iPod were both goners, having spent several hours in the leaky compartment. The final garbled pleas of the radio sounded like a walrus drowning in jello. Mike pumped the water out of the hatch and we stuck a cooler full of ice in the front to compensate for the missing paddlers and sent him on to the next checkpoint at Katfish Katy's with instructions to keep an eye on it.


Speaking of compensating for something...

It was sunset when he got to Katy's and by that time Mike had been officially replaced by rocks. After working for weeks to remove as much unneccesary weight from the boat as possible, putting some back in was the solution to many problems. The bow was down so the boat was more maneuverable and it kept the stern far enough out of the water to at least slow the leak in the hatch. It was still unwieldy, but even Mike and I were beginning to think he might actually make it. Jeff made it from Glasgow to Katfish Katy's pretty much in spite of us, imagine what he could do if we actually started helping him.


Obligatory MR 340 sunset photo.

We headed on to Cooper's. There we ate some Thai food and enjoyed the excruciatingly shrill caterwaulling of hippy-jam open-mic night before making camp. Jeff got in around 1am and after eating half of his Thai, (too spicy) we all got some much needed sleep. We got Jeff up at the crack of dawn and put him in the water with instructions to check himself in at Jefferson City and meet us at Mokane. This bought us the extra time we needed to go back to bed for another 4 hours.

Even with the extra sleep we must have been getting delirious becase we backtracked almost half an hour to Columbia to have breakfast at Waffle House before turning around and heading on to Jefferson City to pick up lunch for Jeff on our way to Mokane. In retrospect, I'm pretty sure there's a Waffle House in Jefferson City somewhere and that would have saved a lot of time and gas. I won't even bother explaining the crazy circles we went around in looking for stuff in Jeff city. Even on ground crew, by the third day of the 340, you just can't think clearly.

In Mokane, Mike distracted Jeff with a warm rueben so I could shoot him with a tranquilizer dart. We let him nap for about an hour in the cozy camping area there. The weather was a lot cooler that day and for a brief period we almost enjoyed sitting there quietly watching the other boats go by. The beer helped. While he was napping we looked over the maps and came up with a plan for the rest of the race. For some reason I never learn the lesson that this is a waste of time. It never works out the way you want it to. Since we weren't far from Hermann we didn't see a need to stop there so we would let him check himself through there and meet us in New Haven, then Klondike and it's a short run to the finish. This sort of threw a wrench in our plans to meet up with Julie and the girls who intended to join us in Hermann and follow along to St Charles. The wrench got bigger when we sent them on to St Charles, then ended up stopping in Hermann anyway because Jeff was moving slower than expected. Mike would have some 'splaining to do but that's just how it goes out there.

The delirium was taking over by the time Jeff got to Hermann at 8:20 that night. One of the rocks had moved from the floor of the boat into Mike's seat and now had a crudely drawn face on it.


"Rocky needs a Gatorade and more water."

"Oooookaaaay..."

If Rocky reminds you of Wilson from Cast Away just keep it to yourself. I don't want to get sued.


Superfluous MR 340 sunset photo.

The ramp at Mokane was the darkest I've seen, even with the full moon. If you want to get the full ground crew experience of waiting for a paddler to show up in the middle of the night, just take a camping chair to the most mosquito infested place you can find and stare at this picture for 3 hours. There is also a lesson here if you ever want to do any night paddling. If you see two moons, you are still on the water. If you only see one, you screwed up. If the moon is making a very loud noise, it's a train.


Good luck staying awake.

"Jeff? Where's Rocky?"

"We got in a fight, that guy was a jerk."

"Umm... do you know where you are?"

"Tuesday?"

"This is your last stop until the finish, you just have to check in at Klondike and we'll see you in St. Charles. Can you make it?"

"Are you angels? Where's Rocky? ROCKY! I'M SORRY! PLEASE COME BACK!"

"We stocked the boat with food and water, stop and sleep if you need to."

"Oh no, I think I killed Rocky, I threw him out of the boat and I think he drowned."

"He never was a good swimmer. It's not your fault if he wasn't wearing his vest. Now get going, we'll see you tomorrow!"

"Thank you angels."


The remains of replacement Mike. We never saw Rocky again.

We made our own bleary eyed trip to the hotel in St Charles. Mike went to find the room Julie had already checked into and I opted to get one of my own. After two nights sleeping on the ground, one with 3 guys in the tent, I was ready for some 'me' time. I took the world's greatest shower and passed out around 3. The alarm went off at 7:00 and I opened one eye to check the SpotTracker. It wasn't updating so It looked like Jeff was stuck somewhere around Klondike. I sent him a text to make sure he was still in one piece and asked him to reboot the tracker. I was relieved to get a response and was soon getting a fresh tracker update. He was moving, but slower than ever and had probably stopped to sleep along the way. We wouldn't see him at the finish until early afternoon and that was all the encouragement I needed to sleep through breakfast.

It must have been right around the time I joined Mike and the girls for lunch that Jeff caught sight of the bridges near the finish. Just when we thought we had plenty of time to eat he put the last of the coal on the fire and cut a full hour off of his expected finish time, forcing Mike and I to abandon our disappointing meals and stick Julie with the tab so we could rush down to the finish line and watch him come in. Word of his triumphant deed had spread to some of the other racers and at 1:04 pm he brought the boat in to cheers. Jeff had accomplished a miracle. He had done something that most of us thought was impossible and everyone thought was dangerously insane. 100 boats had dropped out of that race along the way and with a total race time of 77 hours and 4 minutes, he had not only finished it, by himself in a 27 foot 3 man canoe, he finished 31st in the tandem division, 104th over all and actually beat 80 more boats that finished after him. So if you see him, shake his hand and buy him a beer. He earned it.

 

He still doesn't really know where he is or what is going on.

The End?

2012 MR 340 Part Two: I'm Pretty Sure Everyone but Patrick Is Going To Die

Read part one here if you missed it.

It was 4:00 am when I gave up any attempt at sleep. The alarm would be going off in half an hour anyway and there was no reason to wake the rest of the house so I just shut it off and hit the shower. The night before the MR 340, even for ground crew, offers fitful sleep at best. Your mind races over a mental checklist and struggles to figure out what you're forgetting. Tent? Check. Water? Check. Ice? I'll get that on the way. Insect repellent, coolers, food, sun block, clothes, towels, toilet paper, flashlights, batteries, phone charger, hat and knife? Check. Drill, Skil saw, nail gun, Chainsaw, flare gun, body armor, twin Glocks, holsters, extra magazines, 12 guage, shells, land mines, a bandolier lined with Russian grenades and an EMP device? Pretty sure Jeff will have all that. By five I was at the Quik-Trip loading up on ice but I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that I was forgetting something.

"Shit! Paddlers!"

Luckily I hadn't gone very far. It would have been a real pain to come back for them after the race started and I was halfway to Lexington. I stopped by Mike's house and tossed him in the back of the car with the rest of the gear, then Jeff's and we were off to Kaw Point.

Patrick, after a couple of weeks of uncertainty following the Freedom Race, had decided he was not up for the 340 and bowed out. Since there wasn't much of an opportunity to find a replacement, (any paddler capable of enduring the race was already signed up) Mike and Jeff had spent the last week re-rigging the 27 foot black behemoth as a tandem. They had already proven it could work, finishing the Freedom Race as a duo, and by removing the center seat and various other bits of dead weight it should run almost as fast as its three man configuration.

The night before, we left it at Kaw Point with at least 100 other boats before signing in and dutifully attending the mandatory safety meeting which was by far the best one yet. With a record number of entrants the room was more full than we had ever seen it and Scott did a fantastic job as always. I have always considered the safety meeting to be my favorite part of the MR 340 but I'm a big fan of air conditioning so take that however you like.

That morning, Kaw Point was a madhouse. Even with a ton of entrants pulling out there were roughly 300 boats and more than twice that many people covering every square inch of land near the ramp. Instead of the usual one news van there were three. It looked like the Missouri American Water MR 340 had hit the big time. The solos were crowding the ramp to put in for their early start and teams and tandems were getting set to go in as soon as the solos were off. The staggered start was necessary with so many boats and it made what could have been a real mess go very smoothly.


Get ready!


Set!


Go! 

Lexington: Oh good, it's hot again.

I always get to the first checkpoint too early. The first stretch of the race is one of the longest and the car is fully stocked so there is no point in stopping anywhere. Even if I dilly-dally I'm there an hour after the race starts and then it's 6 more hours of staring at the river before anything happens. It was boiling hot out by 10 am and there wasn't a shade tree for miles.

I did manage to use the time to figure out how to track the guys on my phone using their SmartTracker. I was able to see where they were, how fast they were going and their estimated arrival time at the next checkpoint as long as I had a cell signal. Boats finally started showing up just before 1:00 pm and more than a few would be leaving on the tops of cars. One paddler, and I still don't know who or why, left Lexington in an ambulance. The mood of the waiting ground crews deflated quickly after that and by the time The Paddlephiles pulled in at 3:30 the ramp was all business. They weren't making the best time, but they were in good shape despite the heat. They took on some water and shoved off for Waverly.

Yada yada yada, the boys make Waverly at 7:10 and take a longer break for some warm ramp-burgers in the shade. Now it was time to discuss a plan for the night. The next checkpoint is Miami. With the sun setting and things cooling down we decided to skip stopping there and go straight for Glasgow. This would allow the guys to bank some time against the checkpoint cut-off times, plus it's a much better place to camp than Miami facilities-wise. Frankly, we've always considered stopping for the night in Miami to be a mistake. Getting as far as you can possibly get on the first day is crucial. It's the only day you'll be fresh and ready to paddle. So it was settled, they would check themselves through Miami so I could head straight for Glasgow and make camp. Worst case scenario they would have to stop and sleep on a sand bar which, thanks to the drought, there were plenty of. I didn't expect them to make it until 6 am and not having slept much the night before I was in the tent and asleep by 10.


Mmmm... ramp burgers.

At 5:00 I was up and off to Casey's General Store in Glasgow, the center of their universe as far as I can tell, and grabbed some coffee and ice. The boy scouts were selling hot breakfasts at the ramp so I figured I'd get the guys to eat and then get some rack time. I tried to check the SpotTracker and see when they would be getting in, but Glasgow has always been the absolute worst stop on the race when it comes to cell signals. Not only could I not find them on SpotTracker, I couldn't report back to Julie who was keeping the rest of the Paddlesphere updated via Facebook. I couldn't even call 911 if I had to. All I could do was sit at the ramp and wait. And wait...

By 8:00 it was pretty clear they had stopped to get some sleep along the way. I had no way of knowing how long they stopped or where they were so I had no idea how long I would be waiting. If I wanted to get a cell signal to track them I'd have to drive to Booneville and I couldn't leave for that long since they could be showing up any minute. As the morning wore on, I did drive around Glasgow a bit hoping to find some kind of signal. I managed to get maybe half a bar, which was enough to receive a text from Julie who had been following the SpotTracker. She said it looked like only one of them was paddling. So now I knew they were moving slow. The signal was gone before I could reply though so I still had no idea how far away they were or when they might arrive. More waiting.

They finally coasted in about noon and we pulled the boat out of the way and got them off the water for a while. The extra 6 hours out there without meeting up had run them out of everything. Maybe stopping in Miami wouldn't have been such a bad idea after all. Jeff was restocking the boat when Mike came up the ramp looking for food. The hot breakfast burritos had been replaced by hot pulled pork sandwiches which, good as they were, are not ideal meals for endurance paddling. Mike was eating one anyway when he dropped the bomb on me.

"I'm done..."

Read the thrilling conclusion!

2012 MR 340 Part One: I'm Pretty Sure We're All Going to Die

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

Paddlephiles Q&A

So is this still a thing or what?
YES! I know you're all hungry and not getting enough bloggage in your diets. Fear not! The Paddlephiles ARE still a thing and peak Paddlephile season is nigh upon us.

Why doesn't anything get posted on this blog ever?
Well you see I'm a busy man and paddling is somewhat seasonal. Generally this blog is reserved for major stories or developments. However, we do post shorter updates a lot more frequently on our facebook page, which you should 'like' if you want more up to the minute Paddlephile news.

Are The Paddlephiles going to be in the 340 this year?
Does a wild bear steal pic-a-nic baskets and maul campers in the woods? Of course! The seventh annual Missouri American Water MR 340 will be held July 31 - August 3rd, 2012.

What is this peculiar growth on the back of my neck?
We'll have to biopsy that to be certain but from the look of it I'd say some sort of interface for an alien probe. Are you prone to blackouts or memory gaps? Or it could just be a mole or something. I don't know I'm not a doctor or scientist or anything.

Umm.... ok. Is there anything else I should know?
Lots! We got a new boat that I'll be telling you about soon. Tomorrow we'll be in the 62 mile Freedom Race  to help us gear up for the 340. I'll be reporting on that soon as well.

That's all for now. Get on that facebooky thing and stay tuned here for more.

Paddle on!

We Made It Home Alive

It's going to take me a bit to write up our tale. I just wanted to let everyone know that we managed to not die out there. Believe me that was quite an accomplishment.

More to come!

Race Day!

Just a quick note to let everyone know we'll be heading for Manhattan, KS in about 30 minutes to get this show on the road. This race will be uncharted territory for us but we're hoping our experience will carry us through. There are some serious concerns, particularly the heat. 100 degrees today, 101 tomorrow. I don't know about the heat index and I don't think I want to.

There is also a bit of a dark cloud today as last week a fellow paddler lost his life training for this race. This was not related to the heat as far as we know. It seems he tried to take the dam in Topeka by boat and didn't make it. Our hearts go out to his family and I know everyone in the race will be thinking about him.

The race starts this evening so with any luck we'll avoid the worst of the heat until tomorrow. I'll update as I can. For now, I gotta run.

Ever have one of those years where nothing goes right?

Welcome back Paddlephans!

If you follow this blog you know the MR 340 should be right around the corner. If you follow the news, you know there's no way that could happen. For those who's only source of news is this blog, I'll elaborate.

The Missouri River is a complete mess. It's flooded from the Dakotas to the Mississippi. Something about snow melt and rain and every reservoir from Nebraska to the North Pole dumping water into it. So, long story short, no 340 this year.

It would be easy to feel bad for our little race community that we don't get to be a part of this amazing event this year, and we hope everything is back to normal for next year, but that isn't what's important right now. This flooding is hurting a lot of communities, farmers and wildlife a lot more than it's hurting us. Our hearts go out to them and we are hopeful that things return to normal for them a lot sooner than next year.

So now what?

Lucky for us, the fantastic people at River Miles have very quickly organized a new race so we still have something to do on vacation. It's not like I was going to tell my boss the MR 340 got cancelled so I'm available to work next week.

The Kawnivore!

94 miles on the Kaw, from Manhattan to Lawrence KS. I know what you're thinking. "That sounds easy." It's not. The Missouri River is deep, wide and fast. You can do 3 miles an hour on it without even paddling. The Kaw is none of these things. It is shallow, braided with sandbars and so slow as to be practically stagnant. There are portages where the guys will have to get out and carry the boat across the highway. Every mile on this river must be fought for and earned.

We're still scrambling with last minute planning so I don't have a lot of detail for you right now. It looks like Patrick has misplaced his testicles and may not be paddling. I'm not sure who, if anyone, will replace him. I know it won't be me, as I too have misplaced my testicles.

The race starts next Friday, July 22nd, so keep your browser glued to this page and your eyes glued to your monitor over the next week and a half as we embark on another wacky Paddlephiles adventure!