Bonus Race of the Grand Pricks Series, #6
“You guys are crazy”
This is the Second Bonus Race installment in the twenty one race series. Most running mags who report on these races center around who won and quick times. This blog revolves around the seamy underbelly in each race; the also-rans: the has-beens: the crippled: the infirm: the insane.
These are my people. Read on.
Saturday, August 12, 2006
"You guys are crazy" That's all I here now that the Grand Pricks Series #6 "Rick Bayko" Toughest Runner In New England Championship is underway.
I find myself constantly looking at the calendar trying to figure out how to juggle my life around this series.
Then I realize, I have no life!
This series fills the void quite nicely.
Going to Ontario for the forth race in the series, two official and two bonus races will put me on firm ground in the points standings.
All week before the race I'm watching the weather. My mode of transportation is my scooter and any rain forecast wouldn't be good.
At work people who hear from the rumor-mill that I'm running in a nude - ahem - "clothing optional" race approach me privately with their questions:
"What SPF sun block... do you apply to your... you know..."
or,
"Are there going to be women running too?"
"None" and "Yes".
I search the Internet for lodging possibilities and come across on Google Earth Maps satellite images of Fort Erie, Ontario and see a beautiful crescent beach on the shores of Lake Erie, drill down and see it's Crystal Beach, just west of town.
That's were I'm going. That looks like the best beach.
So I make some searches for lodging around the area to find no vacancy nearby. I land at the Holiday Inn 10 Kilometers away.
Canadians are metric, don't ya know.
My brother did a search of the family tree and found out that on my fathers side of the family, we were dirt poor Irish who couldn't afford the thirty dollar entry fee at Ellis Island, NY, so my 4G grandfather: great-great-great-great-grandfather settled in Hamilton Ontario.
As a kid in the late fifties and early sixties I lived in Kingsville, Ontario on the western end of Lake Erie, yet born in the states.
So I have a soft spot for all things Canadian.
I'm set, the weather is gonna be nice and I have a destination.
What to pack? Gotta laugh at this one. Where am I going? Don't need much clothes then.
Friday morning comes with partly cloudy skies and I'm off at 8am. Traffic on 93 north to the Turnpike is heavy, bumper to bumper going 30 kilometers per hour, the usual for Boston. Onto the Turnpike and head west.
I get into Buffalo around 3pm. Now in Boston that would mean gridlock, bumper to bumper traffic. Not so in Buffalo. It was early Sunday morning traffic in Boston by comparison.
Over the Peace Bridge and into Canada. At the Canadian Customs I was worried what to say.
"What's your business in Canada?"
"Oh, I'm gonna run in a nude 5K tomorrow"
That, I thought would bring more questions, so I practiced a different answer.
"What's your business in Canada?"
"I'm going to spend some time with friends at Crystal Beach"
"Where are you Staying"
"At the Crystal Beach Motel"
With that, I'm into the country and headed down Garrison Boulevard to the Holiday Inn. The term "garrison" is true in this case. Fort Erie was a battleground for some time in the late 1700's and early 1800's between the US and Canada/British. A lot of history around here. There is monuments and plaques at every turn signifying a skirmish or battle.
I check in and quickly back out the door to discover this place called Crystal Beach. A couple of Klics (kilometers) down the road and I discover the remains of an old amusement park town. By the term "remains", I see long shuttered shops and those businesses remaining aren't long for the world.
"What's going on?" I think, This is such a beautiful place.
At the corner to the beach I see what's going on. A brand spanking new...Gated Community.
Shit, they're here too. I thought this crap only went on in Florida.
Then I look around and see vacant plots with big billboards showing maps of yet-to-be built Gated freakin' Communities all over.
There goes the neighborhood.
You see, since the late 1800's Crystal Beach was an amusement park town.
Thousands and thousands would come by boat from Buffalo. There was even a special boat built by the amusement park owner for this purpose in 1910 and was in service for over 46 years.
Roller Coasters, Ferris Wheels, Tilt-O-Whirls, and Orchestra's: Glen Miller, Artie Shaw, Harry James with a young crooner named Frank Sinatra, and Duke Ellington played here, people would dance all night on a big wooden dance floor in a wonderful open-air chandeliered ballroom. I've seen the pictures, amazing.
Small cottages from era still dot the waterfront.
But the park finally closed in the late 80's.
Now developers want to make it an exclusive enclave for the rich with sterile look-alike condominiums/townhouses and 3,000 square foot "cottages".
I digress. It's a shame.
I was hungry and found the Palmwood Restaurant and Bar, another fading vestige from the past, located next to the old Crystal Beach Amusement Park-cum-Gated Community.
In Canada,
Friday night is all about,
the Fish Fry,
and it's the Lake Erie Perch is the fish that's fried, or broiled.
Every restaurant and bar in Canada on Friday night, has a fish fry.
So at the Palmwood I order one up. It comes with french fries and slaw but it's the succulent, buttery, tender, flaky, Perch that is center stage.
Excellent.
While I'm waiting for the chow, practically everyone in the place is feverishly filling little cups with flavored vodka laced Jell-O for "Jell-O Shots" for the big Saturday Night "Hawaiian Night" a thousand of these cups on trays everywhere.
Apparently its a big party.
After dinner, I motor the short distance to Bay Beach, park the scoot under a cloudless sky next to this picture perfect beach to find... security guards!
I introduce myself and announce to them all - "I drove all the way from Boston just to be here with you guys"
I explain what I'm doing and the don't believe me, but Bucky does, Saying he saw the add in the local paper.
Bucky's pals are relaxing on beach chairs near the water and I join them and explain my adventure.
They have been or are runners, but no-one has run nude. This and the reason I'm there bring many questions and discussion lasts late into the perfect summer beach night. Gene wasn't there that night. He is the groups official distance runner and a call is made to him to get him to Lilly Valley the next day.
It's late, I say good night and thank the crew for their hospitality.
I wake up much to early and head to Tim Hortons,
think Dunkin Donuts, for the morning blast of java.
I cruise the Niagara Falls Parkway up to Niagara Falls under a cloudless morning. It was chilly, nighttime temps hovered in the forties, it's cool on the Great Lakes at night. I'm tellen' ya Niagara Falls is soooo cool. I've been there over a dozen times and I'll come back again.
With time to kill before the race I head back to Bay Beach and set out to walk, maybe jog the mile and a half length and back. But it's early so I walk it.
Lake Erie looked temping at 9am, I stick a tentative toe in the water and find it warmer than the air, enticing me in. I wade out and just off shore running parallel is a sand bar, just under six, 12 inches of water. I walk the length of the sandbar back, a good work-out.
Times tight so I head over to Lilly Valley around noon.
I find the Club and pull in behind a car with Michigan plates to find the parking lot is near full so I wedge in where I can. Time to lose the clothes. I choose to wear only the GPS #4 singlet with the idea I can show folks the races in a series.
To describe Lilly Valley would be: rustic.
A dozen small camper trailers, tent sites, an outdoor pool clustered around an old house converted to the clubhouse with an indoor pool added on.
The guy from Michigan gets out and I ask if he's here to run the race.
"Yeah, I've run it last year" He replies.
We both walk up to the clubhouse and meet Keith, a real nice guy. He signs us in and explains the logistics. There's thirty plus club members and guests there relaxing, enjoying the hot sun. I meet Eric and he shows me around. These people were so laid back and so friendly, the fact that we were all naked was insignificant. Great people. You meet the nicest folks when your naked.
I decide to jog the course to check it out. What the course is, is a trail, a path cut into the woods, a wheel measured kilometer loop. Five laps for a 5K, simple.
Except this is a rutted, uneven, fairly flat, sometimes soft ground path complete with tree roots sprouting up and around.
We're talkin' cross country here.
I get back to find a couple more RATS have arrived and "Runner X", the runner I'm sworn to secrecy to, coming in from Boston. They sign in and take in the place. There's time to kill and we all jog the course to check it out. It's close to two in the afternoon and it's hot, no clouds, slight wind, a perfect summer day in August.
There's a few local folks from the club running and there's a round robin competition of a disk tossing game going on: two rectangular boxes with three holes in-line. The two boxes spaced six feet apart, like horse shoes, you stand next to one box and toss what appears to be a hockey puck sawed in half. First hole: 1 point, second: two and the furthest hole three points, and play to 11 points. The twist is if you score a point, and if your opponent scores a point, they cancel each other out, only there's more to it than that and everyone chips in two bucks to play. You get the idea
There's a hundred pound pig roasting on the spit, there's pools to be swam in and even a few antique cars are there to look over.
The place is pretty busy. Or not, your choice of participation
At the appointed time, I take off the GPS #4 singlet, buck naked, we line up, and, we're off.
We lap the club house, I see Gene pulling into the parking lot as we race across the road, through camp and off into the woods. First lap is tentative, then, the gloves come off and we're racing.
Five loops, each progressively faster, the club members are amazed, even the game stops.
At the finish, the timer is in awe, folks gather round to see the first place time. 18:53.
I come in second at a leisurely 24:48 followed quickly by the rest. I don't have to tell you the first place finisher lapped me.
I hear the former course record was something north of 25 minutes.
Post race was spent chatting up the race with club members all interested in our foray to this neck of the woods to do this. Most find it unbelievable we would drive from Boston to do this. Gene finishes the race and we chat up the wild circumstances that got him here. Imagine getting a late night call from your buddies at the beach telling you, you gotta run a nude race tomorrow because some dude drove all the way from Boston to do it!
After the race, I was antsy to get going, with the plan to drive back to Boston after the race. I sneak off and get dressed. Hop on the scoot and head towards the states. I glance at my watch and see it's already 3:30 and the thought of rolling into Boston around eleven at night quickly lost it's appeal.
I wanted to go back to Bay Beach to say good-by to my new found friends. I turn around and pull into the beach and hang out. The gangs all there, we have some laughs, I snap the pics and we all watch the sun set on another perfect summer night.
It happened so fast, and too soon I say my good-byes and make my way to Niagara Falls to find a place to sleep and something to eat. Keeping the post nude race tradition alive, I go to Hooters for wings and beer. No picture there though, and my camera was just outside the place.
Everything went perfectly on this trip, met some really nice people, clothed and unclothed, had a great time, something I'll never forget. Thank you Mr. Wallan and Mr. Buhl for putting together another series.
Pretty cool.