Bluff-Land Epic; Part II of the race recap...

Part II: A redemption of sorts….

As we left our intrepid group, Eki was “circling the drain”, Farrow leaving the pit alone, had embarked upon a forlorn hope that the man-child would falter and that Schotz would experience a catastrophic collapse, and yet all the while Kershaw seemed to be taking it all in stride.

This was Kershaw’s first twelve hour mountain bike race, which would be a daunting proposition for most, but for him it was just another weekend endeavor. Kershaw first appeared on the DBD radar when rumors of his epic Arrowhead 135 ski first surfaced early last February. To ski the full Arrowhead135 is a rarely accomplished feat and takes a tremendous amount of fortitude (note: only four or perhaps five have ever been able to ski it). Regarding his impressions of his first WEMS, from his diary, he submits simply and without fanfare: “I thought to myself that this is going to be the most brutal day of riding I have ever had (think rugby on a bike). Ironically, as the laps started adding up, I found that I got stronger and more skillful at negotiating the course. I thought for sure my first lap would the strongest, but really the laps toward the end were cleaner and more satisfying.”

When queried about whether he had seen Eki during those fateful hours comprising the mid-race parameter, Kershaw volunteered, “I did see Eki near the half way point of the race at the pit-stop, and he seemed steady, yet I initially found it strange that he would linger during the heat of the race. Furthermore, I was taken aback when he asked me to roll him a ‘Kotak Adjaib.’ He was at the pit when I arrived and thus he greeted me with a, ‘Bravo Kershaw, well done!!!’ Before I could respond in kind, he quickly added a most disturbing request….’Say Kershaw, I am having a bit of a time of it, and I am afraid that I am played out. Me hands are all but useless. Hence, would you be a good chap and roll me a tight Kretek with the blend that we use for these sorts of occasions?’”

Having studied DBD protocols, Kershaw knew that Eki was asking him to assist in rolling the proverbial “last smoke”; essentially a rite of passage as old as the founding of the Freemasons. Nevertheless, Kershaw did as he was told and then following further instructions (as any good under-study should), placed the hand-rolled cigarette between the clinched teeth of the stalwart, yet pale Eki. Eki then signaled, using secret hand gestures as ancient as Stonehenge, that he required some distance. Kershaw, being a quick-witted lad, knew the score and thus swiftly mounted his Clockwork steed (a creation of local fire and steel) and made haste unto the course for yet another lap on the torturous course.

As Kershaw worked his fully rigid 29er machine across the myriad of logs and stones and hills and gulches, where upon a particular traversing criss-cross he spied Farrow. Their eyes momentarily met and Farrow called out, “Well done young Kershaw, perchance what news, if any, on old Eki?”

“I am afraid Sir Eki has inhaled his last smoke!” was all there was time for Kershaw to utter…lest we forget that there was a race going on! Upon hearing the news, a strange incomprehensible saline solution momentarily filled old Farrow’s crusty eyes, but he wiped it away and bucked up. Again, there was a race to be fought.

It went on like that for the rest of the lap, with each rider alone with his thoughts of imperfection, absurdity, and the finiteness of our time here on this planet. It helped ones demeanor to curse with dramatic discourse the logs, the unrelenting logs, the God forsaken logs. As he neared the pit stop, again Farrow felt unfathomable pangs deep within is manly loin area, for he knew that old Eki would be well on his way to “a better place, where men don’t have to shoot their dogs and eat their livers.” Yet, upon arrival to the pits there was no corpse of Eki? How strange?

Farrow asked the mother of the man-child (whose pit was close by), “For where art thy Eki?” The matronly woman, reluctant to give forth any semblance of information that might benefit the aged rivals of her off-spring feigned muteness. But Farrow was in a surly mood and was thus not willing to use his legendary charm to coax a reply from the loyal mother. Instead, he charged forth from his steed and once again within a close proximity declared with feeling, “Do you know where Eki is?”

The woman relinquished in hushed tones, “He took a few drags off of a foul cigarette, paused, looked upward to the sky, snuffed it out, put a leather case that looked to house a WWI era British Issue revolver back into his rucksack, mounted his steed and rode off. But, it matters not, I tell you, for neither of you shall catch my son!!”

Eki had experienced a renaissance, a revival, a reawakening, and was back in the fray…Farrow’s heart soared, even his chapped loins rejoiced…. Eki was back in the game...

“Hold your tongue, woman!” But alas, Farrow did not hear her foreboding words and only knew a great sense of relief. Released from negative thoughts of body disposal and the like, Farrow’s bike seemed lighter, the hills softer, the logs less loggier…

AS fate would have it, Farrow and Eki were not able to reel in the impressive youth and Schotz was not about to be stopped. But Kershaw proved himself an able endurance rider winning the single speed class. All survived to fight another day. Bully!
[Postscript: The talented young rider that took second place in this event is named: Jake Begley...Unbeknownst to the writer upon the initial publication of this recount due to a delay in access to the official results. Bravo Young Jake, your future looks bright indeed!!!]

Submitted by W. Churchill, Club Historian

Get those entry fees in...Pronto...

Hey Sports Fans: Don't pass up the Tuscobia (12/19) and the Northshore Ultra (in mid January)...these are local events put on by guyz that love racing and want to afford more "USCycling nonsanctioned" affordable, thoughtful, and challenging events up here in the Northland. WE NEED TO SUPPORT THESE KINDS OF EVENTS!...Send in your entry fees before November 1st and save big bucks. I have personal knowledge of the one in Duluth and it is gonna be GREAT.....Access available to their perspective sites on the right of this page...Winter racing is a total blast...

Living the dream somewhere near Two Harbors, MN

Part I: WEMS--The Bluff-Land Epic Chronicles

So after all the trials and tribulations, all the ups and downs, it had finally come to this— his final stage exit. Of course both the poets and the novelists would have conjured a more fitting end to a noble life lived, but such is the tragedy of authenticity. Like Achilles, he was known by anyone and everyone who had ridden with him to be a brightly shining, glowing star that would never stand for the fading mediocrity and spiteful nature that irrefutably accompanies the corps of the aged enduro-racer (think Farrow and his curmudgeons).

Eki’s gums were swollen and his teeth loose— the first signs of scurvy, his hands were decrepit, really mere useless claws— from hours of log jumping, and his lifeless knees were so misshaped and swollen that they resembled nothing more than two large black leather bags of marbles, relics of the like used by school children of antiquity.

"Be a good sport and send me diary to my widow," were the first words he had spoken to his comrade, Farrow, since the second lap of the Buff-lands Epic 12 hour WEMS race, now it was some five hours later. Farrow feigned deafness and thus said nothing. He, too, was living through his own hell, but his base instinctual need to track and hopefully wear-down the man-child rider that was out ahead of them, gave him misguided strength to push through the dark times that they were now collectively experiencing. But let us not forget that Farrow had somewhat comparatively fresh legs while the stoic Eki was six hours into his eighth WEMS race and his eleventh endurance race of the season. Both of the old lads were teetering on the precipice; that fine line between movement and lock-up and Eki, rightfully so, was feeling it down down down to his very soul.

Shortly thereafter, together they arrived to the pit area having nonverbally agreed (using secret hand-symbols as old as Stonehenge) to make a momentary stop to reload on fuel. Upon arrival, Eki (in a sullen down trodden voice that still maintained an air of detachment and honor) declared with candor, yet simply, "I am just going inside to that yonder Porta-potty and may be some time; perhaps I’m cutting you loose. I did enjoy the time. Give my regards." Then with admirable forthrightness Eki stumbled and tottered, ultimately breaking from that sacred bondage that exists betwixt racer and his trusted two-wheeled steed, then he gently laid the freed bicycle on the turf, and did NOT look back. Next with stern deliberation tinged with a hint of regret, he reached into his rucksack and revealed a smallish leather configuration of the size not unlike that of which an antique WWI-era British military-issue revolver might reside. Of course, given DBD speak, the lexicological implications of his statements (and his subsequent actions) were clear, he was all ‘played out’ and thus he knew the manifestations of such a realization required a drastic protocol to fulfill his solemn oath to the DBD Honor Code. Mallory, who was there in an observatory role, recently reminisced, "At the Bluff-Lands epic, we knew that poor Eki was walking to his death, but though we briefly considered an effort to dissuade him, we knew it was the act of a brave man and an English gentleman. I, for one, felt a tremendous since of pride."

The reader may ask, “Where was Farrow with all this drama playing itself out?" Already devastated by a glimpse of the hard-charging dark-angel and mischievous sprite, Schotz, who was in hot pursuit, Farrow was thus forced to confront the real possibility of being lapped and thus further humiliated. Plus he had to wrestle with news that the youth was gaining momentum. All of it put together, essentially had the effect of simply and irrevocably numbing him to the circumstances as they unfolded.

“I admit that I was a wreck, but I do remember when old Eki produced the smallish leather configuration from his rucksack, that my eyes began to fill with a strange incomprehensible salty solution…but really I felt nothing. I guess I do remember hoping that he would leave me his new Gary Fisher. I remember asking myself if it would be inappropriate to sell it, or how long I should hold on to it before I tried to sell it. I guess I also remember thinking that he was going the same path as “King”, Amundsen’s favorite husky, when the Norwegians ran out of food on their back from way the Pole,” reflected an unapologetic Farrow.

At Mallory’s drunken urgings, after a very brief bout involving a deeply, cognitive sense of loss (or may be it was forbearance) for his fallen comrade, Farrow shook off his melancholy and with renewed fortitude manifested by a stiff upper lip and a jutting chin, rode off for another lap with a hope and a prayer that the two leaders would falter. Farrow knew that the leader, Schotz, was solid. In fact probably on any given day, Schotz is the best in the Midwest at this distance, and so the most that he could hope for was that the irrepressible Schotz would suffer a mechanical. However, for the untested youth in second place, he thought that a real chance still existed if he could continue to ride at a steady pace of about fifty-five minutes per lap. Thus a mid-race plan was hatched, Farrow would steady himself and grind it out, playing the odds, which usually meant that the youthful ones would eventually falter, especially once the sun set and the darkness came onto the racers and demons begin to stalk their quarry with tenacity. Yet as the course brought forth its unrelenting climbs and its immeasurable logs (placed willy-nilly, thus representing a scourge of biblical proportions for any lightweight wheel-set), the grave underpinnings of what he had just witnessed regarding the reduction of Eki began to take hold of him. Although the lap times were short, nearly always under an hour, even late in the race, this particular lap seemed to take forever. A loud report, which turned out to be no more than a stick breaking, nearly sent him into the dirt. Was Eki’s “card finally punched?” Had he really ‘cashed in his chips’, ‘bit the dust’, ‘brought the farm’, ‘gone belly up’, ‘kicked the bucket?’ Had the ‘fat lady finally sang’, for old Eki?

To find out….Read Part II…Will Eki end it all to avoid a DNF? Will Kershaw supply the final finger of rum and cigarette to the inconsolable Eki? Will Farrow persevere? Will Kershaw impress? The answers to all these questions and more will be revealed in Part II…

Narrative by W. Churchill, Club Historian

La Crosse was such a BLAST!!!! Thanks again...WEMS is the best series in the NATION...thatz right, the NATION!!!!

The WEMS @La Crosse did not disappoint [The Bluffland Epic]: Schotz schools the field, Youth confounds Duo from DBD, Kershaw impresses veterans, Eki miraculously climbs out of the Abyss of the Damned, Farrow stays relatively sober for much of the race…A fully embellished race recap to follow in a few dayz…Thanks to the guyz at the HPT [Human powered trails] :)

The Coulee Valley Country amid the OLD MAN RIVER awaits!!!

Brave men and women, upon two-wheeled mounts, congregate this Saturday upon the picturesque Mississippi Bluff Country to battle demons...Deep within their fiery loins, these soldiers of righteousness know that the battle has already been decided by forces well beyond their comprehension...May the gods of antiquity take mercy on the small contingent from the MN northern lats and yet strike down the interlopers from west central Wisconsin...

Extra Extra Extra

A.P. via telegraph wire: Eki Found, Alive!

Follow up to: Eki Missing, Farrow Person of Interest--

Duluth Chief of Police: Tim Ek or "Eki" as some know him, has been located. You may recall the stalwart cyclist recently went missing after his ill fated Heck of the North attempt. Investigators have been working around the clock to locate the man. Investigations have included extensive interviews with Farrow, who I might add, is clearly disturbed, as well as a detailed forensic look at the scene where the chainless Specialized Tri-Cross was discovered, near Grain Elevator #5. The facts are these; Farrow, despite finger nail removal, water boarding, and a relentless onslaught of cold water enemas maintains that he was not involved. Tracks were found at the lake shore that lead straight away from the bicycle and disappeared at the water's edge. To us, this meant "Eki" did leave the shore on his own, albeit with help from Farrow's coaxing efforts to have him "end it all, as it should be done, according to the DBD…”

Now, here's where the story takes a turn for the surreal. Eki was discovered in a remote trading post near Hudson's Bay. It seems he stowed away on a 1000 footer, made his way through the St. Lawrence Seaway at which point he identified with a renaissance festival and ultimately an unsavory group of individuals who transported him to upstate New York. It seems he spent some time in the Hamptons portraying himself as a wealthy descendent of an individual he's only identified as "Mallory".

It was approximately two weeks later that he was discovered working on a remote trap line near Hudson's Bay. In his possession was a picture of a crazed looking Farrow in a tee-pee that investigators have determined was a rest point in last year's Arrowhead 135 ( hard-core winter cycling race) and a DVD of the movie Into the Wild. It appears that the aged athlete was so ashamed of himself and what he'd done to the reputation of all that is DBD during the Heck of the North he was doing his own impression of Alexander Supertramp or Chris McCandless.

Eki's wife was available for comment after her recent release from the archaic mental health facility in Moose Lake, Mn where she did a short stint following a break down that she still places firmly on Farrow's shoulders. Ms. Ek was allowed to view a picture of the grayed and scurvy ridden Eki and speak to him briefly via satellite phone as he was being flown back to Minnesota for further questioning regarding his partner's (Farrow) involvement in his disappearance. She had this to say, "The man in that picture is not my husband, the man on the phone was not my husband. I WANT MY HUSBAND BACK!! DAMN YOU FARROW!!"

The Duluth Police Department is deeply satisfied with this outcome and also acknowledges that there clearly is a long road ahead for Ek and his wife, but with years of therapy we're confident that they'll pull through this. As for Farrow, he is currently being held, but will be allowed a "work release" if you will for an upcoming WEMS race in La Crosse that he plans to attend with, yes, his partner, Eki.

In a bizarre turn of events, earlier day, upon leaving the Kitchee Gammee Club in east Duluth after consuming a seven course "lunch", as the duo escaped the throngs of curiosity-seekers by commandeering a local rickshaw, Eki yelled out, “Bully, Bully, we are good to go…onward to victory” As Farrow prominently displayed the V for victory hand gesture.