It was a really perfect day to race. Temps in the mid-70’s, no humidity, no wind.
I worked as a volunteer; I worked in Body Marking until 7:00AM (race start, but there were still people flying down from the parking area at Memorial Hall at 7:05 - dudes?), and then went over to the “Hot Spot” on the run course. If you raced, it was the little wooden ramp-up where you crossed the walkway on West River Drive, then stepped down off the curb on your way to the Art Museum. I was in the road with the orange flag, black backpack, and a bad attitude. Why?
Job “A” was to make sure that spectators and pedestrians stopped and waited when runners were crossing the walkway. I had a team of three volunteers to do this - one to spot when a runner was coming, and one on each side of the path to be sure we physically stopped people. I was there in the road to keep an eye on everything, then make sure you didn’t miss the curb (and also to make sure you went towards the Art Museum and NOT the finish line, you sneaky b@stards…) This, for the most part, went very well.
My bad attitude came from Job “B”, which was keeping recreational cyclists from riding through the finish line. You see, West River Drive is normally closed on the weekends for cycling, running, rollerblading, walking, and the like. When there’s a special event like this race (or a rowing regatta, or dragon boat race), sometimes the usual local riders get torqued. Yesterday, they were especially torqued.
I counted over 200 (yes - TWO HUNDRED) individuals that attempted to ride past me, and ride THROUGH the finish line. I would see them coming, hold my hands up in the universal sign for, “slow down, please…” and try to warn them, “Road’s closed for the race - you can ride on the path over there…” While most would nod and say, “Thanks…” while leaving the road, those that didn’t? Hoo, what a show!
One guy rode right at me, yelling, “Don’t make me crash.” I yelled back, “Then stop and don’t make me crash you.” Another one tried the ‘Ride right at Bob’ move, then screeched to a halt, his front wheel about a foot from me. I didn’t move and said, “Hi! Nice to meet you. You racing?” He said, “No.” I told him that with the finish line there he couldn’t ride on…but he could use the walkway to get past…at which point he freaked out and just turned around, swearing. “YOU GUYS NEED TO PUT SOME F*CKING SIGNS UP!”
He stormed off, and I yelled, “I guess you didn’t see the 2,000 people running there on the left? You need a sign?”
Don’t even get me started on the one guy that got past me and rode through the entire finish at 10mph - faster than I could run. I’ll share that one in my next column - Attack of the Morons.
Hope you all enjoyed your day of racing! I have to say, I had a great time volunteering. I want to be back in the same spot next year; I’ll have 12 months to come up with more material, and a big, foam baseball bat.
Hurricane Bob
- Here’s your sign, you effing… *