Unfortunately, the dream died a quick death.
Friday was race day. One hundred and fifty kayakers in one big lump waiting for the signal. The Cheat River Massacre is the largest mass start downriver race in the world. It was my first time racing in any race. The rapids on the Cheat are fairly simple. Folks usually plod their way down at a leisurely pace of three to four hours. Race times are much faster, usually in the order of ninety minutes or less. This is pretty quick considering the course is twelve miles of fairly consistent class three/four whitewater.
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| Steveo |
The only thing standing between me and the race was the three and half hour car ride out to Albright. I drove out to Calleva to meet Steveo, Pags, and Simon. We loaded boats and hit the road. Steveo decided to ride shotgun with me. All was well until we started into western Maryland. The interstate starts to rise and fall with some fairly steep grades. As we neared Albright, the car seemed to get a little slower with each passing hill. By the time we hit the backroads, she was barely moving. I switched on and off between the defunct grease mode and diesel for the last ten miles. We pulled into the campground in Albright and the car stopped running. We rolled to a halt and hopped out. We made it.
Steveo and I could not believe it. I knew the car would make it out, but it now looked like the grease car, this legendary machine, was not going to make it home. The idea of losing the car in the middle of West Virginia was too much too bare at the moment. We had only ninety minutes to race time.
We geared up and hit the water. The flag dropped and we were off. It was an awesome experience. Pulling out from behind the bridge pilings, surfing the wakes of other boats to catch a bit of a free ride, and heading into rapids without really knowing what was coming. It was definitely a different way to run a river. I immediately loved it.
After the first few miles the race stretched out into groups. I was next to the few same guys for the rest of the way, passing and occasionally being passed by a few boats. We headed into the last set of big rapids and a dude with aviators sunglasses came up next to me. He looked pretty familiar, but I was not sure where I knew him from. Directly in front of me was an aquaintance from Ecuador, Brad Buddenburg. Billy and I paddled with Brad and his wife Katie when were paddling in the Quijos Valley a year before. It was great to see him on the river. I ended up finishing right behind Brad, and ahead of the mystery aviator man. It turned out to be Tyler Houck, one of Curt's buddies from the Columbia River Gorge. Tyler had a great race finishing second in the short boat class.
After the race we grabbed a few free beers from a keg in the takeout parking lot near the Jenkinsburg bridge. It was literally the greatest beer to ever hit my lips. It was a local brew, nothing too fancy, but the atmosphere and my incredible thirst made it memorable.
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| Parking Lot before the Race |
Most of the racers jam into a big yellow cheese bus to head back to the campground. Pags and I stood in the back as the bus inched its way out of the canyon. Every bump had us plastered against the rear window. The kids sitting next to us were getting rowdy and drinking Coors.
We were pretty tired after the race. We pulled our cars under a big Willow tree near the put in, cooked some food and fell asleep pretty quickly. In the morning we woke up and headed to the Upper Yough.
We had a great day on the Upper Yough and saw more than a few familiar faces. On the way off the river I passed an awkward bunch of hooligans who turned out to be old friends. Travis Overstreet and his gang of southern Virgnia boys came to the Fest ready to tear it up as usual. I caught up with them for a few minutes, chatted on a few glory stories and headed on. Pags, Steveo and I caught a ride with Simon and these guys from D.C. I didn't know. When we got back to the put-in, Pags and Steveo had to head back home. I had to stay because the legendary grease car was on the side of the road near Teeter's campground refusing to start.
Simon and his two friends gave me a ride back to the festival. We took the scenic route home, stopping to shoot a .40 gauge pistol at some beer bottles in the middle of the woods. The beer bottles were drunk and causing a ruckus. We had to show them who was boss.
I was not sure what to do about the car. I did not want to resort to towing it, too much money, but the only other option was selling it, and I was not sure how I was going to work that. I decided to mull it over for the evening. I camped near Scott and Katie. I walked around with Travis for a while at the festival until he decided it was time for him to go to bed. I ended up hanging with Sean Devine for the rest of the evening. We commandeered and empty pavillion style tent, chairs, bag of free beer and pretzels and wiled away the rest of the evening listening to some killer bluegrass music.
In the morning, Scott and crew hit another run through Cheat Canyon. I stayed behind to deal with the car. I sold it to a guy named Doug. He came and towed it away in the rain. It was a sad moment. The legend was finished. I drove Scott's car to the takeout to pick him up. On the way I discovered the Drive by Truckers. They are my new favorite band and track eleven on their album 'A Blessing and a Curse' informed me life was going to be a world of hurt. I agreed.
Over the years I've had some epic car rides, but that afternoon the car ride back with Scott turned out to be one of the best. Great conversation and great music that did not let up until we were back home.
It was another amazing Cheat Fest. They usually cannot be beat, and this year was no different.
The link below will bring you to the race results page if you're interested.
http://www.cheatriverrace.com/2010RaceResults.htm
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| End of the Line for the Grease Car |
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