Great Race 1.0

It was a different time, a different race. At its peak, it made the pages of Sports Illustrated: A Great Race for Morons, reprinted now at SI.com. Pre-dating the Blackburn, finishing the 20+ mile race meant you were, by tradition, disqualified. All sorts of watercraft - a veritable floating horribles parade. And the bikes. What I remember most were the bikes…built for 2, or 3, or 4. The double decker built for 10. And the year several of the participants arrived not by land or by sea, but by air – parachuting out of a plane.

Not long after that, the race burned itself out. Too much Rock and not enough Row. The partiers outnumbering the participants. A determination that the words ‘truckloads’ and ‘beer’ and ‘free’ did not always end in the best combination.

I was too young to participate or partake, but to be honest; as we’re hauling the boats across the causeway I’ll be glad I’m not dodging cars portaging through the old Leverett Circle. And I’ll cheer those that finish first as winners, whether Steph’s prediction is true or not. You can’t go back, so it is the new traditions we embrace. That said: maybe – just maybe, after the wholesome picnic is finished, and after the boats are rowed home and packed away…I’ll silently slip into Maddie’s and lift a pint to the Great Racers of old.