Page 24 of The Big Race
Monkey Business
T he next morning, we woke unsure where the day would take us. We were already down two teams—Vivian and Walter in Panama, and Keisha and Lamar the day before in Henri Pittier Park. Would we be heading back to the airport? Or staying in the park for another day?
When we reached the Stop’n’Go at six, we learned that Adrienne and Fletcher had already left at four.
I opened our clue when our time came. “It’s called Bird Watch,” I said.
“Navigate your way through the lush Venezuelan jungle to find one of ten stuffed toucans, recognizable by their bright multicolored plumage. Return the toucan to the Venezuelan birdwatcher to receive your next clue.”
“We should get a move on,” Ray said. “That jungle looks dense.”
I hesitated, recalling how that episode also highlighted the pitfalls of rushing without thorough planning. “But couldn’t we get lost if we don’t orient ourselves properly?” I countered. “Check the position of the sun, figure out a way to track our path so we can get back easily?”
Tension crackled between us. Sensing the weight of the moment, I took a deep breath. “Okay, let’s do it your way,” I conceded, handing him the compass. “Lead the way.”
Ray shot me a surprised glance but nodded, taking charge with his characteristic confidence. We plunged into the jungle, Ray navigating swiftly through the underbrush. I followed closely, trying to suppress my doubts.
The Venezuelan jungle pressed in around us like a living wall.
Towering trees stretched skyward, their massive trunks wider than I could wrap my arms around, crowned by umbrella-shaped canopies that filtered the sunlight into shifting patterns of gold and green.
Thick vines - some as wide as my arm - twisted around the enormous trunks, creating natural ladders that disappeared into the misty canopy overhead.
The air was so thick with humidity it felt like breathing through wet cotton, and the earthy scent of decomposing leaves mixed with the sweet perfume of hidden orchids.
Every step squelched slightly in the spongy forest floor, and the symphony of unseen life surrounded us—bird calls echoing from impossible heights, the rustle of something large moving through the understory, the distant crash of a branch falling somewhere deep in the green maze.
Minutes turned into an hour, and despite the forest's shade, the stifling humidity made every breath feel thick and heavy.
Sweat plastered my shirt to my back, and even Ray was beginning to show signs of fatigue, his usual boundless energy sapped by the relentless humidity.
There was one good aspect—as Floridians, we were probably better suited to the climate than the rest of the teams other than the food truck chefs.
Then a flash of brilliant yellow caught my eye through the dense foliage—a burst of color so vivid it seemed electric against the endless green. "Ray, look!" I whispered urgently, pointing toward the movement.
Ray's eyes lit up with excitement, his exhaustion forgotten. "There! I saw it too—that bright yellow!" He started pushing through a tangle of vines toward where we'd glimpsed the color.
But as we fought our way through the vegetation, another flash appeared—this time orange and black, darting between branches about thirty feet away. Then another burst of color, blue and red, higher up in the canopy.
"Those are real toucans," I realized, watching as a magnificent bird with a rainbow-colored beak landed on a branch just visible through the leaves. "We're chasing actual wildlife."
Ray stopped abruptly, his face falling as the reality hit him. The toucan tilted its oversized head at us curiously before launching itself deeper into the forest with a few powerful wingbeats, its colors disappearing into the green tapestry.
"This doesn't make sense," Ray muttered, scanning the map with evident frustration. "We should've found the hidden toucan by now."
I stepped beside him, peering at the map and then our surroundings.
The jungle seemed to pulse with life around us—somewhere overhead, a real toucan called, as if mocking our search efforts.
A realization dawned on me. "I think we've been interpreting the map incorrectly," I said cautiously.
"The symbols here suggest that the toucan is near a water source.
Listen, can you hear that? There's the faint sound of running water to our left. "
I saw his disappointment at being fooled by the real birds. "Come on," I said gently. "The hidden one has to be close. Those real toucans are probably a good sign—they like the same habitat."
Ray's brow furrowed as he listened. The distant murmur of a stream was indeed audible beneath the forest's constant chatter. He exhaled deeply, his competitive focus returning. "Lead the way," he said, passing me the compass.
Taking the lead, I guided us toward the sound. Sure enough, nestled beside a bubbling brook, we found the pile of stuffed birds partially concealed beneath a cluster of ferns. Triumph surged through me, not just from the success of the challenge, but from the collaborative effort it represented.
We turned to Cody with pleasure, holding up the stuffed bird.
As we made our way back to the starting point, Ray broke the silence. “I guess sometimes charging ahead isn’t the best strategy,” he admitted.
I smiled, appreciating his openness. “And sometimes, taking a leap of faith is necessary,” I replied.
When we returned to the clearing where we’d started, we handed the idol to a native who handed us our next clue. “It’s a checkered flag,” I said.
On the Big Race, a checkered flag was the symbol for a warning, which meant there was danger ahead.
Nothing life-threatening; there was always a film crew around, and a medic with a first aid kit.
But when you’re in your late forties, like Ray and me, you’ve got to be extra careful not to fall and break a hip or something.
“Alligators or monkeys,” Ray read. “We can swim across the river, but there may be alligators,” he read. “Or we can take the foot bridge, but there may be monkeys.”
“Monkeys,” I said. “I don’t think I can outswim an alligator, but I bet I can outrun a monkey.”
The tribesman grinned when we pointed toward the foot bridge, showing us the three teeth left in his mouth, and then led us to a rope ladder along the side of the cliff which led to the bridge.
We donned safety helmets, gloves, and those head-mounted cameras again.
The tribesman attached a safety wire to my belt.
I grabbed the sides of the ladder and stepped onto the first rung.
The ladder wobbled, and I paused, but Ray wouldn’t let me stop. He knows that the more I think about something the crazier I get. “Go on, babe,” Ray said, pushing on my butt.
A scruffy monkey sat cross-legged on a rock ledge above us, staring down. He scratched his behind and chattered something. “Nice monkey,” I said.
It looked like he was waving at us, and I waved back. Then I felt something splat against my shirt. When I looked down, there was a wet, brown blob. “That rotten monkey just threw his poop at me!” I said to Ray. “Where’s a bazooka when you need one?”
Ray burst out laughing. “Baby poop, monkey poop. It’s all the same.”
“I don’t remember any kind of poop being part of our family planning efforts.”
Fortunately for us, when we adopted Leo, he already used the bathroom without prompting or complaint.
The monkey was scratching his butt again, and then winding up for the pitch.
I ducked this time, and the poop hit Ray on the cheek and chin.
I clambered up the ladder as fast as I could, as another monkey joined the first. I don’t know what those guys eat, but they should really consider changing their diet, because their poop was soft and runny. They must be hell on toilet paper.
I reached the top of the ladder and changed the hook on the safety harness to a guide wire running next to the bridge railing.
Ray was right behind me, and I started to run across the rope bridge, which swung wildly in the air over the rushing stream below.
More monkeys appeared in the trees, chattering and swinging from vines.
It was like walking into some kind of Tarzan movie.
There was poop flinging all around us. I pounded across the wooden slats, holding onto the rope guidelines, as Cody filmed us from below and our cameras caught our laughter and grimaces.
I saw a gray-haired monkey take aim against Cody and splat!
There was poop all over the poor guy’s lens.
Cody cursed as the monkey swung away, laughing and chattering.
Ray and I struggled up the hill, using trees for support, tiny pebbles scattering below us. I was hot and sweaty and I smelled like monkey diapers, but I was determined not to fall behind. I knew we’d passed the NBA wives before the bridge, so I hoped we’d be safe from elimination.
As we crested the hill, I was relieved when we spotted the Stop’n’Go ahead of us and saw that there were still four envelopes left on the board. But Desiree and Cherisse were right behind us, and every place closer to the top was an advantage.
Ray raced on ahead, calling back to me in frustration. He couldn’t check in at the Stop’n’Go until I was there. But I wasn’t in the kind of shape he was, and I got a terrible stitch in my side.
I finally made it to the check in mat, gasping and panting, and Julie announced, “Ray and Jeffrey, you are team number five!”
That was a great position, solidly in the middle of the pack. I bent over, trying to catch my breath, and Ray took my hand and said, “Just breathe, babe. You were terrific.”
We caught our breath and then walked over to where several other teams stood. We looked at each other’s disheveled, filthy state – and burst into laughter.
“Did that really just happen?” Gemini gasped between giggles. “Did we really just get attacked by poop-flinging monkeys?”
“Welcome to The Big Race,” George said, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “Where dignity comes to die.”