I got up today, cleaned Becky's house, and thanked my kind hosts -- it was time to move on. Dave dropped me off at the Challenge Alaska office [note: Challenge Alaska is an organization that helps people with physical disabilities participate in sports and recreational activities]. Thus began a new chapter of my trip. I had now officially gone from vacationer to volunteer.
I met tons of new people today, and it will probably be a few days before I have them all sorted out. First I met Steve, an enthusiastic, friendly volunteer at the Challenge Alaska office, who immediately won me over. He told me all about his life. He said that even though his health hasn't been that good lately -- he has cerebral palsy, and his condition is worsening -- he still keeps as busy as possible working a variety of volunteer jobs (including a stint every year working the telethon for muscular dystrophy, an affliction to which he's lost many friends). Despite the tragic deaths of loved ones and his own deteriorating health, Steve has managed to wear a smile through it all ("You gotta keep going," he told me.) I admired his strength.
Next I met Jim, a full time employee of Challenge Alaska, who is a combination of every hippie/Dead-Head stereotype you can come up with (part Maynard G. Krebs, part Shaggy and part Jerry Garcia). He has a scroungy brown beard and the most laid back attitude this side of the Big Sur. In our brief, initial conversation, he told me there is a standing open invitation to any travelers or vagrants to use his home as a rest stop. I also learned that he is the complete opposite of little ol' me in terms of health consciousness: he's done every drug under the sun and eats anything greasy or patently unhealthy. (The funny part is that he'll probably outlive me, because he's so stress free!).
I wanted to learn more about my new beatnik buddy, but there was lots to do, and Steve put me right to work. My first job was to file down the sealant around a nut & bolt on a custom-made water ski (adapted for a local amputee) -- not exactly glamorous work, but I'd like to think I performed it adeptly. Then we took the CA van to the do-it-yourself car wash, and I got to use a waterjet gun for the first time in my life-- that was kinda cool. Next it was off to Radio Shack, where we had to buy some walkie-talkies. Finally, Jim treated me to some pizza at a joint called Round Table. It was at this point that we had a chance to slow down a little and get to know each other better -- our ensuing conversation confirmed my initial impressions of what a great guy Jim really is.
When we returned to the office, I was bombarded with new faces: I met three women from Germany (Birgit [Bonn] / Daniele [Heidleberg] / Katya [Frankfurt]); two volunteers from the Netherlands (Marian [from the Holland countryside] / Johann [Amsterdam], who sported a twisted left arm with a permanently cocked elbow -- a birth defect which he'd long since made peace with; three fellow New Yorkers (Andrea [Queens] / Patty [Long Island] / Chase [Manhattan -- I'm not kidding! Do you think I can make this stuff up?!]; six other Americans (Houston [Colorado] / Val [Oklahoma] / Merritt [South Carolina] / Win [North Carolina] / Ken [New Jersey] / Trent [Alaska]; Whatshername from Greece; Whosit from Australia; and a whole host of others from around the globe. (Eventually, I was to learn that there are some 60 volunteers, all told -- many from Volunteers For Peace, like myself, some from YSI, a group based in Raleigh, and others just on their own).
After preparing a big community dinner (every one pitched in) and getting to know each other a little better, we all watched an introductory video about Challenge Alaska and learned how we would be assisting at the Midnite Sun Wheelchair Marathon (a grueling 367 mile / 9 day race from Fairbanks to Anchorage). Essentially, we are going to be divvied up into 13 smaller groups, each group serving as a support crew for one of the racers. Every one in the crew would be assigned a primary task. Some volunteers will haul trailers or drive equipment vehicles for the athletes (supposedly, I will be driving a pick up truck for a racer named Kem Hearns), and others will be pilot car drivers and/or "trainers" (a combination of motivator, massagist and all-around personal assistant).
After the meeting, I was dropped off here at the University of Alaska dorms along with Chase, Ken, Katya, Birgit, Daniele and a new girl named Renu. We all sat around talking for a while and played a card game called "Asshole" (named "eponymously" for the loser of each round, which I was unbelievably crowned twice in 4 games). Then we all went to find a room (6 beds, 7 people -- guess who's sleeping on the floor tonight? That's right -- it's me, King of the Assholes!).
We will all be leaving tomorrow morning at 8:00 a.m. to go back to the office. Once there, I will make preparations to leave on an eight hour (!) drive to Fairbanks (we are scheduled to depart at 10:30). Well, it's getting late -- we'll talk more tomorrow.
Showing posts with label Alaska '93 (2): Wheelchair Marathon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Alaska '93 (2): Wheelchair Marathon. Show all posts
Alaska: Day 17: 7-22-93: The Long And Winding Road (Anchorage To Fairbanks)
(Note: As I write this, it's really 10:45 p.m. on 7-23, but the last two days have been SO hectic, that I'm only now getting the chance to write.)
I should have known things were going to get a little hairy today when my "10:30" departure turned into 4:15 (!). After being juggled around all afternoon (I was reassigned 3 or 4 times), I was finally given the unwieldy task of driving the 15-foot Challenger van hooked up to an 18-foot trailer. Never having pulled a trailer before -- much less on an 8 hour drive -- I was nervous, to say the least (plus, I'm not exactly the world's best driver [or navigator]. All things considered, you really don't want me behind the wheel of a swerving megaton vehicle). Jenny, the volunteer assigned to accompany me, was even more stressed out. Together, we tried valiantly, but vainly, to convince the powers that be to give us a different task. We were assured that we would learn the ropes in no time and there was "nothing to worry about." Neither of us was particularly calmed by this patronizing hand stroke -- we were well aware that plenty of things could go wrong (like getting lost, wrecking the trailer or plummeting off the mountain road to a fiery death [worst-case scenario]).
Of course, in the end, we acquiesced (for what choice did we have?). On the road, I quickly learned (the hard way) some basic tenets of trailer hauling: don't travel above 50 mph; don't slam on the brakes; don't make sharp turns; and NEVER get in a position where you have to back up! It was anxious going at first, but eventually, I got the hang of it (sort of). As you can imagine, an eight hour drive can become quite tedious, and only two things kept me sane and awake -- the scenic view and Jenny's conversation. You really get to know someone over the course of 400 miles, and by the end of the trip, Jenny and I became friends. We talked about everything from careers & relationships to peppermint lifesavers (a candy that Jenny sheepishly confessed an addiction to, as evidenced by the 4 [!] rolls she consumed on our drive), and spent most of the trip laughing away our nervousness (both of us were tickled pink by the comic parallel between us and Lucille Ball/Desi Arnaz in The Long Long Trailer.)
I should have known things were going to get a little hairy today when my "10:30" departure turned into 4:15 (!). After being juggled around all afternoon (I was reassigned 3 or 4 times), I was finally given the unwieldy task of driving the 15-foot Challenger van hooked up to an 18-foot trailer. Never having pulled a trailer before -- much less on an 8 hour drive -- I was nervous, to say the least (plus, I'm not exactly the world's best driver [or navigator]. All things considered, you really don't want me behind the wheel of a swerving megaton vehicle). Jenny, the volunteer assigned to accompany me, was even more stressed out. Together, we tried valiantly, but vainly, to convince the powers that be to give us a different task. We were assured that we would learn the ropes in no time and there was "nothing to worry about." Neither of us was particularly calmed by this patronizing hand stroke -- we were well aware that plenty of things could go wrong (like getting lost, wrecking the trailer or plummeting off the mountain road to a fiery death [worst-case scenario]).
Of course, in the end, we acquiesced (for what choice did we have?). On the road, I quickly learned (the hard way) some basic tenets of trailer hauling: don't travel above 50 mph; don't slam on the brakes; don't make sharp turns; and NEVER get in a position where you have to back up! It was anxious going at first, but eventually, I got the hang of it (sort of). As you can imagine, an eight hour drive can become quite tedious, and only two things kept me sane and awake -- the scenic view and Jenny's conversation. You really get to know someone over the course of 400 miles, and by the end of the trip, Jenny and I became friends. We talked about everything from careers & relationships to peppermint lifesavers (a candy that Jenny sheepishly confessed an addiction to, as evidenced by the 4 [!] rolls she consumed on our drive), and spent most of the trip laughing away our nervousness (both of us were tickled pink by the comic parallel between us and Lucille Ball/Desi Arnaz in The Long Long Trailer.)
--------------------------------"The Deathmobile"--------------------------------------
Our backs stiff and our asses numb, we did a celebratory limp when we finally made it to the University at Fairbanks at 12:15 in the morning, just as the sun was setting (it was a stunner -- like a luminous orange ball drifting in a pink-purple sea). We arrived to a scene of utter chaos. All the volunteers -- some 30 or 40 at this point -- were milling around aimlessly, wondering just where it was they were supposed to go and what exactly they were supposed to do (They reminded me of the zombies in "Dawn of the Dead"). There was no leadership and no order. The head volunteers were all in a meeting at some undisclosed locale, and they left little or no instructions. People weren't even sure where to sleep or what time they had to gather in the morning.
The more people I talked to, the more I realized how pathetically disorganized this event was (every question I asked was met with blank faces or ambiguous, often contradictory, responses). I was aghast -- and somewhat pissed -- that no one was in control or could give me a clear picture of just what the Hell was going on. I could see I was not alone in my frustration: everybody seemed miffed at something or other, but no one knew exactly whom to blame. Finally, Minty Fresh Jenny could take it no longer, and she set off to find someone in charge.
As for myself, I decided to take a shower and eat a box of Wheat Thins (my dinner -- there had been a big banquet for everyone else, but, of course, it was long over by the time Jenny and I arrived!). While I waited for some direction, I chatted with Andrea, Merrit, Gabriel and Andy. They were really upset, because Andrea had lost the keys to their rental car, and all their stuff was locked in the trunk (eventually, Andy ripped out the back seat -- I wonder if insurance covers that? -- and managed to get to the backpacks; the key would ultimately turn up the following day, which was a good thing, because the rental was slated to be one of the pilot cars for the race).
Finally, at about 2:00 in the morning, Jenny came back with some decisive information, including wake up time (6:00 -- I winced) and our permanent assignment (Yep, you guessed it -- we were to keep driving the frickin' trailer!). Well, by now it was late, and most everyone had chosen a place to sleep (there were no more beds to be had, natch -- par for the course!). Utterly exhausted, Jenny and I decided to sleep together in the trailer's bed, figuring we might as well get some positive use out of the hunk of steel that was to be our week-long "ball and chain." (Note: knowing your lascivious side, dear reader, maybe I should clear something up. Though we slept in the same bed, Jenny and I were in separate sleeping bags and nothing untoward occured -- shame on you for what you thought! I have a girlfriend, after all, as well as a reputation to consider.) Jenny and I talked a little more, reminiscing about the day's jaunt, until we laughed ourselves to sleep around 3:30.
Alaska: Day 18: 7-23-93: The Wheelchair Marathon Begins
After a completely unsatisfying 2 1/2 hours of sleep, I opened my groggy eyes at 6:00 a.m. and reluctantly crawled out of bed. I had a growling stomach, a pounding head and a bursting bladder, but prompt amelioration was not in the cards. From the moment my feet hit the floor, it was nonstop chicken-with-its-head-cut-off craziness. The early morning silence I had grown accustomed to was suddenly shattered with buzzing chaos. Where was the meeting? Was there any breakfast? Where does the race start? How do we get there? etc.
Eventually, a head volunteer arrived to answer some of our questions and hand out assignments. Through some perverted twist of Fate, I was put in charge of the CB radios and emergency lights. As a person who has vehemently endeavored my whole life to avoid mechanical knowledge and skill of any sort, I found it amusing that, in the past 24 hours, I was given the responsibility of handling the company van, a mammoth trailer, and radio & electrical equipment. It was all I could do to keep from laughing when volunteers started asking me how the equipment worked (I started wondering if there might be a hidden camera someplace, and I vowed to keep my eyes open for Allen Funt's shiny dome!). Surprisingly, it somehow all worked out in the end. I'm not one to toot my own horn (though I did try once when I was 13 -- ha-ha!), but I think I fared pretty darn well this morning -- I even managed (on a wing and a prayer) to fix a few non-functioning CB's.
My other morning task was traffic control at one of the initial waypoints: namely, I was told to slow down and/or divert any oncoming vehicles while simultaneously directing the racers down the appropriate route. When I asked whether I truly had the authority to do such a thing, I was handed a bright orange highway worker's vest and told, "you do now." (According to what other volunteers who were on traffic detail told me later in the day, most drivers really will follow orders blindly when you wear one of those things; though, of course, we had no true power out there on the road, nor permission from local law enforcement, who were our true "traffic cops" -- we were only sent out when the police were not around to help us.) Unfortunately, I never got a chance to perform my duty. The hurriedly and primitively sketched map I was given -- of a city I've never been in, no less -- combined with my inherent navigational impairment, led to a forgone conclusion: I didn't find the right street in time! (Luckily, other volunteers did.)
After unceremoniously crumpling the map and tossing it on the floor mat, I drove on to the halfway point of today's 48 mile leg of the race to cheer and assist the athletes as they arrived. Being in the thick of things (watching the wheelchairs roll in, applauding with my fellow volunteers, talking to the racers) for the first time, finally made me feel part of something special, and I couldn't help but get caught up in all the adrenaline-charged excitement.
Eventually, a head volunteer arrived to answer some of our questions and hand out assignments. Through some perverted twist of Fate, I was put in charge of the CB radios and emergency lights. As a person who has vehemently endeavored my whole life to avoid mechanical knowledge and skill of any sort, I found it amusing that, in the past 24 hours, I was given the responsibility of handling the company van, a mammoth trailer, and radio & electrical equipment. It was all I could do to keep from laughing when volunteers started asking me how the equipment worked (I started wondering if there might be a hidden camera someplace, and I vowed to keep my eyes open for Allen Funt's shiny dome!). Surprisingly, it somehow all worked out in the end. I'm not one to toot my own horn (though I did try once when I was 13 -- ha-ha!), but I think I fared pretty darn well this morning -- I even managed (on a wing and a prayer) to fix a few non-functioning CB's.
My other morning task was traffic control at one of the initial waypoints: namely, I was told to slow down and/or divert any oncoming vehicles while simultaneously directing the racers down the appropriate route. When I asked whether I truly had the authority to do such a thing, I was handed a bright orange highway worker's vest and told, "you do now." (According to what other volunteers who were on traffic detail told me later in the day, most drivers really will follow orders blindly when you wear one of those things; though, of course, we had no true power out there on the road, nor permission from local law enforcement, who were our true "traffic cops" -- we were only sent out when the police were not around to help us.) Unfortunately, I never got a chance to perform my duty. The hurriedly and primitively sketched map I was given -- of a city I've never been in, no less -- combined with my inherent navigational impairment, led to a forgone conclusion: I didn't find the right street in time! (Luckily, other volunteers did.)
After unceremoniously crumpling the map and tossing it on the floor mat, I drove on to the halfway point of today's 48 mile leg of the race to cheer and assist the athletes as they arrived. Being in the thick of things (watching the wheelchairs roll in, applauding with my fellow volunteers, talking to the racers) for the first time, finally made me feel part of something special, and I couldn't help but get caught up in all the adrenaline-charged excitement.
Following the mandatory 1/2 hour break, I watched the racers as they set off on the second half of the opening day stretch. I was totally amazed at the strength of the competitors and the speed of their wheelchairs -- they cruised!
-----Racers Take Their Places At The Mid-Leg Starting Line--------
-------------------------(On Your Mark . . . Get Set . . . )--------------------------
------------------------------------------(Go!)----------------------------------------------
After the rubber cooled at the first-leg finish line, a French Canadian racer named Andre was declared the winner and presented with a yellow "bib" in recognition of his achievement. He set a blistering pace, posting the fastest first-leg time in the 10 year history of the marathon, and left only three others (Tony [2nd], Jeff [3rd] and Michel [4th]) with a realistic chance of ever catching him. I cheered Andre's victory and Michel's 4th place finish with a little more enthusiasm than the others, because they are the two racers staying in the trailer I'm hauling, and I had already begun to think of myself as part of their team. (I unofficially named the nine of us (Andre, Michel, Andre Noel [Michel's trainer], Val, Andrea, Merritt, Gabrielle, Odile and myself) "Team Quebec," since Andre and Michel both hailed from there).
-------------------------------------"Team Quebec"-------------------------------------
Once all the racers made it in, every one headed over to the campsite du jour (we would be staying somewhere new each night, as we progressed along the marathon route). I was anxious to settle in and get better acquainted with the athletes. The more I got to know them, the more impressed I became with their abilities and attitudes. They all had a tale to tell about their individual fates, backstories filled with car accidents (Andre, Tony, Ken, Ed, Larry & Kem), strokes (Steve & Wayne), a rugby injury (Bob), a construction accident (Joe), a fire (Jeff), a Motocross crash (Doug) and even a tragic fall down a mine shaft (Michel). Although they were all "handicapped" by society's reckoning (whether amputees, paraplegics or mobility impaired), they were more capable than most Average Joes. Several of them had competed in wheelchair marathons all throughout the world and a few were genuine Olympic medalists (including Andre, who had won gold at the Barcelona Paralympic Games -- no wonder he blew out the competition today!). They were champions in every sense of the word -- and yet, tragically, they were virtual unknowns. It is a sad comment on our society indeed, that athletes with disabilities receive so little public recognition (for instance, until today I didn't know that the Olympic Games even had a Paralympic component, much less the names of the competitors; they certainly aren't televised during Prime Time, if at all) -- they are just as, if not more, deserving of our praise.
Please allow for a short break in the narrative, whilst I get down off my soap box . . .
Thank You.
After catering to the racers, Val and I decided to explore the outlying town of Nenana. To tell the truth, it wasn't really anything to write home about (2 cafes, a knick-knack store, and -- of all things -- a law office (!) . . . next to a 24 hour laundromat . . . convenient AND classy . . . maybe Jason should eventually hang his shingle here, as he would be sure to make a name for himself!).
On the way back to the campsite, Val and I met a 12-year-old boy named Ricky. Ricky was driving the coolest ATV I'd ever seen. He was real friendly, and when we asked for a ride, he didn't even think twice. Val climbed on beside him, and I hopped on the grate in front of the steering wheel. Boy, could that thing move -- it was a bumpy ride, but one I won't soon forget!
Just as we returned to camp, clouds moved in, followed quickly by the worst Alaskan rainstorm I'd seen yet. I was forced to pitch my tent in the downpour, and it got soaked before I could attach the protective cover. On top of this, I discovered that I had mistakenly left my raincoat back in Fairbanks, 50 miles away (!) -- so I got drenched, too.
Then we found out that the boys from Eisener Air Force (who are graciously preparing all our meals) somehow "lost" our chicken dinner, so we all ended up going to one of the aforementioned cafes in town for some mediocre salmon (lack of tastiness notwithstanding, I downed the salmon in record time -- it was my first meal in a day and a half!). I sat at a table with Val, Odile, Michel and his trainer, Andre Noel. They were a nice bunch of people, though I felt somewhat out of place because every one spoke French but me. (They chucked me a few bones of highly accented English now and then).
By the end of dinner, I was fat-eh-gooed and ready for a good night's sleep. Alas, I was destined not to get it. Various work on the trailer and van kept me busy for three hours, and a conversation with Val (my tent mate), for another two. When I finally drifted off to sleep at 12:30, one haunting thought echoed continually in my dreams ("Wake up! It's 5:00!").
Alaska: Day 19: 7-24-93: A "Marathon Family" Forms
Thankfully, this morning was a little more laid back. I even had time to pee and snatch a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs and pancakes (DEEE-licious! -- I'll never knock "army rations" [or at least, air force rations] again) before attending to my tasks. The day played out much like yesterday, including the rain and Andre's victory (though he won only by a split second this time, as Tony was neck-and-neck with him the entire length of the 2nd leg).
----Andre Gets Iced Down By Volunteers After 2nd Leg Victory----
(Tony and Michel, Who Placed 2nd And 3rd Today, Are In Back)
The daily Anchorage and Fairbanks newspapers both had cover stories (with big color photos) on the wheelchair marathon, including excerpts from an interview I had witnessed the day before. Lew Friedman, a sport's writer for The Anchorage Daily, and one of the reporters covering the event, handed me a copy of the paper and we chatted for quite a while. During the course of our conversation, it started pouring, and I mentioned my forgotten raincoat. As luck would have it, Lew said that he was travelling to Fairbanks today, and he kindly offered to retrieve my raincoat and bring it to me tomorrow. I thanked him profusely!
As always, Jen and I had trouble with the trailer. If it's not one thing, it's another. Today's issues included a faulty refrigeration unit and a temperamental pilot light -- it took us forever to get hot water! But the main hitch is . . . the hitch -- detaching and reattaching the trailer is a nightmare, and it continues to swerve too much for my liking.
The mosquitoes were another problem, but I've given up trying to conquer them (just try not to take too much of my blood, okay?).
But in the scope of things, these are really trivial complaints. All in all, it was quite an enjoyable day, and I can honestly say that I feel a part of something truly unique and wonderful. I spent much of the evening just observing our camp -- with the myriad of tents gathered in a comfy cluster, and every one eating / working / playing together, it's as if we are all members of some bygone Utopian commune. We're definitely growing closer every day, and despite the occasional chaos and mishaps, I'm glad to be a member of this new "family."
Alaska: Day 20: 7-25-93: Cycling, Rafting, Swimming And Counting My Blessings
Today was a great day! I had a lot of fun, and I learned to better appreciate my good health and (relatively) fortunate life. It's certainly not every day you can say that.
After a rainy, restless night, I awoke to sun-sun-sun, and I decided to have fun-fun-fun (. . . til my Daddy takes the trailer away). I managed to borrow a bicycle, which I excitedly piled into the van. After dropping off Andre and Michel at the starting line, I zipped over to the halfway point of today's leg of the race. Then I straddled the bike and rode back down the George Park's Highway to meet up with the racers. My plan was to hook up with Wayne (a real gregarious guy and the marathon's only "unofficial racer" -- because he uses cranks to help himself along). He was one of the slower racers, habitually near the back of the pack, and I thought I could help keep him motivated and provide him with some company. Cycling through the Alaskan countyside was incredibly exhilarating! It felt good to finally get some exercise (and offered much better ambiance than the Jack Lalanne back home). After seven miles of pedaling (stopping only once to take a nice photo of the leaders racing along the scenic highway) I caught up to Wayne, and I fell in stride with him, Anastasia (a fellow volunteer with the same idea as I), Ed (an equally slow-paced racer) and Ed's helper. All five of us talked and joked our way to the midway point, completing the long journey and near last place finish with big smiles on our faces.
---------------Kem (in front) With Some Of The Other Racers-------------
--------------Daniele And I At One Of The Finish Lines-------------------
After a quick call to Christine (it was so good to hear her voice), I retired to my room (that's right my room -- no tent for me tonight!) and went straight to bed, falling asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow. It had been an emotionally draining day, to say the least.
After a rainy, restless night, I awoke to sun-sun-sun, and I decided to have fun-fun-fun (. . . til my Daddy takes the trailer away). I managed to borrow a bicycle, which I excitedly piled into the van. After dropping off Andre and Michel at the starting line, I zipped over to the halfway point of today's leg of the race. Then I straddled the bike and rode back down the George Park's Highway to meet up with the racers. My plan was to hook up with Wayne (a real gregarious guy and the marathon's only "unofficial racer" -- because he uses cranks to help himself along). He was one of the slower racers, habitually near the back of the pack, and I thought I could help keep him motivated and provide him with some company. Cycling through the Alaskan countyside was incredibly exhilarating! It felt good to finally get some exercise (and offered much better ambiance than the Jack Lalanne back home). After seven miles of pedaling (stopping only once to take a nice photo of the leaders racing along the scenic highway) I caught up to Wayne, and I fell in stride with him, Anastasia (a fellow volunteer with the same idea as I), Ed (an equally slow-paced racer) and Ed's helper. All five of us talked and joked our way to the midway point, completing the long journey and near last place finish with big smiles on our faces.
-------------------------"Movin' On Down The Highway . . ."-------------------
Today's first place bib went predictably to Andre (will he win them all?!), widening his already comfortable overall lead, and Tony claimed the 2nd spot once again, as well. But the race for third place was more exciting and suspenseful . . .
First, some background:
During the first couple days of the marathon, with only a few minutes separating them each time, Jeff had come in third and Michel had to settle for fourth. Consequently, at the start of today's race, Michel was fourth place in the cumulative rankings and a good 6 minutes out of "medal contention" (prize money was only awarded to the top three finishers). After the first half of today's leg, wherein Michel made up some ground, Jeff's lead was winnowed down to mere seconds. Thus Jeff and Michel were virtually tied (Jeff retained a narrow lead) when the "back nine" of the leg began. Michel and Jeff stayed together during the second half of the race, jockeying for position only to "draft" each other (basically, they took turns using one another as a human windshield in order to conserve energy) -- that is, until the last mile or so . . .
. . . Which brings us back to the narrative proper:
As Jeff and Michel came down the final stretch, they remained positioned in their typical 3rd and 4th spots, respectively, with barely a car's length between them. Suddenly, Michel shot forward with a surge of power, rocketing past Jeff (like he was standing still!) and crossing the finish line with a dramatic third place finish. It was an amazing thing to witness! Even more importantly, Michel's margin of victory was just enough to move him up to third place overall in the standings, supplanting Jeff as a potential prize winner.
Subsequent to this, Michel's whole mood and personality have changed. Typically a nice, but quiet (even sombre) man, Michel has been beaming all afternoon. He is pumped up about his showing today and psyched about the possibility of finishing out the marathon in third place (or better). His excitement is contagious, and I found myself rooting for him to win the whole thing (though catching his fellow countryman may be nigh impossible). For now, I was just thrilled to be chauffeuring around two of the top three racers in the field -- it felt good to be part of a winning team! Go Team Quebec!
When we arrived at our new campsite (a lodge actually -- it has a bar-equipped gathering hall and indoor sleeping quarters, both of which we will make use of tonight), Jim was organizing a rafting trip down the Nenana River. Coincidentally, it is the very same whitewater Canyon Run that I had passed up, in favor of a calmer ride, earlier in my trip -- except this time it was free! As soon as we arrived at the pre-trip staging area and were shown the get-up we had to wear, I knew I was in for a completely different rafting experience from the camera-friendly "pleasure cruise" last time out. Whereas before I just slipped on rubber pants and boots, now there was a complete dry suit ensemble (we were told that since the water was less than 40 degrees and rough enough to toss us out of the raft, we would run a real risk of hypothermia without it). Now, I believe in safety as much as the next guy, but this rafting company went a little overboard (no pun intended . . . well, maybe). I was to be outfitted in a futuristic rubber suit, Neoprene booties, wool gloves -- in turn, covered with rubber gloves, wool caps and neon life vests. The guide who modeled for us was an odd hybrid: he looked like part astronaut, part scuba diver and part SWAT, with a little Star Trek thrown in. The strangest part of the whole thing is that the guides wouldn't even let us dress ourselves (they said the suits were too expensive), so a guy named T.J. zipped me up -- without even buying me dinner first, might I add!
I was assigned to the same raft as Chase, Kem (the racer I was originally supposed to assist), an older volunteer with her son & daughter and a 14-year-old airforce groupie (his father is stationed at Eilson). On the walk down to the river's edge, I had a brief conversation with Kem and saw at once how positive, upbeat and garrulous Kem is (it wouldn't be until the evening that I would learn just how amazing his attitude is!). I also witnessed firsthand how adept Kem is at maneuvering his wheelchair: he reared back and worked his way down the steep, rocky embankment without once putting the front of his chair down or losing his balance (and to think when I first saw the slope, I was certain I would have to help carry Kem down to the raft!).
The raft trip was awesome! The rapids were merely mid-grade (mostly class 3), but it was a thrilling ride nonetheless. Plus, things got really interesting near the end, when the guide told us we could jump out of the raft and "swim" if we wanted to. I thought he was joking at first, but he said the water was calm enough and the high-tech suits would keep us perfectly dry. So naturally, I took the plunge! At first, it was really cool (in more ways than one!) -- I floated down the Nenana, eyes transfixed on the billowy clouds overhead, content to drift wherever the river took me . . . But then the "cool" turned to "cold", and I climbed (was hoisted, actually) back onto the raft. A little later on, we were allowed to go in again, and this time I did a flip into the water (but once again, the chill soon overwhelmed me and I found myself back on the raft -- man, I felt like such a lightweight, because the others who went in the water didn't seem to be bothered by the temperature nearly as much as I).
I decided to remain on the raft for the rest of the trip, turning my attention to the canyon which surrounded us. There was an abandoned train track which ran atop the canyon walls, and steady erosion over the years had caused many signs, sections of track and even small freight cars (maybe mine carts?) to fall into the Nenana. Somewhere up there was a camera crew, which was filming our rafting adventure as part of its one-hour television documentary on the Midnight Sun Wheelchair Marathon (the TV special will air some time next month on local cable channels throughout the country). I kept my eyes peeled for the tell-tale glare of the camera lens, hoping for some extra face time (I have already been caught on film a few times before, but with all the editing yet to be done, who knows if I'll make the final cut -- I'm anxious for my "15 minutes" of fame, though truthfully I'd settle for 15 seconds, which is more likely).
At the end of the trip, all the rafts decided to have a splashing war. It was a brutal battle, and no one escaped unscathed. (I even had a secret weapon -- Jim was following the rafts in his kayak, and I sent him ahead to surprise the enemy.) At the drop-off point, Odeil, Val and I jumped ship and went all out at point blank range. I even tackled Val at the climax of the final salvo.
Soon it was time for the moment of truth -- the guides had sworn up and down that the special suits we wore would keep us absolutely dry (even if we "swam in the river for an hour"), and now we would see if the reality lived up to the hyperbole. Sure enough, one by one, as the outfits came off, all the volunteers were bone dry (including those who had gone swimming with me or gotten mercilessly splashed [or, in the case of Val, submerged] during the water fight. All the volunteers that is, save one. Can you guess who the unlucky SOB was? Yep, 'twas I! Yours Truly was completely drenched (No wonder I had felt so much chillier than the others after that first dip!). Murphy's Law strikes again!
Back at the campsite, I was ushered into the lodge and treated to the best meal of the trip. Over 55 members of the local community turned out to meet & greet the athletes and volunteers, and they served us a wonderful variety of homemade dishes. It was a scrumptious feast, and I ate more than my fill!
After dinner, Andre was awarded $175 and a special trophy for posting the fastest time wheeling up Mt. Healy (yes, that Mt. Healy -- shudder, shudder), which comprised most of today's leg, making it especially difficult. In one of the most gracious and selfless acts I've ever witnessed, Andre gave the money to Don (The Race Chairman) to buy every one drinks with, and he gave his award cup to Tony (Mr. Perpetual Runner-Up), whom he called his "constant inspiration." It was a touching moment.
As if today wasn't inspirational enough, we now get to the most memorable part of the evening. After playing (and decisively routing) Johann and Val in a game of Hearts (Patrick's 10-year-old son, Davin, was my "partner"), I went to the bathroom on the upper floor of the lodge (and no, smarty pants, that's not the memorable part!). I was just heading back down to play another game when something told me to have a look around upstairs. It didn't take long until I heard a familiar voice, which ended up leading me to a room where Kem Hearns was giving a talk. He was seated in the front of the room in his wheelchair, addressing a modest audience of about two dozen people. I was curious as to what this was all about, so I decided to take a seat and listen in. Little did I know that what I was about to hear would change my perspective on life.
Kem was presenting his life story. It seems he wasn't always disabled. In the early eighties, Kem was a promising young athlete (headed for the Olympics, in fact) when his life was dramatically and tragically changed forever. It was New Year's Eve, 1984, and 27-year-old Kem Hearns was driving to a party when a drugged-up teenager broadsided him, sending him into a coma. When he eventually regained consciousness, Kem found himself paralyzed from the eyes down, unable to speak more than 3 or 4 garbled words. He was given little chance to be anything but a vegetable for the rest of his days. Kem was understandably devastated, but he refused to give in to self pity and give up on life.
Slowly, but steadily, over the course of two years, Kem got back his speech and the use of his arms. Eventually, he even regained rudimentary use of his legs, able to walk a little with great effort, though he was still mostly confined to a wheelchair. Until that hoped-for day when Kem might again run marathons on foot, he decided to put his renewed athletic efforts into wheelchair racing, a sport which he quickly proved adept at. All was going well until a year later, when tragedy struck again (in the middle of a wheelchair marathon, no less). Somehow, a car veered into the racing lane, and Kem hit the car head-on, flew 50 feet into the air and landed full-force on his back -- paralyzing him all over again!
Though many people might have thrown in the towel at this point, Kem again refused to quit. With a Herculean effort, and several years of physical therapy, Kem painfully worked his way back into a wheelchair (but he's never again walked so much as a single step). Amazingly, he reentered the world of wheelchair racing and kept pushing himself and improving his abilities, until ultimately setting the world's wheelchair speed record (an astounding 57.5 miles per hour!). But still, this was not enough -- something was missing in Kem's life. It took Devine Inspiration to show him what it was. Kem, who claims God as his hero (never blaming Him for either tragedy, when Kem very well could have started humming Depeche Mode's "Blasphemous Rumours" -- to the contrary, Kem credits God with helping him recover each time), suddenly realized what The Good Lord intended him to do, what he was meant to do: namely, Kem would devote the rest of his life to helping other handicapped individuals get to where he was.
Thus, Kem formed the Kem M. Hearne foundation, an organization dedicated to helping the nation's disabled become self-sufficient. Of course, any foundation needs money to operate, so Kem came up with the idea of gathering sponsors for a series of fund-raising cross country wheelchair journeys. These included a 3,000 mile trip from Disney World to Disneyland, which he completed in an impressive 45 days, and a circuitous 10,000 mile/3 month odyssey (accompanied by the Olympic Torch) from Vancouver, B.C. to New York City. This last trip culminated with Kem pulling himself up 366 steps to the top of The Statue of Liberty, whereupon he lit the Olympic Torch in honor and memory of all disabled people in America (Wow!). When an audience member asked Kem how he traveled such great distances in a wheelchair, he replied simply, "one push at a time." Such events as those described above have brought national recognition to Kem's cause, as well as over a million dollars in donations.
---------------Kem (in front) With Some Of The Other Racers-------------It seems that Michael Landon (yes, Mr. Ingalls himself) heard all about Kem and was so impressed that he wanted to highlight Kem's story in an episode of a new television show he was creating. Unfortunately, Michael died shortly before production was to begin on the new series. Since that time, other people have expressed great interest in producing a movie and/or book about Kem, but he declined these offers because he felt they were exploitative. Recently, however, Kem is in talks with a company he likes which has proposed making a five million dollar movie about his life story entitled, "The Greatest Comeback."
Sadly, Kem may not live to see the film get made. My jaw dropped as Kem completed his monologue with a stunning announcement. Unbelievably, after surmounting all the aforementioned hardships (becoming a better man in the process and an inspiration, even savior, to others with similar handicaps), life has dealt Kem yet another tragic card -- he has cancer. In fact, he's riddled with it. Kem was diagnosed with both Leukemia and Melanoma (including more than two dozen malignant lumps on his body) and the doctors told him he only has 4 months to live! Of course, Kem is the living embodiment of the phrase, "never give up," and even this latest unfortunate turn of events is not bringing him down -- in fact, the doctors' grim prediction was made over a year ago. Kem remains just as optimistic, enthusiastic and extremely outgoing as ever, and to all appearances, he is a happy man. As he does in his marathons and cross country adventures, Kem says he's going to continue tackling the road of life "one push at a time."
As Kem wrapped up and started thanking everyone for coming, the entire audience rose as one to give him a standing ovation, most pausing at least once to wipe away a runaway tear (there wasn't a dry eye in the house).
After recovering from Kem's story, I asked him to autograph a picture for my kindergarten class and gave him a hug. I let him know how deeply his story touched me -- indeed, how it had made me reexamine my own life. (I vowed never again to take my health [or mobility] for granted.)
Needing to do something social and light-hearted before going to bed, I worked my way back downstairs to see if anyone was up for some cards. Davin, Val and Daniele decided to join me. I learned two new card games from Germany: Daniele taught us "Mau Mau" and "Fire." Mau Mau is a lot like Uno, and Fire is a cool game where you sit in a circle and pass cards face down to your neighbor until someone gets 4-of-a-kind.
The evening ended on a final inspirational note, stemming from another tragic life story. I asked Daniele what the problem was with her legs (she spends most of the time in a wheelchair, but I've also seen her walking around), and she told me that she has a rare connective tissue disease. She explained that since the tender age of 12, all of the connective tissue in her body has steadily deteriorated. Hence, she developed lots of problems with her muscles, particularly her legs and shoulders. It wasn't long before her parents sent her to an institution where she was treated as an invalid and made to be totally dependent (the staff didn't let her attempt to walk unaided or even dress herself -- they went as far as to strap her in bed at night for fear that she might roll off and hurt herself).
When Daniele grew too old for the juvenile home and was about to be shipped to a different institution, she patently refused and set off on her own. With lots of pain and effort, Daniele spent the next few years learning (or relearning) to do all the basic things for herself which the rest of us take for granted. More than this however, she recently went back to school for her degree, and she currently has a job in computers. She is now completely independent! I left our conversation incensed with the treachery and daily horrible realities of life in the German juvenile home (this was an institution devoted to treating and caring for the physically disabled?! . . . Daniele might actually have been better off just tossed into the streets!) and impressed with Daniele's courage and determination. I instantly developed a newfound respect and fondness for her.
--------------Daniele And I At One Of The Finish Lines-------------------After a quick call to Christine (it was so good to hear her voice), I retired to my room (that's right my room -- no tent for me tonight!) and went straight to bed, falling asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow. It had been an emotionally draining day, to say the least.
Alaska: Day 21: 7-26-93: Photo Finish, Moose On A Bun And Helicopter Havoc
I awoke refreshed after getting the best night's sleep in days -- a solid six hours, inside a warm, cozy room, without any rain or mosquitoes to disturb my slumber. Ahhhh!
As the leaders rounded the last turn in today's leg, it looked like another typical racing day -- Andre was out in front, with Tony not far behind. I was convinced that Andre was on his way to winning his fourth bib. But then something happened -- in a lightning burst of energy at the finish line, Tony managed to push a wheel's length ahead of Andre, nosing him out by 1 second and capturing his first bib. It was an exciting photo finish, and evidence that maybe this race isn't as wrapped up as every one thought it was (After the first 4 days, Andre leads Tony by about 10 cumulative minutes -- a solid lead, but not insurmountable by any means). Andre vs. Tony should prove to be a suspenseful competition (guaranteed to keep you on the edge of your wheelchair!).
As the leaders rounded the last turn in today's leg, it looked like another typical racing day -- Andre was out in front, with Tony not far behind. I was convinced that Andre was on his way to winning his fourth bib. But then something happened -- in a lightning burst of energy at the finish line, Tony managed to push a wheel's length ahead of Andre, nosing him out by 1 second and capturing his first bib. It was an exciting photo finish, and evidence that maybe this race isn't as wrapped up as every one thought it was (After the first 4 days, Andre leads Tony by about 10 cumulative minutes -- a solid lead, but not insurmountable by any means). Andre vs. Tony should prove to be a suspenseful competition (guaranteed to keep you on the edge of your wheelchair!).
------------------Andre and Tony -- Awesome Competitors!-----------------
Dinner was interesting tonight, due to the rather exotic cuisine. For the first time in my life, I ate moose -- a mooseburger, to be exact. And damn if it wasn't downright tasty! It was a little darker and dryer than beef, and it had a distinct, but indescribable flavor. It was quite heavy though, and I could only eat one.
Today's campsite was unique, to say the least. Everything looked normal enough, at first glance -- a large, relatively flat, grassy area (perfect for tenting, actually). It wasn't until about a dozen of us had our tents pitched that I noticed a sign with small, faded, nondescript letters which read: "Caution: Helicopter Operations". Helicopter operations?! Believe me when I say that I did not like the sound of that! I studied the ground around me more closely, and sure enough, there was a primitave helipad, made of criss-crossed orange streamers, about 20 feet away. As the meaning of this discovery slowly sank in -- I thought to myself, "nothing good can come of this" -- Chase came running over, delivering the following news flash: "The Lady up there says that helicopters land here (no shit), and one is due any minute. She says if we are still here when it lands, our tents will be destroyed, and anyone inside will be killed!" (Hmmm . . . what's the bad news?)
I looked at Chase, then at the sign, and finally at my brand new $230 tent. I lingered on this last as three words drummed repeatedly through my brain -- "due any minute" . . . "due any minute" . . . "due any minute." This incessant line of thought (and my deer-in-the-headlights trance) was suddenly broken by a faint, but unmistakable sound -- thwip - thwip - thwip - thwip -- the inimitable echo of helicopter blades cutting through the air.
Chaos.
I ran to my tent and frantically ripped the stakes out of the ground. I was determined to get it out of harm's way -- I'd throw it if I had to. But it was no use -- the helicopter was already overhead. I looked at the helicopter . . . at the tent . . . at the helicopter . . . at the tent. I was once again paralyzed with indecision -- but only momentarily. The instinct for survival kicked in, and I decided to abandon the tent and save myself, dodging off to a safe distance. (It's funny the strange things that come to mind while in a panic, but as I went ducking for cover, the scene from the opening credits of the M*A*S*H TV series replayed in my head).
As the helicopter drew nearer, I watched with helpless fascination. A moment later, it was all over. The helicopter hovered briefly before floating down and landing . . . about 100 yards away. (Phew!) Only later did one of the Eilson boys tell me that they had talked to the pilot at the last minute and convinced him to change helipads.
As I went to retrieve my tent and move it to a different part of the field, I couldn't help but wonder whose bright idea it was to accommodate both campers and aircraft on the same piece of land (!)
The rest of the evening passed leisurely. I played some volleyball, Frisbee and horseshoes (scoring two ringers in as many tries!).
----------------------------Behold, My Horeshoe Prowess!------------------------
Before going to sleep, Val and I played a "best of 3" Pente match. I won the first game, and she took the last two. (Let the record show that Val was in the Pente Club in the sixth grade). I vowed to avenge my loss tomorrow night and fell asleep.
Alaska: Day 22: 7-27-93: Human Waste, Modified Eskimo Roll And Hypnotherapy
Today's race went the way of the majority: we fell back into the old routine and order of Andre [now officially known as "Andre The Giant"] (1st), Tony (2nd) and Michel (3rd), placements which exactly mirror the overall standings.
After the race, I experienced a new "thrill." I was assigned the less-than-glamorous task of dumping the trailer's waste (conveniently separated and categorized into "body waste" and "liquid waste" -- nice euphemisms, but let's call a spade a spade, shall we: it was shit and piss, and smelled accordingly!) The good news? I hardly got any on me.
Dumping "Body Waste": A Hose (Er, Rose) By Any Other Name...
After settling in at the Mt. McKinley Campgrounds, a whole bunch of us decided to go down to the lake for a little dip. Jim let me borrow his kayak, and I attempted several times to complete an "Eskimo Roll" (a 360-degree flip through the water). Unfortunately, I only managed each time to get halfway around, filling the kayak (and my lungs) with a lot of water, before popping back up again. On my last attempt, I did manage to get all the way around, but only by cheating (I pushed off the bottom of the lake with the oar).
---------"Kayak Chris" In Between Eskimo Roll Attempts-----------------
After a surprisingly good dinner of minestrone and rice, the racers held an autograph session, and I got them all to sign my hat.
Next, I spent a couple of hours talking to Andre Noel, Michel's trainer. He is a psychologist back in Quebec, who specializes in hypnosis, and he told me (sometimes via the handy French-to-English translation of Val) all about the Who, What, Where, When, Why and How of hypnotherapy. He said some amazing things, but I was rather skeptical and wanted proof. Unfortunately, he couldn't use me as a test subject because of the language barrier (nor even Val, as good as she was managing with her old High School French), but he could hypnotize Odile, a fellow native French Canadian. For some reason, Odile wasn't too keen on the idea, but I think I can wear her down eventually.
Then it was time for the big Pente rematch with Val. And true to my word, I kicked her ass! Humbled before my awesome display, she eschewed any further games and surrendered to my superior skill (she claims she was merely tired). We called it a night and slipped inside our respective sleeping bags.
After the race, I experienced a new "thrill." I was assigned the less-than-glamorous task of dumping the trailer's waste (conveniently separated and categorized into "body waste" and "liquid waste" -- nice euphemisms, but let's call a spade a spade, shall we: it was shit and piss, and smelled accordingly!) The good news? I hardly got any on me.
Dumping "Body Waste": A Hose (Er, Rose) By Any Other Name...
After settling in at the Mt. McKinley Campgrounds, a whole bunch of us decided to go down to the lake for a little dip. Jim let me borrow his kayak, and I attempted several times to complete an "Eskimo Roll" (a 360-degree flip through the water). Unfortunately, I only managed each time to get halfway around, filling the kayak (and my lungs) with a lot of water, before popping back up again. On my last attempt, I did manage to get all the way around, but only by cheating (I pushed off the bottom of the lake with the oar).
---------"Kayak Chris" In Between Eskimo Roll Attempts-----------------
After a surprisingly good dinner of minestrone and rice, the racers held an autograph session, and I got them all to sign my hat.
Next, I spent a couple of hours talking to Andre Noel, Michel's trainer. He is a psychologist back in Quebec, who specializes in hypnosis, and he told me (sometimes via the handy French-to-English translation of Val) all about the Who, What, Where, When, Why and How of hypnotherapy. He said some amazing things, but I was rather skeptical and wanted proof. Unfortunately, he couldn't use me as a test subject because of the language barrier (nor even Val, as good as she was managing with her old High School French), but he could hypnotize Odile, a fellow native French Canadian. For some reason, Odile wasn't too keen on the idea, but I think I can wear her down eventually.
Then it was time for the big Pente rematch with Val. And true to my word, I kicked her ass! Humbled before my awesome display, she eschewed any further games and surrendered to my superior skill (she claims she was merely tired). We called it a night and slipped inside our respective sleeping bags.
Alaska: Day 23: 7-28-93: The Power Of The Orange Vest And A Run-In With The Law
The first 3 faces at the finish line were the same today, but their positions were juxtaposed -- Tony captured his second bib, Michel was runner-up and Andre followed in third. It made for an interesting finish, but considering that they all came in within seconds of each other, the cumulative rankings have not changed an iota.
The only other point of note about today's race, was that I finally got to have my stint as a traffic controller, which I was denied on the first day of the marathon. Usually, we have traffic police helping us along our routes, but sometimes nobody official is around to help us (due to either schedule changes, miscommunication or disorganization -- knowing Challenge Alaska as I do, I'm betting the latter plays a large part!), as was the case this morning at the start of the leg. Anyway, as soon as I donned the neon orange vest, I felt instantly transformed into an omnipotent highway god. Although Challenge Alaska has absolutely no authority to stop or control traffic in any way, the drivers didn't know that. Once I was standing out in the middle of the George Parks Highway, dressed as I was, the vehicles slowed, stopped and detoured at my behest. I resisted an impulse to abuse my command, and decided to use my powers only for good. But I am thinking about taking the orange vest home -- it might come in handy during rush hour on my way to work.
The remainder of the day was frankly uneventful. I took a nap and drained more excrement from the trailer. I helped Katia translate some words in a newspaper article, and I transcribed a postcard in English for Daniele. Oh wait -- there is one other really cool thing that happened today. Greg and the video crew did a number of additional interviews for their documentary, and I was one of the volunteers chosen to participate. They are not sure how much (if any) of the interview they will use, but it felt great just to be filmed.
The only other point of note about today's race, was that I finally got to have my stint as a traffic controller, which I was denied on the first day of the marathon. Usually, we have traffic police helping us along our routes, but sometimes nobody official is around to help us (due to either schedule changes, miscommunication or disorganization -- knowing Challenge Alaska as I do, I'm betting the latter plays a large part!), as was the case this morning at the start of the leg. Anyway, as soon as I donned the neon orange vest, I felt instantly transformed into an omnipotent highway god. Although Challenge Alaska has absolutely no authority to stop or control traffic in any way, the drivers didn't know that. Once I was standing out in the middle of the George Parks Highway, dressed as I was, the vehicles slowed, stopped and detoured at my behest. I resisted an impulse to abuse my command, and decided to use my powers only for good. But I am thinking about taking the orange vest home -- it might come in handy during rush hour on my way to work.
The remainder of the day was frankly uneventful. I took a nap and drained more excrement from the trailer. I helped Katia translate some words in a newspaper article, and I transcribed a postcard in English for Daniele. Oh wait -- there is one other really cool thing that happened today. Greg and the video crew did a number of additional interviews for their documentary, and I was one of the volunteers chosen to participate. They are not sure how much (if any) of the interview they will use, but it felt great just to be filmed.
---------Joe Gets Interviewed By The Film Crew (I Was Next)--------
After our fourth spaghetti meal in the past week (it's become a running joke), we had our nightly meeting, where we mostly talked about all the same things (yawn). The only interesting bit of news was that some trucker got so pissed off when a fellow "Orange Vest" stopped his semi for a couple of seconds, that he called the Department Of Traffic, who in turn called us -- telling us in no uncertain terms (surprise, surprise) that we did not have a mandate to control traffic. According to Don, this was the first complaint they had received in the 10-year history of the marathon, though I found that hard to believe. Anyway, it's no problem, because the DOT has agreed to come in an hour earlier tomorrow to help us, and we have prearranged full-race police coverage for the last 2 days.
With the time left to me in the evening, I played some volleyball and sat around with half a dozen others singing songs (Katya was particularly interested in hearing the tunes I sing to my kindergarteners). Finally, I crawled into my tent and played a homemade Othello game with Val. As my tent partner is fond of saying: "Bonne Nuit!"
Alaska: Day 24: 7-29-93: The Poem
Today was the third day in a row in which the racers had to push themselves double marathon distance (50-55 miles), but you couldn't tell by looking at them -- their endurance is unbelievable. It was a close finish today, but when the smoke cleared, there was a new leg winner . . . Michel! I couldn't believe it! I was truly happy for him -- he deserved a bib. Tony was second, and Andre had to be content with third place for the second day in a row (Not that he had anything to really worry about, as once again, the 3 wheelchairs all came in within split-seconds of each other -- Andre's accumulated time still had him squarely in first place).
After the race, I lazed around a bit, swinging on the Wasilla Community Center Swings and soaking up some glorious ( and uncharacteristically hot) Alaskan sunshine. I also spent an hour in the community center's library, perusing the latest edition of The Guiness Book Of World Records. Imagine my surprise when Wayne Phillips came over and showed me his name among the sports' records. In 1987, before his stroke, Wayne traveled by bicycle from Vancouver to Halifax in an incredible 14 days. When you take Wayne's record, toss in Kem's accomplishments and add the Olympiads to the mix (Michel, Ken, Jeff, Tony and Andre all competed in the 1992 Barcelona Paralympics, the latter -- as I previously mentioned -- taking home gold), the high-caliber, world-class athleticism of the "competitive racers" becomes strikingly clear. But the best thing about this marathon is that many of the racers aren't even here to compete/win -- they just want to successfully complete it as a personal challenge . . . and have a little fun along the way (Bob and Steve, affectionately nicknamed "The Plodders" for their habitual last place finishes, actually stop along the route to take pictures!). It's this type of eclectic mix (among volunteers, as well) which makes this experience so amazing and enjoyable.
Dinner tonight consisted of moose steak (a little too stringy and dry for me) and halibut. After dessert, it was time for the highly anticipated, but entirely unrehearsed, talent show. At first, I thought I would get together with about a dozen other volunteers (The YSI guys) to do a spoof of the race. But about an hour before the show, I had a sudden inspiration, and I hashed out a poem which encapsulated my thoughts and emotions of the past week. I entitled my poem, "The Wheel," and I thought it was pretty good, yet I was a little nervous at the idea of reading it in front of everyone. But then I realized that, good or not, well delivered or not, my poem HAD to be shared. I really needed to release my emotions, to unleash my metrical catharsis before the very group that inspired the feelings -- before this motley crew of strangers who had become a community of friends inside 9 days time.
But first I had to wait a while, because I wasn't due to go on til the latter part of the evening. So I sat back and watched the Talent Show unfold. I can honestly say that it was one of the best amateur productions I've ever seen. I mean everyone was good, most displaying true talents. The comedy sketches were hilarious, spoofing everything from the camera crew to the racer's idiosyncrasies to Jeff's nubs (he played a three-legged dog with a bladder problem to uproarious effect -- I'm still shocked he did it!). Huggy (one of The Eilson boys) sang a moving rendition of Pearl Jam's "Black," Jim juggled flaming tennis balls, and even Don got into the act, playing guitar and singing an amusing ditty called "Boogers." But by far, I think the image which will remain most indelibly emblazoned in my mind is the pair of pasty full moons chucked by the film production crew members, Trent and Jeff.
As fate would have it, it was my turn to go next. Once again, I was starting to question whether my poetic recital was such a good idea -- virtually every other performance was comedic, and I wasn't sure whether the audience would be able to switch gears so abruptly and radically (I mean, from butt cheeks to verse?!) But there was nothing for it, so I walked to the microphone in front of the stage, and I read the following poem:
"The Wheel"
60 strangers, world's apart, that Fate has intertwined;
Volunteers and instant peers, their minds and hearts aligned.
A human web, crisscrossed threads, supportive strands of steel;
Thus connect and erect, the spokes inside The Wheel.
13 racers, athletes, all challenging themselves;
Pushing hard, and harder still, so deeply do they delve.
Strength, endurance, courage, zeal -- authenticate the racer's seal;
Amalgamate and circulate, the hub within The Wheel.
Grueling wheelchair marathon, "Land of the Midnight Sun";
Rolling hills, dampening chills, flat tires, cramps (and fun).
Hundreds of miles behind us, a million more to steal;
A lifetime of pavement and potholes, the road beneath The Wheel.
Maybe I just read it well with well-timed pauses and dramatic flourishes, or maybe the poem was good in its own right (maybe both), but either way my words seemed to touch upon -- to give voice to -- what everyone was feeling, because it had the desired effect: the audience of my peers was stone silent during the recital, and many eyes (including my own) were brimming with tears before it ended. I can honestly say that I've never felt more intimate with a large group of people in my whole life. For a brief instant, I felt like . . . I don't know . . . like I was inside these people -- it's corny, I guess, but it's like we were momentarily all of one mind.
Then it was suddenly over. The poem ended, the crowd applauded and the spell was broken.
What happened next is a bit blurry, but I remember pats on the back, thumbs up, high fives and wet eyes. Everyone wanted a copy. Joe's wife said she wanted to get it published, and Kem wanted it in his movie. The judges even awarded me "The Sensitive Guy" award, a bouquet of wild flowers. As gratifying as all the praise was, none of it was as important to me as the fact that I had touched them, reached them, connected with them -- the personal feelings expressed in my words had somehow summarized the collective consciousness.
After the show, Chase taught Valerie and I how to play "Go" (the game that Scott is really into), and then we all went to bed.
After the race, I lazed around a bit, swinging on the Wasilla Community Center Swings and soaking up some glorious ( and uncharacteristically hot) Alaskan sunshine. I also spent an hour in the community center's library, perusing the latest edition of The Guiness Book Of World Records. Imagine my surprise when Wayne Phillips came over and showed me his name among the sports' records. In 1987, before his stroke, Wayne traveled by bicycle from Vancouver to Halifax in an incredible 14 days. When you take Wayne's record, toss in Kem's accomplishments and add the Olympiads to the mix (Michel, Ken, Jeff, Tony and Andre all competed in the 1992 Barcelona Paralympics, the latter -- as I previously mentioned -- taking home gold), the high-caliber, world-class athleticism of the "competitive racers" becomes strikingly clear. But the best thing about this marathon is that many of the racers aren't even here to compete/win -- they just want to successfully complete it as a personal challenge . . . and have a little fun along the way (Bob and Steve, affectionately nicknamed "The Plodders" for their habitual last place finishes, actually stop along the route to take pictures!). It's this type of eclectic mix (among volunteers, as well) which makes this experience so amazing and enjoyable.
Dinner tonight consisted of moose steak (a little too stringy and dry for me) and halibut. After dessert, it was time for the highly anticipated, but entirely unrehearsed, talent show. At first, I thought I would get together with about a dozen other volunteers (The YSI guys) to do a spoof of the race. But about an hour before the show, I had a sudden inspiration, and I hashed out a poem which encapsulated my thoughts and emotions of the past week. I entitled my poem, "The Wheel," and I thought it was pretty good, yet I was a little nervous at the idea of reading it in front of everyone. But then I realized that, good or not, well delivered or not, my poem HAD to be shared. I really needed to release my emotions, to unleash my metrical catharsis before the very group that inspired the feelings -- before this motley crew of strangers who had become a community of friends inside 9 days time.
But first I had to wait a while, because I wasn't due to go on til the latter part of the evening. So I sat back and watched the Talent Show unfold. I can honestly say that it was one of the best amateur productions I've ever seen. I mean everyone was good, most displaying true talents. The comedy sketches were hilarious, spoofing everything from the camera crew to the racer's idiosyncrasies to Jeff's nubs (he played a three-legged dog with a bladder problem to uproarious effect -- I'm still shocked he did it!). Huggy (one of The Eilson boys) sang a moving rendition of Pearl Jam's "Black," Jim juggled flaming tennis balls, and even Don got into the act, playing guitar and singing an amusing ditty called "Boogers." But by far, I think the image which will remain most indelibly emblazoned in my mind is the pair of pasty full moons chucked by the film production crew members, Trent and Jeff.
As fate would have it, it was my turn to go next. Once again, I was starting to question whether my poetic recital was such a good idea -- virtually every other performance was comedic, and I wasn't sure whether the audience would be able to switch gears so abruptly and radically (I mean, from butt cheeks to verse?!) But there was nothing for it, so I walked to the microphone in front of the stage, and I read the following poem:
"The Wheel"
60 strangers, world's apart, that Fate has intertwined;
Volunteers and instant peers, their minds and hearts aligned.
A human web, crisscrossed threads, supportive strands of steel;
Thus connect and erect, the spokes inside The Wheel.
13 racers, athletes, all challenging themselves;
Pushing hard, and harder still, so deeply do they delve.
Strength, endurance, courage, zeal -- authenticate the racer's seal;
Amalgamate and circulate, the hub within The Wheel.
Grueling wheelchair marathon, "Land of the Midnight Sun";
Rolling hills, dampening chills, flat tires, cramps (and fun).
Hundreds of miles behind us, a million more to steal;
A lifetime of pavement and potholes, the road beneath The Wheel.
Maybe I just read it well with well-timed pauses and dramatic flourishes, or maybe the poem was good in its own right (maybe both), but either way my words seemed to touch upon -- to give voice to -- what everyone was feeling, because it had the desired effect: the audience of my peers was stone silent during the recital, and many eyes (including my own) were brimming with tears before it ended. I can honestly say that I've never felt more intimate with a large group of people in my whole life. For a brief instant, I felt like . . . I don't know . . . like I was inside these people -- it's corny, I guess, but it's like we were momentarily all of one mind.
Then it was suddenly over. The poem ended, the crowd applauded and the spell was broken.
What happened next is a bit blurry, but I remember pats on the back, thumbs up, high fives and wet eyes. Everyone wanted a copy. Joe's wife said she wanted to get it published, and Kem wanted it in his movie. The judges even awarded me "The Sensitive Guy" award, a bouquet of wild flowers. As gratifying as all the praise was, none of it was as important to me as the fact that I had touched them, reached them, connected with them -- the personal feelings expressed in my words had somehow summarized the collective consciousness.
After the show, Chase taught Valerie and I how to play "Go" (the game that Scott is really into), and then we all went to bed.
Alaska: Day 25: 7-30-93: Lakeside Lazing And Capsized Canoe
Today's leg was The-Marathon-Within-The-Marathon, a 26.2 mile "dash" (though poor logistics in our typically chaotic atmosphere lengthened the course by a mile) bringing us to the outskirts of Anchorage. Back to form, Andre won the race, with a time of 1:38.
Next it was off to a local lake, ostensibly to go water-skiing, though only five of the forty or so attendees actually ended up donning skis (partly due to lack of interest [many volunteers just wanted to relax & soak up some sun] and partly -- as was the case with me -- because it took forever for Challenge Alaska to get their shit together [what a shock!]). But I was not about to let a little disorganization ruin my plans for a fun afternoon. First, I took in some rays while playing Ghost with Andy, Ken, Val, Chase and Win. After giving my friends a sound drubbing, Win, Val and I clamored onto a canoe and went out to explore the lake. Andy and Chase, having been the first two eliminated from the game, had taken out a kayak a little earlier, and when we caught up with them, we decided to start another "water war" -- we splashed the Hell out of them! We were rowing away all kinds of smug when they enacted their revenge. They came so close to us that it panicked Val, and when she stood up reflexively, it was all over -- the three of us plunged into the lake as the canoe capsized!
We quickly swam towards the kayak and valiantly attempted (twice) to flip them over, but our efforts were for naught. We realized that we needed to get back in our canoe if we were to rejoin the fray. Unfortunately, our canoe was flooded with water, and impossible to drain while we were treading water out in the middle of the lake. We soon realized that the only way to get the water out was to swim/walk the vessel back to shore and dump it out there. The only thing was, the lake bottom was totally disgusting -- it was this grey, slimy, mushy scum -- which I sunk into up to my knees as I hesitantly waded through. By the time I slopped my way to the beachfront, the gook had climbed waist-high. But there was no time for a bath. We emptied the water out of the canoe and set back off to find the enemy.
A quick search revealed that, like the Yellow-Bellies they were, Andy and Chase had already retreated to the safety of the shore. Begrudgingly, we docked the boat and washed ourselves off in the lake. Forewarned that the lake was leech infested, I anxiously scanned my newly cleansed body for any signs of the little bloodsuckers, starting with the most private of areas first (For the second time on this trip, I was reminded of Stand By Me, though it was a decidedly different scene which came to mind this go around). After a thorough examination of every nook and cranny, I only found one -- it was a small fry wedged between the first two toes of my left foot. The leech was deep scarlet in tone and so engorged with my blood that I thought it would burst. Peeling off the little guy had the same effect as removing a newly placed Bandaid -- the crack between my toes started bleeding profusely. Interestingly, there was no mark of any kind to be found beneath the dripping blood (eery, huh?).
After flicking the leech away, I piled into the car with my cronies and headed off to the American Legion Hall for a greasy, angioplasty-inducing meal of deep fried chicken, buttered corn and french fries. Then Michel and I played some pool -- boy, could he shoot! He was a regular wheelchair-bound Willie Mosconi. We faced each other in a couple of games, and he should have won both because he truly outplayed me, but I had two backdoor victories when he twice scratched on the 8-ball.
Soon it was time to head back to the campsite, where Chase, Val and I began another of our all-night gaming/bullshit sessions. We started with Go, and then quickly lapsed into giddy conversation. The previous night's discussion had been dominated by the topic of masturbation, and this night's theme was homosexuality. I don't exactly know how we got started on these subjects, but I have to admit that our talks were quite interesting and often humorous. After a brief word association game, the three of us crashed in Chase's tent, giggling ourselves into La-La Land.
Next it was off to a local lake, ostensibly to go water-skiing, though only five of the forty or so attendees actually ended up donning skis (partly due to lack of interest [many volunteers just wanted to relax & soak up some sun] and partly -- as was the case with me -- because it took forever for Challenge Alaska to get their shit together [what a shock!]). But I was not about to let a little disorganization ruin my plans for a fun afternoon. First, I took in some rays while playing Ghost with Andy, Ken, Val, Chase and Win. After giving my friends a sound drubbing, Win, Val and I clamored onto a canoe and went out to explore the lake. Andy and Chase, having been the first two eliminated from the game, had taken out a kayak a little earlier, and when we caught up with them, we decided to start another "water war" -- we splashed the Hell out of them! We were rowing away all kinds of smug when they enacted their revenge. They came so close to us that it panicked Val, and when she stood up reflexively, it was all over -- the three of us plunged into the lake as the canoe capsized!
We quickly swam towards the kayak and valiantly attempted (twice) to flip them over, but our efforts were for naught. We realized that we needed to get back in our canoe if we were to rejoin the fray. Unfortunately, our canoe was flooded with water, and impossible to drain while we were treading water out in the middle of the lake. We soon realized that the only way to get the water out was to swim/walk the vessel back to shore and dump it out there. The only thing was, the lake bottom was totally disgusting -- it was this grey, slimy, mushy scum -- which I sunk into up to my knees as I hesitantly waded through. By the time I slopped my way to the beachfront, the gook had climbed waist-high. But there was no time for a bath. We emptied the water out of the canoe and set back off to find the enemy.
A quick search revealed that, like the Yellow-Bellies they were, Andy and Chase had already retreated to the safety of the shore. Begrudgingly, we docked the boat and washed ourselves off in the lake. Forewarned that the lake was leech infested, I anxiously scanned my newly cleansed body for any signs of the little bloodsuckers, starting with the most private of areas first (For the second time on this trip, I was reminded of Stand By Me, though it was a decidedly different scene which came to mind this go around). After a thorough examination of every nook and cranny, I only found one -- it was a small fry wedged between the first two toes of my left foot. The leech was deep scarlet in tone and so engorged with my blood that I thought it would burst. Peeling off the little guy had the same effect as removing a newly placed Bandaid -- the crack between my toes started bleeding profusely. Interestingly, there was no mark of any kind to be found beneath the dripping blood (eery, huh?).
After flicking the leech away, I piled into the car with my cronies and headed off to the American Legion Hall for a greasy, angioplasty-inducing meal of deep fried chicken, buttered corn and french fries. Then Michel and I played some pool -- boy, could he shoot! He was a regular wheelchair-bound Willie Mosconi. We faced each other in a couple of games, and he should have won both because he truly outplayed me, but I had two backdoor victories when he twice scratched on the 8-ball.
Soon it was time to head back to the campsite, where Chase, Val and I began another of our all-night gaming/bullshit sessions. We started with Go, and then quickly lapsed into giddy conversation. The previous night's discussion had been dominated by the topic of masturbation, and this night's theme was homosexuality. I don't exactly know how we got started on these subjects, but I have to admit that our talks were quite interesting and often humorous. After a brief word association game, the three of us crashed in Chase's tent, giggling ourselves into La-La Land.
Alaska: Day 26: 7-31-93: The Marathon Ends -- Celebration, Meditation, Tribulation (Interspersed With A Healthy Dose Of Inebriation!)
Alas, it is the last day of the marathon. Has it really been 9 days? They went so quickly -- too quickly. On the other hand, I've become so close with the racers and my fellow volunteers that it feels like we've known each other forever. Has it only been 9 days?
Today was the shortest (11 miles), but most exciting stage of the race. Since it was the last leg, every one gave it everything he had -- for the leaders, it was a veritable sprint! The last few miles found the racers wheeling through downtown Anchorage past a cheering throng of spectators, who were at least 100 strong at the finish line. There is little doubt that the crowd motivated the racers to even greater speeds, as I had never seen their wheelchairs move as quickly as they did at the end (the photographs I took at the finish are probably little more than a blur!)
--------------------------------------The Champions------------------------------------
Today was the shortest (11 miles), but most exciting stage of the race. Since it was the last leg, every one gave it everything he had -- for the leaders, it was a veritable sprint! The last few miles found the racers wheeling through downtown Anchorage past a cheering throng of spectators, who were at least 100 strong at the finish line. There is little doubt that the crowd motivated the racers to even greater speeds, as I had never seen their wheelchairs move as quickly as they did at the end (the photographs I took at the finish are probably little more than a blur!)
------------------------------------High Speed Finish!----------------------------------
As a member of "Team Quebec," I was overjoyed with the results: Michel won the day (taking third place overall) and Andre won the marathon (his accumulated time put him a full 13 minutes ahead of Tony, who placed second overall). I was very proud of Andre and Michel, and though my contribution was negligible, I like to think that, in some small way, I helped contribute to their success (i.e. by reducing their burden and stress tending to the trailer and through my role as motivator/cheerleader).
As each of the 13 racers crossed the finish line, the crowd let out a thunderous din. Victory champagne was poured on all the racers heads (and in their mouths). Everything smacked of celebration! Unable (and unwilling) to resist the revelry, I downed a shot of J.D., shared some Andre Champagne with Andre ("They named it after me," he joked) and joined in the cacophonous screams of joy until my voice was hoarse.
---------------------The Two Andres Celebrate Together----------------------
Don was amazed that every single one of the 13 racers who started the marathon successfully completed it. Barring the first race held in 1984, in which only two people competed (Don being one), this was the only time in the ten-year history of the Midnite Sun Wheelchair Marathon that all the athletes finished the course.
"Team Quebec" took a cork-popping victory photo, and partook of a group hug. We all vowed to reunite at the Summer Olympic Games in Atlanta in '96, where Andre and Michel planned to compete in the Paralympic wheelchair events. I also set a personal goal to learn a little French by that time, so that I could better communicate with every one.
-----"Team Quebec" Celebrates Victory With A Bit Of Bubbly-------
After the last (but by no means, least) racer "broke the tape," we all stumbled our way over to the outdoor amphitheatre for the closing ceremony (or, as Andre Noel called it, "Les Celebration"). All the racers lined up on stage and wheeled up, one by one, to Dionysiac applause, as Patrick announced each name and cumulative time. Here are the final standings:
--------------------------------------The Champions------------------------------------After the public ceremony was completed, we all gathered in the amphitheatre for one big photo -- seeing everyone packed together like that showed just what a group effort this event was. I had a bystander snap a shot with my camera, so I will have a nice keepsake when I get home!
-----------------------------------------"The Gang"-------------------------------------
After the final camera clicked, we were told we all had time to do our own "thang" before the awards' banquet at 6:00 p.m. Andre wanted to treat the entire Quebec crew, including Yours Truly, for a celebratory lunch. So we all showered (my first in 3 days -- a personal best) and changed into the one nice, clean set of clothes we each had left (it was rather strange seeing everyone looking so dressed up and smelling so fresh -- Andre looked especially debonair, and he gave us all quite a pleasant surprise when he walked to the restaurant on braces!). We ended up at The Spaghetti Factory (which was, considering how sick we all were of eating spaghetti, appropriately ironic). I had some seafood fettuccine & a Killian's Red, and we all passed around the latest race article (by our 'ol friend, Lew Freedman) as we indulged.
After lunch, I took a quick nap, and then it was off to dinner. The food was good (especially the Cajun halibut) and plentiful, but I was still too full from lunch to enjoy very much of it. Following the meal, all the volunteers were announced and thanked individually, as were the sponsors. Then Greg and the camera crew showed us a five-minute video clip of some of the footage from their documentary (It was good stuff, and I gave Greg $20 & my address so he could mail me a copy of the finished product).
Then a guest speaker named Lee Bussard took to the podium. Lee has Cerebral Palsy, and he walks & talks askew, but his message was among the most inspiring I've ever been privy to. Basically, he said that you can do anything you want to, regardless of the challenges you face -- he said that the racers and himself (a public speaker with CP) epitomize this. He wrote the word "disabled," and then removed the first "d" (for differences) and the last "d" (for denial), ending up with a truism which summed up my new friends and anyone out there who refuses to listen to the "hockey coaches" in their lives who tell them they can't do it -- is able.
The awards' presentation followed, whereupon all the racers received gold-plated "gold pans" and a lot of applause. Then came the monetary awards. After receiving his first-place check for $5,000 and a standing ovation from the capacity crowd, Andre announced that, of the five bibs he won, he was only keeping the first for himself -- he called up Merrit, Gabrielle, Andrea and Andre Noel, and handed them the other four (Andre later told me that if he had won just one more stage, he would have given me a bib, too). This gesture sums up just the kind of man Andre is.
When the ceremony was over, it was time to party! We all agreed on a location (Midnight Express) and set about rendezvousing there. Unfortunately, I had to stop back at the Challenge Alaska office to get an extra bag of stuff I had put in storage (which turned out to be a wasted trip, because Patrick had already picked it up), and by the time I arrived at the bar, everyone was leaving because the music sucked (it was nothing but country). After finding Patrick and my bag (which Renu said she'd bring right back to the UAA dorms for me), I joined Trent and Val in Trent's truck, and we followed the others to a new club. Fate was against us, however, because they wouldn't let anyone in without ID, and half of us either didn't have it with us, or have it, period. Damn!
Just as it looked as if the festivities might peter out, Trent suggested we pick up the keg & some tapes from the dorms and go to the local beach to make our own party. This sounded pretty good to some of us, so Val and I climbed back into Trent's truck, and about a quarter of the assembled group said they would meet us at the beach (The others decided to keep thinking of an alternative). It wasn't long before we realized the error of our ways. The "beach" (more like a sandy cliff overlooking the water) was pitch black (rare for a Summer night in Alaska -- indeed, the only one I'd seen on my trip) and gave way to a fifty-foot drop -- not exactly the ideal place for a bunch of drunken revelers!
No sooner had we arrived than two things became abundantly clear: 1) none of the other racers and volunteers had actually shown up (or at least, they hadn't arrived yet); and 2) others had. It seems a car filled with unsavory Anchorage teenagers had spied the beacon on Trent's truck (which, in turn, illuminated the keg of beer) and called all their fellow juvenile delinquents to come join us. Well, I kid you not when I say that about 30 cars showed up, filled with close to 100 local hoodlums (of the leather wearing, beer swigging, drug smoking variety), effectually pinning the three of us between themselves and the cliff's edge (talk about being between "a rock and a hard place"!).
Well, it didn't take long before Trent, Val and I decided that it would be in our best interest to haul some ass. So we piled back in Trent's pick-up and started backing out -- or should I say, attempted to back out, because the unseemly assemblage wasn't budging an inch. Then our worst fears were realized when a six-and-a-half-foot tank (the leader?) with a studded motorcycle jacket came up to the cab and knocked on my window. What could I do? I silently crossed myself and opened the window. Tall, Big and Ugly said: "Yo, dude! Where you going with the keg?! "Is it empty?" (Yeah, that's the ticket!). When we nodded our heads solemnly and I added a timid "yes", TBU said: "So ya goin' to fill 'er up and come back?!" (Oh shit! Think fast, Chris!) Before I could think of a response, Trent beat me to the punch: "Sorry, man," he said, "but I have to take these guys to the airport." (Not bad, Trent -- but would it work?) I held my breath and looked up at the burly gang liaison, our tenuous (and rather malodorous)lifeline. He seemed to ponder what we said for a while (no doubt considering the implications of our words, as well as [presumably] how various scenarios might play out) before simply stating: "That's too bad -- bye guys." Then he walked away. And like magic, the mob blocking our way slowly dispersed, eventually thinning out enough to permit escape. The three of us breathed a collective sigh of relief (I made a mental note to check my underwear when we got back to the dorms), scanned the back of the truck for unwanted stowaways and sped back to campus.
We were so shaken and flustered that we got a bit lost, but after a desperate (and rather comical) call to campus police via car phone, we eventually located the dorms. Trent helped Val and I unload the keg, and then he took off. Val and I, meanwhile, were quite dejected. There was no one at the dorms, and we had no means of transportation to go anywhere else. Somewhere in Anchorage there was a huge party going on without us, and all we could do was sit tight.
After about an hour, Huggy and some other Eilson guys (boy, we sure could've used their muscle back at the beach!), showed up, saying that the second bar underwent a change of heart (probably after realizing how much business they'd be losing) and "made an exception" to their ID rule, letting everyone in (I could have kicked myself!). Huggy offered to drive us back to the bar, but it was 1:30 a.m., and newly-arrived Chase (who I've started calling "Chevy") told us they closed at 2:00. Shoot! On top of all this, Renu had never shown up with my stuff as she promised, meaning it was still stashed in a red mystery car somewhere. Oh well, as Andre and Michel might say, "C'est La Vie"! At least the night was not a total loss: Val gave Chase and I relaxing massages (Lord knows I had some "stress knots"!) -- which were dutifully reciprocated -- before we all fell asleep in the dorm living room.
(Postscript: Renu finally stumbled in during the wee hours of the morning, and I got my things!)
Alaska: Day 27: 8-1-93: Bummed Out
Today was totally depressing. One by one, everyone left. They hopped in rental cars, flagged taxis, mounted bicycles, thumbed rides . . . and went off to continue their varied regular lives. I have their addresses, but I fear -- as is regrettably often the case -- that I shant see most of them ever again. At least I have my memories, and this journal, to remind me of just how special they were. I'm too dejected to write any more today. Tomorrow, for my grand finale, I'll give you a special treat -- I'll write in real time, for a change (consider it like a special "live" episode of a beloved television show).
Alaska: Day 28: 8-2-93: Final Day, Final Thoughts
Welcome, Dear Reader! You've come upon me at an opportune moment. I find myself waxing introspective. I'm going to write whatever comes into my head (stream-of-consciousness like), so excuse me if I ramble at times. Now, please join me in my thoughts, already in progress . . .
It's quite apparent that the people I've met and the things I've done on this trip have transformed me for the better (many of these changes are blatantly obvious, others are more subtle -- and still others, I imagine, are yet to be discovered), and there is little doubt that the impact will be everlasting. When I first set off for Alaska, I was hoping to have a good time and maybe meet a few interesting people along the way. But clearly, my experiences went way beyond that. I've had adventures here which have shown me that life has a lot to offer if you but choose to seek it out. I've also found myself in situations where I was unquestionably in danger, and this, too, has shown me how precious life is. I've worked side by side with individuals from all around the globe, who selflessly volunteered their time to help strangers -- so I know there are genuinely good people in the world. And I've met a special group of athletes, who tragically lost their legs or full use of them, but -- drumroll please -- they NEVER let it stop them! On the contrary, they adapted and overcame . . . and didn't look back. They made me realize that the things I complain about in my life (car insurance premiums, boring graduate classes, canker sores, even [cringe] a "B" on a test) are woefully inconsequential in the overall scheme of things. More importantly, they've showed me that it doesn't matter what so-called "handicap" you have -- you can rise above it and have a happy, fulfilling life.
This trip also taught me to banish the uneasiness and irrational fears (stemming from society or totally from within?) which heretofore dominated my encounters with the "disabled." (I remember [with no small amount of shame] an incident that occured when I first arrived at the Challenge Alaska headquarters. I met a woman who had no arms whatsoever -- just a pair of three-fingered hands jutting out of her shoulder sockets. As open-minded as I thought I was at the time, I recall feeling awkward in her presence and somewhat repulsed [I doubt I'd even blink now].) I recall being reluctant to approach the racers when I first met them, for fear that I would be tongue-tied -- or worse yet, say "the wrong thing." Indeed, I was more conscious of their handicaps then they were. But as the days unfolded, and I came to know these people, their disabilities were all but forgotten, and their wheelchairs became nothing more than an accessory, like glasses or braces.
(. . . Oh, my! It seems I've reached the last page in my notebook, so I better stop reflecting and wrap things up.)
Technically, I still have one more day in Alaska, for I'm not due to leave until tomorrow. But as I sit here alone in the abandoned UAA dorms -- "The Last of The Mohicans," as it were -- I realize this journal is complete. Nothing of further significance will happen, and I've nothing left to say. The trip will end as simply and quietly as it began -- with an airplane ride. Yet another example of how life comes full circle . . .
. . . just like a wheel.
-- Chris
August 2, 1993
2:41 p.m.
It's quite apparent that the people I've met and the things I've done on this trip have transformed me for the better (many of these changes are blatantly obvious, others are more subtle -- and still others, I imagine, are yet to be discovered), and there is little doubt that the impact will be everlasting. When I first set off for Alaska, I was hoping to have a good time and maybe meet a few interesting people along the way. But clearly, my experiences went way beyond that. I've had adventures here which have shown me that life has a lot to offer if you but choose to seek it out. I've also found myself in situations where I was unquestionably in danger, and this, too, has shown me how precious life is. I've worked side by side with individuals from all around the globe, who selflessly volunteered their time to help strangers -- so I know there are genuinely good people in the world. And I've met a special group of athletes, who tragically lost their legs or full use of them, but -- drumroll please -- they NEVER let it stop them! On the contrary, they adapted and overcame . . . and didn't look back. They made me realize that the things I complain about in my life (car insurance premiums, boring graduate classes, canker sores, even [cringe] a "B" on a test) are woefully inconsequential in the overall scheme of things. More importantly, they've showed me that it doesn't matter what so-called "handicap" you have -- you can rise above it and have a happy, fulfilling life.
This trip also taught me to banish the uneasiness and irrational fears (stemming from society or totally from within?) which heretofore dominated my encounters with the "disabled." (I remember [with no small amount of shame] an incident that occured when I first arrived at the Challenge Alaska headquarters. I met a woman who had no arms whatsoever -- just a pair of three-fingered hands jutting out of her shoulder sockets. As open-minded as I thought I was at the time, I recall feeling awkward in her presence and somewhat repulsed [I doubt I'd even blink now].) I recall being reluctant to approach the racers when I first met them, for fear that I would be tongue-tied -- or worse yet, say "the wrong thing." Indeed, I was more conscious of their handicaps then they were. But as the days unfolded, and I came to know these people, their disabilities were all but forgotten, and their wheelchairs became nothing more than an accessory, like glasses or braces.
(. . . Oh, my! It seems I've reached the last page in my notebook, so I better stop reflecting and wrap things up.)
Technically, I still have one more day in Alaska, for I'm not due to leave until tomorrow. But as I sit here alone in the abandoned UAA dorms -- "The Last of The Mohicans," as it were -- I realize this journal is complete. Nothing of further significance will happen, and I've nothing left to say. The trip will end as simply and quietly as it began -- with an airplane ride. Yet another example of how life comes full circle . . .
. . . just like a wheel.
-- Chris
August 2, 1993
2:41 p.m.
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