Our Story
A long time ago on the banks of a very foggy river, several frustrated rowers met before dawn, clad in ancient spandex, old socks and most sacred flip flops. The season had been a long and hard one. An evil enchantress has cast spells among the devoted causing riggers to loosen, boats to become heavy and bridge arches to narrow. Many who were called to the water fell away, leaving only a tenacious few who suffered under the enchantresses curses of "politics" and struggled to overcome and row beyond the "who said what to whom" syndrome.
One morning, before the sun rose, the valiant few ritualistically trudged down single file to the water and met at their customary time only to find that the junior program had taken their equipment to a regatta and they were left with an ancient wooden boat that should be hanging over a salad bar.
In total frustration, they threw their blistered and calloused hands in the air and wailed. Their cries pierced the night, and the water stirred. From a spot on the lake where a ribbon of moonlight reflected on the water, a maiden arose. Her blue JL fit her flawlessly, and she walked from the water carrying her oars, she stooped a little to the left (it was apparent to all that she had rowed starboard for years), and her calves showed the telltale slide bite marks of a competitor.... She looked at the wailing women and said, "You are not alone ... there are others, follow me and I will bring you together - but bring a wrench the boat needs to be rigged" ... and with that the fog parted, and Avalon began.
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