Didn't get a chance to post these before. Here they be.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Thursday, October 25, 2007
How I almost cancelled the trip
OCTOBER 25, 3pm
We've been in this truck for two days straight. We've had 2 blowouts, one on the trailer, one on the truck, only to find that the tires we bought in May were antiques, destined to crumble after short service, and that our jack and tools have been lost, discarded as superfluous, or traded for some magic beans, depending on who it was that parted with them. We bought a truck tire from some dudes that all talk like Boomhauer on King of the Hill, and then broke the tire lift system putting away the spare.
Besides the two blowouts, we've pulled 2 more nails from another tire. I can't help but feel good though.
We're getting closer. We're driving west across Florida now. Home of Jeb Bush, Tony Montana, and the destination of the Butthole Surfers dancing to sausages the size of Ray Bolger in a traffic jam. At least that's what I think they said. Nothings going to keep us from doing this. Except one thing. One thing ALMOST did. I forgot to write this part earlier... How this trip almost didn't happen.
What's the one thing that could keep us from going? Well, if we lost the boat.That might put a little kink in the plan. It happened like this: we're driving along, and when you get up to about 55 or 60 mph, the boat and the trailer start to do this hula dance behind the truck. And when you try to correct it, you make it worse, usually. And to step on the brakes risks a jackknife and I can testify, there's really nothing quite like the experience of going 60 or 70 on the expressway, sideways, with the trailer pushing the truck along, visible only through the passenger door window, (where it shouldn't be) and then looking out the driver's door window and seeing signs coming at your face, coming within a foot of it, right up to the window and then disappearing below the truck, out of sight. It's quite an experience. Really quite fascinating,and fun to recollect as you clean the shit out of your pants. And since that anecdote was caused by a trailer ball coming out of a bumper, and the trailer hanging on chains alone, I don't use the chains anymore. Because if that trailer comes loose, I don't want it anywhere near me.
So where was I? Oh yeah. So, the truck's swinging a lot, and it makes me really nervous, since it's the last thing you think before you jackknife: Gee, the trailer seems like it's really swinging a lot! BOOOOOM. Etc. So we get out to move the gas cans around in the boat so that the weight is really even on both the front and back of the trailer axle. How do you know if it is? Well, you disconnect the trailer ball of course. Check the balance, and then set it back down on the ball. And then, what you're SUPPOSED to do is tighten the receiver back onto the ball. OR, the ALTERNATIVE is to get yourself a king sized box of chocolate covered tootsie rolls, a coffee, a Red Bull, and then jump in the truck, and start driving. And then, as you drive along, you can ruminate on how well the trailer is riding along back there, hardly pulling at all, and you hardly feel the trailer, and how clever you are, as you jam another handful of sugary treats into your hungry piehole.
Until you figure it out: the boat, the trailer, all of your work, your home for the next several months, your most valuable possession, your EVERYTHING, is coasting along with just the receiver SITTING ON TOP OF the trailer ball. TOTALLY DISCONNECTED, just balancing there precariously, fortunately, until you hit a bump, a turn, or run over a pebble, or the wind blows. And then the comedic moment when I realize I'm racing down the road like this, and totally crap my pants (figuratively, my friend, figuratively). The only thing more hilarious than the blood curdling scream of a little girl that I made might be the look on my face if the boat sailed past me (so to speak) in the passing lane. So anyway, to sum it up, I pulled over, supercautious and all, and managed to completely stop without ditching the boat. As Yoda once said, "SUPER SCARY THAT WAS." I am an extremely lucky person. Maybe a bit daft. Let's see how I do on this trip overall, and I'll let you be the judge. I promise to document as accurately as my pride will allow. Kirk out.
We've been in this truck for two days straight. We've had 2 blowouts, one on the trailer, one on the truck, only to find that the tires we bought in May were antiques, destined to crumble after short service, and that our jack and tools have been lost, discarded as superfluous, or traded for some magic beans, depending on who it was that parted with them. We bought a truck tire from some dudes that all talk like Boomhauer on King of the Hill, and then broke the tire lift system putting away the spare.
Besides the two blowouts, we've pulled 2 more nails from another tire. I can't help but feel good though.
We're getting closer. We're driving west across Florida now. Home of Jeb Bush, Tony Montana, and the destination of the Butthole Surfers dancing to sausages the size of Ray Bolger in a traffic jam. At least that's what I think they said. Nothings going to keep us from doing this. Except one thing. One thing ALMOST did. I forgot to write this part earlier... How this trip almost didn't happen.
What's the one thing that could keep us from going? Well, if we lost the boat.That might put a little kink in the plan. It happened like this: we're driving along, and when you get up to about 55 or 60 mph, the boat and the trailer start to do this hula dance behind the truck. And when you try to correct it, you make it worse, usually. And to step on the brakes risks a jackknife and I can testify, there's really nothing quite like the experience of going 60 or 70 on the expressway, sideways, with the trailer pushing the truck along, visible only through the passenger door window, (where it shouldn't be) and then looking out the driver's door window and seeing signs coming at your face, coming within a foot of it, right up to the window and then disappearing below the truck, out of sight. It's quite an experience. Really quite fascinating,and fun to recollect as you clean the shit out of your pants. And since that anecdote was caused by a trailer ball coming out of a bumper, and the trailer hanging on chains alone, I don't use the chains anymore. Because if that trailer comes loose, I don't want it anywhere near me.
So where was I? Oh yeah. So, the truck's swinging a lot, and it makes me really nervous, since it's the last thing you think before you jackknife: Gee, the trailer seems like it's really swinging a lot! BOOOOOM. Etc. So we get out to move the gas cans around in the boat so that the weight is really even on both the front and back of the trailer axle. How do you know if it is? Well, you disconnect the trailer ball of course. Check the balance, and then set it back down on the ball. And then, what you're SUPPOSED to do is tighten the receiver back onto the ball. OR, the ALTERNATIVE is to get yourself a king sized box of chocolate covered tootsie rolls, a coffee, a Red Bull, and then jump in the truck, and start driving. And then, as you drive along, you can ruminate on how well the trailer is riding along back there, hardly pulling at all, and you hardly feel the trailer, and how clever you are, as you jam another handful of sugary treats into your hungry piehole.
Until you figure it out: the boat, the trailer, all of your work, your home for the next several months, your most valuable possession, your EVERYTHING, is coasting along with just the receiver SITTING ON TOP OF the trailer ball. TOTALLY DISCONNECTED, just balancing there precariously, fortunately, until you hit a bump, a turn, or run over a pebble, or the wind blows. And then the comedic moment when I realize I'm racing down the road like this, and totally crap my pants (figuratively, my friend, figuratively). The only thing more hilarious than the blood curdling scream of a little girl that I made might be the look on my face if the boat sailed past me (so to speak) in the passing lane. So anyway, to sum it up, I pulled over, supercautious and all, and managed to completely stop without ditching the boat. As Yoda once said, "SUPER SCARY THAT WAS." I am an extremely lucky person. Maybe a bit daft. Let's see how I do on this trip overall, and I'll let you be the judge. I promise to document as accurately as my pride will allow. Kirk out.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
The trip down
October 24
Okay, where should I start? After spending several days in Michigan saying our goodbyes, we finally hit the road on October 23, yesterday at noon or so. I drove for a while, because I'm a control freak, and it was raining, and the only thing that makes me more nervous than pulling trailers is when someone else is driving.So we went straight for 600 miles or so, at about 45 mph in the rain, through the mountains and whatnot. Around 5:30 in the morning, I hear: BOOM! Clickity clackity clickity clickety whatever. I stop, get out, check, no visible probm
Intermission: I'll be right back.
Okay. I'm back. We're in Tennessee, and just stopped because there were two dogs by the side of the expressway, trapped, with no where to go but out through 80mph traffic, walled in by cement for a mile or more in either direction. We couldn't catch 'em. I think they found a way out. Whew. Okay.
ANYway. So long story shorter, no problems with the tire. Get back on, and the trailer feelslike it's swaying hard. I decide to pull over, but before I can, I HEAR the tire go. So now we do pull over. Left back on the truck, best possible one, we agree. We go to pull the spare, and find the tools are gone. Apparently someone I loaned my truck to in New Orleans had a flat that they never told me about. And didn't replace my tools. So using a screwdriver, a 5 inch long metal bar, we remove the spare from underneath and jack the truck with great difficulty. But can't remove the lugs. If only the 90 foot tall crucifix looming on the next hill were a four way lug wrench. So we walk. We ask a guy at the stop sign at the next exit if he has a wrench. One thing leads to another. This guy, apparently, is the owner of HTH grain processing. This is a company that processes 500 BIILLION dollars worth of grain a DAY. We found this hard to believe. His friend pulls over and they're both on the way to the plant. Keith Bruzzell (owner) tells John (psycho) that he should take us to the plant and give us any tools we need. Sweet. On the way there, John tells us that he is a safety officer because he sometimes gets to save a life to try to "pay back." He elaborates that he's an exmarine and he was responsible for a lot of killing. And "we did some things we shouldn't have done." Interesting guy. Since he's the one who supplied the "500 billion" figure" we take it with a pound of salt.
We go to the plant, get security clearance, and enter. While we are there, John fires two guys for smoking cigarettes on the company grounds. It's a homeleand security risk, we come to find out, and the whole place is highly explosive. No cell phones, no smoking. A real nice guy named Tommy is assigned to return us to the vehicle. And on his way, stops to pick up another fourway lugwrench in case the one way 13/16" is the wrong size. ( I brought a matching socket to make sure, and verified it, but he still wanted to). Tommy confirms the 500 BILLION A DAY number. Weird to hear that from two guys, something that sounds so far fetched. We go to the truck, 25 miles or more total driving, and he offers us his wrench to keep. This guy is a sweet old grampa. Then the Sherriff shows up. Man, people here are HELPFUL. Crazy. Apparently, Detroit is another world to them. We put the spare on. It's so soft, it's flat. SHEISSE!
We limp along.Go buy a wrench, a new tire for $20 (supposedly used, but wasn't) and saved about $130. The old tire looks like it has a shark bite out of it. A huge hole the size of my fist removed from the sidewall. Still don't know what I hit. Maybe a landmine.
Get some Long John Silvers, walk the dogs, sleep for four hours, and back on the road. I'm having flashbacks of the time I drove 38 hours straight to New Orleans, after having 1 flat, 1 wiring problem that stopped us, and a blown shock, and getting hit by one FEMA rescue truck that was lost because all the signs were blown away by Katrina. He bought me off for $500 bucks, then offered to sell me coke and deal to anyone I could connect with once down in New Orleans. I declined. That's why I'm still broke, and still not in jail.
As of /25 hours later, we are halfway there. But we're closer than we were.
Okay, where should I start? After spending several days in Michigan saying our goodbyes, we finally hit the road on October 23, yesterday at noon or so. I drove for a while, because I'm a control freak, and it was raining, and the only thing that makes me more nervous than pulling trailers is when someone else is driving.So we went straight for 600 miles or so, at about 45 mph in the rain, through the mountains and whatnot. Around 5:30 in the morning, I hear: BOOM! Clickity clackity clickity clickety whatever. I stop, get out, check, no visible probm
Intermission: I'll be right back.
Okay. I'm back. We're in Tennessee, and just stopped because there were two dogs by the side of the expressway, trapped, with no where to go but out through 80mph traffic, walled in by cement for a mile or more in either direction. We couldn't catch 'em. I think they found a way out. Whew. Okay.
ANYway. So long story shorter, no problems with the tire. Get back on, and the trailer feelslike it's swaying hard. I decide to pull over, but before I can, I HEAR the tire go. So now we do pull over. Left back on the truck, best possible one, we agree. We go to pull the spare, and find the tools are gone. Apparently someone I loaned my truck to in New Orleans had a flat that they never told me about. And didn't replace my tools. So using a screwdriver, a 5 inch long metal bar, we remove the spare from underneath and jack the truck with great difficulty. But can't remove the lugs. If only the 90 foot tall crucifix looming on the next hill were a four way lug wrench. So we walk. We ask a guy at the stop sign at the next exit if he has a wrench. One thing leads to another. This guy, apparently, is the owner of HTH grain processing. This is a company that processes 500 BIILLION dollars worth of grain a DAY. We found this hard to believe. His friend pulls over and they're both on the way to the plant. Keith Bruzzell (owner) tells John (psycho) that he should take us to the plant and give us any tools we need. Sweet. On the way there, John tells us that he is a safety officer because he sometimes gets to save a life to try to "pay back." He elaborates that he's an exmarine and he was responsible for a lot of killing. And "we did some things we shouldn't have done." Interesting guy. Since he's the one who supplied the "500 billion" figure" we take it with a pound of salt.
We go to the plant, get security clearance, and enter. While we are there, John fires two guys for smoking cigarettes on the company grounds. It's a homeleand security risk, we come to find out, and the whole place is highly explosive. No cell phones, no smoking. A real nice guy named Tommy is assigned to return us to the vehicle. And on his way, stops to pick up another fourway lugwrench in case the one way 13/16" is the wrong size. ( I brought a matching socket to make sure, and verified it, but he still wanted to). Tommy confirms the 500 BILLION A DAY number. Weird to hear that from two guys, something that sounds so far fetched. We go to the truck, 25 miles or more total driving, and he offers us his wrench to keep. This guy is a sweet old grampa. Then the Sherriff shows up. Man, people here are HELPFUL. Crazy. Apparently, Detroit is another world to them. We put the spare on. It's so soft, it's flat. SHEISSE!
We limp along.Go buy a wrench, a new tire for $20 (supposedly used, but wasn't) and saved about $130. The old tire looks like it has a shark bite out of it. A huge hole the size of my fist removed from the sidewall. Still don't know what I hit. Maybe a landmine.
Get some Long John Silvers, walk the dogs, sleep for four hours, and back on the road. I'm having flashbacks of the time I drove 38 hours straight to New Orleans, after having 1 flat, 1 wiring problem that stopped us, and a blown shock, and getting hit by one FEMA rescue truck that was lost because all the signs were blown away by Katrina. He bought me off for $500 bucks, then offered to sell me coke and deal to anyone I could connect with once down in New Orleans. I declined. That's why I'm still broke, and still not in jail.
As of /25 hours later, we are halfway there. But we're closer than we were.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
FIRST BLOGGY BLOG/BACKGROUND
August something or other. First Blog entry by Jack, or John, or whatever the hell you know me as:
Okay, here I go. I'm going to write really frankly, as is my way of thinking. If a bad word offends you, or my thoughts usually do, do us both a favor and stop now and go check out the latest "Family Circus." I hear that Jeffy's been up to the devil's bidness, it's supposed to be a good one. Anyway, I swear when I talk. That's just how I speak.
Anyway, this is the first entry into our excursions on FIBERGLASS VENGEANCE, our 25 foot sailboat. I will try to do this right this time, unlike the diary I never started. I never started a diary, back when I was about 16, when shit started to really get hectic and exciting in my world, because I figured the most interesting part was probably done, and I'm a bit of a completist. And I figured that I couldn't do the first half justice with my vague memory, and so could never bring myself to get started, except about 3 entries in a blog in New Orleans after the hurricane. But then, when it was really exciting, and there was wind from helicopters on my neck, and the smell of dead things was everywhere, I didn't have a pen. Or the time to be writing.
So when there's something really awesome or weird, I never write about it.
A little background here: I've spent the summer trying to get the boat ready for whatever adventures are ahead. Trying to anticipate how much water, electricity, wind, anchor line, and liquor will be needed. Which firearm, if any, should we bring in the event of piracy. Can we go to Cuba? etc. A lot of research, measuring, figuring, planning, plotting, guessing, asking.
So one big thing we figured out was that our motor would be inadequate. Even though the one we had was stock size (8 horsepower) and the max recommended for our boat is 10, we searched around and tried to wring our hands till we could decide if more was better. We decided it was. It's a safety issue. If you're in huge waves, like 10 feet, it's like driving your boat up a big hill. And if your motor won't push you up it, you slide backward, then sideways, and then the waves crash over the boat, flooding your boat, then it's unsteady. Then it goes lower in the water, is unmanageable, and then the next wave rolls it upside down. Basically what probably happened to the Andrea Gail in "The Perfect Storm." So we looked. For a month or so. All over the country online, and called dealerships. We needed a 2 stroke (the 4 strokes are too heavy for our boat), 15-25 h.p., longshaft (so the prop is not out of the water on a 6 foot wave), relatively new (within 20 years, so it doesn't fail us at a critical moment, like in a hurricane, or the Gulf Stream in 15 foot seas), tiller handle (we don't have a spot for a steering wheel, used (new is like 4500. Yes, dollars. As much as the boat cost, in other words), with electric start (that means it also has an alternator, which we need, since we're selling our generator to help afford it). Oh, and local is better, so we can try before we buy, and throw it through the seller's front picture window if it turns out to be bogus. Anyway, we searched. At least 4 times, we gave up and settled on 3/4 of the above criteria being met. And something thwarted us. And so we searched. And kept giving up.
And so the day before our anniversary of August 26th,we found one. In Monroe Michigan. Two stroke. 25hp. Electric start. Tiller. And it's a 2005. They say they'll take $1600 (outrageously cheap) if we pay cash TONIGHT.
We jumped in the car. Driving out of town, 5 minutes into the trip, we pass an accident. We slow down. A deer and a car. And two more cars. The deer is on the road, the people standing around. I get out and ask if anyone is hurt. I talk to a lady who just totaled her car in a 45 mph headon, who is fine, but is upset. She just bought the car a few hours ago. New. Everyone's fine. The deer landed square on the windshield of the first car. The guy beats me to my question, and offers it to me. I go to load it in, and the cops tell me they're writing me a permit. Then they tell me there's a warrant for my arrest, for an unpaid ticket from Kalamazoo for being in the park after dusk. And I'm driving on a suspended license, because the State of Michigan wants $300 to reinstate my license after it was suspended for an Ohio speeding ticket, even though I skipped them and got a new, valid one in Louisiana.
"Doesn't matter. Michigan wants their money, to reinstate your license. Even though you have one. Because if you get caught driving in Michigan, even with a valid license from Louisiana, since my Michigan one is suspended, you'll go to jail for 90 days. And thousands in legal bills." All this per the cop. I say okay, Ruth will drive. Okay, he tells me.
I pick up Bambi's dad, who is basically dead, but appears edible, and load all 150 or so of his dead pounds into my truck. Now I have blood all over me. We drive home. We dump the deer into the huge 6 foot2.5 x 4 foot deep freezer, that works awesome, that I just HAPPENED to find FREE by the side of the road a month before, and head back out.
Ruth's driving now, at least till south of town. We race down, buy the engine, and head back. We'll be driving to 3 or 4 am. But it's worth it. At midnight, Ruth's phone alarm goes off, playing "what I like about you," by the Romantics. One of the songs that played during our wedding, on the happiest day of my life. At 12:01, we're making out in the Speedway parking lot somewhere outside of Mancelona, or Standish, or Munising. It doesn't matter where we are. We go home and eat cake together from our original wedding cake that's been in the freezer a year. It's just as good as it was then. Not before being pulled over, with me at the wheel, being told I have a warrant, and that I'm driving on a suspended license (I don't want Ruth to drive, she has a sprained ankle). And it's in the exact same place we got a speeding ticket on the way to our honeymoon after our wedding. But he lets me go. No jail for me. Not tonight.
I have the word "LUCKY" tattooed on my right forearm about 8 inches long. It's not because I'm good at cards. It's not because I talked myself out of going to jail. It's because I have an 25hp outboard in the bed of the truck. That was a STEAL. It looks like new.
And a deer in the freezer.
I hold my breath to see how long I can do it. I make a record at three minutes even.
All my houses in Detroit have been repossessed.
I have no job. We're almost out of money. And we're set to leave in 63 days.
We have a house in New Orleans that is 3/4 paid for. And provides a modest (most would say meager) income that we are going to try to live on long enough to have more fun than we deserve.
But we have XM radio, playing the Circle Jerks.
I have my health. And a fridge with a box full of wedding cake.
The dogs are asleep in back. Good travelers, whimpering in their sleep, and half barking. Dreaming of glorious chases, fields, and elk.
And Ruth's back in the driver seat.
I have LUCKY tattooed on my arm because all is well.
It's because of my family, my friends, my wife, my dogs. I'm just lucky, there's all there is to it.
The headlights from the rare passing cars illuminate moving squares of the inside of the truck across the seats, the dash, her face, as she drives us home. I'm just lucky.
All is well.
So anyway. Here I go again. Trying to start again, because unlike the diary I never started at 16, I know the most interesting part has yet to come. I just took a shower, after gutting, skinning, and quartering the deer, and throwing it back in the freezer. Ruth made lasagna, and we watched Sicko on DVD. And I'm the happiest guy in the world. And the best is yet to come.
Kirk out.
Sept. 7
Getting ready as always. We've made a drogue, that may double as a sea anchor in a gale. We've decided to hold onto the generator and not sell the Suzuki for less than $750, since we know that they're both awesomely reliable. That means we're light on funds, but little else to buy. We bought a new sail that we can reef (run at half size, in case there's too much wind), we have a fridge, solar panels, a water tap to pump fresh water from below, a radio, a depth/fishfinder, VHF radio (for emergencies, and coming into harbors), and many, many little additions. Now we need to get some more sailing in, and maybe, who knows, earn a bit of money. We plan to sail up to Beaver Island on northern Lake Michigan in a few days. That should be fun. We just have to drop the mast (how Ruth almost lost her finger, last time), tow the boat over a couple of miles, drop it back in the water and put the mast up and sail outta there. The dogs will enjoy that. Then back to Torch, then down to Kalamazoo to see the peeps, hit up my 87th college class reunion, and then get really ready to jet. The idea at the moment is to leave in midOctober, drive to New Orleans, sail outta there 669 miles to Miami, meet up with this guy James, and sail across with him in his boat to the Bahamas. We'll return in the spring, sell our house in New Orleans, and then come back up here. So now, I have a suspended driver's license, creditors calling me hourly, and a warrant out for my arrest. Yep, seems like a good time to hit the road. I think John Goodman, playing the character of Walter Sopjek, in "The Big Lebowski" summed it up best when he said: "Fuck it Dude. Let's go bowling."
SEPTEMBER Something or other, 2007
CRAZY storm the other night. Ruth and I stayed below deck and watched "The Perfect Storm" while the wind tore everything all up. It's the strongest I've ever felt, it was about 45 mph. That's movin'. 18mph is when the telephone wires whistle. That marina, and all those boats, with all those stays, shrouds, lines and wires were SINGIN', believe me. They told people don't drive, your car will be blown off the road on the radio. Not off the road and then onto the radio, but the people on the radio said don't drive.
It ripped the jib all up, about 8 feet of rip, and we were lucky to get the bastard lashed down again. I thought I should have wrapped it tighter when that storm came. I was right, it turns out.
OCTOBER 11, 2007
Visited the pigs in Kalamazoo, as well as our friends. Went to a bitchin' party for Nathan's 40th anniversary, my 15 year class reunion, and paid the ticket for the park nonsense, as well as for the warrant for our arrest. We paid the $75.00 fine all in pennies. They really loved that, tha bastards.
The class reunion was cool. It was cool to see some of these people that I hadn't seen in a long time, but missed 2 of the 3 most vital ones for me, and the third was Tom, and we stayed at his house. No one seemed afraid of a guy with a mohawk, so that was cool, unlike when I was in school. Or maybe it was that I was a jerk. Anyway, I was there with my dopeass wife, in a skirt and heels making all of 'em jealous, guys and girls. That was fun. And I played Ruth's music over the P.A. during dinner (it was at the Castle, so Laura asked me to do the music), and then bragged to people that I had gotten married there last year in the same room we were in, and the bride ran over to the drum kit and rocked the house still in her wedding dress. I hate to brag (well, no I don't, really...) but when you do things right, I don't mind letting on that I did. Like marry Ruth. And what we're about to do. People asked, of course, what I was up to. I told the truth. We finished our house in New Orleans, and since have been unemployed, in any gainful sense, and now we're going to be pirates. It's hard to tell someone you're going to live in the Bahamas for 6 months without them thinking you're super rich. They don't realize I bought this boat for $4800, and we're going to be mostly broke, eating oats and fish. I don't like to name numbers for people, but in this case I do, because I think otherwise their limited knowledge would make them think I'm some idle rich snot who's actually named Carleton or Archibald Winchester the III going sailing on my $40,000 yacht with my wife Hillary. Oh, well. They can think what they want, and curse my name while they're at it. I'm going fishin'.
OCTOBER 12, 2007
Jack: As long as we can get someone to watch the dogs. We've tried everyone we know, to no avail. We actually just had the conversation that we won't be going if we don't find people, and we have to make peace with that.
OCTOBER 13, 2007
Jack: I got a message from Eduardo that they'll watch the dogs. HURRAH.
OCTOBER 16, 2007
Jack: Okay, we leave here in a couple days. We have to get our work done, finish getting the boat ready, pack, pack food, hit the road, say our goodbyes all over Michigan, get the brakes done on the trailer, drive to Florida, launch the boat, drive to New Orleans to build a dog house and fence the yard, and then stay for Halloween (I think I'm going to be George Bush, maybe with some seriously bloody hands, maybe devouring an Iraqi infant, or maybe as a puppet for Dick Cheney, who has glowing red eyes and smells vaguely of sulfur? I'm getting ahead of myself...) before flying back to the boat on November 1st, the official first day after hurricane season. No Problem.
Okay, here I go. I'm going to write really frankly, as is my way of thinking. If a bad word offends you, or my thoughts usually do, do us both a favor and stop now and go check out the latest "Family Circus." I hear that Jeffy's been up to the devil's bidness, it's supposed to be a good one. Anyway, I swear when I talk. That's just how I speak.
Anyway, this is the first entry into our excursions on FIBERGLASS VENGEANCE, our 25 foot sailboat. I will try to do this right this time, unlike the diary I never started. I never started a diary, back when I was about 16, when shit started to really get hectic and exciting in my world, because I figured the most interesting part was probably done, and I'm a bit of a completist. And I figured that I couldn't do the first half justice with my vague memory, and so could never bring myself to get started, except about 3 entries in a blog in New Orleans after the hurricane. But then, when it was really exciting, and there was wind from helicopters on my neck, and the smell of dead things was everywhere, I didn't have a pen. Or the time to be writing.
So when there's something really awesome or weird, I never write about it.
A little background here: I've spent the summer trying to get the boat ready for whatever adventures are ahead. Trying to anticipate how much water, electricity, wind, anchor line, and liquor will be needed. Which firearm, if any, should we bring in the event of piracy. Can we go to Cuba? etc. A lot of research, measuring, figuring, planning, plotting, guessing, asking.
So one big thing we figured out was that our motor would be inadequate. Even though the one we had was stock size (8 horsepower) and the max recommended for our boat is 10, we searched around and tried to wring our hands till we could decide if more was better. We decided it was. It's a safety issue. If you're in huge waves, like 10 feet, it's like driving your boat up a big hill. And if your motor won't push you up it, you slide backward, then sideways, and then the waves crash over the boat, flooding your boat, then it's unsteady. Then it goes lower in the water, is unmanageable, and then the next wave rolls it upside down. Basically what probably happened to the Andrea Gail in "The Perfect Storm." So we looked. For a month or so. All over the country online, and called dealerships. We needed a 2 stroke (the 4 strokes are too heavy for our boat), 15-25 h.p., longshaft (so the prop is not out of the water on a 6 foot wave), relatively new (within 20 years, so it doesn't fail us at a critical moment, like in a hurricane, or the Gulf Stream in 15 foot seas), tiller handle (we don't have a spot for a steering wheel, used (new is like 4500. Yes, dollars. As much as the boat cost, in other words), with electric start (that means it also has an alternator, which we need, since we're selling our generator to help afford it). Oh, and local is better, so we can try before we buy, and throw it through the seller's front picture window if it turns out to be bogus. Anyway, we searched. At least 4 times, we gave up and settled on 3/4 of the above criteria being met. And something thwarted us. And so we searched. And kept giving up.
And so the day before our anniversary of August 26th,we found one. In Monroe Michigan. Two stroke. 25hp. Electric start. Tiller. And it's a 2005. They say they'll take $1600 (outrageously cheap) if we pay cash TONIGHT.
We jumped in the car. Driving out of town, 5 minutes into the trip, we pass an accident. We slow down. A deer and a car. And two more cars. The deer is on the road, the people standing around. I get out and ask if anyone is hurt. I talk to a lady who just totaled her car in a 45 mph headon, who is fine, but is upset. She just bought the car a few hours ago. New. Everyone's fine. The deer landed square on the windshield of the first car. The guy beats me to my question, and offers it to me. I go to load it in, and the cops tell me they're writing me a permit. Then they tell me there's a warrant for my arrest, for an unpaid ticket from Kalamazoo for being in the park after dusk. And I'm driving on a suspended license, because the State of Michigan wants $300 to reinstate my license after it was suspended for an Ohio speeding ticket, even though I skipped them and got a new, valid one in Louisiana.
"Doesn't matter. Michigan wants their money, to reinstate your license. Even though you have one. Because if you get caught driving in Michigan, even with a valid license from Louisiana, since my Michigan one is suspended, you'll go to jail for 90 days. And thousands in legal bills." All this per the cop. I say okay, Ruth will drive. Okay, he tells me.
I pick up Bambi's dad, who is basically dead, but appears edible, and load all 150 or so of his dead pounds into my truck. Now I have blood all over me. We drive home. We dump the deer into the huge 6 foot2.5 x 4 foot deep freezer, that works awesome, that I just HAPPENED to find FREE by the side of the road a month before, and head back out.
Ruth's driving now, at least till south of town. We race down, buy the engine, and head back. We'll be driving to 3 or 4 am. But it's worth it. At midnight, Ruth's phone alarm goes off, playing "what I like about you," by the Romantics. One of the songs that played during our wedding, on the happiest day of my life. At 12:01, we're making out in the Speedway parking lot somewhere outside of Mancelona, or Standish, or Munising. It doesn't matter where we are. We go home and eat cake together from our original wedding cake that's been in the freezer a year. It's just as good as it was then. Not before being pulled over, with me at the wheel, being told I have a warrant, and that I'm driving on a suspended license (I don't want Ruth to drive, she has a sprained ankle). And it's in the exact same place we got a speeding ticket on the way to our honeymoon after our wedding. But he lets me go. No jail for me. Not tonight.
I have the word "LUCKY" tattooed on my right forearm about 8 inches long. It's not because I'm good at cards. It's not because I talked myself out of going to jail. It's because I have an 25hp outboard in the bed of the truck. That was a STEAL. It looks like new.
And a deer in the freezer.
I hold my breath to see how long I can do it. I make a record at three minutes even.
All my houses in Detroit have been repossessed.
I have no job. We're almost out of money. And we're set to leave in 63 days.
We have a house in New Orleans that is 3/4 paid for. And provides a modest (most would say meager) income that we are going to try to live on long enough to have more fun than we deserve.
But we have XM radio, playing the Circle Jerks.
I have my health. And a fridge with a box full of wedding cake.
The dogs are asleep in back. Good travelers, whimpering in their sleep, and half barking. Dreaming of glorious chases, fields, and elk.
And Ruth's back in the driver seat.
I have LUCKY tattooed on my arm because all is well.
It's because of my family, my friends, my wife, my dogs. I'm just lucky, there's all there is to it.
The headlights from the rare passing cars illuminate moving squares of the inside of the truck across the seats, the dash, her face, as she drives us home. I'm just lucky.
All is well.
So anyway. Here I go again. Trying to start again, because unlike the diary I never started at 16, I know the most interesting part has yet to come. I just took a shower, after gutting, skinning, and quartering the deer, and throwing it back in the freezer. Ruth made lasagna, and we watched Sicko on DVD. And I'm the happiest guy in the world. And the best is yet to come.
Kirk out.
Sept. 7
Getting ready as always. We've made a drogue, that may double as a sea anchor in a gale. We've decided to hold onto the generator and not sell the Suzuki for less than $750, since we know that they're both awesomely reliable. That means we're light on funds, but little else to buy. We bought a new sail that we can reef (run at half size, in case there's too much wind), we have a fridge, solar panels, a water tap to pump fresh water from below, a radio, a depth/fishfinder, VHF radio (for emergencies, and coming into harbors), and many, many little additions. Now we need to get some more sailing in, and maybe, who knows, earn a bit of money. We plan to sail up to Beaver Island on northern Lake Michigan in a few days. That should be fun. We just have to drop the mast (how Ruth almost lost her finger, last time), tow the boat over a couple of miles, drop it back in the water and put the mast up and sail outta there. The dogs will enjoy that. Then back to Torch, then down to Kalamazoo to see the peeps, hit up my 87th college class reunion, and then get really ready to jet. The idea at the moment is to leave in midOctober, drive to New Orleans, sail outta there 669 miles to Miami, meet up with this guy James, and sail across with him in his boat to the Bahamas. We'll return in the spring, sell our house in New Orleans, and then come back up here. So now, I have a suspended driver's license, creditors calling me hourly, and a warrant out for my arrest. Yep, seems like a good time to hit the road. I think John Goodman, playing the character of Walter Sopjek, in "The Big Lebowski" summed it up best when he said: "Fuck it Dude. Let's go bowling."
SEPTEMBER Something or other, 2007
CRAZY storm the other night. Ruth and I stayed below deck and watched "The Perfect Storm" while the wind tore everything all up. It's the strongest I've ever felt, it was about 45 mph. That's movin'. 18mph is when the telephone wires whistle. That marina, and all those boats, with all those stays, shrouds, lines and wires were SINGIN', believe me. They told people don't drive, your car will be blown off the road on the radio. Not off the road and then onto the radio, but the people on the radio said don't drive.
It ripped the jib all up, about 8 feet of rip, and we were lucky to get the bastard lashed down again. I thought I should have wrapped it tighter when that storm came. I was right, it turns out.
OCTOBER 11, 2007
Visited the pigs in Kalamazoo, as well as our friends. Went to a bitchin' party for Nathan's 40th anniversary, my 15 year class reunion, and paid the ticket for the park nonsense, as well as for the warrant for our arrest. We paid the $75.00 fine all in pennies. They really loved that, tha bastards.
The class reunion was cool. It was cool to see some of these people that I hadn't seen in a long time, but missed 2 of the 3 most vital ones for me, and the third was Tom, and we stayed at his house. No one seemed afraid of a guy with a mohawk, so that was cool, unlike when I was in school. Or maybe it was that I was a jerk. Anyway, I was there with my dopeass wife, in a skirt and heels making all of 'em jealous, guys and girls. That was fun. And I played Ruth's music over the P.A. during dinner (it was at the Castle, so Laura asked me to do the music), and then bragged to people that I had gotten married there last year in the same room we were in, and the bride ran over to the drum kit and rocked the house still in her wedding dress. I hate to brag (well, no I don't, really...) but when you do things right, I don't mind letting on that I did. Like marry Ruth. And what we're about to do. People asked, of course, what I was up to. I told the truth. We finished our house in New Orleans, and since have been unemployed, in any gainful sense, and now we're going to be pirates. It's hard to tell someone you're going to live in the Bahamas for 6 months without them thinking you're super rich. They don't realize I bought this boat for $4800, and we're going to be mostly broke, eating oats and fish. I don't like to name numbers for people, but in this case I do, because I think otherwise their limited knowledge would make them think I'm some idle rich snot who's actually named Carleton or Archibald Winchester the III going sailing on my $40,000 yacht with my wife Hillary. Oh, well. They can think what they want, and curse my name while they're at it. I'm going fishin'.
OCTOBER 12, 2007
Jack: As long as we can get someone to watch the dogs. We've tried everyone we know, to no avail. We actually just had the conversation that we won't be going if we don't find people, and we have to make peace with that.
OCTOBER 13, 2007
Jack: I got a message from Eduardo that they'll watch the dogs. HURRAH.
OCTOBER 16, 2007
Jack: Okay, we leave here in a couple days. We have to get our work done, finish getting the boat ready, pack, pack food, hit the road, say our goodbyes all over Michigan, get the brakes done on the trailer, drive to Florida, launch the boat, drive to New Orleans to build a dog house and fence the yard, and then stay for Halloween (I think I'm going to be George Bush, maybe with some seriously bloody hands, maybe devouring an Iraqi infant, or maybe as a puppet for Dick Cheney, who has glowing red eyes and smells vaguely of sulfur? I'm getting ahead of myself...) before flying back to the boat on November 1st, the official first day after hurricane season. No Problem.
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