Idiotarod in Review (Part 2)
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The next part of the race is coming back piecemeal, battle skirmishes creep back through the psyche as the post traumatic stress wears off.
We made our way past an army of panda bears as we headed towards the first check point. Thankfully we were still in heavy automobile traffic, I think those guys had throwing stars or something. We veered off Jay Street onto a smaller street, and stumbled upon our first check point, the Spank Station (or something?). We were instructed to park our cart, line up as a team, and bend over and ass up. After an invigorating go-around with wooden paddles, we received a stamp and the flyer for our next checkpoint.
All roads led to the decaying industries of South Central Brooklyn, the guillotine cart of the Marie Antoinettes lighting our way South towards warehouses. With powdered faces and blue wigs, they curtsied about in corsets and garters offering cake to other teams. Non functional was their guillotine. Quite functional were the eggs, flour, and mystery balloons of the other teams we happened to be keeping pace with. Bosley tried to slow traffic behind us, taking one in the face from a monk or a pirate with a bag of flour; D was pelted with vitamins by a team of scientists, horsepill vitamins that stick in throats and make pee turn green. As we were running too fast to actually drink any of the bar we had brought with us, we resorted to Sparks canons and whiskey squirt guns, standard fare for the all powerful cougars.
The second checkpoint was a patch of dirt and gravel running along the Gowanus Canal bordered on all sides by warehouses that looked abandoned, or whose proprietors didn’t care about having their land turn into The Thunderdome. Carts were everywhere, people were crawling about the ground, tugging-o-war, stealing shit from each other, all in what appeared to be loosely sanctioned activity. It looked like Burning Man at war. On speed.
For the first time, race officials were everywhere, shouting out orders that only seemed to add to the chaos. This is the exit! You cannot go in here! Go around to the other side and wait to be let in! Only 5 people per team are allowed in! We peered through the exit gates as we walked around the building at the lawless debauchery taking place inside. When we finally got to the front of the line, more race officials were there to enforce the 5-people-per-cart rule. We were 6. Someone was going to have to wait outside. In a panic-stricken moment of brilliance, Bosley climbs onto the bottom rack of our shopping cart, hiding under a dirty fur coat. We then crowd around the cart, yelling and revealing skin under the questionable attire, confusing the judges enough to let us pass.
As Bosley climbed out from under the cart, we were told more about the tasks at hand. We had 15 minutes to turn in 5 empty cans, 10 red flags, and 3 stamps. The cans we could handle; we had a gross amount of Sparks. The stamps (1 given upon entry, so two remaining) were given after winning feats of strength- the 2 team tug-o-war and the shopping cart crawl race. No one except Em knows how the red flags were supposed to be acquired, and no one bothered to ask her what she had to do to get them.
Our first event, the crawl race. On hands and knees, we squatted down on the rocks, ready to tow our heaping Carte of LV luggage. Our Carte was easily twice the size our competitor, but there were so many whistles and people shouting, that we had a solid head start to win, dragging ourselves and our cart over rocks and dirt, totally staining our hot dresses.
For the tug of war we teamed up with some big dudes after losing a quick round, and drug our opponents over the makeshift line. In what may have been the most confusing 15 minutes of our lives, we had completed all the tasks. We made for the exit, then off for the finish line. Our stand-in photographer finally found her way to us, but we were running too fast to actually capture much of the action. Truthfully, by this time most of the teams were out of ammo, which is probably for the better; the residents of Park Slope (I think?) were probably disgraced enough to see all the heathens past the stoops of their brownstones without all the pancakes and ketchup.
The finish line was a dead end street near a bar at the foot of the BQE. There was a BBQ, lots of team mingling and, shortly after, police cars and smoke bombs. Somehow the police maintained composure, or humor, and didn’t break any kneecaps. After all the carts had been photographed and remaining ammunition depleted, we were told about an after party nearby where the awards would take place. Sweet, an after party. At 4 PM.
The venue was a massive unlit warehouse that served beer and whiskey and had a DJ playing top 40 music loud enough to get bodies moving. Once the place was full,the 11th Annual Idiotarod Awards Ceremony commenced. The awards and the prizes were festive and arbitrary. Best sabotage, best bribes and purple hearts were all presented and awarded dollar store oddities, with bribery committed until the last second. Alas, Cougar Carte of Brooklyn did not win, but for the Best In Show Award, there was little contest. Team Dangerzone- a themed fighter jet, crew and ensemble Top Gun cast- was pretty much flawless. They welded the cart, had folding wings, pumped music powered from a generator, and played sexy volleyball in speedos. Our lady hats are off to you.
As for next year? Earlier planning, more drinking, smarter sabotage, and maybe this.
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