Return of the Stoke

photo courtesy Ben Friberg

photo courtesy Ben Friberg

For the first time in recent memory, we paddled three days in a row this weekend.  It was like a paddle-cation.

And something amazing happened.  Twice.

For most paddles, I am pretty adept at counting the name-your-metric-here; either laps around some landmark, miles, time – something to indicate hey, it’s time to stop.  Friday night, we went out downtown around Maclellan Island and Hal said, “well, that’s three laps, ready to go eat?”.  I looked at him, dumbfounded (and completely convinced I was right) and said, “Wasn’t that just two?”

Now granted – we’d mixed it up with some direction changes and such but still.  I a) had no clue how far we’d gone and b) clearly wasn’t spent enough.  We ran into Ben as we were discussing this, and opted for another lap before turning in.

Saturday, it happened again.  After starting out against the wind around Williams Island, we turned back downstream with less wind at our backs than we’d hoped.  Finally, with about 1/3 of the return trip to go, the wind hit and off we went.  Hal generally is ahead of me and will duck to the side and loop back, and as he was doing this again, I didn’t see him turn back to catch me.  Instead, I heard a feint “HEEEEYYYYYYYY!!!!” I looked back to see him calling me from the boat ramp I’d inadvertently whizzed by in my downwind glee.  Oooops.

We capped it off Sunday with glass downtown that ended in some lovely fast moving bumps.  Just under 17 miles in three days?

Yeah, I’ll take it.

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