Waiting on Da Boat

Waiting for something to get done is the hardest thing.  Especially when it has caused a complete stoppage of a dream trip.  And did I tell you that not one week after our boat was struck by lightning our OFFICE was struck by lightning?   Really crazy times.  While we wait, I can sit around being bored, as I've already mentioned, sweating in the camper, being miserable, complaining and being generally grumpy. And I did some of that because that is just my personality.  But yesterday, something motivated me to get moving.  Maybe it's the new Menopause One pill I started taking a few weeks ago; maybe it's because I'm 56 freaking years old and if I can't motivate myself, no one can.

So I saddled up old Bessie the Bright Blue Bike and we set off for a local bike trail.  Every time I get on this bike, the theme to Miss Gulch's bike ride in Wizard of Oz goes through my brain and my pace picks up speed.  Do do do-do do!

I like to pride myself on being ready for almost anything, but as I made my first stop on the trail (I only did about five miles or so), I realized that I had not packed a snack (oh my!) nor had I packed a poncho in case it rained (cats and dogs!).  This is very unlike me.  It may have had something to do with my fear of bicycles getting in the way of my brain cells functioning even a quarter of their usual ability. 

Yes, this woman who spent hundreds of hours on her bike as a kid in the 60s and 70s, starting with tricycles, moving up to banana bikes (remember them), and then to 10-speeds (my least favorite).    I remember delivering papers in a bikini on my bike (don't ask, just stupid teen brain).  I remember getting on my bike in the morning and biking down to Featherstone Park (in Woodbridge, VA), swimming all day, and then biking back home, without a helmet!!  I grew up in a trailer park surrounded by Route 1, apartment buildings, housing developments, and a shopping center.  I was always on my bike. 

As I got into adulthood, the automobile became my mode of transport.  I really never got back on a bike except for rare occasions.  Even at Cape Cod, my only motivation to get on a bike to ride was the destination of Guapo's for fish tacos and Margaritas.  A good reason, maybe, but what about the exercise and fresh air?  Yeah, fish tacos would win out every time.

So I rode on the Cross Island trail yesterday, which, even though it runs along Route 50 on Kent Island, means it is loud from the zillions of cars flying by in both directions.  But it is beautiful riding over the marshes and bridges watching birds and squirrels.  I got off the trail to make a stop for lunch (peanut butter crackers next time!), then came back to the marina via Route 18, which is a stupidly bad road for anyone to ride on, but I steeled myself and just did it. Kept that Wizard of Oz song going in my head and I was fine, except that I would really like to have one of those teeny rear-view-mirrors that attaches to the helmet.  That would have been handy, I think, though sometimes NOT know what is coming could be better.

Before I rode over the Kent Island bridge, I ventured down a side road to the crab boat docks.  Every time we drove over the bridge, I would think that I'd like to stop.  I love the working docks, whether for crabbing or fishing.  Just that atmosphere of hard, stinky work on really stinky boats has some appeal.  Old, really old boats, new boats, boats going through a retrofit.  They were all there. 

As I biked out of there, I was going over in my head my planned route to get on the East side of the Narrows.  I made a wrong turn and found myself in an under-the-bridge commuter parking lot adjacent to a small fishing pier.  Great view out to "our" side, where the boat is in the marina boatyard, but not exactly where I wanted to be.

 

Got back on the bike and rode over the bridge, but of course, stopped in the middle to take a photo of a crab boat fighting against the crazy current to make its way under the bridge.  I do this when I'm driving, too, making my family crazy.  And this area is especially full of wonderful photo opportunities, day and night.

Even though I had already been out for two hours, I kind of wanted to ride more (yeah, me!).  I was sensible and headed in to the boatyard.  That felt really good, because I went out and I went out on my own, definitely out of my comfort zone.

So yes, the waiting is uncomfortable and sometimes hard, but if you ever find yourself in similar circumstances, listen to the wild(er) side and do something you would not ordinarily do.  Ride on!

Up Next:  Who the Heck Knows!     

Heart to Heart (and Head)

Having a parent (or, in our case, two) who is experiencing a life-threatening disease is hard, as I've discussed in a former blog post.  We came back from our Northeastern travels to support my husband's father.  He's been living with heart disease for many years and had already had open-heart surgery for a quad bypass.  During a family trip last year, he became ill and it was found he was now living with diabetes.  This year, he started having shortness of breath and low energy.  Tests found that he needed a new heart valve and a stent to broaden a thickening vessel. 

The surgeries, done on different days, went well and he was home by the week end.  In the meantime, I had cleaned out and added some healthy foods to the fridge and made a few dinners.  A home health nurse visited and mentioned that diet would be very important from here on out.  I guess I'm just too heavy handed.  While discussing a grocery list for the next week, I suggested leafy greens, fruits, protein sources and other ingredients for the non-white (rice, flour, bread, pasta, sugar) diet he was supposed to adopt.   His wife felt defensive immediately and said, "You can have anything you want."  Of course, that included cookies and Coke.   (Sounds like me and my sweet tea . . . .)

It took me a long time to get the message; my husband is the total opposite of me.  He just doesn't let himself get involved.  His sister is like me and gets quite upset; her partner is like Gary and does not; they are able to laugh it off.  We parked the RV in their driveway for quite a week or so and had meals together, so it just got harder and more tense for me.

Elliott made friends with the new kids on the block (next door), a new addition that has brightened the social aspect of the dead-end street, so long quieted by older residents.  In fact, we saw him for about five minutes over a two-day stretch where he spent the night, ate with the family, went boating and wakeboarding (he loves it!), and then spent the night again.

His grandmother did get him out a few days a week in the mornings to play tennis with her group at the country club.  Sounds hoity-toity, but don't worry, it's not.  He was the youngest player by about 50 years, but had a good time playing and learning more about the sport.  At this age, he seems to have a natural talent to do well in anything he tries.  Kind of like my older kids, except that they immersed themselves more into the visual and writing arts.

Depression is also something that has to be dealt with in managing parental health care.  We've seen it for many years in the family and are now seeing it manifesting itself in different ways across the board.  Any suggestions or advice would be so helpful in getting the family through this tough time.

And, I finally have to admit, I had to walk away for a while, though there were some lovely and serene moments gazing at the water or watching the wind rustle the leaves in the trees.  As stubborn as I am in wanting to be right, KNOWING I am right, actually (ha), I had to step back.  It is not my fight to fight and my husband was right when he exclaimed, 'Run away, run away!"  (Monty Python accent here.)  And my own diet sucketh at times, so maybe the lesson would be to clean mine up, lose some of this poundage, and come out healthier in mind and body on this side of things.  Send me good ju-ju, won't you?  A little less ballast on the boat would be a good thing.

Next Up:  Waiting for Da Boat

Intercourse: Not as Racy as NASCAR, But Fun

Quite a few Pennsylvania towns have evocative names.  Among them are Blue Ball, Shickshinny, Virginville, Climax, and our destination, Intercourse.   It was named in 1813, as Intercourse at the time meant a commercial or trading site or a gathering site for community.  According to a sign in the town, there was an attempt to change the name back to Cross Keys, which was its name before renaming.  But those wiley Amish were smart; would you drive out of your way to say you visited Cross Keys?  Nah, didn't think so.  But Intercourse?  Well, that's another story altogether.   I heard that their signposts are the most frequently stolen of any town.    I believe it!

The countryside is seriously beautiful; full of verdant farms with unbelievable black dirt just begging to have your fingers run through it.  The little tourist trap area we visited was okay and we did have a great meal and some good purchases at Stoltzfus' deli.  Oh, and the canning factory across the street was a lovely tasting party of pickled beets, chow chow, and sweet pickles.  I am a huge fan of canned foods and could have stayed there all day.  We got away with three jars of heaven.

On the other side of the road, we stopped at a fruit stand and bought some superbly delicious  eat-over-the-sink juicy peaches.  When Gary awoke from his nap, we went to the pretzel factory to take the tour and eat many pretzels.  We were successful at both.

As we were readying for home, we asked our electronic Maps dude to provide the route back to the Eastern Shore of Maryland.  It took us down so many windy skinny roads including a detour, but it was a gorgeous drive and we stayed off the highway for the most part.  As I said earlier, the farms were beautiful, the carts and ponies of the Amish a great reminder of what things were like for all of us back in the day.  

One of my favorite sights anywhere in the whole wide world is a line of clothes hung out to dry. I know this takes me back to my childhood because I remember running through lines of damp sheets in the hot summers.  They felt so cool on my cheek.  According to Amish lore, the clothes are hung on lines between farm buildings or on front porches to show that they have nothing to hide.

We drove past so many mouth-watering displays of home-grown fruits and vegetables for sale, but could not stop due to the size of our RV.  I'm a really good driver, but pulling into someone's yard with an RV and then having to back out onto a fairly busy road is not my idea of fun.  Fortified with the peaches, we drove on.

We got to Gary's parent's house later that evening; his Dad was to start his week of surgeries the next morning.

Next Up:  Heart to Heart

The Tricky Triangle

So now we are here  at the Pocono Raceway for the guys to enjoy one of their sporting passions:  NASCAR racing. 

It's really not my bag, but I'm always up for a cultural experience any day.  I went to my first NASCAR race with a high-school boyfriend to Dover, Delaware in the late 70s.  Another with Gary and E in Virginia many years later.  To me, the first ten laps and the last ten laps are enough.  But, since I was promised a day in the Amish country afterwards, I said yes.  Hey, I'm easy. 

We drove into the check-in area so that Gary could pick up our tickets for both the race and camping spot.   We were boarded by two of the security crew; one of them had about three teeth left in his head, but he was the nicer of the two.  They wanted to look around for guns and drugs.  We laughed about it and they were cool about it.  Thank goodness, because we were sneaking me in without paying.  Isn't that awful?  Kind of like a kid in the trunk of your car when you went to the drive-in; remember?  I did not want to go to the race itself, so we saved quite a bit of money there.  I was still a little nervous about being found out.

We drove into the campground, found our spot, and settled in for the evening.  Took a couple of bike rides to check out the encampment.  What a community.  Some of the sites were so done up with driver and team flags and grills and tents, games and bikes, classic cars; you name it.  Everyone, except kids, had a beer or other adult  beverage in hand.    And this was at 4pm!  Next day, I found out that adult beverages were the same as morning coffee to these campers.  One guy had a camper with a screened porch on the back and a fabricated metal deck upon which he sat and held court. 

When night fell on the check-in day, we wandered down to where a rock concert was being held.  Sounded like rock-n-roll.  At the end of one song, a guy came up from the audience and gave his story about finding his personal lord and savior.  Then several more wanted to come up from the audience and there was some sort of group prayer.  We moseyed off to our trailer where I made some really good multi-bean quesadillas.  The fireworks afterwards were quite nice; the pyrotechnic ones, just in case you were thinking of the bean aftermath.

Two minutes before the race, I was set up in the camper at the table in the back, pillows adjusted just so for my ultimate writing comfort at the computer.   Blam, blam, blam!!!!  Freaking loud blasts went off not 100 feet  from where we were parked.  Supposedly this is typical of the start of a race; well, I didn't know and that pair of underwear will never recover!

We had parked right below the edge of part of the track; this track is called the Tricky Triangle and their motto is "What 4th turn?"  As a car lover, though, even though the noise was loud, it was very exciting.  I'd hear the cars coming up to the turn, getting closer and closer, then *vrooooooom* around the corner.  It really was awesome.  And because I had writing to do, some biking to do, photos to take, the actual length of the race was not so bad.  Sneaky Dale Earnhardt  Jr. took advantage of some mistakes made by other drivers to make the win.

We stayed another night before heading out, so we got to watch most of our neighbors pack up and leave.  I'd say they do this a lot because they had a good system down pat.  Next morning, we headed out to Amish country in Pennsylvania. 

What's Next?:  Intercourse, Of Course

Even More Cape of the Cod

(Argh!  I am so bored right at this minute.  Today is August 18.  We are parked, probably illegally, in the boatyard right next to Nalani, who is still up on the hard.  Back-ordered items are causing yet more delays in her relaunching.  I've organized the RV so many times that now it is making it worse.  We're back on Kent Island after another brief run into Fredericksburg to see family and do some house maintenance.  Oh, and see a really good show with Megan Jean and the Klay Family Band with opener Amythyst Kiah hosted by Music & Spirits at the Bowman Bourbon distillery.  Two of the best voices in the music world today, I'll tell you.  Google them, listen, buy their CDs, and look for a house concert at some point down the road with Amythyst.  Nothing much to do, so I'll write.  Though I probably should be learning about sailing, eh?) 

So glad we had the opportunity in all this boat craziness to make the Cape Cod trip; we ended up going late because of the boat issues, but we did make it.  Gary's friends from college are part of his sailing team.  They started vacationing together by making bareboat crossings from Miami to the Bahamas.    They'd all meet in Miami, provision for the trip, and then set sail for the crossing to Bimini or any of the other islands.

Later, as folks moved, got married, had kids, went to grad school, the sailing trips were not as popular.  A few years ago, we started meeting up with those same friends in Cape Cod.  Because Gary went to school at Brandeis, a lot of the folks were from the area or nearby.  Meeting at the Cape was easier for most involved and we certainly didn't mind the drive.

My wish now would be for my whole family, including my older children and their families, to spend some time up there with us.  Maybe one day.

By the time everyone else had gone home, we stayed a few more days to do our own thing.  Elliott found us an awesome beach to explore:  Ridgevale Beach.  You get to it by crossing over a footbridge spanning an inland creek circling around one way to the marsh and the other way to more marsh and then the ocean.  It was beautiful!  On the other side of the bridge were at least a hundred pair of flip flops and sandals.  I'd never seen this done before, but it was cool.  This beach is a great space for littles because of the calmer marsh water on one side for splashing and floating.  The ocean side was busy with swimmers and folks taking catamarans and kayaks out to test their skills.

Our search for a dinner spot later in the day took us to a lighthouse in Chatham and a beautiful overlook and a walkabout at the piers by the fishing boats.  We were pleasantly surprised by a harbor seal swimming around searching for nibbles.  Far behind the boats on a little spit of land were a whole slew of the seals.  It was very cool.  We met a guy in the parking lot, very friendly New Yorker (I know, can that be said in the same sentence?).  He suggested we check out one of several restaurants; we hit one of them, spent a lot of money, and came away realizing that he could have lead us there because he was a part owner.  It was a popular hangout spot, but quite overpriced in the end (our fault for having eyes bigger than our stomachs) and the town was very crowded for a weekday.  Beautiful, for sure, and probably a good place to go in the daytime.

After the Cape trip and on the way back to the boat in Maryland, we made a side stop in the Pocono Mountains; no, not for a romantic getaway, but for a screaming loud bit of fun with cars.

Next Up:  The Tricky Triangle

A Tale of Two Dads

"Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans."  John Lennon in his song "Beautiful Boy"

In all the hustle and bustle of making quick plans for our 15-month journey (most people take years-we took six months), we organized, studied other sailors' lists of essentials, learned about storing amazing amounts of stuff in small spaces, ordered and replaced parts, mapped out an itinerary, took Elliott out of school for the 2014-2015 school year, signed him up with a home school, took a first-aid course, found someone to take care of our house and pets while we were gone, stopped the newspaper and other subscriptions, stopped scheduling house concerts, took a Virginia boat education course, bought good sunglasses, had a long goodbye dinner with friends, packed, unpacked, repacked, unpacked again, and then repacked.  So many things to think of with new tasks coming to the fore every day.

In all the planning, we didn't know that paternal storms were brewing.   No matter what you prepare for, life will hit you with a sucker punch sometimes.  We didn't know that both of our fathers would be getting sick.

The first punch came from my side of the family; my dad was diagnosed with cancer.  Now we'd been aware of his wife's cancer for at least ten years and she had been responding well to her treatments, though hard, and she never stopped having hope. She traveled, worked as long as she could, spent a lot of time with her family, and enjoyed activities with her church family.  She is still living with cancer.

My dad's cancer was localized, or so we thought.  Further tests showed that it had spread to other places in his body.  He is a long-time smoker; I once told him that the black carbon is the only thing holding him together.  He has been given a year-and-a-half to live, almost exactly the amount of time we had scheduled ourselves to be sailing.

Now Gary's dad has a history of heart problems; while we were with our friends on the Cape, we found out he was going to need yet another procedure.  He was going to need a valve replacement and a stent inserted in one of the clogging arteries.  It was scheduled for the time we had hoped to continue traveling in the Northeast U.S. with a stop in Niagara Falls.  Instead, we came home to be with him and my mother-in-law.

I hope my words don't seem like complaints, because they are not.  The health of our fathers is paramount.  But now we had and continue to have decisions to make; stay or go?

Do I, as the eldest in my family, take a particularly active role in my father's care and ditch the plans to travel?  My heart says I should, but I don't even think my father would want me to do that.   He does not communicate with one of my sisters, who lives local.  The other sister is in Mississippi and they speak quite a bit by phone.  He is particularly close to his stepchildren and I know they will step up as they have done for their mother's visits to doctors and succeeding care. I've seen him twice since we "left" on our journey, and it's been great to share stories of our adventures with him, even if it is just about getting struck by lightning!

We are not an especially maudlin family, but there are some emotional triggers that are being tapped by this circumstance.  Longing for a good fight and a right relationship.  Hoping that his pain and debilitation is minimal and that he can sit on the back porch and smoke and drink beer until the end.  I know that I can't imagine him any other place, nor that he would ever stop enjoying those vices. 

But do I want to be at sea during his last days?  What if he dies while I'm gone?  I still carry guilt from my mother's death 34 years ago; do I want to incur even more because I believe I'm not doing what I'm supposed to be doing?

We're dealing with the same thing with Gary's dad.  Many years of heart problems and a more recent diagnosis of Diabetes 2 beg for a change in diet, but it will be slow coming, if ever.  The man likes his desserts and Coke every single night and his wife is an enabler (as we've all been at one time or another).   Even when presented with the option of healthier eating, he says, "Well, I've gotten this far with what I've been doing, I'll be fine."  (Not really, obviously.)   I am a pain for him because I won't shut up, but my husband says to leave it alone, that I can't change people who don't want the change.  Maybe this interference is my desire to make things right in the Universal scheme of things; I don't know.  I shouldn't take it personally in dealing with old men set in their ways.

Both of our dads are in their seventies.  My dad has said he has lived a good life and that he's ready for whatever comes.  We haven't had that discussion with Gary's dad.  All in all, it is a scary year coming up, whatever choices we make and whatever shores we land on.  Feeling very torn on this perfectly rainy day.

Next Up:  The Cape (Revisited)

The Puzzle is Solved

Every puzzle has an eventual solution.  Ours came to us a week after we arrived at Camp Chang.   We had been consoling ourselves with fun and bike rides and fish tacos and margaritas and kayaking and shopping and bacon, lots of bacon!  (None for me, of course, but it made the boys happy.)

Our boat repair service manager sent us a message (and sent us the picture, below right) letting us know the status of the testing that had been done on Nalani.  The first news was that the VHF antenna (the base of which is about the size of a shot glass) was struck--I just found out that VHF stands for "Very High Frequency"; doesn't that sound too simplistic?  Anyway, the strike was strong enough to knock out all of our electronics. 

Normal Antenna

Fried Antenna

We need replacements for the navigation systems, winches, bow thrusters, lights, navigation and cabin lights, those types of things.   There was no exit damage on the hull, which means that the strike did not find a way to puncture a hole in the boat bottom.

The best news was that they would not have to "pull our stick."  That means our mast.  Labor dollars and hours would be saved; hurrah!  Orders have been submitted for most of the parts we need and we hope they arrive and are installed soon.

Since Nalani was up on the hard (out of the water), we realized her bottom needed some serious attention.  Doesn't everyone's, ever so often?  A day at the spa would be perfect.

First, a bit of dermabrasion to scale away those pesky barnacles, then a nice bit of sanding to smooth down her curves.  Next up will be a little plastic surgery around her belly to provide an especially smooth and tight complexion for a new paint job.  We've decided to take her to a whole new level of blush; out with the weathered bronze patina to a beautiful creamy red.

Even though the shock of the lightning strike was huge and a wrench was literally thrown into our short-term plans, when Nalani comes out of her month-long stay at the spa, she will fly like the wind unencumbered by pounds of paint-sucking barnacles.

Next Up:  A Tale of Two Dads

Reporting for Duty at Camp Chang

Every year for two weeks during July or August, Camp Chang is created from a bunch of empty campsites in Nickerson State Park in Brewster, Massachusetts.  Are you wondering what Camp Chang is?  Camp Chang is named after our friend Chang and is no ordinary camping experience.  Nestled around several warm ponds on Cape Cod, 1900-acre Nickerson State Park is an oasis of calm and relaxation.  Meeting up with a group of Gary's college friends and their families is a very special time of year for us.

Six months to the minute before, a group of the attendees were glued to their computers jumping into the lottery for choice camping spaces.  Crazy way to do it, but this park is so popular and that's the way they decided to handle all the traffic.  Our guys are very good at it and have managed to get contiguous spaces for years now.  We reserve the spaces for two weeks and invite family and friends to join us at anytime.

After we got things with the boat settled, we dashed home for 8 hours to clean the camper, the minifish, the kayak, and the bicycles, and then load them all on our trailer to be hitched to the camper.  Clean towels, clean sheets and pillowcases, blankets, groceries, cooking pots and utensils, books, bandannas (never travel anywhere without them), you name it, I found a place for it. The camper is small(ish); a 26-foot Rialta with two axles (good for the toll roads), but it has a full bed in the back and we brought a tent for Elliott to sleep in, though he doesn't mind the floor.  We had to laugh that we had moved out

We drove back to the marina and spent a few more days getting ready there, bringing food off the boat and other supplies that have good crossover uses whether sailing or camping.  FINALLY, after giving the okay on boat work and hauling, we headed out around 8pm.  Wouldn't you know, that busybody little black cloud followed us out of town leading a huge electrical storm behind it.  All I could think is that now the camper was going to get a blast.  We did get quite a light show, but made it safely through and arrived earlier than expected on the Cape.  We parked by the Cape Cod Canal at 4:30 in the morning and slept for two hours before the hour-long drive to Nickerson and Camp Chang.

We arrived just as breakfast was being prepared.  One of our friends greeted us with "Wow!  You made it here with lightning speed!"  Ha. Ha. Ha.   *grimace*

Now any meal at Camp Chang can be an adventure; it is different ever year depending on who has decided to join us for the camping experience.  One year, when our friend K was there, the meals were just incredible.  Grilled pizza, yogurt-marinated pork, gorgeous salads.  I was in heaven.

Breakfasts are insane; it is not unusual for a a whole pack of bacon to be fried up EVERY SINGLE DAY!  I don't know how these folks don't keel right over.  My husband said he was going through withdrawal after, but that the day before we left, he felt that he was done with bacon.

Every day, a plan is laid out of what Chang and his family are doing, whether it is a bike ride, a day at the pond, a special trip somewhere else.  Good thing is that you are not required to do anything if you don't want to and occasionally I choose that option or do my own thing.  I especially love when a certain friend shows up so that we can hit the town together.

Camp Chang's main meeting area (with borrowed picnic tables from other sites) is where the camp kitchen is, of course.  The bike corral is nearby.  For the kitchen, several tables, four propane stoves, a shelf with pots and pans, and a dishwashing corner make up this area.  One friend either cooks or helps to cook every meal.  He's pretty amazing.  He even cleans up after.  And he's a HE! Yeah, unbelievable.

The tables are not just a gathering place for meals, though; at any time, you can find someone reading a book, a group playing a very snappy game of cards, crafts, figuring out the puzzle of the meal, and the most important thing, doing the New York Times crossword puzzle.  Doing the puzzle starts out with two people, soon attracting others like crows around carrion.   I love to sit back and watch the action; a big hurrah goes up when a good answer is found, and when the puzzle has finally been completed, the look of satisfaction on the faces of the finishers is priceless.

NEXT:  Our Own Giant Puzzle Comes Together

 

Bridging the Gap II

Off we went to meet the people who were going to be taking over the care and feeding of Nalani.  It was a two-hour trip out into the Wye River and then into Eastern Bay and then heading up toward Kent Narrows (and the bridges!!!) . . . .

We did make it through those bridges, with the help of the bridge tender and the information that the numbers on the bridge supports gave you as to whether your boat could fit under.  The tide was low enough and the number was right for us and we were fine, though it made me cringe to see how close we were as we motored under the bridge, waving to the bridge tender as we went.  

We docked at a t-head by Red-Eye's Dock Bar at Kent Narrows, which was cool because we had live music some nights and there was a lot of boat traffic to ooh and aah over.  One day we had a parade of high-performance boats; must have been about 50 of them.  Blam-blam-blam-blam (how the engines sound to me).  As the bikini contest got closer, our space was considered premium, so we were asked to move just two slips inside.  We attempted the move, but couldn't get in; there was a pile of silt leftover from the latest dredging operation that we hit.  Backed out and went back to the t-head until another slip could be found.  I was not sad that we were moving as the whole atmosphere changed with the folks coming in for the bikini contest; loud(er) music, late parties, disco lights inside the boats, drunk people day and night, and very scantily dressed women.  I'm not a prude, but really?!?!?  I'm sure the guys didn't mind . . . .

Here's the kind of view I like:

Walking down the dock one day, I spotted a woman being helped back onto her boat by her partner; she had a cast on her arm from her hand to above her elbow.  I felt sorry for her, but then I looked down and saw her shoes.  Six inch wedges?  Seriously?  On a dock and then a boat?  I think I know how she broke her bones.   

We finally moved a day later when a spot opened on an L-head (is that a term?).  We put in bow first, but then Gary didn't like the way the boat was facing, so with me at the helm (reverse-forward-neutral over and over) and the guys manipulating the lines, we flipped Nalani easily to stern in (try to visualize the operation), with only a hold-up for one boat coming in while we maneuvered. 

The days on board were spent reading, organizing, cleaning, ordering parts, and doing some fun things, too, like swimming in the pool, riding the bike path, shopping at thrift stores, spending a day with the mother-in-law in Easton, having visitors to the boat, getting Elliott's hair all cut off, having Elliott reconnect with an old friend, and just enjoying being dock rats.  We also met some of the live-aboards on our dock and received a very kind greeting; nice folks who showed us their boat.  Wow, the space is incredible and comes with an inboard vacuum and a washer and dryer (boat envy a little here).  One of them is an aeronautical engineer who offered his help with the mast problems if we needed it.

Finally, we had a visit from our adjuster and the mechanic who would be doing the work.  Most adjusters, when they find a boat has been struck, will immediately put in the order to "pull the stick" (mast), which can be very time-consuming and labor intensive.

Thankfully, our adjuster was a bit more thoughtful and wanted to do a full review before making that decision.  Good news for us, as it could mean our reboarding sooner than expected. 

In the meantime, we headed home for a day to pick up our RV for a planned trip to Cape Cod to meet up with friends.  This is an annual trip planned and hosted by our friend Chang, a college friend of Gary's from Brandeis days.  Within a few hours, we had everything prepared at the house, including scouring both the kayak and minifish, and putting those and our three bikes on a pull-along trailer.

We pulled things together quickly and efficiently and were back on the road to Kent Narrows before the evening.  Within a few days, Gary felt comfortable enough to leave the boat in the marina's able hands.  We were on the road again in our land yacht!