This is part 4 of a series of blogs on our adventure race
Hunting
“THERE,” I shouted, halting our white Dodge pickup. I had spotted a deer by a haystack across the field. As we crept out, Dad prepared, and soon, his shots rang out. Dad was an ace hunter, and I, the spotter, prided myself on my sharp eye.
Growing up in a hunting community, hunting wasn’t just sport; it was survival. Though I never hunted big game myself, my role was crucial. I carried parts of the catch and sometimes helped drag it back, but spotting was where I shone, earning my place even in elite hunting circles.
Decades later, during a race, I found myself shouting “THERE” again, but this time at a checkpoint. Dave praised my keen sight. That moment took me back, reminding me of the rare appreciation from my dad. Sharing this with Dave, I felt I was finally contributing meaningfully to our team.
Our race challenge was tough, navigating vast areas and tricky checkpoints, like the one hidden in a snow-covered thicket. I played a key role, ensuring we stayed on course. Yet, frustration hit at checkpoint “G,” where despite my efforts, we had to move on, a decision that irked me deeply. Time was tight, and even a bike flat threatened our chances, but abandoning “G” proved wise as we raced against the clock to complete our tasks.
As time dwindled, we needed to find another elusive checkpoint. My “deer spotter” skills were crucial, yet the pressure was immense. Another team’s discovery helped us advance, but I couldn’t help feeling I’d let my dad down. With the water challenge up next, my old fears loomed.
The race continues…
Boneshakerbike 
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