Baboons in Yankari: February 2007

I seem to have this ongoing and tumultuous relationship with NASCAR. Ideally I would like to be able to say that I love all forms of motorsport, but NASCAR keeps holding me back. I really do have a diverse love for all forms of racing. I can get excited about everything from Formula One to off road rallying to dirt track sprint cars. For some reason I can't get excited about NASCAR. Each season I get all hyped up for the Daytona 500 and all the little races that surround it but then fall into a disillusioned boredom as the season wanes away into a legion of races that all appear to be identical. This season hold little hope of being any different, save one thing. This year, in an attempt to break out from their rural (read redneck) roots, NASCAR has allowed Toyota to enter the sport. This decision has sparked vigorous opposition from some of the established "rural" team owners. A barrage of ethnocentric idiocy has been thrown into the media. The basic argument appears to be that NASCAR is an "American" sport, and Toyota is not an American company. The funny thing is that the people levelling these accusations appear oblivious to the fact that in many facets Toyota makes more cars in the U.S. and employs more American workers than the "American" companies that the accuser represents. The secondary accusation that the established teams make is that Toyota will enter the sport with such a massive budget that they will buy up all of the good talent and build such high tech cars that they will effectively buy championships. This is also funny because, as I understand it, one of the appeals of NASCAR is that the cars are so tightly regulated that they are basically identical, therefore making it impossible to build a "high tech" car. A knowledge of recent history would also serve the NASCAR good old boys well. In 2002 Toyota entered Formula One with much fanfare. Their F1 team has spent an estimated $400 million each season (the largest budget in F1) and have yet to win a single race. That's right, they have invested somewhere around $2 billion into sport with no success for five years.

So it appears that the NASCAR boys have nothing to worry about, or do they? Toyota does have a massive amount of money to spend, and money sometimes leads to championships. Toyota also has a wealth of racing history and experience to draw from. The real concern for the NASCAR establishment has less to do with Toyota itself than it has to do with the idea of Toyota. The doors to the sport have been opened up to new companies, who knows who will come knocking? One company that is at the forefront of my mind is Honda. Honda has a huge market in America and has an even larger rivalry with Honda. Toyota's entry into F1 in 2002 was largely due to a desire to take on Toyota in popular forum. Don't be surprised if Honda decides to return the favor in NASCAR. That could mean serious trouble for the American teams.

While a Honda/Toyota NASCAR rivalry may be a pipe dream, I have found my point of interest for this year's NASCAR season. I want to see Toyota thrash the dickens out of those backwoods NASCAR boys. It probably won't happen this year, but a man can hope,

In High School I once told a Navy recruiter that I thought it would be fun to be a Navy SEAL. He asked me if I liked being wet and cold. I said "No." He told me to pursue other careers. I don't know why, but for some reason that conversation didn't pop into my head back in October when I was recruited for the Law Enforcement Eskimo Plunge. It seemed like a great idea at the time. It was October, almost seventy degrees outside, and the event benefited the Special Olympics. I thought it would be a good way to make up for all of those "short bus" jokes I've made in my life, and how cold could it get in February anyway? To add to the incentive, I would be participating as part of a team that had a designated Fund Raiser who didn't take the plunge, but raised money instead. I was all out of reasons not to go plunging. That was, of course, until last week when I realized that the Eskimo Plunge was no longer in the distant future. My enthusiasm was additionally lessened when I was told that the event location, Harrisburg's City Island, was in question due to "ice flow issues." Ice! I didn't sign up for ice!

At noon today I became painfully aware that our unseasonably warm autumn had turned into a seasonably cold winter. I stood on the northern tip of City Island and shuddered with my three teammates (and McGruff the Crime Dog) as we listened to the ice crackling by us as it flowed downstream. I was already cold and I hadn't even stripped to my swimming trunks yet! Side note: If you ever undertake an Eskimo Plunge, Corona board shorts and a Navy watch cap will not be appropriate attire. A least it was a dry cold, that humid cold really drains you. After groaning and mumbling for a few minutes we all trudged to the section of the "beach" designated for our endeavor and began to disrobe. Apparently we were a tad slow in our preparation because, without warning, a stampede of nut jobs sprinted past us and into the water while hooting and hollering along the way. We timidly began to follow behind, but gradually got caught up in the hoopla as we approached the river. The water was shockingly cold. My legs numbed almost immediately as we charged forward. It really was a bizarre scene, a mass of humanity charging forth to the waterfront, only to experience shock and pain. It was like Melville and Poe had collaborated to create some sort of sadistic tale. As I waded deeper and deeper into the water I felt a thousand ice fragments bumping into my legs. Fortunately, I had been advised to wear shoes on this adventure. As the water passed crotch level, myself and two teammates decided that we would like children to continue to be a future option, and turned back. The fourth team member charged forth, not content until an official in a dry suit turned him back.

Leaving the water, I was beginning to think that things hadn't gone all that bad. I could have stayed in longer (thus the genius of hypothermia)! Then the wind hit me, and the real race began. The three of us charged through the crowd, laughing, as the most extreme cold I had ever felt assaulted my body. Why were we laughing? I have no idea. There was nothing funny going on. As I returned to where Roverine was awaiting with warm clothes she pointed to my legs and cried, "What happened?" My lower body was covered in small trickles of blood, cut by razor sharp ice that I had barely felt. It wasn't just me, three of our team suffered the same fate. The fourth? The one who charged neck deep into the abyss? Unscathed. Fortune favors the bold.

Upon grabbing my clothes we (now down to two) ran for the heated changing tents, only to find them full. This was to our fortune, as we later discovered that the overcrowding had led to a heater igniting the clothes of some poor soul, who escaped uninjured. Instead of waiting in line we chose to hide "behind" an RV to change. I say "behind" because it was only so to humans. To the wind it was "along the way." Naked except for a beach towel, my numb fingers struggled with shoelaces that had frozen as stiff as electrical cable. How I got my trunks off before my shoes I still don't know, but I soon found them frozen to the ground beside my backpack. I eventually managed to get some warm clothes on in a haphazard manner that included an inside-out shirt and unzipped blue jeans. A stranger was kind enough to point out the open fly, but only after mocking my bloodied feet. He later also pointed out that I was eating my napkin along with my hot dog. What would we do without strangers? After getting fully dressed, fed, and filled with hot chocolate the team gathered again to laugh at our stupidity, and make plans for next year's event.

At the end of it all the Eskimo Plunge was exactly the type of adventure I've been yearning for. A few months back I realized that I hadn't had any really good excitement for awhile. A body goes stale if goes without bruises for a time. I needed a good knocking about. like the time I tried to learn to play rugby, or the time it tried to ride my bike down four flights of stairs, or the time I wrestled a Marine. You get the point. Though I dreaded it, and always will dread it, I really enjoyed the Eskimo Plunge and might just make it a yearly event. On with the pictures.