A Machine With Two Pistons

John Buckley and Stan Hall appear, 20 minutes behind the leaders. Buckley slips on the mud at the end of the portage and falls in the river. He stands there in the waist-deep water for half a minute, dazed with fatigue and still six hours from the finish. The next three canoes arrive fairly close together with Cecil Lame and Bill Ayers having taken over third and Jeff Kellogg and Al Robinson right behind them in fourth. Then we have a surprise, though it was predicted: Verlin Kruger and Terry Norris come in not half a minute behind in fifth. Ed Adams and Blaise St. Pierre are in sixth despite having lost precious time patching a hole in their bow.

But the question on everyone's mind as the crowd dispersed with the passing of the leaders was, "Where are the girls?" We learned that Truda was ill several times during the night but insisted on continuing. Someone said that they are two hours behind, which wouldn't be all that bad. Donna had told me with rather ice-cold eyes that they intended to finish if it took 24 hours.

After Alcona there are four more portages before the paddlers reach Oscoda. I began to feel a great deal of pity for the racers though it was dampened somewhat by the idea that no one was "making" them do it.

At Foote Dam, the last portage, Norm Brown advised Jerry and Luc that they had a shot at breaking 15 hours, something not done even when the race was split into two segments over two days. Brown assured me that they would sprint the last hour and a half in order to break this 15-hour block and to improve on the record they set in 1972. At Foote the most popular topic of conversation wasn't the leaders but, again, "Where are the girls?" One sensed that all of the males in the crowd weren't wishing them godspeed.

In Oscoda near the river's mouth I felt slothful and guilty sitting on the gunwale of a cabin cruiser drinking champagne and eating goodies while waiting for the racers to show. I thought of the ubiquitous expression, "I didn't get much sleep last night." Not, to be sure, if you've been paddling 3,600 strokes an hour all night.

Jerry and Luc came in sight and really began pouring it on, partly, I suspect, for the spectators. They won in 14 hours and 56 minutes, looking a bit shell-shocked, but they stood around talking for half an hour until John Buckley and Stan Hall arrived. Then Lame and Ayers came in, closely followed by Robinson and Jeff Kellogg with Verlin Kruger and Terry Norris close behind. Ed Adams and Blaise St. Pierre were a few minutes further back.

Some of the racers' hands resembled raw, bleached hamburger—the water and paddle handles working on torn skin. Their eyes were rheumy and fogged with exhaustion, legs were cramped and there was some bleeding around the waists and knees from the chafing.

It began to rain hard and the crowd disappeared, leaving many finishers to arrive to only small groups of loyal friends. Where were the women? They came in last, 17th of the finishers, but beating out eight male teams that for various reasons never reached Oscoda. The women made the finish in 22 hours, arriving during the race banquet at eight in the evening. They had lost two hours in slow water after a dam had been shut off. A cruel thing, but they were still neck and neck with Luc and Jerry for the triumph of the day.