Mayors Cup '07: Bigger Better...But Where's the Beer Mate?

MAYOR'S CUP '07: Bigger Better…But Where's the Beer Mate

If I had to list the five things Herman Chalupsky loves most in life it would read: Beer dogs coffee paddling and women though I wouldn't vouch for the order of importance. The night before he captured his second Molokai title in 2004 he quaffed 10 beers and only stopped because his brother Oscar downed the rest. His post-race consumption was twice that.  Where another man might start to slur his words at that point I actually found him easier to understand.

Herman rarely speaks about the races he's won – if there's anyone in the sport not named Oscar who's won more significant ski races over the past two decades I don't know who that is -- but he does brag about how little he works how little he trains and how much time he spends at his local coffee shop. Hanging out on my home turf in Brooklyn in the days leading to the Mayor's Cup he downed so many lattes at Gorilla Coffee the local java joint he'd become addicted to on an earlier visit that one of the gals behind the counter asked if he could take her shift. In fact he committed to the Mayor's Cup long before race director Ray Fusco rustled up an extra $5 000 for first primarily he told me to pay homage to Gorilla's dark roasted brew.

But I digress. Three hours into the second annual Mayor's Cup a 46K circumnavigation of Manhattan Herman rounded the southern tip of the island with Greg Barton on his slip. The two began surging 40 minutes from the finish. With $5 000 at stake and the thought of chilled beer minutes away Herman leaned forward and hammered into the current and wind. Thousands of spectators many out for a Sunday jog leaned over the fence and watched these two fit men in skin-tight lycra whaling away in skinny boats rarely seen in these waters. Sucked in by the spontaneous drama they were shouting themselves horse.

Such a finish would have been nearly unimaginable two years ago when Ray Fusco a former kayak guide with a bold vision called me to a meeting to talk about his big idea for a race around Manhattan.  “It's a stunning course in the most famous city in America ” he proclaimed with the gusto of well Ray Fusco. “Three rivers around one island! It's a classic!  What it would take to get a world class field to this race?”

My reply was simple: “Money.”

Ten months and hundreds of phone calls later Ray's vision was nearly a reality.  Then just three weeks before the event he learned he had cancer. “Screw it ” he told me “I have to see this race through. I'll start treatment when I'm done.” (Ten days after the race he had surgery.) In Riverkeeper an organization dedicated to protecting the Hudson River its tributaries and the watershed of New York City (www.riverkeeper.org) he found a solid sponsor; and in Greg Barton America's greatest paddler who drove up from Charleston South Carolina to do the inaugural race instant credibility.

Last year 43 paddlers towed the line at the North Cove Yacht Cove a stunning location on the Hudson in what was once the shadow of the World Trade Towers. Last year Barton's sole aim was to break the record for rounding Manhattan in a kayak. (The record of 3 hours and 44 minutes was set by Dorian Wolters a former member of the German Wild water Team.) Greg paddled at a mere mortal's pace graciously offered me his wash on the flat section of the course and carefully eyed his GPS to make sure he was on record pace. Around Hell's Gate a notoriously rough section where the Long Island Sound rushes into the Harlem and East River Greg took off. He crossed the line in 3 hr 21 min six minutes before yours truly and smashed the record by 24 minutes.

This year Ray Fusco his cancer in remission and his zeal unabated gathered more prize money spread the word and upped the total purse. Herman signed on and Barton suddenly had a worthy adversary. When Ray found an additional five grand for first Zsolt Szadovszki a former member of the Hungarian National Sprint Team and South African Ian Gray 11^th at the US Ski Champs in San Francisco appeared. Suddenly Ray had a race.

Nearly 100 paddlers towed the line. At the gun a six-man pack sprinted up the Hudson: The Big Four were joined by Sean Brennan a member of the US Olympic Sprint Team and Dorian Wolter. Brennan and Wolter fell off early and the battle lines were drawn. Zsolt's pre-race plan was simple: sit with the leaders for as long as possible conserve his energy and put his nearly 20 years of sprint training to full use in the last few kilometers. Gray a laid back former rugby and judo player from Johannesburg who has been training with the US Olympians in San Diego CA aimed to do much the same.

Heading up the wide busy Hudson I paddled with Brennan 50 meters behind the leaders with Wolters Erik Borgnes a paddling physician from Wisconsin and Rene Appel the Olympic windsurfing coach for Hong Kong just behind. An hour into the game I headed out into the river linked a few waves off a power boat and scratched back to the front bunch…until they spied another set of rollers and sprinted off again. Brennan made the bunch. Flushed with lactic acid I enviously watched the five up front turn right into the protected Harlem River.

Halfway down the Harlem Brennan fell back. As traffic whizzed by on the FDR Drive the gang of four moved south beneath the towering skyline of New York. Past Hell's Gate at the tip of Roosevelt Island -- roughly 10K from the finish – the water turned choppy and Barton turned anti-social. “Considering that we were two-and-a-half hours into the race I was feeling good ” he said.

Ian Gray who'd done more than his share of pulling up front fell off and Zsolt dropped two boats back. “When Greg took it up ” Chalupsky said I was battling.” Herman decided that the best way to slow Barton down was to pass him so that he'd assume he was strong. Great logic if you can pull it off.

At the tip of the island a ferry three stories high docked just before the duo arrived. Paddling in Durban harbor Herman is nearly as familiar with ferries as he is with fillies – or so he says -- and paddled perilously close to the boiling water around the prop. Shot out on the back side he surged slightly ahead. 

The race was three hours old when they turned into the wind and against the current.  Herman hugged the wall sprinting for every wave refracted off the concrete. Barton sat just behind. His strategy was simple: keep up a steady burn until he saw an opportunity to pass. Even if he had to wait until the last 50 meters he figured he was still in the hunt for the $5 000 first prize.

One kilometer from the finish Herman ran into a fishing line chest high. He tossed the line over his head and powered on losing only a second or two. Barton was less fortunate; the line Herman tossed aside snapped back at him catching first his paddle then his torso and finally his wrist watch. It took him 30 second to shake free. Herman had to duck two more lines but by the time both men were back up to speed Herman was ahead by eight boat lengths and Zsolt was back on Barton's stern. Barton went after Herman dropping Zsolt but it was too little too late.

Herman finished in course record 3:14:45 – a dozen seconds ahead of Barton. Minus the fishing lines would Greg have enough gas to get by Herman into the wind and against the current in a vicious chop? That's the $4 000 question. “I'd rather lose in a sprint finish ” Barton said “then get bogged down and never know.”

While Herman found the victory sweet there was a dark cloud over his happiness. When I finished 13 minutes behind the winner Herman was already dressed. “Let's have a pig's ear mate ” he said using cockney rhyme for beer. I was half delirious and stumbled off to change clothes. Dry and nearly cogent he asked me again. Then again.  Finally we collared Ray Fusco who told him the terrible truth straight out: we were in a City Park and alcohol was prohibited. Herman took the news hard.

Pity the poor lad from Durban who had to wait for the last finisher to cross the line hours after he had fortified with nothing but sub-par coffee until the awards ceremony.  Standing up on stage with a ceremonial check large enough to float a Class III rapid it's even odds that he'd have traded that hard-earned check for a case of Hansa Pilsner assuming it was good and cold.