Paddling a tandem kayak in the second leg of the Josh Billings RunAground Triathlon in the Berkshires of Massachusetts is a lot like competing in a combined NASCAR, Formula One and Demolition Derby race, what with every manner of vessel veering this way and that, occasionally colliding – and as Phil Warner and I maneuvered through the wild, thrashing field Sunday I thought about how this year’s competition was so much more fun than last year’s debacle.

The difference, in no small part, was Phil’s pink gloves, which I’ll explain shortly.

First of all, the event consists of a 27-mile bike ride, 5-mile paddle and 6-mile run ending at the elegant grounds of the celebrated Tanglewood Music Festival. Competitors can enter either as one-, two-, three- or four-man, woman, or mixed-gender teams, with the paddle leg in a one- or two-person canoe or one- or two-person kayak. In addition, there are nearly two dozen different divisions, primarily based on gender, age, type of vessel and number of people on a team.

As fate would have it our team was entered in the toughest class, the Males 39 and Under category, because our cyclist, Ben Webb, is a 16-year-old high school student and our runner Paul Phelps, is a 33-year-old high school teacher and cross-country coach. Never mind that Phil and I are considerably older than their combined ages; rules are rules.

Anyway, last year, with a different cyclist and runner, we got off to a rocky start in part because we blew the cycle-to-kayak transition, a chaotic, frenetic exchange in which the biker, flying down a steep hill at about 40 mph, is supposed to fling his wrist band to a waiting paddler, who then sprints about 100 yards to his boat at the Stockbridge Bowl boat ramp. Part of the problem stems from cyclists desperately trying to spot their paddling teammates in a jostling, noisy crowd.

Long story short, last year we wasted about 10 minutes in a Dr. Livingston-like nightmare.

Phil devised an ingenious solution on Sunday: He donned flaming pink garden gloves and waved his arms like a windmill.

“They were a lifesaver,” Ben, our cyclist said later, after catching his breath from a grueling, hilly race in which he averaged about 21 mph. In fact, he and Phil hadn’t met until that moment, since Phil relied on an online “matchmaker” service offered by race organizers to help runners, cyclists and paddlers form their own teams. Neither Phil nor I had met Paul, our runner, either, until the day of the race.

Phil and I have been friends for years, and have competed with – and against – each other often. Just last week, in fact, we were thrashing it out as foes in a 14-mile kayak race in Norwalk.

But on Sunday we were allies, and after grabbing the wrist band from biker Ben Phil took off. About 30 seconds later we were paddling like demons – Phil, in the bow, controlling the rudder, and I in the stern, struggling to match his torrid cadence.

Soon, we started passing boats. Not one to brag – OK, I am bragging – we must have passed 100 or more, with Phil cutting it ever so close around the buoys. Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead.

“Phil, I don’t think we’re gonna make it!” I cried repeatedly as Phil veered inside competitors, but each time he shouted, “Come on! Give me 10 hard ones!” and then yelled, “On your left!” as we overtook slower vessels.

In fairness, Phil’ sleek, 24-foot Kevlar boat, a Bullit, which weighs less than 40 pounds, is like a Lamborghini, compared to the SUV-like aluminum canoes and plastic kayaks some of the paddlers navigated. Josh Billings is the pen name of Henry Wheeler Shaw, a 19th century humorist born in nearby Lanesboro, Mass., and his legacy contributes to the somewhat madcap nature of the race, which in fact is one of the nation’s oldest triathlons.

After about 45 minutes of weaving in and out of boat traffic we finally approached the paddle finish line and Phil executed an amazing, Tom Brady-like fling of the wrist band to Paul, waiting on shore.

“It was an unbelievable throw,” Paul said. “It hit the water in front of me, and then skipped right into my hands!”

Paul tore off on the run at under a 6-minute pace and passed half-a-dozen runners en route to the finish.

Our place: 14th overall out of 530 teams, and second in our division.

“A great showing!” Phil gushed.

The Josh Billings race motto is “To Finish is to Win,” so I guess we already were victorious – but still it was nice to pick up a mug as our prize.

I realize that once news of our pink-glove strategy spreads everybody will be using them next year, which will defeat the purpose, so we’ll have to come up with a new plan. Maybe Groucho Marx masks?