June 14, South Lake Tahoe, California
PRE-RACE BELOW, GO HERE FOR POST-RACE
This isn't multisport in the classic sense, but it makes the party tour anyway, because it's funner than heck, it's a challenge, it takes place in a great place, and it involves at least one of triathlon's three events.
The Robert DeCelle Memorial Relay (more commonly called the Lake Tahoe Relay) is a 72-mile footrace that undertaken by teams of 7 runners (each obviously running approximately 10 miles).
That this is our kind of race is clearly and overtly stated in the race FAQ, which says in part:
- Does the race provide transportation to each leg? No.
- Does the race provide water? No
- Do we have to pass a baton? No.
- Are shirts included in the entry fee? No.
- Does the Race have a Sponsor? No.
None of this matters. Part of the fun is having your team all pile into one or two cars, following each team member's progress over the eight or nine hours it takes your team to finish. You take care of your own team's' hydration needs, there's no water stations, no gel stops, no banana tables, no massage tents, and no post race IVs. In fact the only time you're likely to need an IV is when you look out over the vistas of this beautiful place hour after hour.
Seriously good runners have taken part in this relay in years past. I remember the glory years—in the 70s and early 80s—when the Aggie, Marin and West Valley Track Clubs, and the local Stereoscope Bakery teams, engaged in furious duels. Back then no road race in the world featured a better start field, even though there was no money. It was for team pride, and it was serious business. Thirty-one minute 10k runners couldn't land themselves a spot on one of the better teams.
It's both a party race and a road trip. I remember riding my bicycle around the lake during the relay one year, and while descending one of the switchbacks on Emerald Bay (photo'd above) I heard a crash behind me. Brian Maxwell's old Volkswagon bus—carrying his other six team members—didn't negotiate the turn and came down on its side. The six runners inside jumped out (what was now) the top of the bus (actually the passenger side door) and ran around to one side and hoisted it back up on its wheels. Then they took off in pursuit of their team member. As I recall that whole operation took about a minute. (Brian Maxwell went on to found Powerbar).
This year we're bringing a master's team (40+) of mostly triathletes, to unseat last year's championship masters team from Davis.
POST RACE
There were two masters teams from Davis, the "Old Aggies"—this being the Aggie Track Club masters team—and the Golden Valley Harriers (GVH), the running club that morphs into the Mad Cow triathlon club when there's swimming and biking involved.
There was one other good masters team that has been coming down from Oregon in recent years. This team was second last year (GVH was third), and they are fixated on beating the Aggies. In fact, their team name is "One Beat Off the Aggies," which I choose to mean that they're just one step behind. Getting to know these irreverent Oregonians constrained me, however, to question the sincerity of their naming scheme.
I started things rolling at 7AM by running leg-one. I'd run the second, the fifth, the sixth and the seventh legs before, but never this one. This is the glory leg, or lack thereof, as it's easy to tell whether you suck or whether you rock by virtue of the mass start. The results were inconclusive in my case—I acquitted myself reasonably well, placing sixth overall out of about a hundred first-leg runners, with the Aggie and the 1-BOT-Aggie just in front and the GVH one place behind (for some reason masters gravitate to this race, with half the top teams consisting of graybeards).
Therafter our team's results were mixed, and due to the unfortunate circumstance of a runner not making it to the event, our second leg runner also ran the sixth leg.
We were therefore mired in fourth (masters) with little chance to catch third, and as it became apparent that the Oregon crew was also missing a runner, I decided to sell our anchor leg, Mike Plumb, to them (in which case I'd run an additional leg as well). While perhaps stretching the rules, their manager was game to the idea, and offered $100. I was firm on $250, and he countered $150. Perhaps a start-fee-plus-bonus?
As the hours went by and we rounded the lake and headed south for home, the Aggies pulled away and the 1-BOTA team was in a fight for second. This took the wind out of their sails and they decided to save their money for the post-race party.
As a result they ran their fourth-leg man seventh as well, and got creamed by the fresh GVH runner.
We were ninth overall, fourth master, and 21 minutes faster than last year. We were quite a few years older as well in the aggregate (last year we had some under-40 runners), so the trip was reasonably successful. As we were three beats off the Aggies, we have our work cut out for us. Our recruiting for next year's race has already begun.
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