The Portsmouth Lifeboat station sits on a shingle spit, a stone's throw from Hayling Island on the other side of the narrow channel that forms the entrance to Langstone Harbour. I arrive around 8am, in bue skies and beautiful sunshine that shimmers on the mud banks exposed by low tide, and find Rik having arrived just ahead of me. We chat in the car park, and I rue the size of the tyres on the borrowed mountain bike that I pull out the car. The Adventure Tri features off road sections, so a road bike would prove useless, but these tyres look like something off a tractor, and I suspect 23km on them is not going to be effortless.
This event is a little less formal than others. Registration simply involves asking for your number (I am number 3, obviously an early sign-up) and being given it, along with safety pins and a map. The map is large scale and a little bewildering, given that alongside the route it also displays locations of clues to be found to win prizes (which we agree to not bother with - the prize list is a little uninspiring), and where to stop for beer. That said, the contestants look no less athletic, and there's a fine array of be-lycra'd challenge-seekers.
There is a very obvious benefit to teaming up with Rik for this event - the swim is replaced by a 2 mile kayak, and not only is he a mountain of a man, but he's also an experienced kayaker. We grab lifejackets and a two-man kayak, and watch as the rest of the field get on the water. The advertised start time is 9.07am, to coincide with the turning of the tide, and with 20 minutes still to go, we're in no rush to get wet. Eventually we realise that we're the only ones left on the shore, and even though there's still plenty of time, push away anyway, handily settling right near the front of the field, which stretches out a hundred metres or so behind us. With a combined 30 stone on top of it, the kayak is sitting alarmingly low in the water. We're out there barely a minute before the organiser stands up in his boat alongside the massed field and shouts "Go!".
The start is chaos. Seventy kayaks, most of which are staffed by novices, converge on each other in a watery frenzy. Paddles clash, bows collide, sterns crash. We end up almost at ninety degrees to where we should be going and T-bone a neighbour. "Paddle on the right!" shouts Rik. "I thought you were doing the steering!" I shout back.
The comedy continues for the next few minutes as boats drift into each other. To add to the pandemonium, there are boats moored in the harbour, which a few competitors struggle to navigate around. Eventually we find clear water, and start the business of paddling in earnest. It's nigh on impossible to find a rhythm - the length of the boat means it's difficult for Rik to get in a full stroke, and I'm just a hopeless idiot. I spend most of the time shovelling water either into the boat or in Rik's face behind me. At least he laughs about it, in the same way you might laugh about someone kicking you in the nuts every few seconds. I can only keep apologising.
After 10 minutes of paddling, it's getting tough to continue sitting upright. Kayaks are fairly unforgiving, requiring one to sit up with minimal back support, legs out straight in front. I've got a pain in the top of my thighs. Looking at my Garmin, we've only covered 800 metres of the 3 kilometres. Nightmare. I scan the horizon for our destination, but all I can see around me is mud, so all we can do is push on regardless. Rik ploughs on, seemingly effortlessly, but I have to take regular breaks to adjust my position.
It's another 20 minutes before we finally pitch up at the Portsmouth Outdoor Centre, about the 15th boat in, thanks to our advantageous start position and Rik's paddling. A volunteer helps pull the boat onto the foreshore, and I get up and out in an undignified tumble. We carry the kayak to the top of the slipway, grab a cup of water, and it's into the run.
My shirt is soaking wet, and hangs heavily against my chest as we start running. I'm glad to have remembered to apply BodyGlide in all the right places, otherwise this could become painful. We immediately settle into different paces - Rik's muscle-bound frame is a lot to carry around - so Rik and I bid each other farewell until the finish. The run course follows the water's edge back to our start point, along a narrow gravel path. I'm actually feeling rather good, and even though I'm not going at a particularly fast pace, about 8:30/mi, I overtake a handful of people on the way. The kayak stage has spread out competitors enough that only a couple of faster runners come by me. The course drops down onto the shore, exposed by low-tide, and for a section requires some deft footwork and rock scrambling to avoid the stinking, oozing mud and slipperly vegetation.
I reach the RNLI station, just under 6km and 30 minutes, ready to tackle the bike. Transition is far simpler than a normal tri - the mountain bike has flat pedals, so there's nothing more to do than simply strap on a helmet, swig some drink and away you go. The bike leg also has an interesting interjection - the first thing to do is get the ferry over to Hayling Island.
On the pontoon, there are 10 or so people already waiting for the ferry. I take the chance to chomp on a chocolate and peanut energy bar while we wait. When the ferry does arrive, it's a tiny vessel, with room only for about 10 people. As people clamber on, the ferryman points at me to indicate that I'll be the last one on (it's possible that this was actually at the mercy of a couple of people who strictly were before me - sorry). By this time, Rik has arrived, and I wave to him as I get on the boat. The bloke stood next to him looks a little confused and meekly waves back, unsure of quite why I'm waving at him. Awkward.
Crossing the channel, someone points out that we're the first boatload across. Being as I was last on, my bike is piled on top of everyone else's, which means that I'll be first off. And so it came to pass, as I disembark and head up the pontoon on the other side, that for a small moment in time, I was leading the triathlon. Yes, good fortune, a capable kayak partner and the unconventional ferry crossing have contributed to this, but I count it among my life achievements nonetheless.
This doesn't last long. The group looks around for which way to go. Either because it's an adventure tri, or through poor organisation - we'll assume the former - there is no signage or marshals, just the map, which I keep stuffed up the leg of my shorts for handy reference. It shows a route that goes along the shore for a short way, to a clue, before returning and starting the rest of the circuit in earnest. With me are a variety of people. A couple of guys look like serious triathletes. There's a Polish bloke who overtook me on the run, a couple of ladies from the Army, judging by their t-shirts, and two other couples. We head along a car park, which turns into a gravel path, which turns into proper shingle, which eventually turns into grassland. By now, we're all a bit confused as to how far to go. No-one has seen any clue. Gradually, people decide that we've gone too far and turn back anyway, and I do the same, whilst three or four others carry on. It's on the way back that I spot the clue tied to a fence behind a sand dune, being carefully analysed by a couple of old ladies out for a stroll.
The cycle route heads through the sleepy backwaters of Hayling Island before turning off road to follow the old Hayling Billy rail line. Being straight and flat, I've got a good speed going, despite the knobbly tyres. Out the corner of my eye, I spy someone cycling just behind me. A quick glance around shows an older gent in a yellow flourescent jacket, clearly not part of the triathlon. I push on, but I can't shake him. I'm bewildered that he's able to keep up. It's not until I catch up with the Army ladies, and slow down to chat, that he comes past and we realise he's got a motor attached to the bike. Not just any motor, but a seemingly home-made contraption, looking alarmingly like an old tin can and a few wires.
The cycle leg is certainly an adventure. The route takes a turn down narrow paths, around marshland and along shingle banks. In some places it requires running with the bike; at one point I have to lift the bike over a stile. I'm definitely grateful for the knobbly tyres now. Halfway through I think I'm off course, so take a turn into a car park to try and pick up the trail again. By the time I realise I was right in the first place, the Army ladies have gone past again. I catch them up yet again and chat for a couple of miles, taking the chance to get some shelter from the increasing wind. As we start back down the western side of the harbour, I get ahead of them for the last push to the finish.
The finish line is fairly low key, a handful of applauding spectators and event organiser Rob ready to hand out medals and goodie bags (A dry-bag, 2 energy bars, an energy gel, tube of glucose tabs, pen, TeaPigs tea bags and a bunch of leaflets, for the record). Back in transition, I count the bikes, there are just 9 in there. Somehow, in a field of 120, I've finished 10th. Remarkable. Twenty minutes and about 10 places later, Rik also rolls in, having got lost and done an extra 3 miles on the bike.
And so onwards to the next event - the Bournemouth Half Marathon on October 5th.
