Some reflections from Mr Frei 4 days after the row ended

A much needed dip at the Lake George Club upon arrival

Greetings, Gentle Reader, July 12, 2011      

We’ve been home for four days, and I apologize for being late in getting to the keyboard for some post-row commentary, analysis, and perhaps some cosmic thoughts. Frankly, it’s been difficult to focus on the here-and-now. A persistent fatigue has dogged me since Friday and while it evokes the kind of feel-good drowsiness which follows a nice Sunday nap, it’s been four days- it’s time to wake up! I can report that Brian has been feeling this same malaise, but he counters it with periodic dips in the lake. I labor – and nap – here in steamy Baltimore.

Conk has done a great job keeping the blog going during the row, and I earnestly hope that Brian will continue to write in; his contributions have raised both the quality and readership of the blog, and I’ll be more inclined to stick to the facts and verifiable events if I know that I’ll be audited by his continued participation.

How do I start? Most Exciting Day? Biggest Lesson Learned? Greatest Surprise? Most Memorable Moment? Classic Felix and Oscar Exchanges? I suspect that I’ll get to all of these and more over the next few weeks, but let’s recap the drama of the finish:

Friday is “Lobster Night” at the Lake George Club. I know this through distant memory, my parents having taken me there as a kid and having celebrated Brian’s 50th birthday on the Club’s scenic veranda ten years ago. Drawn butter was involved, and so was a new tie, so I suspect that it was Lobster Night.

Anyway, Brian had proffered the idea of finishing at the Club – and at Lobster Night on July 8th – even before we took our first stroke on June 21st. In fact, his good friend and Lake George Mirror writer Buzz Lamb, in a pre-row article, published “our” alleged intention to make it to the Club in time to don our bibs on 7/8. The word was out and the clock was to be subliminally ticking throughout this row: two guys touching sixty who have a hard time touching – or seeing- their toes are about to row 502 miles through five major bodies of water and sixty-three locks TO GET TO LOBSTER NIGHT AT THE LAKE GEORGE CLUB AT 7 PM ON 7/8. (Q: Would you take that bet if you were the procurement manager at the Club?)


So, Gentle Reader, you no doubt saw the improbability of our arrival at the north end of Lake George on 7/8, twenty-five miles from glory. Our gnarled, callused hands would scarcely need tools to crack open the shells…and, frankly, eighteen days of living in the wild would have dulled our sensitivity to use them. After a portage through Ticonderoga, we put in and rowed on. It was noon. We had seven hours to row twenty five miles. A south wind was building against us. It would be close. Do-able with grit, but close.


Truth be told- and it must, because Brian will call me on it- as we rowed against a rising wind and cresting waves, I was ready to bail on the Lobster Night Objective. We’d be hours late for our own party. Others would be inconvenienced. It seemed too grandiose for Oscar. Besides, what would we do with the boats and our gear after the party was over? I had no intention of sabotaging the possibility of our arrival but, so close to the finish line, my crustacean commitment was flagging and I honestly just wanted to work my way home. It had been eighteen days…maybe Lobster Night at 7PM on 7/8 was a just a claw too far?


Gentle Reader, two images restored my resolve. First, Brian was hauling on his oars like a man possessed. At mile twenty, with five to go and darkness approaching, fighting a nasty chop and bucking a sustained headwind, Brian was plowing ahead, singing. He was singing, I tell you. I offered him the last of my beef jerky, my last breakfast bar, and my last Gatorade to fuel the machine, but he cheerily dismissed these treasures. (Those of you who know Brian will know that the phrase “Brian cheerily dismissed (food)” suggests a much, much higher purpose, such as lobster.)

The second image, self-induced, was that of Buzz Lamb’s follow-up article should we come up short after being so close. Follow-up headlines scrolled across my stern as I, too, pulled against the waves: “Lobsters Have Last Laugh”…. “Who Roasted Whom on 7/8?”…. “Rowers’ Late Arrival Predictable”…. “Crustaceans In No Danger Tonight!”


So we were an hour late – or stylishly on time – and enjoyed the companionship of family, friends, and excellent lobsters.

Eighteen days, five hundred miles…and right on time for dinner. Go figure.

Hitting the beach at the Lake George Club

Brian's father and friend Beryl excited to see the guys



Buzz Lamb interviews them for the Lake George Mirror