Team MotionBased

The below race report was authored by Aja Cook on behalf of the DA Skins. This was Aja's first race with the Dirty Avocados! Where approporiate we have added some personal notes or color to the report. Ejnoy. Adam.... *** *** *** The streets were empty, and the light fog left a mist upon everything. We arrived at a cold calm Chrissy Field to find one or two other competitors organizing their gear. It wasn't long after that the music began from the staging area, more competitors strolled in, and voices could be heard. As the sun crept over the hills, the frenzy began, last minute gear checks were completed, high fives were thrown, and smiles could be seen all around. At 7:00 am, passports and maps were given out to the team captains. Doti laid the map out on one of the teams gear buckets and the rest of us hovered over his shoulder to determine what our best routes would be. To our surprise, we received an incomplete trail map; it seemed that we would be left in the dark on specific sections of the race! As a team, we plotted our best routes for the sections we knew. 7:30 crept up on us as quickly as the sun, and before we knew it, we were being called to stage on the beach. 60 teams filled the shore of Chrissy Field, some anxiously awaited the start of the race, a few racers were seen nervously biting their nails, myself included, and others threw high fives to their team mates. Some competitors looked as scared as a deer in a set of head lights. At 7:40 the race finally started with a member of the Big Blue Race Crew running across the front of the kayaks signaling it was alright for them to lug their heavy vessels 30 feet down to shore. This was new to me; I never actually had to carry a kayak before. Somehow, I was fortunate enough to have someone around to do the work for me. Armijo proceeded to push me faster than my legs would move, damn near making me face plant into a sandy pile of Chrissy. Luckily, we made it to the waters edge safely where DP and Doti awaited us rather impatiently. It was game on and all teams flooded into the bay. From about 25 feet off shore, a very excited DP could be heard, “What are you doing? Let's go.” As Armijo and I struggled to get our water skirts on, racers of all sizes passed us on their way out to the first marker. It wasn't long before Armijo and I caught up to Doti and DP, in the meantime, we managed to pass several of the other racers. As minutes flew by, racers spread out on each of their predetermined routes. The Dirty Avocados, along with 3 other teams, decided to follow the shores edge until we were parallel to the first marker, which was just passed Alcatraz. Knowing the tides in the San Francisco Bay, we knew this would be the easiest route. About 10 minutes into the kayak leg, an eerie feeling developed in the back of my mind. Within seconds, later the horrific sound of a fully loaded cargo ship sounded its horn as it entered a bay that was covered with miniature kayaks. As it plunged through the water, kayakers could be seen scattering left and right. We knew our only chance was to pick up the pace, get passed the ship, and hope that its wake would send us closer to our marker. With my little arms already burning, I did what I was told, and by luck the Dirty Avocados made their path safely in front of the cargo ship. About 45 minutes into the leg we made it passed the Check Point and headed to our second required stop, which we knew nothing about. We were given a picture of a ship and were told to find it. The only thing that we knew was that it was docked somewhere in the San Francisco Bay. Good luck huh? Making one of the first mistakes in Adventure Racing, we decided to follow some of the other teams who seemed to know where they were going, which happened to be in the general vicinity of where we thought the ship may be. Luckily, within 15 minutes, we had our eye on CP2. With CP 2 completed, we knew all that was left was to get back to Chrissy Field as quickly as possible. At this point we counted about 7 teams that were up in front of us, some three man teams, two man, and two of the four man coed teams that we were looking to beat. With a fast pace, Armijo and I trailed behind Doti and DP who seemed to struggle with their strokes. Armijo and I watched the two damn near hit each other in the head, we laughed hysterically, commenting on the fact that they looked like a struggling couple trying the kayak and argue at the same time. It was great to have such entertainment to focus on; it kept the mind of the burning muscles. Lining the shore of Chrissy Field were curious bystanders, screaming wives, and again, barking dogs. Doti and DP were seen running up on shore to T1 when Armijo and I began to make our way up the sandy beach. To my dismay, the boat had somehow taken on a few extra pounds of water. The kayak that had already been difficult to carry down to the shore was now even more trying. We finally made our way to the transition area where we spent 10 minutes changing clothes, replenishing fluids, and trying to figure out how many and which teams were in front of us. Four Dirty Avocados emerged from the transition area in matching avocado uniforms, the same screaming wives could be heard as we pulled out of T1, “Go Avocados”. With smiles on our faces, we knew that we were in good standings. Now we just had to get to the other side of the Golden Gate Bridge in 25 minutes or less. Once on the other side of the GGB, we received our next trail map that would lead us through the biking section of the race. We rallied over the GGB with 6 minutes to spare, new maps were passed out, and once again we found that Todd had thrown yet another twist into the race. The next four CP's were not given in the typical plotted coordinates format, rather we were given four more pictures of land marks that we would find somewhere in the thirty square miles of the Marin Headlands. All of the CP's were battery towers, which was great because they could be seen from far distances. Problem was, it was a typical fogy day in the SF Bay. So we were left to take guesses of where we thought the towers may be. Luckily, DP hollered “Follow me, this is my stomping ground.” The three of us looked at each other nervously, hoping that DP wasn't just talking out of his ass. Within 15 minutes, DP had brought us to the first battery tower where we would be able to spot the next through a break in the fog. From the second battery tower, we would have to get off of our bikes and run to the next CP. We would have to run an unknown distance to an abandoned building where we would count the number of Mona Lisa's painted on the building. The Avocado's took off running to a building that was less than a mile away; we counted 8 ladies and proceeded back to our bikes. All the way back to the bikes DP could be heard, “Common guys pick it up,” “I could walk faster that this” and “We are not going to win the race at this pace,”...nobody responded. Once on the bikes, we were off to the next checkpoint that laid somewhere up and over the Tennessee Valley Trail about 8 miles away, all of which was uphill. As we began to climb the first of the days many hills, I found the three boys were slowly pulling away from me. Armijo looked back at me, slowed down and offered me the first of many tows that would be offered that day. At first he and I were 20 or so feet behind Doti and DP, but not for long. Armijo is a freaking monster; he pulled us right past the guys and right on up the hill at lightning speed. As we reached the top, another 4 man coed team passed right by us. DP was heard, “Go, go, get in front of them.” Luckily for us, the down hill to the next CP was just ahead. The Dirty Avocados proved to be much better at descending than our competitors. We arrived at the next CP only seconds before our closest competitors to find that we were in second place. We were in second place, an amazing feeling at halfway through the cycling CP. The other team rallied off in front of us with fury in their eyes. They knew what I did not; to get to our next set of CP's, we would be climbing for days. On the next set of hills, hunger and thirst began to set in. My legs became weak and my spirit began to slip into the fog that still surrounded us. Armijo continued to pull me up the hill, as he was doing so I began to realize I was going to need to eat something or I was going to go down hard. I casually mentioned to my team members the needs that I was having, hoping that they would stop at the next hill top. Instead I got a, “Suck down some Gu, let's go.” As frustration began to boil, I realized this was a race, and they were right, no stopping, eat on the run. Damn that sucked to say, because I was ready for a nap. A few miles later, we rounded the hill top and proceeded back the way we had come in order to switch back around to the next CP. With a few minor errors setting us back a few minutes, we managed to get our selves to CP 11 with the other coed teams in our sight. From there, we were given the next set of clues that would lead us to CP 12 and 13. The Dirty Avacados began trucking away up more of the Marin Headlands finest hills. This time I was up in front and feeling strong. We climbed for a good 30 minutes before we reached the summit. Doti mentioned to be careful on the downhill, for there would be several trail merges and we would not want to miss our turn. Down the hill we went along with 2 other guys competing as a duo. The six of us flew down some of the fastest downhill tracks seen all day. Trail heads flew by the corner of our eyes and no turns were made. We knew we were on the right track, that's until we hit CP 13. Somehow, we had missed CP 12. The wording of the nav instructions threw us off, and we didn't take the time to sort things out. Thinking that we could plot CP 12 from CP 13, as the directions clearly stated, it slipped our minds that we were to get each checkpoint in this section of the course in order. Yeah....clear as mud! Oh well, you live and you learn. Our friends Karen Rehder and John Bonwick came up to the CP only seconds after us to catch a glimpse of the look on our faces. Karen asked “What's wrong?” As we informed her of our situation, her chin dropped and hit the dusty ground. That was when we would learn of our biggest mistake of the race. Karen and John both looked up the hill, pointed in unison, and then proceeded to tell us that CP 12 was back about a mile at the top of the hill that we just came down. Not believing what we were hearing, anger and frustration began to well up inside of each of us. None of us wanted to climb that hill, we had just come down it, and were well aware of what we were about to endure. Somber faces, empty bellies, and lips zipped, the four of us began our climb back up the hill, finally nabbing CP 12 and then back down to CP 13. Our little mistake cost us an hour, and 7 positions. We had 2 more CP's from that point to hit before we could head back over the GGB. For the last stretch, we would fight a bad case of the pissy attitudes while struggling up the last 2 hills. In the back of my head, being the competitor that I am, I was thinking, “There is no way that I am going to do the foot race now. We aren't going to win. This SHIT SUCKS!” On the outside I pretended like everything was okay. The boys had no idea of my internal struggle. I was hoping that they were all feeling the same way. As we began to climb out of the Marin Head Lands, attitudes began to get in the way. Team members had slowed down, including me, and there seemed to be no end in sight for the hill climb. Climbing up the first hill I was found once again towing on the back of Armijo. He was still charging along. It wasn't long before Doti had mentioned he to was bonking and would need a tow to save his legs for the foot race. Off the tow I went, and on went Doti. Up the hill I climbed, as low and behold I had found some extra energy that gave me the power I needed to chug right up to the top as the other Dirty Avocados trailed steadily behind. We emerged at the top of the hill with the GGB down below us; we knew at that point that it would be smooth sailing back to the transition area. As we bolted into the transition area, the same screaming wives were there, and photographers and reporters stood eagerly around awaiting our reasoning for the tremendous delay. When we left 4 hours before, we had locked in a solid second place, those that were there to help anxiously awaited the story, “What happened?” Paul and Will asked. As we stripped off wet socks, switched out gear, and replenished fluids, we told the crew what had happened. A photographer from the SF Chronicle shot picture after picture as we headed over to find the trail maps for the foot race. Again, we were thrown another twist. All that was provided was an address somewhere in SF on Mason St. The beginning of this stretch would prove to be the last for the many teams who knew nothing about San Francisco. Luckily for me; I had a team comprised of three SF dwellers. As we sped off to our first destination, smiles had been found, and attitudes were changed, including mine. About a half mile away, we came to our first CP of the foot race at the Sports Basement. There we were provided with a list of coordinates that were to be plotted on a map. The CP's were to be plotted on an approximate 8 mile course that would take us in and out of SF's famous Presidio. We spent a good 30 minutes in the Sports Basement trying to plot the most accurate course. I stood and watched from the couch a few feet away. Armijo and DP watched over Doti's shoulder as he fumbled around with a compass that he was not convinced of its accuracy. Frustration began to rise as plots just did not seem to look right. Based on the coordinates, and the guys familiarity with the park, they knew several of the plots were just not lining up. As I watched the boys work vigorously at plotting the map, I noticed that DP was getting distracted with something in his pants. He squirmed around as if someone had dropped ants down the back of his spandex. He made no noise, yet showed complete discomfort. With interest increasing, I just had to ask, “DP, what is your problem?” I soon came to find that, that was the wrong question to ask. DP then proceeded to give me a very detailed explanation to his chaffing problem. I suggested that he run and get some body butter to reduce the friction that he had, and would inevitably be experiencing on this final leg of the race. After all, we were in a sporting goods store. That idea was quickly shot down by Doti, who was almost done plotting the coordinates on the map. DP's eyes could be seen swelling the idea that he would be running the foot race with an already chafed crotch. Within the last few minutes in the store, DP spotted a bottle lingering on a store counter. I watched as he walked over, grabbed it, and began to mull it over. I could not believe what I was seeing. The bottle that he had in his hand was sports sunscreen, also known as Bullfrog. He was actually thinking of putting some of the fluid down his pants. I quickly warned him, “DP you don't want to do that. That stuff is alcohol based, meaning it's going to burn if you put it down there.” He rolled the bottle over and over again in his hand as if he were considering taking the initial pain in order to achieve some long term comfort. Apparently, my warning made no difference. DP squirted a big wad into his hand and shoved it down his pants. Armijo, Doti, and I all waited for the expected response. At first, DP got the biggest smiles on his face, and then, as expected the look of discomfort began the well in his eyes. “I told you so” I said. With no feelings of remorse, we were off to trek through the Presidio. Having used Bullfrog several times before, I knew that DP would begin experiencing a sense of stickiness as the product began to dry. I said nothing; I simply waited for the moment to come when he could no longer handle the irritation. Our first CP on the trek was less than a mile away. As we trekked to a coordinate that was known before we even plotted, Doti began to realize that his initial plot was about 15 degrees off. As we answered the trivia question at the first CP, Doti frantically replotted the map, Armijo stood by to help, and DP and I ran up ahead to find the answer. As we searched for our answer I noticed DP beginning to squirm, and I did all I could do to hold back the laughter. Answers in hand, and map replotted, we were off to a destination somewhere by Baker Beach, 2 or so miles away. Up hills, on roads, down single tracks, the Dirty Avocados were trekking swiftly along. On the way to the 2nd CP in the foot race, we ran smack into the opponents which we most wanted to meet. They were heading back into the finish area. No loner doubting ourselves and what we had overcome, we continued on with smiles on our faces, and no goals needing to be met. We were at the point of racing our own race. Once we rounded the hill, Baker Beach could be seen. Doti told us to spread out since he was not exactly sure of where the next CP was. For about a half an hour we scavenged the oceans shore, the rolling dunes, garbage cans, and anywhere else that a marker could be hid. As frustration began to rise again, Doti rechecked the map and the rest of us pressed on through our search. Several other teams could be seen in the same predicament. Having already gone through the parking lot twice, I decided to run one more swoop. As I was heading back up to the rest of the team I noticed another battery tower, similar to the ones found in the Marin Head Lands. I thought, maybe just maybe, even though it was way off of the plotted coordinate, the CP could be located there. As I rounded the corner, a cold Big Blue crew member was found wrapped up in a blanket. Ecstatic, I called for my team members to come over and have the passport signed off. It was smooth sailing from there! We had two CP's left, a small hill to climb, and we knew there was only about three miles left. Up the hill we climbed and tow ropes were once again thrown on. DP eagerly towed Doti, and Armijo through a bungee my way. I was warned to pick up my legs or be drug along the ground. Armijo needed to say nothing else. With this warning, my pace picked up and I damn near towed his but the rest of the way to the next CP, a CP that would prove to be a challenge to find. We searched low and high for a CP that should have been easy to find. Luckily for us, a team of three found the CP stuck to the inside wall of a well and hollered loud enough to get our attention. There was one CP left, and with it came a trivia question. How many balls can be found at the General's house? Fitting question for the topic of the day. We jogged off, chuckling at the irony of the final CP. At that point, I had to announce the amount of times that I had heard DP refer to his balls that day, 24 to be exact. We all laughed as we ran off to count the General's balls. At our final destination, we counted 16 balls. I looked to double check because I wanted there to be no more mistakes. I only counted 10. I looked up to catch the smirk upon DP's face; he added a few that obviously should not have been counted. Happiness could be heard, felt, and seen. At that point, we were able to look down at the finish line on the beaches of Chrissy Field, which was less than 2 mile away! Down the hill we sprinted, eager to eat solid food, sip on micro brews, and bask in the reality that we finished the race. As we rounded the corner, the Big Blue finish line could be seen about 100 yards away. The smiles got bigger upon our faces as the cheers of our friends and family members could be heard as we approached the end.