**I'm currently in North Carolina with sketchy internet, so no pictures will be forthcoming, but I'll upload some later**
It all started on a gorgeous spring day in April when Tor and I were out for a run and saw some fellow runners with Reach the Beach relay shirts. Intrigued, we did a bit of research and learned that it is a 200 mile relay race that starts at Cannon, NH and ends at Hampton Beach. A team of six people or less qualified you for ultra(cool) status. "We are in good running shape now, ergo we will be in good running shape in September after probably not running too much over the summer," we reasoned like the rigorous scientists we are. I gathered together a motley crew of six, we signed up, and went our separate ways for the summer. Come September, people were having second thoughts. Specifically, four separate people either backed out of the race or agreed to run then rescinded that agreement. Ten days before the race, we finally had an official team and even a reluctant and bemused blessing to run from Chris City.
The day before the race arrived, and disaster struck! Tor's trusty soccer-mom van rolled its last few inches and locked up for good. While we had had since April to come up with a back-up plan, there are very few soccer mom vans lying around New England. We cobbled together two cars that were too small for the whole team for transportation, one from Maine and the other from Boston, and breathed again. We also thanked our lucky stars that 4/6 people on the team could drive manuals since neither car was automatic. "Statistically speaking, how slim are the odds that Esther's team could possibly escape with no other major problems?" Chris Stock thought to himself in his bed that night. His concern was well founded when, then next day, two competent drivers were speeding far ahead to catch some rest before our next legs while the third was out running. Just as we were wondering in the leading car whether Taylor would be comfortable driving and assuring ourselves that she was, a phone rang.
T: "I can't turn the car on."
Me: "Do you have the clutch in?"
T: "I can't get the emergency break off! I can't get into reverse! Why am I moving forward?! WHY AM I MOVING FORWARD?!?!?"
Me: "We're coming back right now!"
Needless to say, 200 miles with 6 people, 2 cars, and 3 drivers was unappealing, but what could we do? The next 25 hours were somewhat surreal as we loped through the backroads of NH, caffinating--not sleeping-- as needed. Two blown exchanges, a few minor injuries, and a frosty morning later we had reached the beach! I'm pretty sure the drivers were no longer speaking English at that point, while the other three looked like they had been run over, but we were all still alive which was, frankly, a surprise. After some predictable debacles getting the two cars back to their respective homes, the adventure was over and we were left to return to the much more predictable wilds of Cambridge. The rosy glasses of retrospect are already on, though, so I'm definitely already planning next year and on the hunt for some automatic cars.
It all started on a gorgeous spring day in April when Tor and I were out for a run and saw some fellow runners with Reach the Beach relay shirts. Intrigued, we did a bit of research and learned that it is a 200 mile relay race that starts at Cannon, NH and ends at Hampton Beach. A team of six people or less qualified you for ultra(cool) status. "We are in good running shape now, ergo we will be in good running shape in September after probably not running too much over the summer," we reasoned like the rigorous scientists we are. I gathered together a motley crew of six, we signed up, and went our separate ways for the summer. Come September, people were having second thoughts. Specifically, four separate people either backed out of the race or agreed to run then rescinded that agreement. Ten days before the race, we finally had an official team and even a reluctant and bemused blessing to run from Chris City.
The day before the race arrived, and disaster struck! Tor's trusty soccer-mom van rolled its last few inches and locked up for good. While we had had since April to come up with a back-up plan, there are very few soccer mom vans lying around New England. We cobbled together two cars that were too small for the whole team for transportation, one from Maine and the other from Boston, and breathed again. We also thanked our lucky stars that 4/6 people on the team could drive manuals since neither car was automatic. "Statistically speaking, how slim are the odds that Esther's team could possibly escape with no other major problems?" Chris Stock thought to himself in his bed that night. His concern was well founded when, then next day, two competent drivers were speeding far ahead to catch some rest before our next legs while the third was out running. Just as we were wondering in the leading car whether Taylor would be comfortable driving and assuring ourselves that she was, a phone rang.
T: "I can't turn the car on."
Me: "Do you have the clutch in?"
T: "I can't get the emergency break off! I can't get into reverse! Why am I moving forward?! WHY AM I MOVING FORWARD?!?!?"
Me: "We're coming back right now!"
Needless to say, 200 miles with 6 people, 2 cars, and 3 drivers was unappealing, but what could we do? The next 25 hours were somewhat surreal as we loped through the backroads of NH, caffinating--not sleeping-- as needed. Two blown exchanges, a few minor injuries, and a frosty morning later we had reached the beach! I'm pretty sure the drivers were no longer speaking English at that point, while the other three looked like they had been run over, but we were all still alive which was, frankly, a surprise. After some predictable debacles getting the two cars back to their respective homes, the adventure was over and we were left to return to the much more predictable wilds of Cambridge. The rosy glasses of retrospect are already on, though, so I'm definitely already planning next year and on the hunt for some automatic cars.
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