Kayak sinks, but race is still a gift

West Bend - I looked down. The pandemic preventing mask I had been wearing earlier - the one decorated with sharks - was now sloshing around from side to side in the bottom of my kayak, which was now filled with several inches of water.

I was very confused.

I felt like I was paddling... a bathtub... down the Milwaukee River. But the finish line was just around the bend, 150 yards away. I could hear my son calling me.

I paddled harder, fiercer, but it was no use. The back of my rented kayak - the stern - was now completely submerged and the river was up to my waist. My backpack with my keys, my wallet and my phone was about to float out and away.

I aimed for the nearest riverbank and just before I could get there, the kayak, an old pink Sundolphin, listed sadly to the right. I was going overboard.

I might have let out a yell...

But let me start at the beginning. The Downtown West Bend Kayak 5K is a beautiful, gentle route – especially with low water. This was just the second year of the race but it was very well supported with organizers and volunteers. It's a small, manageable affair. About 50 paddlers turned out again on a beautiful, crisp, sun-splashed Sunday morning, including my son and I, and my friend Sue Luther and her son Sam.

I'm a decent kayaker. I've done two triathlons — "DriTris" as they're called — with kayaking, and I paddle all summer long. It's nothing for me to do 3-6 miles at a time in a lake. I trained for this race a little, too.

This awesome little local riverside company, Zodiac Kayak Adventures, offered kayak rentals, so I opted not to bring my own two Sundolphin kayaks — just for convenience, and rented two of theirs.

The first half of the race went really well. The trees were starting to show fall colors, sunlight shimmied off the water like diamonds and I kept a strong pace, just ahead of my son.

Then I started to notice my kayak was not moving as smooth. I was starting to labor more. And then I noticed the water in the bottom.

This isn't unusual when I'm on a lake and the wind is blowing and the water is choppy. So I ignored it.

But then there were inches of water in the kayak. And then I realized I was sitting in water. And that my feet and my legs were soaked.

My son told me there was no plug in the back of my kayak and we're not used to that. (Our Sundolphins at home have plugs; we only take them out to drain rainwater, for example.)

All I know is people started passing me at the end, telling me I am taking on water. One woman said: 'If you tip over, just stand up' — she shrugged — and that kind of freaked me out.

Thankfully — the river here is very shallow.

Because when my rented Sundolphin finally listed over to starboard, I just stuck my arm out to catch myself in the riverbed in an ungraceful plop.

I hauled my kayak to a very muddy river bank but it was so full of water I could not pick it up to empty it. I asked another kayaker to send for help.

Five or so minutes later I was rescued, and I asked to borrow a kayak to finish the race. Shoes thick with mud, soaked and a little irritated, I got in a blue kayak to finish this great event.

I don't know what happened. There were shallow parts; I scraped on the bottom of one beach. Did I cause a crack or something? I didn't hit any rocks. My son is convinced the water was coming in from the back. Was the rental kayak defective from the get-go? These kayaks are generally considered indestructible.

I don't know what to tell you. I've been attacked by red wing blackbirds on the Trek 100 bike ride. I've been convinced there were bears in the middle of the White Deer Triathlon and boogie monsters on running relay races at 3 a.m. I'm the one blinded with bugs in my eyes from mountain biking and now I've sunk a kayak in a race.

Here's the lesson: Always wear the safety gear (life jackets, helmets, whatever) and if you don't get the finish you wanted, then you've probably got a funny story to tell your friends.

And be grateful, because any race and any fun outside with friends and family — any sense of community in 2020, while we all deal with this Covid19 pandemic — is a gift. Especially when you can walk away from it.

LORI NICKEL / JOURNAL SENTINEL Unfortunately, Lori Nickel's kayak took on water throughout the race - and sank.