Idiotarod in Review (Part 1)
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Idiotarod 2008! Hours of preparation went into this event, organizers devised an elaborate route with unconventional checkpoints, and participants crafted outfits and carts that shocked and awed the residents of Brooklyn.
Our preparation began modestly, less than one week before the race. Once our team members had been nominated and our cart- um, acquired- we began preparations for the construction of our chariot. Our choice? Cougars, the fascination of which we at the SOAP extended family happen to share with mainstream media, prime time television and collegiate humor sites. With our new female physiques, fabulous new outfits and a few choice Louis Vuitton accessories, we had become the Cougar Carte of Bushwique, with a young bell hop to round off the predatory effect. We had seen the pictures and heard the stories about the vicious fighting among teams jockeying for position during the race, and opted against the mainstays of eggs, flour, and fruit, as the weapons inherent to cougars are more subtle: money, age, influence. Satisfied that our powers of persuasion would keep us afloat during the race, we needed only wait for the starting gun to go off, 12:00 pm Saturday January 26, 2008.
Sabotage, however, was at play even before the race began: a false starting point. We arrived at noon to a park in Brooklyn, leaving warmth and self-respect along the bumpy sidewalks of the Marcy projects. Greeted by a suspicious official, we were told to check in with the slightly more suspicious man in the hoody across the street. With no proper papers to check us in, we awaited his next instructions. The false starting point allowed us to size up the other lost competitors, and no one but the Scooby Doo Mystery Van looked like they could outshine us. We made friends with a couple of freelance Norwegian journalists who were trying to cover IDIOTAROD, but were also apparently fooled, so they followed us on a tip given by a girl in a black ski mask that the actual race start was taking place in Chinatown at the foot of the Manhattan Bridge. Feeling like the information from the third suspicious character must be the charm, off we went.
One of the modifications to our cart was a beam fashioned out of broom handles that ran through the cart so as to create a rack or, hanger, for our luggage rack cart. Vehicle clearance was never thought to be an issue, as we had not anticipated the constraints of subway stations. Or transferring trains. Nevertheless, we left a streak of gold spray paint and plastic above the stairs of the subway entrance but somehow avoided breaking the halogen bulbs. All in drag. The C train heading to the city was crowded and lively, and we were the crescendo to the mid-Saturday commute. People wanted to know where the party was at. Others asked if we were famous. One dude even asked me if we were on America’s Next Top Model. All the while our Norwegians were instructing us to pose for increased dramatic effect, scribbling notes furiously.
Our information was not without merit. We had found the starting point, but were a half hour late. The race had started, weapons were deployed as they ran across the Manhattan bridge, leaving a trail of food, weapons, and broken carts in their path. This was all the hope we needed. We had come too far to not compete, missing the race was not an option. We charged up the ramp of the bridge and began the arduous ascent to its peak. Never slowing to more than a fast walk (and only then to open more Sparks), team members and Norwegian satellite group were questioning the efforts. Were we too far behind? Would be ever catch up? How will we know where they went off the bridge?
Once back in Brooklyn, we came across gated paths and lanes of slow moving traffic. Across the street, some 200 yards away from the river, we spotted a man carrying a harp, a quaint little shopping cart in tow. Further ahead, just before the traffic-choked horizon, looked to be the mustachioed face of The 3 Amigos. We had caught up to the race.
