the crews

Here are some shots of us at the end of the race!

day 2

There was something extra special about rounding a bend and seeing the finish line of a day's leg of the race.  Even though it was not the end of the whole thing,  there was something rewarding about finishing for the day.  That was why we were so excited when we say a huge rope with  banners stretched across the entire river after eight hours of paddling on day two.  The crowd on the side of river were cheering and waving, the sky was blue, the sun was warm upon the water, and life seemed pretty good.  I turned the canoe from the middle of the river toward the shore.  But something was funny,  there was only one other canoe resting on the bank.  We had rowed hard, but there were over 50 boats, by virtue of athletic crew or better design,  that had simply outpaced us that day.  Then I noticed that the crowd didn't seem... big enough.  My turn had brought us closer to the shore, and now we could here the "fans" more distinctly.  They were shouting for us to keep going.  Cries of "keep is up!" and "you're almost there" drifted across the water.  Turns out that the people of this particular Creole village had simply strung their own line across the water.  Who knows why?  Decoration for their party?  A big practical joke?  A cruel tease?  I'm sorry, but after hours of paddling,  "You're almost there!"  almost always sounds like,  "You have a ways to go!"  which is not encouraging by any means.  We didn't want to almost be there, we wanted to be there.  Until I was there, I didn't want to hear how much farther I had to go. As for the banner-bedecked  rope on the water, that bordered on paddler abuse.
That leads me to another factor about the fans on the side of the river.  While most were generally encouraging, a few were not above lying to your face.  They would tell you how the finish line was close,  even tell you how bends in the river lay between you and your destination.  These bits of information were always wrong.  The raced finished not "four bends" away, but sixteen,  but who's counting?  It was true that it was only "half an hour and your done,"  but only if you counted that half hour ten miles after you spoke to the person.  I admit I may have called these people some names after their advice proved false.
At any rate,  day 2 did finally end, and not terribly long after we mistakenly thought it would.  Ironically, the actual finish line was less gaudy then the faux one, with no flags or banners.   It goes to show that things are not always what they appear.  As for our appearance, it was beginning to deteriorate.  But more one that next time.

day 1

the river was exploding in shouting and a literal stampede of canoes.  The first team to reach the "low bridge" would win a thousand dollars, so every team was sprinting for the that first quarter mile.  I never thought canoes could make the water so rough.  So here we were, three volunteer teachers with four hours's experience of rowing together, and it looked as if we were going to flip and then get run over.  Some canoes did flip, which required some last-second digs into the water to avoid hitting them.  Lucia earned her Indian name "Beautiful Hawkeyes" here, guiding me around tipped boats. I suppose that the low bridge had people we knew among the crowd, but my world had contracted to the 200 feet of water directly in front of my canoe and the thirty feet on either side.  We managed to steer under the bridge, an accomplishment as some canoes actually ended up sideways against the pilings, pinned by the current.  Then we were racing again, trying to maintain position in the pack.  The early morning sun reflected off the water and nearly blinded me, so I had to have Lucia shout "More to the left" or "Right! Right! Right!" from the front.
Day 1 was 49 miles, so I was very anxious if we would even be able to finish.  I simply did not know what our team was capable of.   What should have worried me more, and certainly was Betsy's greatest concern, were the dozens of rapids along our route.  The key to rapids is to keep on paddling. Pulling your oars out of the water robs the boat both of its balance and momentum.  The concept is the same as riding a bicycle: stop peddling, and it becomes a lot harder to stay upright.  But rapids are freaky, and its hard to think about paddling when six inches of water splash over the sides of the boat.  Nonetheless, we did well enough and kept our overall position.  However, after 90 minutes a fork in the river proved too much.  I did not pick a side to follow soon enough and we slammed into the small island in the middle of the river.  I had carefully instructed Betsy and Lucia to "never ever let go of your paddle if we tip."  They held on perfectly.  I promptly let go of my paddle when we tipped, proving that those who teach, can't do.  Four or five boats passed us while we were bailing the boat and getting back in.
Two hours later, this loss of position proved helpful,  we were just catching up to two boats when we came up on a much more dangerous set of rapids.  On the right was a huge dead tree, on the left currents swirled dangerously.  We watched as the two teams attempted the rapids.  The first team took the left and flipped in the current.  The second team took to the right and ended up running their canoe up onto the dead tree, where in promptly broke in half.  We breezed through the middle,  looking up just long enough to see three paddlers clinging to the tree. 
After seven hours of paddling we rounded a bend and were shocked to see the finish line of the first day.  We we were relieved.  I had a headache from steering through rapids, and we were all sore from the long day.  But we were done, and had arrived on our own steam.  It was a good day.

pain

As I lay in my tent on Sunday night, listening to the rain that would soon be pooling under my sleeping bag, I tried to recall why I had signed up for this canoe race across an entire country.  I guess I could not resist the allure of another adventure with which I could regale attentive audiences for years to come.  I suppose that Betsy and Lucia's enthusiasm has also helped convince me, but now the rain, damp, cramps, and 20-plus hours of paddling had somewhat cooled everyone's zeal.  There was one exception to this.  Some highly intoxicated local was still staggering around the crowded park, shouting his not-to-keen insights about the race standings to an imagined audience.  I was to learn later that several of my fellow-racers contemplated assault, but did want to drag their cramped bodies out into the rain to do it.  I rolled onto my side and tried to cover my face from the spattering of rain that came right through my tent.
In truth, I had wanted to do the Ruta de Maya for some time, although I only got that chance at the last minute.  It is basically Belize’s combination of the World Series and the Boston Marathon, and the chance to participate in such an adventure had always been attractive.  It would be an exaggeration to say that nothing had prepared me for it.  My wilderness trips during college gave me a pretty good idea of how to prepare for it physically, and I insisted on buying enough food to feed a small army.  I was also fairly confident that I could push a paddle for four days, and that my team would probably pull through.   Lucias was a star athlete in high school, and Betsy’s small stature was more than compensated for my her iron will. As I said, this is the country’s biggest event of the year, and that took me by the most surprise.  The first day we arrived at the river and found it filled with seventy or more canoes of every description.  The professional teams were already line up by the time we got in the water.  Their boats reminded me of switchknives, sitting low and sleek in the water.  But the amateur teams were a motley crew.  Teams from Belize, Canada, Britain, America, and I know not where else had turned the country over for anything resembling a canoe.  Some were flying flags patriotically, others had matching purple mohawks.  None of us were lined up well, and there was a lot of bumping and awkward paddling was we tried to point our boats downriver.  It was like trying to untie a knot in your shoelaces right before a sprint.  The three and one minute warnings increased our anxiety as made our last minute attempts to straighten our boat out.  The professional teams kept creeping forward under the bridge that formed the starting line.  The announcer repeatedly warned them to back up, in increasingly angry tones, but none of them were willing to surrender their position by compliance.  Finally, the announcer gave up and sounded the horn.  The water and air exploded with shouting of 2000 people and the splashing of 200 paddles.
The Ruta de Maya was underway.

river

hey everybody,

Man, things are getting busy around here and time keeps getting away from me.  This weekend our crew,  Betsy, Lucia, and myself, headed down to the river to put in a little practice for the Ruta de Maya.  We had never all been in a canoe together, so there was a lot to accomplish.  First, I had to establish the ranks of command.  Naturally, I named myself captain of the boat, and started shouting orders. We practiced turning and paddling in unison, with me shouting helpful hints like, "Row!" and "Row harder!"  We made a lot or progress.  The mutinous threats that a overheard from Lucia I took as hyperbole.
 We also practiced shooting some "rapids," which weren't very, but were enough to tip our little craft.  So we also practiced bailing and trying to flip the canoe in the water.  At this second thing we were not successful, so we had to swim to shore.  Then I ordered the boat sunk deliberately so we could practice again.  The mutinous threats now came from both of my compatriots.  After a few minutes, it became clear that our strategy will be to head to shore before attempting to reenter the canoe.  Locals say that crocodiles hang out on some of the shoreline, but I'm not letting that worry me. 

I hope all is well with you guys, you will get updates from the river!