The Audacity of Row

Nothing sobers you to the audacity of a 680 mile row quite like driving to the far end of it.

Having departed Saratoga at about 8 AM, we’ve now arrived at our rooms at the Silver Star Motel, claiming the very last two available rooms in Midland, Ontario on this, Canada Day, our neighbor’s 150^th anniversary as a nation. Our rooms are allegedly “non-smoking” and while we have yet to see them sneak even a puff, I suspect that every occupant of #224 and 225 from time immemorial has hit the Camels hard- real hard- while spending his or her happy hours just off of Route 92.

If I sound like I’m complaining, I’m not. In fact, this moment of bliss is framed by an open door yielding a view to the parking lot, my boat atop the Avis Kia Sportage, and a setting sun beyond. A short while ago we scarfed down drinks and chicken quesadillas at Kelsey’s Road House (just down the road), and I’m now luxuriating in the final hours of a (thinly) upholstered seat and a final chance to write to you in first person before I give up the computer tomorrow as I climb into the boat.

We stopped at Albany Airport early on so that Kathy could add Peg and me to the “approved driver” cohort for the rental car. We elected the northern route to the border- past Watertown and over the Thousand Island Bridge (that it transits Wellesley Island might have tipped the scale) - rather than slog through Buffalo and Customs at Niagara Falls. It was a good call: we met little traffic, scored a quick if humorless transit through rural Customs, and other than sporadic rain, we enjoyed an uneventful trip. At about the 320 mile point I discovered that the our plucky Kia hosts a satellite radio system, so I did in fact get to sing along with Motown for a few hundred miles before the ladies moved me on to BBC news.

So….tomorrow it begins.

Gentle Reader, as I entertain my prospects for finishing this adventure under my own power, emboldened as I am at the moment with the warming dissolution of Kelsey’s chicken quesadilla and a heady scotch and water, I think Peg said it best during dinner: “If nothing breaks, you have a shot.” But if the rotator cuff, Achilles tendon, or any one of many highly worn but nevertheless mission-critical part decides to call it a day, I’ll be in trouble. My strategy is to start slowly…to take the early days as the training days they are, focusing on getting into a rhythm and finding a sustainable stride in lieu of speed, not agonizing about the mileage too much. Pace and miles-per-day can come later, maybe ten or twelve days from now, when clear of the Trent Severn and on The Big Waters of Lake Ontario.

Hopefully Mr. Cuff and Ms. T will play along.  

Peg and Kathy are in the next room finishing up the design of this blog and over the next few weeks, each of them will add to the commentary as I make my way home. I’ll phone in the highlights every day or so, and they will interpret my narrative and colorize my experience for you as well as add whatever pictures I might send from my gansta’ phone. I look forward to writing in more detail when I can jump on the google machine again at the end of the row….but who will be interested at that point?

As I close this up, as delusional as I am, I do realize this: I’m one lucky dude. I am blessed with wonderful companions to make this possible, the time and freedom to try, and even a remote possibility of making some headway as I reflect on life, love, good books, the state of the nation, and prospects for making a difference. That’s what being a lucky dude seems like tonight.

Rowing tomorrow, at last.

Thanks for being in the boat with me!

Big ups,

Al