Crossing the Sunshine Skyway as playful gusts of wind nudge my RV from one side of the lane to the other, I dart a quick look to my right.
Of course the fleet of adventure racers is long over the horizon. Even knowing that my TwoBeers and Moresailesaid are sporting fine Gortex® waterproofs, I knock wood that they're hauling (dry) butt ahead of the rain.
Rain that is just starting to ping against the windshield.
When my favorite skipper and Moresailesaid push Spawn off the beach for the Everglades Challenge each March, their focus is 100% on getting to Key Largo.
The event is an "unsupported" adventure race, which means the racers carry whatever they expect to need. Preparation is key: for months, I'll find lists of how many AA and AAA batteries, of food ideas, of which things need fixing.
There are long looong phone calls about how best to stow gear.
I stay out of most of it. I consider myself a quartermaster rather than a chef d'équipe for the team. I obtain and make stuff in advance of the event.
But when they take off at 7 am on the first Saturday in March, my focus changes.
I'm ground control, so I keep an eagle eye on their SPOT track. And another eagle eye on the weather news.
And another on the WaterTribe tracking page and on the RaceOwl page when the WaterTribe page gets bogged down.
Plus one more on what's shaking on the social networks. Oh, and maybe a peek at the weather radar.
How many eyes is that?
(Whatever you do, do NOT Google "eagle spider." Jayshusmaryandjoseph)
Among the many management challenges of the Everglades Challenge each year, the only thing tougher than organizing batteries and gear and the boys' socks –– for me –– is keeping a lid on worry.
Knocking wood and crossing fingers and so on.
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