Possum Trot XIV

Objectively, it's not a particularly special race. The terrain is OK, but not great. The maps are OK, but not great. The weather is all over the place, but generally pretty nasty. Yet the Possum Trot, a roughly 2-hour "goat" style orienteering event hosted by the Possum Trot Orienteering Club out of Kansas City, enjoys a cult-like following that few other races can claim. As one of the followers, I can't offer an explanation except to state that it's fun to be in with a group of like-minded nuts. But that begs the question of why such a devoted group would form in the first place.

At least some of my passion comes from the fact that I just really like goat events. Unlike typical orienteering which is basically a time trial (staggered starts, no following, and the lowest elapsed time wins), goats put you head-to-head and force you to use either your legs or your wits to separate yourself from the group. Of course, given the number of national champions that have attended and the fact that my own skills were just developing, I spent most of the early editions desperately trying to hang on to the group rather than trying to separate from it. Only in recent years have I entertained winning the race as a realistic possibility. At any rate, I've never missed a Trot and since the Trot rankings are based on cumulative performance, I've managed to work my way to the top of the lifetime standings.

As is their custom, Orienteering Kansas hosts a sprint race the day before. Yaya and I head out early Saturday morning to make the drive to Clinton Lake, just west of Lawrence. The area consists of a flat open plateau with moderately steep wooded hillsides going down to the lake. The trail network on the hillsides is fairly dense. It's sunny and temperatures are in the high 30's, which would be quite pleasant if the wind was blowing at something less than a full gale. As it is, standing around is pretty unpleasant and my "warm-up" jog isn't much better. Yaya tests out the playground for a few minutes and then decides to take refuge in the car.

Sprint map.

Once moving at something close to race pace (I don't run this one too hard as I want to save my legs for tomorrow), I'm a lot more comfortable. After a couple ragged legs, I get my head into the event and run the last bit of the course reasonably well. I finish in 24:37; 3rd overall, winning the 45+ age group.

By the time I finish, Yaya has ventured back out into the cold and seems to be enjoying herself. We head over to the start to get her map. She's entered on the beginner course, which is basically a score version of the sprint. She's given an hour to get as many as she can. She decides to skip the hillsides and just get the controls in the open fields. She sets off, complaining that she would rather not have me following her. I promise I won't help her unless she asks, but insist I keep an eye on her.

The next half hour is truly revelatory. On the way to the first control, which she has decided to find by following the edge of the woods, she hits a large gap in the woods where a wide trail heads down the hillside. She starts to turn onto the trail and I simply say, "Look at your map, Yaya." She does for a bit, and just as I'm wondering if she's actually extracting any information from it, she looks up in the direction of the control and heads off again. She spots the flag from about 50m away. By the standards of a 7-year-old, it's a spike.

The second leg requires her to follow the edge of the woods again, but this time she'll have to leave that handrail and follow a section of mowed open field between two areas of higher growth. Much to my surprise, she identifies the cleared area well in advance and again finds the control easily.

The third control is back along the edge of the woods. I'm about to break my promise and suggest the obvious route of returning to where she left the woods when she announces her own plan, which is best described as whacky. However, she's done well enough so far that I let her give it a go and she does wind up in the right spot having basically followed her intended course. Her route to the next control is equally convoluted and, at 500m, it's a fairly long beginner leg. When she covers the first half of the leg without looking at the map, I ask her to point to her location. She correctly indicates the spot without much hesitation. That's too many right answers to attribute to luck, so I finally decide to shut my mouth and let her finish her course in peace. She's done in 40 minutes, having punched seven controls. As far as I'm concerned the weekend is now a complete success; I had no idea she was getting that good.

But, of course, the weekend is far from over. After the evening party and white elephant gift drawing, it's time to get some rest for the main event: Possum Trot 14. This year's field isn't as deep as usual. It appears my main competition will be local favorite Michael Eglinski. Like me, he's finished every Trot and wears bib number 2. Nebraska's Phil Nicolas and Minnesota's Mike Carlson could also figure in the mix, as could the clear favorite from the women's side: Cristina Luis (who's currently living in Arizona, but like many military folks, seems to be "from" just about everywhere).

We arrive at the Heartland Center, just north of Kansas City, to pre-race temperatures in the 20's and there's no reason to think it will warm much. However, the wind, while present, is much less intense than yesterday. Yaya bounces between the car and the large fire the organizers have started at the map exchange while I put in another futile attempt to warm up. Race director Dick Neuberger gives a short pre-race briefing which includes the sad announcement that next year will likely be the final Possum Trot. Course setter Mike Shiffman distributes the loop 1 map and we are sent off.

Loop 1 map.

Not surprisingly, Michael is the first to get his bearings and he heads off towards the first control. It's common knowledge that he's the best navigator present, so the entire field immediately gives chase. The early pace is quite tame and, as I'm still not warmed up, I see no need to change that. I punch the first control right behind Michael and take a glance back to see how many we have with us. The field is single file (not surprising since the first part of the leg was on trail) and it appears the top seven or eight are still in contact.

The next leg is across a field and I take the opportunity to assess skip options. We are allowed to skip one control on each loop. There are several candidates, none looking to be significantly better than the others. Michael helpfully suggests I skip #2 (which is now only 100m away). 17 looks like a good option as does 10 (I completely miss the good skip at 6). I lead into 2 and am surprised that the lead group is already getting rather splintered. I'm quite sure that I could outsprint Michael at the finish and, since he isn't likely to mess up the nav anywhere much less his own back yard, it occurs to me that simply bolting myself to his hip would likely be a winning strategy. That doesn't sound like much fun, though, so on the way to 3 I stretch my legs a bit and by the time I reach the control, I have a gap. The legs to 4 and 5 are trivial navigation, so I put in some real effort to consolidate the lead. Heading to 6, I back off and settle into my normal navigation pace. I didn't plan to be alone so early, but if the group is going to let you go without a fight, you take the gift.

The next few controls go without incident, but crossing the main trail on the way to 10, I hit the water drop which should be at least 100m to my left. I wonder how I could have drifted so far off course. Making matters worse is the fact that, while I can see a hill on the far side of the woods in front of me, the woods themselves don't seem to match up with the map very well. Looking down the trail to my right, the gate along the way to 11 is clearly visible, but if I'm really where the water is supposed to be, it's way too close. I decide that the safe course is the best course. I head towards the gate, skipping 10. It turns a decent skip into a skip that doesn't save much, but it's better than standing around trying to figure out the map. Leaving 11, my choice is confirmed as I see Michael running in. As we pass he says he skipped 10, too, so I'm still in the lead.

I'm now convinced that my speed is adequate and clean navigation will carry the day. The fields are frozen and clear of snow, while the woods feature the typical Kansas City mix of deadfall and thorns which can be negotiated quickly, but can be a distraction. Therefore, I take the safe routes around in the fields except when doing so would add a lot more distance. I get to the map exchange in 65 minutes. Yaya comes running up to greet me and looks a bit disappointed when I tell her I've still got another lap to go. She asks if she can have some of the candy left over from last night's party. I'm rather amazed she hasn't eaten it already and tell her to help herself.

Loop 2 map.

The first leg of the second loop is nearly a reverse of the last leg from the first loop. As a result, I see both Michael and Phil along the way. Michael is about five minutes back; Phil, more like 10. Cristina was between them, but she must have taken a different route because I didn't see her. That basically gives me one nasty mistake in hand, but I'd rather it not come to that. As insurance, I decide that skipping the last control (35) is a good enough option that I'll plan on that and use the skip earlier if I run into another problem like I had at 10.

Because both loops are packed into the same small area, I'm seeing quite a few more people now. At 27, I have a silly lapse when I get distracted by a group stopped at the control and miss the very obvious route to 28 along through the lower field right of the redline. I take the road to the left, which adds both climb and distance without offering any increase in foot speed. This is all the more embarrassing because I had already run the correct route as part of my leg from 6 to 7 an hour earlier. Probably only a minute lost, but it's enough to throw a scare into me. Staying focused at this point in the race doesn't happen automatically and I force myself to turn my attention to the map and not the others on the course.

En route to 34 (which I've already seen while on my ridiculous route to 28), I let myself relax enough to wave hi to Cristina, who is charging up the hill out of 29. She appears to be moving quite well and I doubt many of the men will beat her. I punch 34 and head back over the ridge on the road I took to 28. One always likes to look good at the finish and running down the steep road to the banner has me coming in with a pretty good head of steam. The only problem is that this happens to be the exact time that Dick is taking photos of the Short Possum winners right in front of the finish line. They scatter as they see me charging in to win in 1:51:26.

Michael finishes about 12 minutes later, followed by Cristina. Then comes a small pack led by Phil to take the final spot on the men's podium. The wind has picked up a bit and it's still below freezing. Yaya's face is about the same color as the pink coat she's wearing, but she insists she's OK. We enjoy some chili and hot chocolate while waiting for Dick to present the coveted "Dead Possum" which is actually a stuffed animal that looks much cuter than any live possum I've seen, much less one of the 2-dimensional specimens on the side of the road. Yaya is delighted when I let her have this one; I've told her not to mess with the "trophy" from my previous Trot win.

At the finish, the conversation inevitably turns to skip decisions. The general consensus is that, while 10 and 35 were top picks among the front-runners, 6 and 32 were marginally better. I don't have enough split data to weigh in on that with "Eric's Absurdly Detailed Skip Analysis," but it doesn't appear to have made any difference. Each loop had a handful of choices that offered similar savings. With an average of just three minutes per leg, there weren't any big chunks of time available. Tactically, there wasn't much to be gained either. So much of the course was running through open fields, differences in foot speed were enough to split the bunch.

So, what to make of a goat event held on a tiny map of mixed fields and woods? You'd expect to get a handful of locals at such a meet. But, the top 10 included runners from six different states plus an international. It's odd and I can't explain it. But, if next year really is the last, I surely will miss it.