Seas of Fortune(17)
“Team Five!” That was Lewis and Marina Bartolli. Their parents owned Bartolli’s Surplus and Outdoor Supplies, so they had a real racing hull, an eighteen-foot-long, three-by-twenty-seven pro boat. “Buy Bartolli’s” was painted on both sides.
“Ouch,” said Lolly.
Maria flinched. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, look at that canoe. The longer the boat, the faster it can go in the water.”
“Ouch, indeed.”
“On the other hand, it’s a pain in the butt to carry, it turns slowly, and I have my doubts as to how well it will do in whitewater.”
“Team Six!” Phil Gerard and “Ikey” Pridmore were upholding the honor of Grantville Sporting Goods, the Bartollis’ main competitor. They, too, had a USCA competition cruiser. “Go, Grantville Sporting Goods!” they shouted in unison, and picked up their canoe.
More teams followed. Finally, it was Lolly and Maria’s turn. They walked a bit farther than the others, in order to go down to the river where the going was easier. The time they lost up on the bank was regained when they descended rapidly and safely to the water. Lolly held their canoe, a fourteen-foot Mad River Synergy, pointing upstream, and Maria swung herself into the bow position. Then Lolly jumped into the stern, and they came about and edged their way into the main current.
Seeing all the other canoes in the river ahead of them was discouraging, but they knew that contestants’ actual running times would determine their placement.
“Buffalo Creek’s a bit woollier than it used to be,” Lolly remarked. “Faster and deeper. The water from the Upper Schwarza tumbles a few hundred feet down the southwest ring wall, rushes into the Spring Branch and then into the Creek. Which is a real river, nowadays.”
A couple of strokes later, Maria did a double-take. “Wait a moment, you said it was gentle.”
“A gentle river. Just not a creek anymore.”
Walt and Erhard’s canoe entered the Hough Park loop, staying on the inside.
“Bad choice,” said Lolly. “That may shorten the distance, but the current is strongest on the outside of a curve.” The wind carried her voice forward. Maria nodded.
“But you don’t want to get too close to the outer bank. That’s where the erosion is greatest, and so you tend to get fallen trees there. We call ’em strainers, ’cause they let water through but trap boaters.”
The canoes passed under the Hough Street bridge. Its pilings acted a bit like a “rock garden” on a wild river, creating little eddies. But they were easily avoided.
A few minutes later, the contestants were approaching the mouth of Dent’s Fork, on river left.
“Be careful here, Maria. If you look closely, you’ll see the shear line, where the waters merge. Stay away from it.”
The pack swept past Dent’s Fork, and under the Clarksburg Street bridge. The bridge was packed with spectators. Maria couldn’t help but wonder whether some poor soul would fall off and have to be rescued.
High Street Bridge. Lolly and Maria were fourth from the lead, at this point. Pretty good, considering that they had started last. Phil and Laurel Jenkins were in the boat ahead of them.
A ninety-degree turn. Now they were heading east-southeast. This was a long straightaway, and it gave a bit of an edge to the longer canoes.
Route 11 Bridge. More onlookers. Another ninety-degree turn, bringing them into a nearly southerly course.
High up on the bank, they saw the sign, LEAVING GRANTVILLE.
Some minutes later, they were approaching Rainbow Plaza. The crowd assembled there yelled encouragement (and an occasional jeer).
The high school was the next major landmark, and it signaled that they were approaching the wilder part of the river.
Now came the Drop. This was a broad ledge, two feet high, extending the full width of the river. A large crowd stood nearby, on the low bank. It was a popular vantage point, since the spectators got to see how the contestants would handle the drop.
Walt and Erhard took the easy way out. They ferried over to the side, where the current was weakest. They clambered out, holding their canoe in place, and then walked it over the Drop.
Phil and Laurel paddled up close to the ledge, then set their paddles down, grabbed both bulwarks tightly, and braced themselves. The water carried them to the brink, where they teetered and then crashed into the foam below, with a teeth-jarring crash. But they were upright, and more or less dry, at least.
Billy Joe and Jim Bob tried to copy this move, but with both hands raised in the air, like thrill seekers on a roller coaster. That wasn’t a good idea. Their boat rolled to port, and without paddles, there wasn’t much they could do to stop it. In a moment, they were taking a swim.