I set the alarm for 01:30, but didn’t get up until 02:20. That didn’t give me much time before rolling out, but I at least ate some yogurt before heading over to Kaimuki. In anticipation of something like this, I had my kit all prepped from the night before. Food wouldn’t be a problem, since I had some bars and gels, and there would be a lot of idle downtime before start time. The sky was clear, but it was only starting to cool off from Saturday’s heat. There was very little outbound traffic, but the potential of HPD action kept me at the speed limit. The freeway was clear so my timing worked out about right. Chris and Mitch were already there at the KCC parking lot, and Ckucke and Root rolled in soon after. Quite amazing – everyone showed up for the 2009 Honolulu Marathon wheelchair division escort!
After prepping and gearing up, everyone headed down to the Hilton to escort the wheelchairs to the starting line. There were already throngs of runners clogging Ala Moana Boulevard. This was the rationale that Linda from the marathon staff added the pre-start escort into our routine – to help get the chairs to the start line without incident. There was an HPD solo bike lead and tail, but we bracketed in the chairs and kept an aisle open through the crowd. We left them at the start and they began their warm-up runs along the first stretch of the course. The bathrooms at Kewalo were locked, so unless it was an emergency, a toilet break would have to wait.
We gathered on the closed roadway fronting Ward Center for the pre ride meeting. Our “slow group” was off to the sidewalk curb, but some of the “fast” or “middle group” gathered in a slow moving gaggle in the middle of the road just as some of the official trucks came to the start line behind them.
“Hello! Official event vehicles coming through,” I shouted, “get out of the middle of the damn road.”
A couple of the “middle” or “fast” group that were properly out of the way by the curbside blew their whistles and also shouted. It was rather ironic that we had to try clearing some of our own ranks off the course for being hindrances or nuisances! One person in particular kept rolling along and blabbing to her friend in front of her, then when the press truck was right on them, clipped out and stopped dead in the center of the road like an unaware deer, instead of moving to the side before stopping. Like the two non-sanctioned people who jumped onto the course last year that Chris encountered, too many of the people who show up for escort duty are out for the prospect of an unlimited bike escapade on closed streets and have forgotten why they are supposed to be there in the first place. It was really was not a large number who were like this, but any was too many. Even some of the more “responsible” members will let slip, “wow, I love being able to ride through these areas without cars like this!” once in a while, to which I invariably say, “That’s not why we’re here.” I’m not sure if it was because I had to get up so early that I was pretty pissy about this kind of krapp on this particular morning, or I’m just becoming a cynical grouch like JT.
Our group moved over to the start line so we could roll out behind the chairs as they left. Linda was getting the chairs lined up for the start, but some were still out on the course warming up, so Mitch and I went out to reel them back in. We saw one chair near Kewalo and told him the start was soon. Some of the people manning the intersections around Automobile row said some chairs had gone out, but not come back, so we continued on until nearly the old Comp USA before finding them and escorting them back to the start line.
After the bilingual pre-event fanfare, the chairs started to the cheers of the adjacent crowd. We pulled out and lined up, taking our positions around our respective chairs. The slower chairs this year were a little slower than in years previous, as the runners’ start cannon fire and fireworks were much closer and louder than I remember. Our last two chairs were even caught by the top runners and press truck by Murphy’s, instead of along King Street. We kept with our chairs as the lead runners disappeared in the distance. Nearing the Ala Moana chicane, the number of faster runners adjacent to the chairs began increasing to the point where we broke off from the chairs around Kalakaua Avenue and sprinted ahead to see if we could catch up to the next chair around Diamond Head.
After a restroom break, we climbed Diamond Head Road. I stopped to ask some of the HPD officers if they had seen any chairs pass recently, and the assessment was 4-5 minutes, so we pulled off at Triangle Park. The remaining 8 wheelchairs had more than adequate coverage, so we would be superfluous. We weren’t there long before the first four chairs and the lead runners came through. It was again funny to see some of the lead escorts randomly blowing their whistles in areas with zero-bystander saturation – total Mall-Cop action: Give someone a little authority and the immediately turn Fascist. Guess they really like whistles… It must annoy the shit out of the competitor they are servicing – probably more than blinky rear lights. I think I blew my whistle once, maybe twice, even on the crowded section before the start. Most of the JDM participants responded immediately to Ckucke’s squeaky brakes and my understated pingy bell without having to resort to the shrill DI trill.
After making out way back to the parking lot, we turned in our “race official” vests and collected our schwag. We scored cookies courtesy of Linda this year, but the shirts and hats were far more hideous than in previous years. It sort-of reminded me of the tail end of the XC MTB racing era where we would habitually show up at Kualoa ranch back valley to pay $20 USD to suffer through the same course either clockwise or anticlockwise, for progressively uglier tee-shirts. In any case, at least I remembered that I wasn’t here for the shirt or riding on post-apocalyptically abandoned streets: I was here to provide a needed service. After loading up the bikes and changing, we regrouped and headed down to Good to Grill in Kapahulu for breakfast. The sky was still cloudless, and the heat quickly rose as the sun climbed in the sky. Before it got excessively hot, I headed home, only to get bogged down on the H1. Darned Sunday drivers! If your desired speed is less than 40-mph, get off the freeway! Going home was as bad as weeknights – there are neither traffic incidents nor construction delays to slow things down, but people are just poking along at 40 from the University to Kalihi. I can’t really complain though – Root probably had it worse getting home to Hawaii Kai!
Congratualtions to all Honolulu Marathon participants!
D = 15.84 km (9.84-miles), Vavr = 14.4 km/h (8.9-mph), Vmax = 32.5 km/h (20.2-mph), T = 1-hour, 6-minutes
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