Date: Mon, 11 Oct 1999 20:35:20 -0500 From: "Rich Limacher" THE UNLIKELY ADVENTURE OF KITSCHME SIOUXME AT THE SUPERIOR TRAIL 100 Part 4 "If Your Idea of Luggage Tags Is Duct Tape and a Magic Marker... You *Could* Be a Redneck" "I want a new duck One with big webbed feet One that knows how to wash my car And keep his room real neat One that won't raid the ice box One that'll stay in shape One that's never gonna try To migrate or escape Or I'll tie him up with duct tape" --"Weird Al" Yankovic So I'm standing there in the Visitor's Information booth at Silver Bay, Minnesota, on the tenth of September, 1999, on the very shore of Gitche Gumee, inside the wigwam and staring at the floor-length buckskin skirt and previous race sweatshirt of Medium-Sized-Running-Little-Bare and the loin cloth of her boy Schultz. And they're telling me they have no ride. Except, of course, for the borrowed UPS truck which brought them there in the first place. So I did the next best thing. I called Federal Express. No, that's wrong. (I just threw that in there.) What I really did was: I offered to, quite literally, be their chauffeur. But first we had to make a deal. Did they have any duct tape? Yes, as a matter of fact, Schultz had a roll in his papa's truck. I needed the tape, they needed the ride, so it was a done deal. "What do ya want the tape for?" Schultzy asked me. "Luggage tags." "Oh, I gotcha. For your drop bags." "Right!" I answered, and then we concluded our terms. I'd follow them to Grand Marais where they could park their truck near the finish line, and then I'd bring them back and provide for their every other transportation need for the rest of their stay in Silver Bay. Then Schultz hitched up his britches and Little Bare bought a souvenir. More clothing. The thing about "luggage" in 100-mile races is that if you're smart, and pack your bags carefully, race management will transport them to various spots along the course where they'll be available for you when you really and truly do NEED them. Things to include in these "drop bags" might include: taxi fare, evidence of health or life insurance, or, if none of that works, embalming fluid. Actually, that's not exactly true, but you get the idea. Suppose, for example, you're a diabetic or an epileptic or just an ineptic (like me). You'll want to set out your necessary medical supplies at various points along the course. And you'll want to be smart about this. You'll want your noontime supplies to be in a bag you plan to get to by noon, your evening supplies where you'll need them in the evening, and your overnight supplies (like pajamas, toothbrush, and bedroom slippers) to be in a bag you'll get to by midnight. It all takes careful planning. And I, of course, still hadn't done that. Furthermore, race management tells you to clearly label all your bags with your name, bib number, and the name of the aid station to which you expect each bag to be transported. Hence the need for magic marker and duct tape, which I didn't have. And all bags were due this day before 5 p.m. at the place where the race's pre-race pre-meeting would be pre-sented. (You know where? I'm not kidding: the "Re-Union Hall." Yep, that's what, apparently, all the union laborers of Silver Bay call their meeting place. And here I thought the building I'd spotted along the Outer Drive was just the "Union Hall" the first time.) I think in Silver Bay that building was probably intended for larger purpose. For example, big family reunions. Or big high school class reunions? Maybe even although small, I'm sure) future reunions of runners who have somehow survived the Superior Trail 100-Mile Endurance Run. You think? Naw. We're talking commercial shipping here. My guess is that this particular hall was built to hold all future assemblies of shipwreck survivors. And it was probably on the drawing board when the Edmund Fitzgerald went down. At that time there must've been no place for those survivors to go. Of course, at that time these re-union hall planners were let off the hook. There were no survivors. Anyway, PANIC! I suddenly had NO TIME to plan and sort my drop bags because now I had to drive to Grand Marais! But first, I gotta tell you about Butch. Butch was the first guy I (almost literally) bumped into earlier that day when I first emerged from my teepee at the Rime of the Ancient Mariner Motel. Butch was also an entrant in the next day's big race, he was also alone, and he was also (I think) fast. He too had just one vehicle and no ride back after getting to the finish line. So I told him: "Don't worry, Butchee. Gimme a wee time to getme some gummy (heh-heh) and, if you haven't found another ride by then, I'll comee backee and gitcha to Grand le Gumee." So, does this bring us up to date? I'm now standing in the Visitor's Booth's parking lot with Little Bare not showing much skin and Schultz having more than enough balls to bargain free chauffeur service. But I gotta go back and get Butch, and they gotta go set up camp. Which, of course, would later prove to be interesting because they were about to do it without further transportation. And I didn't even know where the campground was. "Follow us," said Schultz, and he and his mother (huh? well, I dunno!) climbed into the truck. With a mighty rumble, we roared off down the road to their apparently previously preserved or reserved campground space. They checked in with the heap big Injun in charge who told them where to pitch their teepee. Then they had to explain even *more* weird things. They were running a race the next day, they told him, and wouldn't actually be able to "check out" at the usual check-out time. Besides which, they wouldn't have a vehicle and neither would they be able to take their camping stuff with them. So, could they please "stash" their gear somewhere safe--at four o'clock in the morning--and come back later (MUCH later) when they'd have their truck back and then either pick up their gear OR repitch their teepee on a new plot of campground? [You see how "the plot thickens"?] The big Injun just scratched his (can I say "balls" here without upsetting the FCC?) and in a deep voice wondered, "How?" Well, I knew exactly "how" all this would work and so did they and... finally... so did the heap big chief. He explained where they could set up camp for this night and then HOW they could break camp at 4 A.M. and stow their stuff in the laundry room--although they'd have to pay a LOT extra if they expected their wash to be done. They said, no, it wasn't necessary. "Mom" would take care of that after the race (heh-heh) while, we assume he assumed, Schultzy slept. (What a surprise HE'd have later, eh?) They then drove round to their plot of ground and I headed back to get Butch. Oh yes, before I left, Schultzy pulled out his roll of duct tape and--very carefully--peeled me off a bunch of hunks. So tell me, gentle reader, how many times have you driven (a rental car no less) while trying NOT to get a bunch of hunks of duct tape stuck to the steering wheel--and *everything* else? Not too often, I'll bet. And neither did they teach "the safe and proper way" to do this back when you took Drivers Ed. So I drove like a contortionist carrying a wad of hazardous waste back to the motel. Butch's vehicle was still parked outside his teepee, so I figured he hadn't yet found a ride. I knocked on his flap. "Hey, Butch! Let's go, man! The 'Grand Marais Caravan' leaves in twenty minutes!" He was grateful and we agreed I'd bang on his wigwam skin again when it was time to leave. But first, I HAD ONLY TWENTY MINUTES TO PACK MY BAGS! AND THE DUCT TAPE WAS STUCK TO MY SEAT!!! Welllllllllll... Will our hero get unstuck in time to make the drop bag deadline? And, more importantly, does he have a MAGIC MARKER??? Or, will the Grand Marais Caravan get stuck itself in road construction and never get to the finish line at all? And, finally, will Little Bare have to buy more souvenirs and thus make EVERYBODY LATE for the pre-race preview's first-time meeting at the local union's reunion survivors' repeating meeting hall? Stay tuned, sports fans! This could get even less interesting than it already isn't. "The Further Adventures of Stuctman and Pullin" will return, oh, sometime, with Part 5. [Meanwhile, here's a couple of "Author's Notes" to tide you over: One of the great guys on this list once posted a note himself to this list, noting how in all of its zillions of since-derived uses, the one use for duct tape that is never used is the use for which it was invented in the first place--that of sealing together building ventilation ducts. I guess it doesn't stick very well to galvanized sheet metal. (Does a damn fine number on rented car seats, though.) And now, anticipating the high-spirited responses from all the HVAC contractors out there, I offer this: I just love it when my writing tugs at people's heartstrings or incites them to riot or otherwise invites their response. One sweet respondent who happens to be a travel agent, wrote back after my last episode explaining how there might yet be a way out of Grand Marais once I get there: Eagle Airlines. Or, perhaps she said it was Bald Eagle Airlines or maybe just Bald Tire Taxi Service. Then another good buddy, being the student of baseball that he reputedly is, wrote back to point out how, even in their heyday, the Washington Senators would've never even been close to being in the World Series. I apologize for these oversights and presumptions. For sure, before my next 100-miler, I'm going to call my travel agent and concentrate more on my football. Hey, didn't the Bears win it all in 1963? Wasn't Mike Ditka on the team? Well, guess what? They won again Sunday! In Minnesota, no less, where all this weird "Adventure" is re-taking place in the first place!] "Kitsch" Limacher TheTroubadour@prodigy.net