For once, this show doesn't start on the Strip. Unless it's starting in the Strip and this is, like, the prelude to the Blue Man Group. By "this," I mean some sort of electronic beat, a blue-tinged spotlight coming down from some unknown point above, and a phalanx of people running as red and white siren lights escort them. Maybe this is cruel and unusual punishment from bored prison guards?
Actually, no. These runners all look like they want to be there, as baffling a concept as that may be to the less aerobic among us. They've got the head lamps, and the bibs pinned to their shirts, and the leaders of the pack all look like they've been reverse-engineered to resemble greyhounds as much as possible.
And then we get to the middle of the pack, where people not secure enough in their masculinity to pound the pavement in either running shorts or tights are jogging in their baggy sweats; then the camera gets all swoopy, and we see only the pounding legs, backlit by the police lights. The camera twirls around to an aerial shot, so we can see the police cars hemming in the runners from the back, and then the banner one car flies; it bears the legend, "Law Enforcement Desert Relay." Then we return to a shot where we're facing the runners, and a helicopter provides blinding light overhead. Go towards the light, runners! Go to the light, Carol Ann!
Another shot of the runners hemmed in by police cars, and then another silhouetted-runners shot, only this time in slow motion so we have time to develop the appropriately reverent response for the kinesthetic marvel of the human body mid-footrace. And now the lights and the music have gotten silly. Usually I see this only after the endorphins have kicked in. We see Sara running. She is not what you'd call a natural at the sport, although the flailing elbows have given her a lot of personal space. She, and a bunch of other runners, have come to some relay checkpoint. Sara relays the baton to Nicky in slow motion, so we can all marvel at how masterfully the two of them did not drop it. Off Nicky goes, arms pumping lest all .0085 mg of carbohydrates he loaded before the race stick to his ribs. Sara runs out her leg, then gets caught in an inadvertent do-si-do with Liam the lab tech. The two hug, and Liam silently thanks inertia for slamming Sara into him without too much protest on her part.
Nicky, who's running like he learned how from a 1930s newsreel -- "Young Crimestopper Runs For The American Way! He Races For His Life! And Yours! Take That, Mussolini!" -- trots over to a water, grabs a bottle, and spills much in the general direction of his mouth. I love it when they almost get the details right on this show; the water stop around any race is a wreck. However, you usually get your water in little paper cups. Anyway, Nicky then proceeds not to give a hoot, and tosses the bottle where the cleanup crew will have to tend to it. He continues to run, until he turns into Warrick.
Warrick's perambulation remains a mystery from the clavicle down. I like to think that Gary Dourdan took a look at this script and said, "You know what? I'll hop up and down to make it look like I'm running, while someone pulls me in a wagon." Either that, or he's bashful about showing his legs on national television.
We go back to an aerial shot of the runners silhouetted by a deep night sky.
And then, we go to what must be a pre-dawn shot, as the sky is lightening. The crowd has thinned considerably; each runner has his or her own escort vehicle. As we see someone pelting down the road, the unmistakable strains of Vangelis's Chariots of Fire theme soar over the scene. The camera pulls in on Catherine's face as she runs. She turns toward the car and asks, "What the hell kind of music is that?" Gil grins as he tells her, "It's inspirational!" Catherine begs to differ. How much do I love that a) Gil is nowhere near lacing up the Nikes to pigeon-toe it down the road, and b) he's providing road support to Catherine, and c) he's got a thematic play list going. It official: this is my favorite moment of the season.
Anyway, Catherine doesn't find Chariots of Fire all that inspiring, and neither of Gil's subsequent selections are getting her going. Well, I don't blame Catherine's rejection of the country music; it's kind of hard to hold a baton, drink a beer, and run at the same time, and that's what it put me in the mood for. We eventually settle for Jet's "Are You Gonna Be My Girl?" Catherine's digging it, Gil not so much. He's driving along, and he sees a blinking red light in the brush off to his left. Without warning, Gil veers off and goes driving off-road. Catherine does not take this well, what with this leaving her alone on the road. Why is she alone? Is the CSI team really slow?
Anyway, Catherine demonstrates what fine aerobic shape she's in by continuing to run while she bellows Gil's name at the top of her lungs. Catherine runs, and when she finally catches up to Gil, she hits the SUV and shouts, "God! What are you, taking a leak?" Heh. Pissed runners. I was one, once. Catherine continues in the key of pique: "The follow car is supposed to stay with the runner! We've been training for months, man!" She's so much more civil than I would have been. When I ran the USMC marathon in DC a few years ago, I had just passed the 26-mile mark when a spectator broke what has to be the cardinal rule of cheering for marathoners by shouting, "The finish line is just ahead! Not far now!" Well, yeah, but when you're finishing a race by sheer force of will, "just ahead" translates to "you can see it," not "now it's time to run up the hill to the Iwo Jima memorial -- ha ha ha ha!" So as I'm laboring up the hill, wondering if I'm going to have the energy to cross the finish line and run back down the hill to kill that lying not-far-now bastard, the boyfriend pops out of the crowd to shout, "Keep going, honey!" And I shouted back, "Keep going? The hell I will! Where the f*** is the finish line?!?!" Reader, he still married me. And did not blanch when I entered the lottery for this year's marathon.
“ Brass has showed up on the scene. Regrettably, he's standing around in a suit and tie, instead of getting into the episode's theme and race-walking up in purple spandex shorts and a terrycloth sweatband. ”
But enough about me. Catherine exposits that the racing team is made up of twenty CSIs who have to cover 120 miles. Honestly, a six-mile run doesn't seem that bad. Gil calmly replies, "Don't blame me. Blame him." Catherine looks down as Gil flashes his mag light on a blond corpse and explains, "I saw his flasher from the road." Catherine concedes that Gil made the right call. In the distance, we see a few pass cars go by. I guess Catherine wasn't bringing up the rear; the pack just got spready. Gil notes, "Fresh cut on the forehead, but the corneas usually take days to gloss over." Catherine concedes that this is weird. She identifies the victim as coming from the L.A. county police department special enforcement squad. He was apparently a "hardcore bad-ass." Catherine begins surveying the body, with Gil training the flashlight at her direction. There are recent abrasions on the body's knuckles. Catherine then asks Gil for the phone, so she can call in the body while Gil sits there and looks tired. Maybe that's why he didn't call it in? You'd think it'd be like a finders-callers sort of thing. We see the body's bib number (3), and Catherine explains she's halfway through leg 16 of the race, and there's a 419; she asks the person on the other end of the line to notify Brass. Gil notices a red thread caught in the guy's parka, and pulls.
Catherine gets off the phone and asks, "Barehanded, huh?' "Collect it or lose it," Gil replies. He adds, "Ten years ago, nobody would have known the difference." "Ten years ago, we wouldn't have been able to get DNA off that fiber," Catherine says. Now she sounds winded. Catherine pants that she'll put the body's time of discovery at 4:32, and sighs, "So much for the race." Gil looks at the body and philosophizes, "At least we didn't come in last."
The Who come in to ask who we are.
Morning has broken, over the body. People are still running by the crime scene. What, did the later teams recognize they had no chance to place and stop for breakfast in Jean, Nevada? Liam is drawing a map. Brass has showed up on the scene. Regrettably, he's standing around in a suit and tie, instead of getting into the episode's theme and race-walking up in purple spandex shorts and a terrycloth sweatband. Catherine and Gil continue to work near the scene, and Gil notes that there could be blood on a nearby rug. Catherine then asks how many cops are in town for this road race. Gil and his Nike swoosh cap estimate that there are 20,000 cops in town. And a minor epidemic of crime up and down the western seaboard. He also adds that the road is closed to civilians. Catherine replies, "Spring break with a badge." So does that mean all the Girls Gone Wild tapes from this weekend will feature the topless babes beating the cameramen into submission with their nightsticks? Gil bags a rock as Catherine Longstocking kvetches about the joys of dealing with a case where every suspect's in law enforcement.