Jonah. Of course. I shook their hands. “I’m Ruby.”
“Ruby,” Jonah said, “I hope this doesn’t come off wrong, but could we use you for a little while? Just to help us set up the course, see how long it will take, level of difficulty, that sort of thing. You probably represent the top end of the ages we’ll encounter, so it will be good to see how it works for you.” He gave me a quick grin that might have been endearing if I hadn’t wanted to slap him so badly. “That didn’t come out right. What I meant is—”
“I know what you meant and I’d be happy to help. Are you planning a portage or is it strictly a water race?”
“Strictly water,” Jason said. “We don’t want to lose anyone on this thing.”
“I understand. Bad for business.” I nudged the canoe into the water and followed her in. “It’s about eight kilometers from here to Lighthouse Pond and back. Sound good?”
“Sounds far,” Jonah said.
“For whom?” I asked as I fastened my life jacket.
“The suits,” he said with that same charming smile. “Half that would be better. Let’s end at the lighthouse.” He dipped his paddle into the water and nodded at mine. “Bent shaft, eh?”
I shrugged and settled into the Lipstick Queen. “Once a marathoner ...”
He chuckled. “I’m just surprised is all.”
And rightly so. The Island waterway isn’t exactly a raging river. Just a winding series of lagoons that take you from Ward’s Island to Hanlan’s Point at whatever pace you want to set. A straight paddle would definitely have been easier to use in these waters, especially since I was canoeing solo these days. But I was used to a racer’s paddle and a racer’s stroke and couldn’t bring myself to abandon either.
I aimed my canoe at the bridge. “How long do you want this race to take?”
“As long as you need,” Jason said, and I like to think he didn’t mean to be rude.
“Tell you what. Why don’t we make this a little more interesting?” I looked from one to the other. “Ten bucks says I beat you both to the lighthouse.”
Jason bit first. “Make it twenty and you’re on.”
“Twenty it is.” I wrapped my fingers around the paddle. “You might want to get in line.”
They laughed and shook their heads but got themselves into position nonetheless—canoes even, paddles out of the water. “From a dead stop?” I asked.
“Is there another way?” Jonah answered.
I sat up straighter. “Which one of you wants to get us started?”
“On your mark,” Jason said.
I flexed my fingers, eyed the route ahead. I wasn’t facing white water and there wouldn’t be a decent ice jam for months, but still my heart started beating faster, warming my skin and turning my stomach just a little, just enough. Prerace jitters. God, how I’d missed them.
“Get set.”
I raised the paddle.
“Go!”
They weren’t expecting much, so it wasn’t hard to shoot ahead right off the mark.
But they figured out quickly enough that I wasn’t kidding and both of them rose up on one knee, assuming a sprint racer’s stance and pulling ahead as we passed Snake Island.
“Nice start,” Jason said on his way by. “Too bad the race wasn’t over back there.”
I laughed and held to a steady pace because a marathon isn’t only about speed. It’s also about stamina, breath control, and negotiating the twists and turns while maintaining a constant pace. Not an easy task in a racing stance.
I was sure Jason was going over on the first turn past the church. He managed to right himself and hold on a while longer, but by the time we reached Far Enough Farm, they were both sitting lower and they were both starting to slow. There’s a reason sprint races are short. Not many people can keep up that kind of pace for long.
While the two Js continued to flag, the Lipstick Queen and I powered on, catching up to them as we rounded the curve by the Carousel Café, and nosing ahead as all three canoes burst into the Regatta
“Ruby,” Jonah said, “I hope this doesn’t come off wrong, but could we use you for a little while? Just to help us set up the course, see how long it will take, level of difficulty, that sort of thing. You probably represent the top end of the ages we’ll encounter, so it will be good to see how it works for you.” He gave me a quick grin that might have been endearing if I hadn’t wanted to slap him so badly. “That didn’t come out right. What I meant is—”
“I know what you meant and I’d be happy to help. Are you planning a portage or is it strictly a water race?”
“Strictly water,” Jason said. “We don’t want to lose anyone on this thing.”
“I understand. Bad for business.” I nudged the canoe into the water and followed her in. “It’s about eight kilometers from here to Lighthouse Pond and back. Sound good?”
“Sounds far,” Jonah said.
“For whom?” I asked as I fastened my life jacket.
“The suits,” he said with that same charming smile. “Half that would be better. Let’s end at the lighthouse.” He dipped his paddle into the water and nodded at mine. “Bent shaft, eh?”
I shrugged and settled into the Lipstick Queen. “Once a marathoner ...”
He chuckled. “I’m just surprised is all.”
And rightly so. The Island waterway isn’t exactly a raging river. Just a winding series of lagoons that take you from Ward’s Island to Hanlan’s Point at whatever pace you want to set. A straight paddle would definitely have been easier to use in these waters, especially since I was canoeing solo these days. But I was used to a racer’s paddle and a racer’s stroke and couldn’t bring myself to abandon either.
I aimed my canoe at the bridge. “How long do you want this race to take?”
“As long as you need,” Jason said, and I like to think he didn’t mean to be rude.
“Tell you what. Why don’t we make this a little more interesting?” I looked from one to the other. “Ten bucks says I beat you both to the lighthouse.”
Jason bit first. “Make it twenty and you’re on.”
“Twenty it is.” I wrapped my fingers around the paddle. “You might want to get in line.”
They laughed and shook their heads but got themselves into position nonetheless—canoes even, paddles out of the water. “From a dead stop?” I asked.
“Is there another way?” Jonah answered.
I sat up straighter. “Which one of you wants to get us started?”
“On your mark,” Jason said.
I flexed my fingers, eyed the route ahead. I wasn’t facing white water and there wouldn’t be a decent ice jam for months, but still my heart started beating faster, warming my skin and turning my stomach just a little, just enough. Prerace jitters. God, how I’d missed them.
“Get set.”
I raised the paddle.
“Go!”
They weren’t expecting much, so it wasn’t hard to shoot ahead right off the mark.
But they figured out quickly enough that I wasn’t kidding and both of them rose up on one knee, assuming a sprint racer’s stance and pulling ahead as we passed Snake Island.
“Nice start,” Jason said on his way by. “Too bad the race wasn’t over back there.”
I laughed and held to a steady pace because a marathon isn’t only about speed. It’s also about stamina, breath control, and negotiating the twists and turns while maintaining a constant pace. Not an easy task in a racing stance.
I was sure Jason was going over on the first turn past the church. He managed to right himself and hold on a while longer, but by the time we reached Far Enough Farm, they were both sitting lower and they were both starting to slow. There’s a reason sprint races are short. Not many people can keep up that kind of pace for long.
While the two Js continued to flag, the Lipstick Queen and I powered on, catching up to them as we rounded the curve by the Carousel Café, and nosing ahead as all three canoes burst into the Regatta
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