Date: Mon, 27 Sep 1999 23:04:22 -0500 From: "Rich Limacher" THE UNLIKELY ADVENTURE OF KITSCHME SIOUXME AT THE SUPERIOR TRAIL 100 Part 2 "Space Is Limited, So You Should Book Your Lodging By July" --Notice from Race Hdqtrs., received in August "Concluding some terms With a couple of steel firms They left fully loaded for Cleveland And later that night When the ship's bell rang Could it be the north wind they'd been feelin'?" --Gordon Lightfoot OK. So I, yours truly "Kitsch," with Heavyfoot, suddenly found myself roaring northward, fully loaded, for Duluth. And, of course, points even farther northward than that. And as I drove, the skimpy singlet I was wearin' was feelin' less and less like the kind of cargo I was carryin' would be WARM enough for Minnesota. [Here's a quick aside. This reminded me, even then, of a joke I'd heard before that. This baby polar bear goes up to its mommy polar bear and asks, "Mom, am I really a polar bear?" "Yes," she answers, "you really are a polar bear. Trust me on this. If you don't believe me, go ask your father." So the baby polar bear goes up to its daddy polar bear and asks, "Dad, am I REALLY a polar bear?" The father goes, "Sure! You were born a polar bear, you have polar bear parents, you have polar bear genes, and you have a long, proud polar bear heritage. Why do you ask?" "Because I'm #*!!#%*'ing FREEZING!!!"] Every time I got out of my brand-new rented ride to gas up, I felt just exactly like that little polar bear. But, of course, I didn't want to put on a jacket. I had a suntan! And, also of course, I was plenty late leaving home. It may come as quite a surprise to you, gentle reader, that I work free-lance out of my home-office [with appropriate IRS deduction duly deducted of course] and, as a result, always seem to have a "deadline" right before every single time I try to leave! So I finally "wrapped up" chapter one of my latest contracted project right about noon, and called the client immediately and, of course, made all the politically correct excuses as to why it wasn't done last week and why the next chapter probably won't be done for two more weeks! He didn't "forgive me," though, until I sang three full verses of "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald." Turns out, it was his favorite song--when he was, oh, about 15 years old. "Hope you make Whitefish Bay!" he said as he rang off the phone (29 times?). So I'm driving through Janesville and Madison and other highway spots with "E-Z offs / E-Z ons" to buy cheese in Wisconsin, listening to Gordo full-blast on my rented car's tape player: "In a musty old hall In Detroit, I did read, In a maritime sailor's cathedral A church bell chimed Till it rang twenty-nine times For each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald" And the thing I discovered about listening to church bells, not to mention ancient classic folk-rock ballads at 95 decibels, is that they tend to interfere--a lot--with your ability to hear sirens. Which is when I happened to glance in my rear-view mirror to see one of Wisconsin's Finest CLOSERTHANTHIS and RIGHTONMYASS with red (and blue) lights flashing and his angry fists gesturing me to, what, pull over? I hit the brakes and started to pull over. He blazed right past me. Whew! I guess he must've been chasing someone else, eh? At that point I decided to slow down and actually ARRIVE at my destination instead of spending the night in some Highway Patrol slammer. And I would, sincerely, like to issue the following "warning" to all my friends planning to drive through Wisconsin any time soon: "WATCH OUT!" I gotta believe the whole state is broke. (No riverboat gambling, after all.) So they have to depend on their state troopers to bring in the quota. (BTW, you'll never guess WHO in Wisconsin has all the money. None other than, I should imagine, all the descendants of Hiawatha herself. Gordo's quite correct--"The legend DOES live on from the Chippewa on down." And so does the keno and blackjack. The Chippewa own all the casinos!) And I think about that as I pass the sign saying, "Chippewa Falls--Next Exit." Hmmm. Well, they might've fallen once, but they've sure picked themselves up in the meantime! Well, it's a long ride to Duluth and points northward, to be sure, and--what's worse--I had no idea where my motel would be once I got there. But now I have to back up and explain. One of the reasons why I wanted to go all the way to Silver Bay, Minn., and try to run the Superior Trail 100-Mile Endurance Run in the first place, well, wasn't JUST because I'd done so poorly in Colorado in July (thinking, you know, that maybe Superior would somehow "redeem" me) but ALSO because I'd worked out a deal with my friend from Michigan, the lovely and talented Hihowarthya and her main brave, Heap Chef Hatchetman. (I didn't actually know until much later that he's in the food processing industry. I think he said he collects scalps from slower runners, and processes them. Makes you wonder all over again what's REALLY in Spam, doesn't it?) Anyway, the "deal" I'd worked out was to run with Hihowarthya, at least all through the night, and help guarantee that THIS year, by crackee, she'd finish the race! Chef Hatchet would act as our "crew." This is because LAST year, my dear friend Hihowarthya DNF'd at the race because running mostly by herself through the night was, well, just too damned tough. So this year (quite pompously, to be sure) I absolutely "guaranteed" she'd make it. "Stick we me, kiddo," I'd said, "and you WILL finish." But then I hastily added, "Of course, if you're really gonna stick with me, you'll have to slow up!" Hihowarthya is a wonderful ultrarunner. And I'd tell you her real name except, of course, I already said I changed all the names. You know, because of the lawyers... Anyway, just shortly after our "deal" was done, she sent me a smoke signal saying: "Make your motel reservations QUICK! There's only ONE motel in Silver Bay!" So I did what she told me and now, just a little before midnight, I found myself looking for the, what, "exit" to Silver Bay? And the big blue sign with all the names of "lodging" on it? HAH! Silver Bay, Minnesota, is a pinprick on a road map and GONE in a nanosecond if you blink. But there, right THERE next to the one and ONLY traffic signal on the outskirts of town, loomed my destination. "Lake Huron knows Superior scenes In the rooms of her ice water mansions Ol' Michigan steams Like a young man's dreams Its islands and bays are for sportsmen "Farther below Lake Ontario Takes in what Lake Erie can send her And the iron boats go, As the mariners all know, Where the gales of November remember!" It was indeed "as the mariners all know." It was called "The Ancient Mariner Flop and Bunkhouse," and the man himself was hobbling behind the counter. "Aye, matey," he said, "Diya ken Sammy Coleridge?" "Yessir," I answered, sleepy eyed. "I 'kent' him in College." "Aye," he recited, "'Water water ever'where, an' nary a drop to drink.'" "Sure, old man. That's the line. Now, have you got my reservation?" "Nay, matey, belay that guff. We be aw' FULL!" I was horrified, of course. Then I thought immediately of all the poor, helpless ultrarunners who might be arriving even later. I remembered the paragraph in the prerace booklet that came from Race Headquarters maybe just two weeks earlier. it said, right there in the stapled booklet called "September 11th, 1999/5:00 A.M./Silver Bay, Minnesota/Superior Trail/100 Mile/Endurance Run" (on page 2 no less): "The North Shore of Minnesota is primarily a tourist area catering to campers, fishermen and hikers. It is one of the few true wild places left in the country and as such it can be difficult to get lodging if not booked early. It is highly recommended you book your lodging no later than the middle of July and earlier if possible." I now have the envelope that this booklet came in sitting right beside me. The postmark, no kidding, says: "Duluth, MN 558, PM, 21 AUG 1999." And didn't I quote "Murphy's Law" at the beginning of Part 1? And you thought I was KIDDING??? [Back soon with Part 3.] "Kitsch" Limacher TheTroubadour@prodigy.net