Dry Clean

©1992-2022 by Gene Hirschel

MobyMud@aol.com

Prologue

“Day three or four, when I was sailing to Spain, I saw written on the back of a throwable flotation cushion (‘device’): ‘Do Not Dry Clean.’”

…and it occurred to me, while looking at that cushion, weeks since leaving dry land and stairs and elevators and tablecloths and washing machines and cars and trees and flushing toilets and showers, sailing across the sea, feeling soggy and salty throughout and dreaming of a hot shower, that dry and clean are two things that I would not be for a while, and what would I give to be, at that moment, dry OR clean, and how wonderful to feel both!”

This is my story of a sailing voyage across the ocean from New York to Spain, with a stop in the Azores for a crew change and watering. The first 20 days were spent sailing from New York to the Azores, after 4 or 5 days a brief stop in Santa Maria (where Columbus stopped on the way back from the New World), then sailing 12 more days to Spain.

Other than cosmetic copy-editing, the story as presented here is the original as written during the journey on my trusty old Radio Shack laptop. It had no “hard drive”—only 3½” 1.44 megabyte (MB) floppy disks to store data (it takes more than 60 floppy disks to hold one minute of HD video), the operating system was in memory, and the black and white display panel wasn’t lit at all. Because of this, the battery lasted a good long time the display and was very to see in direct sunlight. But it wasn’t easy to work with in dark places or at night, thus the need for some later corrections.

There were six people aboard a 38-foot Irwin sailboat, equipped with a Perkins diesel motor. (I mention the Perkins going “pop pop pop”, as diesels do, later on.) The crew consisted of six for each leg. From New York City to the Azores: Captain Jack Loda, his wife Liz, his daughter Christianne—the boat was her namesake, were on the first leg, as well as the outsiders: Bob Bucannan (known here as BoB), Bob Grizzel aka Griz, and yours truly, myself. Christianne was listed as crew but couldn’t really function as crew, as she was handicapped with Cerebral Palsy. She has a very sweet personality, but she needed help getting around and keeping watch.

We received a beautiful send off from the deputy Mayor of New York City on the aircraft carrier and museum “Intrepid” because we were representing New York State in something called the “America 500”, which was 500 sailboats leaving from Spain going to the New World, tracing the path of Cristopher Columbus on the 500th anniversary of his voyage to the New World. I was helping the boat get to Spain to make the celebratory 1992 voyage back, and also fulfilling my 3 year old dream of sailing to Spain, sort of a backwards Chris Columbus. (We were trying to find a new trade route to California, when we encountered, quite unexpectedly, a new continent, Europe!)

I learned a lot from this trip, one thing being that everything happens for a reason, and that connections between lives come from the strangest and most unexpected places.

I was on the boat for the whole time and left her in Spain. It was a trip that I had planned in 1990 to take solo, but there just happened to be someone going my way...

The Boat

We sailed aboard the good ship Christianne, an Irwin sailing vessel 38 feet long, originally designed to be sailed a lake—not the ocean. She is a cutter (two sails in front), mid-cockpit, very beamy (wide), plenty of room compared to other 38 foot boats.

The “sleeping” arrangements

The Christianne sleeps six, two in the forward V-berth, two in the main cabin, and two in the aft berth. [Some sailing terms: berth means bed or whatever you call a piece of plywood with some foam on it, V-berth is the one in the front of the boat where you can play footsies with your roommate, forward means toward front of the boat, aft mean towards the back.] The forward berth had a divider between the two sides, keeping bodies separated. This is possible because the forward berths are left and right, or port and starboard. When the boat is heeling [leaning because of the force of the wind on the sails] to one side, this divider prevents both bodies from commingling. The rear berth did not have a divider, since the sailors were forward and aft of each other, and the heeling of the boat would only make them be on their heads or on their feet, not rolling into each other.

Then there was my bed, the couch in the middle of the boat. When the boat was heeling to the right side, or the starboard side, I would rely on a lee-cloth to prevent me from falling out. This turned out to be the majority of the trip between New York to the Azores. From The Azores on, I moved into the forward V-berth, which was not the place to be on the second half of the trip, as you will see.

Our Send-Off

The Christianne was representing New York State in what was called the “America 500”: 500 sailboats that would trace Chris’s trip from Spain to the New World 500 years later. Because of this, we got quite a send off: The Intrepid Sea/Air/Space Museum (formerly aircraft carrier) hosted it, attended by the Deputy Mayor of NYC (in brown throwing confetti), the Governor’s assistant, and several other City and museum officials. The program included the requisite speeches, and several choral numbers by local schools. It was attended (in the photo in order left to right) by a high school buddy named Rich, a girl friend named “Girlie” in pink and my Mom (Dad was there too somewhere). There were photographers, even a chase boat. It was quite the occasion, culminating in our departure, pushing off to face an uncertain voyage: none of us had ever gone this far…

There were two legs of the trip. There was New York to The Azores, a volcanic chain in the middle of the Atlantic. The second was from the Azores to Spain. There was a change of crew in the Azores: Bob, Christianne and Liz flew back to New York, while Peter, Herman and Joe arrived to complete the last leg.

The captain, Jack Loda, a vet by day (cats, soft tissue surgery was his specialty) and sailor by weekends, was accompanied by his wife Liz and his daughter, the boat’s namesake, Christianne. As I mentioned, Christianne is handicapped by cerebral palsy, and part of our purpose was to prove she could make the trip. It did prove to be a challenge at times. Not only to Christianne, but also to the boat and her crew. Liz was a good ocean-bound cook, kept her watch well, and in general did more than her part.

Bob Bucannan (known here as BoB), a “retired at age 45 successful former owner of a travel agency” from Phoenix. We spent many evenings talking about life in general. He was planning to buy a boat, this was a practice run for him. Was never on the ocean until this trip, but he had sailed a lake during a storm. Took courses on Diesel mechanics and celestial navigation before the trip. Good singing voice. BoB got married as an indirect result of this trip: Through Herman and our first Mardi Gras in Louisiana, he met a lady named Ruby and married her.

Bob Grizzel, aka Griz, age 50’s and also retired, formerly an owner of a beer and wine wholesale store on Long Island. Sold at great profit and began to enjoy life. We spent many evenings talking about life in particular. He was closest to me on the first leg. We kept each other company during a few shifts and felt comfortable talking to each other about anything.

Myself, 29 (at the time) still in the midst of a support contract to Con Edison, the New York City power and gas company. I decided to go on the trip in 1990. In 1992, I was looking through the Sunday Times for a boat, when I happened upon an ad. It was Jack Loda looking for crew. He just happened to be going my way. I knew right away that I would be going to Spain, by sailboat, with other America 500 sailors. I wanted to see the World Expo in Seville Spain as well. And I do still have my entrance ticket.

Herman Venable, near age 50, the Cajun cook, became my travel companion in Spain and Gibraltar, and also turned out to be my Brother from another life. We are still good friends years later and visit each other several times per year. He lives in Louisiana and has introduced me to Mardi Gras, as well as a new family there.

Peter, Joe, and Herman replaced Griz, Liz and Christianne (the girl, not the boat!) on the second, shorter, leg. I cleverly (or so I thought) moved to the front bunk at this time, which was NOT a good idea as you will see later. I didn’t really get to know Peter and Joe, and we only ever met again once, to celebrate the one year anniversary of our voyage.

Me and Myself

Below, a photo of me in my “bed” for the first 20 days of the trip across the Atlantic Ocean.

The lines holding me up are tied to something called a “lee cloth”. It is supposed to keep you from falling out of bed when the boat is sailing and the mast is at an angle, or “heeling”. Lee means the opposite side of the wind...so the lee cloth prevents you from falling out of bed. Or it’s supposed to. It did, sometimes. But my head and feet would dangle out, so I began to use the wooden back of the settee or the “boat couch” as my fall-preventor. It did work better, and kept me company, like a big wooden teddy bear covered with material.

One last thing I should mention: Occasionally I mention someone named “Karen.” When I was eleven years old, I created a character (or if you believe in mystical stuff, then I “became aware of her”) that I would someday meet and share my life with. The term “soulmate” wasn’t a household word back then. I picked the name Karen for a variety of reasons, mostly because I like the way it sounds, and I feel I have communicated with her. I still believe I will find her, she lives today in my stories and my dreams. And in my future...

Travelogue

As recorded during the voyage.

June 10, 1992
15:14 EDT

This is the trip. I am here, and I write these words as we move along slowly, 4.2 kts, heading 110 degrees, quietly. A couple of days motoring, bouncing, and feeling sick. Well, now anything forgotten is behind. We see over the side: a turtle, a shark, birds, shark birds, our bucket (f**k it), a real shark, a whale, boats, and lots of sun and moon.

Stories of other boaters. A VW engine that will not cooperate.

An aircraft carrier. A friend, mom, dad, a girl. Just a few tears, but no sleep behind me, no shower to my benefit, not completely packed. Last minute, I vowed that I wouldn’t do that. I had an excuse to be disorganized. Calling people to tell them, telling people about my launch, and trying to deal with various babes, most of which wanted to get a piece of the action, my return action. I guess I have put myself in the 180 degrees wrong heading. I wanted to leave empty, alone, to be filled as I cut through the ocean.

All that talk about bravery and the open ocean. Yes, lots of glorious words, speeches, all about crossing the ocean, danger, adventure. Just words. After everyone weathered the first few days of motoring, feeling sick, getting organized, things are fitting into place. I feel sure that as these days pass, the day of the week will seem less and less important.

Crossing the ocean the hard way. Hardly. Today, plenty of sun, quiet waves, and a nice lunch. I still can’t spend a whole lot of time below yet, but I’ll get used to it. I had enough time to do a dead reckoning downstairs, and I even came close. The going has been very easy so far, but I can’t help but think that the weather is fooling us, and will give us a complete demonstration of her capabilities soon. I am not looking forward to that demonstration. I fear that this boat cannot withstand the full fury of the ocean... she was not ready. The roller furling was not tied in. Not a problem on a calm day. Then again, nothing is. Had the day been windy, gusty, the result would have been different. It could have led to a de-masting. Sure, the jib flapping in the wind with no way of getting it in would not have been a pretty sight. It would have taken a while of working on the pulpit with two lines to make any headway. Not the kind of experience you would want for a new crew day one or two.

Perhaps I am too critical of the captain. After all, I tend to criticize every captain that I sailed with. Except for Win Parker, someone that I raced with. Gotta respect a man that wins races. There are many times when I suggest changes, but they are not followed. It’s not the suggestion, it’s the way I phrase things. I don’t seem to be able to properly transmit information. Except, sometimes, when I write.

Karen, if you are ever to read this, if my journey takes me another 180 degrees back into your arms, I want you to know that this minute, as the boat passes timelessly through the water, with a tiny bird to my left (starboard side), and as the sun etches my face with more age, more lines, I dream of somehow being lifted off the water, though time, sitting with you next to me in an Italian restaurant, also having been lifted though time, and touching each other, knowing that the future is no longer a mystery, that the future includes us, together, forever. Even past death do us part. I believe that we can pass through that barrier.

June 12, 1992
13:43

No, I don’t think playing Tetris is what to do now. It’s our 5th day out. Had to think about it. We have been motoring a lot, not much wind during the day. And Jack doesn’t like to sail in light winds. At times when I have suggested squeezing knots out of the wind, he has been reluctant.

Wednesday night was the mystery night. As we sailed into the night, with barely any wind, I heard the sound of breathing outside, following the boat. Bob G said he saw a whale and heard him later. He was two hours late relieving me from duty. I didn’t mind though, I wanted to see the moon disappear and the night skies turn black. We headed back toward north last night, so our chances of feeling the warm water are slim.

The water has been VERY calm. At times, almost glasslike. The daytime sun has been bright and harsh. I haven’t burned very badly, some sting in my legs, but I think I have a bit of a lower lip burn.  Everyone is saying things like “WOW, if this is so easy, we should have done this years ago.” The gods are listening, and I fear that we will be eating those words with my magic mayonnaise sauce. (Mayonnaise with cayenne pepper, Cajun spices, and curry powder.)

Captain, there is a beam wind freshening up...

“Well, let’s see if it persists, we have been let down so many times.”

It takes experience to feel the wind, a sort of “sailing gene” I have it, and perhaps Christianne has it, but I don’t see it in any of the crew. Including the captain. He has more years out at sea than me, but he doesn’t feel the wind. Too bad, this would make a nice sail right now. When there is someone at the helm that can’t find the wind, it seems as though there isn’t any. But there is wind there now, free passage for the taking.

I also fear what this crew would be like in real weather, waves coming into the cockpit. “The Bobs” don’t have much ocean experience—I see Jack and me trying to get this boat to behave and the Bob twins trying their best to be helpful. When the wave height exceeds the boat length, things get very uncomfortable. All this leads to an exciting time with Jack and me saving the day. Gulp!

Well, of course, this is what I came for, and I couldn’t expect much better. No beer/wine/etc., clean out the system, good food, and of course the dolphins of Wednesday night... hundreds (no exaggeration) of dolphins, sounding like waves breaking at the seashore, splashing around in every direction. And the sunset that night, with the lobster boat blaring a great rock song (the wheel in the sky keeps on turning), the open ocean, it was a great experience. That night, sailing into the murk, I was scared and elated—at the helm of a good ship, good people, with Spain somewhere over the bow, and a moonset turning everything into a dream....

Saturday, June 13, 1992
17:56

A cool breeze blows over the starboard rail. The sails are trimmed fairly well (great for this crew). I feel a little cool in my Max’s Diner T-shirt and my omnipresent green late‑movie swim trunks. Today is my turn to cook. I feel we are really under way today. Things have settled down, and the winds have picked up. I am making fewer suggestions about sail trim, and my meals were not spicy, to everyone’s relief. The pizza that I made for lunch is sitting in my belly, and my belly is saying that there might have been some cheese or something that it didn’t really like that much.

It seems that this sea voyage finally started today. The wind picked up, but even before the wind picked up, being halfway to the halfway party, and everyone settling down to their chores seemed to make this voyage really begin.

Sunday, June 14, 1992
16:04

Things really cooked up after my last entry. I made a chicken thing yesterday after my pizza, then the wind really picked up. Wham! What a ride last night! Making dinner last night was no great treat, but I did get some compliments.  

It seems that every time I get cranking (writing) something else happens, and I get off track. There is always a sail to get up (we are thinking right now about putting Bubba [the very large sail] up) and I have to put off my writing. Discussion of singing, sailing at 5.0, 4.8, 5.4, 5.6 (now), etc., seems to stop the writing. The writing interrupt is not set high enough. Now, Captain Jack is going to tell us about eddies, but not before we trim more sails and play with lines. There is lime on my hands from making sun tea, which after some shaking seemed to break the tea bags, and send the tea leaves throughout the bottle. Eclipse party tonight if clear skies hold up.

Well, there I go again. Talking about the microwave, potatoes, rubber pizza, dial phones. We are falling off to 90 degrees because Cindy (my original suggestion as a name for the vane steering) can’t steer in light wind. Of course, Jack won’t admit that, and Liz is calling out the headings. As he tweaks the steering, we are still drifting off course (95, 92, 90, 90, 90, 85...sell! (BoB’s stock market joke.)

News! We have no idea what has transpired in the last week. Open conversation drifts from topic to topic. My mind drifts, as the boat does also. Wind slows down, and the boom makes its sound. Sounds like Bubba will be out soon. The wind momentarily creeps up, and we talk about the cat.

I can see this journey taking place now. I was a bit worried when doing the dishes (or trying to) last night, that the rocking and rolling would make the trip unbearable. We are about at the two week point (away from Horta), and I was hoping that we could get to the Islands on a Friday night. Yesterday, the trip “turned on”. Suddenly, it seemed possible that I could make the journey, comfortably, and make this place my home for the next 2 weeks. Seems like a lot of time, two weeks, and that is what lies ahead. If the trip continues as it has been for the last 6 (going on 7th) day, I cannot only live with it, but thrive on it. I am sailing across the ocean, my skin is becoming darker, and I am learning about life. And sailing.

I don’t know if I could handle this trip solo. Technically, with this boat, I could have come at least 60‑70% of this trip so far. With the self-steering and better sail trim, I might have been able to compensate for the fact that Jack has a good knowledge of his boat, and using the radio and getting the weather reports. I might have insisted on a weather fax before I left, which would have compensated a bit for the weather. Of course, knowing how to read the weather fax would help. I would not win the race, and I could not trim 24 hours a day, and the self-steering is something I would have to learn. Mentally, I don’t know if I could do it. The music would be a bit better, and I could shout, scream, and sing as much as I wanted to. But in thinking about how little I have written so far, I would write almost nothing.

Unless, of course, the lack of conversation and the presence of a good “Oscar” (the power self-steering machine) or “Shirley” (the wind vane self-steering machine used for sailing) would make me a more frequent writer. I guess the only way to find out is to do it someday. The true test. Another goal, for someday. I don’t have another sailing goal as long as I reach Spain. I had thought of sailing around the world. This trip will tell.

Wednesday, June 17, 1992
14:38 EDT

Splash! Bang! Boom! We are in at least force 5 winds. I don’t know how long I can write. The winds are picking up right now, and the boat is taking some real punishment, to say nothing of the crew. Cookie (Bob G.) got sick while contemplating making breakfast. The waves are ranch house, bi‑level, and there are even some tri‑level babies out here. Everything is moving round about the floor, and the sound of wind, water and straining fiberglass is everywhere. I don’t think anyone is really worried about the boat. I for one know how strong fiberglass is. Sonia Ray took her share of ups and downs, and never seemed worse for the wear.

Tuesday night Liz met her match (her words) when she was at the helm alone in the dark. I relieved her, but she insisted on having two people outside last night. Bob B came out, clearly not happy about the deal, and after some quiet times we kept each other company by telling stories and singing songs. We also discussed the fact that Christianne cannot keep her watch as of late, and if Liz keeps it all the time it is too much strain on her. Jack is also taking more than his share, but I can tell that he is really enjoying it, as any good captain should. And a good captain he is. We spent most of Sunday and Monday trying to outrun a storm, and the benefits are clear. Tuesday, the big day of the storm, we had sun most of the day. Monday night the rain passed through during my watch. After that, we have had VERY rough seas, high winds, and sunshine. With this crew, the same trip with true gale winds (reported north of us right now) and rain would not have been a pleasant sight.

 I was calling this stage two, when the easy stuff has passed, we are used to the boat and the schedules, and then we all get sick in bad seas. I fear that we will not do well in phase three, when the TRULY bad weather rears its ugly head.

 Seems as though I am reaching my personal rock and roll limit. Boom, bang, burst, strain, squeak, slap, crunch, pop, etc. See you later.

Thursday, June 18, 1992
14:55 EDT

Well, I feel much better now. Don Henley sings about sleepy bedroom towns, and I think about making dinner tonight. Another chicken special, to be sure. Well, then again, maybe just some pretzels. During breakfast coffee making procedures, I got the unique sensation of boiling hot water on my right hand during a particularly big wave.

OK, we are now in the middle of phase two, and it looks as if that dreaded phase three WILL be coming here. Phase two is the rocking and rolling, steady, another round of sea sickness, and the hopeless feeling of not even being halfway there, combined with rain (written synchronously with Don’s New York Minute) on Monday night and the threat of a bad storm on Tuesday. Phase three is a REALLY bad storm, gale force stuff. There are three major low-pressure systems circling around us, like the shark in Jaws. (Like a tempest of fury.—JL.) Phase three arrives when we have two or three crew members off line (Bob G and Christianne are already off the list—so far today), and seas higher than Jack has ever seen, and even Bob B is scared. I hope it won’t come because that is what I fear the most. I have never gone that far, no one aboard has ever gone this far. Here there be dragons. Not dragons outside, but the ones inside.

Here on the sea, I have been thinking of Karen now and again. I can hear her call in a wave once in awhile, and I can feel her touch in the spray. I realize now how much I fear her. How much I have always wanted to be here, and how much I fear here (her). This is something new, like being with Karen, and like the open sea. I can smell the perfume of the open ocean, and Karen’s perfume. In my isolation here, I have thought of many women of my past, dreamt of being with them, day and night dreams. All familiar places, and I guess I knew that I would be leaving one and all. Now, as I face the sea, (looks gray through my sunglasses) and the sun to the rear port quarter, I feel my tomorrow over the horizon. Just over, kind of like when the sun sets, and you can still see it, or just before a sunrise you can still see the sun. Light ray refraction, or something like that. Well, the ocean can distort time just a little too, and I can see, through tears of happiness in my heart, my Karen, coming home at last, into my arms. A beautiful thought. And to get there, is the phase three stuff. Now, as I write this, I am in this sailing moment, bouncing around on this deck and trying to balance this computer, I realize that I will make it back, and I will find what I have come for.

After many dreams (Judy’s large painting, some job at the JSTC, Claudia and me in the back of a car, the yellow and orange drug with Lupe, Girlie and Aihwa and driving in the car getting stopped by the police and going to the disco and hearing Frank D’ Amadeo’s name) and many waves, more cooking and bouncing, and riding the waves, I will survive this. Port tack or not, my little bed arrangement will hold out, and I will hold out. All I fear will come and go, cause the sun doesn’t care, it will rise tomorrow morning and I can see it happening now, ‘cause the ocean does that refraction thing, with light, and with time.

Friday, June 19, 1992
17:09 EDT

Well, I tried to call home last night because I had a feeling that I should. Unfortunately, I got the idea too late to call Moby‑mud, and Mom and Dad were reviewing stuff there. I got through to mom today, this morning. Told her to call Riva and got updated.

We made it halfway today, and as a result we are about to have sort of a halfway party... beer and kielbasa. Gotta go now.

Saturday, June 20, 1992
18:28 EDT

We are past halfway, and there will NOT be a phase three. Our heading is 120 degrees, speed 7 knots. Wham! We are really booking. The “halfway” point, which is really one day down already (Jack didn’t measure exactly halfway from the bridge, it comes out to halfway between the tip of long island and the Azores), is one day past us. We celebrated today with wine for lunch, ham for dinner, and the launching of a bottle containing a note from the intrepid and from us. Ham for dinner, made by Liz, the wine was a French wine (captured on the video), olives with anchovies, salsa and chips (five dollars per bag, all kinds of starch plants) and much good cheer.

 Spirits are really up, and any storm that comes now would be no big deal. Jack said that we are 900 miles from the Azores, which means 9 days, perhaps 8. That equates to next Sunday, or Monday. Wednesday at the latest.

 Last night, I listened to the CSN tape, and learned most of the words to Helplessly Hoping. The song seems to study an instant of a man meeting a woman, both wanting to meet each other, but shy and not sure. I was reviewing in my mind (not much else to do) of the times in my past that I have made such mistakes. When the time is right, I will know, but will I question and question until I miss my opportunity?  

 Talking to Bob G last night of my past, I know that after this halfway point, that my future and my past lie in separate directions, and I have crossed the point of know and no return. Now, there is no going back. I have more links back home than I have had in a long time, but my future lies at true heading 87 degrees, the Azores and Spain. THAT is what I came for, and what I hoped for. The element from last night’s songs is the song “Lady of the Island” it sounded beautiful, what a feeling to set a new heading, and know that it contains your whole future. I guess, that is what this trip is all about.

Sunday, June 21, 1992
9:22 EDT

Many dreams last night. Good night to sleep, mostly smooth. Dreams about breaking into an electronics shop in a place that I used to work, and the Marriot hotel dream, where I kept meeting people that I knew. And Jack was on the lawn with his weird leaf blower device.

 Today, purely the cream of sailing. Long night’s sleep, making good speed toward the Azores, (8.0, 8.4, 8.5, 7.2 knots, heading 95 degrees), cool breeze, and BoB’s beer muffins sitting happily in my stomach (3 cups Bisquick, 3 tbs. sugar, 10 oz beer, mix let rise 15 min., bake 450 until brown, add stuff to taste, makes 12). The fear of the bad weather is gone since we are within Bermuda range of the Azores (800 miles or so) and our course and speed is ideal. Last night, the ham, message, some videos, a late night watch (10‑1 and I left 15 min. early). I am living on this island, and listening to Orinoco Flow, with the cool breeze on my face. Good tape. Well, thoughts now turn to the adventure ahead. From here on, it’s all down-hill sailing, changing sails, fixing a few problems, letting Shirley sail... perhaps, it’s time to wash my hair... in a bucket of ocean.

Tuesday, June 23, 1992
15:55 EDT

OK, no phase three, but there was a gale force wind yesterday. Since I am the cook today, yesterday I had only one watch, and during the watch we were flying only our storm jib, no main. I played Dire Straits while I was warm and safe downstairs. Knowing what was all around me, 360 degrees and hundreds of miles in any one of those directions, I tried to store up the warmth and the comfort of the cabin in every part of my soul and my body. Then it was my turn to go topside. I requested the FIRE tape, and someone turned it up for me (Bob G. I think). At times, the rain and wind were so strong that we traveled at 6 knots with only the storm jib, and as I looked around, the waves were covered with wavering white streaks. It was like watching a fog roll in on a video tape, and speeding it up on playback. I have never seen anything like it, anywhere. It certainly didn’t feel like I was on the planet Earth. The waves were growing, hitting the boat broadside, and a couple of times it seemed that we were about to dump over—never really felt like we WOULD, but there were times that I wasn’t SURE that we wouldn’t. I was no longer afraid of the wind, though, or the near‑gale force weather. Just another run in the park.

 Listening to FIRE, I did my usual rerun of last girlfriends, one by one, in the huge smell‑o‑visu‑o‑tele‑listen projector. Comforting thing to do, in the middle of the ocean in what could any minute be a near death experience. Visiting old friends. I was reading my old journals on Sunday, after dinner, and after washing my hair with salt water and Prell, and I tried to read something that I wrote in Florida, something about not being lonely or afraid anymore because I knew that the sea was out there, warm, waiting for me with open arms. And there I was, music blaring into the storm, in the very heart of the ocean, in the arms of the one that I looked for, in the height her glory. I had arrived. Fear was gone, and calm understanding took its place. After the jumble of past love and justifications, like a chef’s salad, there was only one thing left—the trip ahead, the heading that this vessel has, the direction that the ocean is allowing us to take. The rest of my life waits just over the horizon, and that was very clear yesterday.

 Today, I was the cook. Starting with pancakes, that really do flip, just like in the movies. The pancakes didn’t taste like the pancakes one would remember, though. The raisins, pineapple juice and maple syrup in the batter gave an interesting taste. Then I spent the morning cleaning the stove top. For lunch I make hot dogs and salami, boiled with melted mozzarella, and with it, red kidney beans and beets cooked together. Interesting dish?

Calling home has been a downer. After calling up Girlie Sunday night, spirits high waiting for Monday morning, and the radio interview with WMCA, weather turned off and Jack had to adjust the main (probably reefed it) and we wound up calling late. Then we wound up not getting an operator. A very helpless feeling. We didn’t try to call later, Jack just dropped it.

After a full evening on looking forward to the call, and then an evening of nightmares of not being able to get through, I felt very disappointed. Rain the entire day did not help at all. Spirits came down, which lasted through the night, and the good ship took its worst beating. The Jenny halyard got broken, and the radar reflector fell to the deck. Jack spent the whole night bouncing around trying to fix things, but the Poltergeist effect was under full power—things flew left and right, banged every which way, and the floor was covered with ‘cruising soup’ (This is when you take everything in the boat that’s not nailed down and throw it in the cabin, on the floor, and let it mush around for a day or two). Here’s a photo of the radar reflector that came bouncing down to the deck in the deep evening whilst I slept. It’s being “stored” on Jack’s navstation chair.

 Today began brighter, but now the sun has passed its control over to the  rain—lots of it. The seas are OK, though, and the paella that I plan to make should be relatively easy. Cook it with some carrots, and most of the leftovers will be gone. Hate to throw food overboard. Still have 5 or 6 more days, so it will be mostly canned food from here on. This might be my last dinner until Horta. I no longer hate the idea of cooking onboard, but the helpless feeling of not being able to find what I want/need to cook/cook with is the real downer. A better organized galley and food storage system (there was a list, but I think it became fictional at some point) would surely make cooking and eating a more pleasant necessity.

 We still haven’t gotten to speak to the Intrepid. As I was typing this on my bunk with the hull resonating just behind me and the rain whispering above me (actually, sometimes rushing), Jack made contact for just a few minutes, but we weren’t able to read anything—too many Russian boaters or fishermen walking over our signal. I might call mom tonight or tomorrow night. Waiting until we reach Horta just to save $20 seems a bit silly.

 Spirits automatically come down during rain, with a definite lack of things to do. Less rocking and rolling is very welcome, to be sure, and I can type a lot below, and (hopefully) still be OK to cook. Bam—blast of wind, and we heel! OK, time to make the doughnuts....

Tuesday, June 23, 1992
21:03 EDT

 OK, the doughnuts didn’t come out so good. Carrots, raisins, sweet corn, with maple syrup (a common theme), cloves, cinnamon. And paella with salmon.

 We are thinking of taking the main down. With the jib up, it will be another rolly night. No, we decide to keep the main up for a somewhat more comfortable night. We shall see. (We are doing 9 knots!)

 I was up on deck before. There was a boat in the distance, and I stood over the cabin to get a better look at the ship in the distance. As I looked down into the water, I realized two things: one, the way the boat was moving, I could easily slip off and that would be that! The second thing that I realized is that the ocean, the woman I was talking about before, the only thing that separates me from that other world is a thin membrane, called the surface of the water. I could see, looking down from the deck, past the membrane and into infinity, into the almost infinite world that I feel I used to know, somehow. Perhaps this trip is simply a way to get close to that world, like tonight. I saw a sparkle, perhaps a wave, perhaps a flying fish. It was almost as if I could see into that world, that the membrane for a few seconds became even thinner, and I could plunge in and become a part of that world. It seemed so viable, as if that is the way the fish see it, when they fly up and then dive back in. I could see inside, all the life, and the great depths. That light of the plankton was the doorway, somehow. I simply pass over it, like a bird, or a Portuguese man‑of‑war. Pass, from the now into a dream, then into tomorrow. That is the beauty of time. How liquid it is, you know, just like the ocean. Flowing, changing, building up, easing off, and almost responding to teetering coffee filter things in your hand, almost wants to give a little pain as you bring up the two cups of tea, just to remind you that she can, that she has the ability to do so, and now she will. Makes you feel closer to her, in a “please don’t tickle me anymore” kind of way. Well, that passing will begin now, I will pass into a dream, and then my tomorrow will be ready for me, and I for it. I have prepared all my life for this dream, and now it is not only at hand, but I am in it. And now it can expand forever.

Wednesday, June 24, 1992
5:41 EDT

 ...and the thought was lost like a teardrop (raindrop) falling with no one to hear it...

From a dream about girl that I was with, and a thought of love or something wonderful entered her mind, and it flowered on her face, and it excited me because I knew she finally felt what I have been waiting for, but she ignored it, and she would not let herself feel it, and it simply faded from her face.

We were watching a movie together, similar to “The Secret to My Success.” The kid in the movie had to do something technical: it was important, and his first thoughts were “who else more qualified could accomplish this?” and he mentioned out loud those people who weren’t there. Then he said “so that leaves....me”.

That is when I turned to the girl, who was watching he movie with me, and said ”yes, that’s me in the movie” as I identified with the character, hoping someday to get to prove my resourcefulness. She was enjoying the movie, with a look of enjoyment and fun, but when I tried to connect to this happiness energy, she would not share it.

Thus the first line of this entry.

Kaiser as an accountant working on the PA records, A big two headed dragon that is fake and has people inside, telling me to tell Alfredo, who was also working on the PA files, but perhaps different ones.

 OK, time to assess the damage. Full report to come.

Thursday, June 25, 1992
7:22 EDT

Wednesday night was the night of the party. Not a 3/4ths of a way party, or any other fractional party. It was BoB’s turn at the wheel, and we were steering one lone main, double reefed, with the wind right behind us. We were making good time, but the boat was hard to steer, and jibing was an ever-present problem. We were using the boom vang as a jibe preventer clipped on to the port side [to prevent the sail from violently swing from one side to the other should the wind or the boat’s position relative to the wind suddenly change]. I was the cook. Griz was at the helm, steering manually. Jack asked if things were all right, and Griz said fine—no problem. Bob B agreed with him. I somewhat hinted at a tri‑sail [much smaller and safer sail for high winds], because the boat was not balanced. Since I was the cook, I really didn’t want to make a big deal out of it all, so I went below and began writing what you read above, before the dream part. Changing of the guard, Bob B took the helm. Now, I think BoB is a very technically astute sailor, great knowledge of motors, weather, navigation, etc., but not the feel of sailing. He was steering in the middle of the night. I was sleeping. Maybe, in retrospect, he was too. Suddenly, from a sound sleep, I was awoken by the sound of our boat crashing into a tanker, or an iceberg, or perhaps a continent. BOWOOM. Any reasonably large immovable object will suffice. I was out of my bed and at the hatch in a flash, but not faster than Jack was. He stopped me from running for my life off the boat. Then he assessed the cause of the shotgun‑cannon‑crash sound: BoB had jibbed the boat, and the boom vang broke. The 1/2 ton screw pin shackle was broken. The main sheet and rigging held, though, and the mast was OK. We had to take down the mast, of course, with water pouring over the side in heavy seas. We had done that drill before, so it was no really big deal, except after being woken up and in a pitching sea, everyone was a bit frazzled. After taking down the main, we ran on bare poles, pushing us downwind nicely toward Horta. After this exercise was completed, I wanted to get off the deck as soon as possible, since my clothes were wet and I didn’t have my oilskins on. Just as I put my dry clothes on, Griz called me and told me that I was needed up on deck, and that the Jenny was coming down (the halyard had already snapped, but the sail was being held on by a couple of wraps on the furling). I ran on deck, trying to get my harness on. It was upside down, but Griz was starting to go out on deck, and I didn’t want him to fall over, so I ran to the front of the deck, in the dark, with the jenny being pulled overboard. I grabbed it, and started to pull it in. It caught my fingers, and it started to pull ME in. I got my fingers out of the way, but not before getting them pinched between the rail and the sail. I held the sail down with my body and my arms. It was still pulling, and the force on the lifelines seemed as if it was becoming excessive. Jack untied the windward sheet, and I told him to let it go. He was reluctant to let go of anything, and then BoB started the motor. That didn’t make a big impression on any one of us, and he quickly was discouraged. Finally, Jack let go of the line, and we got the jib on board. Wow, not an easy night. I went below, cold and exhausted, and I tried to sleep. Jack didn’t say much in the way thank you, but Liz did cover that point. After that, we ran on bare poles for the rest of the night, making quite reasonable headway, better than 5 knots right downstream, surfing through the waves. BoB later apologized to Jack, and Jack awarded him with the broken shackle. It did seem just a bit rusted, the next day...

Friday, June 26, 199
Morning—first thing

I was a consultant on a Citibank or some other project. I was hanging out with the wrong crowd, and there were two or three helpers That I had on the payroll, and management, since they thought I was doing such a great job. Cut to a bike trip across the ocean, starting on route 46 somewhere, and is it Gary or is it me? I was flying on the bike, or was it my car? I was running a gambling room. During the day, I would come in whatever time I wanted to, and we would steal money from the teller areas after 7:00 PM, and since the bank was just starting and I controlled the money inventory, I could get the VAX to produce any report that I wanted it to. As time when by, my friends who were on the payroll as special investigators, were off the project. We had a plan on how to get into the vault. It involved using certain pneumatic tubes that carried money to it and from it. I needed them to be back on the payroll, so when I was talking to management, I mentioned it. But they said that their people never showed up, and that things were getting tighter. I was becoming concerned that the loss of millions (two or three by now) was becoming noticed.

 One day, during work, I went to see about taking flying lessons. There was a girl that I knew from years ago that was there for some kind of safety instruction. We left and went to my parents house for some fun. She was worried that I wasn’t protected, but I told her that having my baby wouldn’t be such a terrible thing. We were interrupted by my parents unexpectedly coming home. I left, but not feeling like going back to work, I went to the airport. I spoke to the flight instructor, and then I want back to work, after almost everyone had left, to find my friends talking about the final plan to get into the vault. I gave them my final opinion and showed them what I worked out. 

 Me and my shady bunch (my babe, and two guys, sometimes a third girl) would go out and cause trouble from time to time, and we had planned on breaking into a doll store. We had already opened the front door. However, my mom was walking around the area (sort of a combination of the Ann Street area downtown NYC, and Venice) and I knew that she wanted to go to that store, and I met her, steered her away from the store, and told her not to talk to me when I am in the city, to just ignore me in case I was doing another job. Without being explicit, she understood and became upset that I was hanging around with the wrong people and my life was in shambles. I told her that I was very successful., and had plenty of money. After I dumped her, I went back to my friends, who were quite upset. They said that I had screwed things up, and they couldn’t pull off the job, etc.

Time for Purina cat chow (looks like it, it’s Jack’s favorite breakfast cereal). Meow!

Friday, June 26, 1992
16:16 EDT

 OK, time to write again. Wednesday was a relatively mellow day, with BoB sulking and saying how he was angry at himself for making the mistake. I told him that it was a matter of two things—his being at the helm at the wrong time (a wave‑wind‑rudder position thing) and Jack leaving too much sail up. That evening, I was sailing with Griz, and then he took over. We were flying, quite conservatively, a storm jib (stormy) and Trixy, and then a few waves hit us late in the evening. Christianne and Liz started to complain about the noise, and Jack popped his head up to tell us that we had to slow the boat down, and taking the storm jib down was the only way to do that. I said that that would make the boat rock too much, and he said just do it. Griz and I just looked at each other, and we sort of said—forget it, the noise of the waves will subside, and everyone will go back to sleep. Well, a few minutes later, more screams, and Jack screamed at us and said some rather unpleasant things. Lack of sleep and the tension of all these days at sea, damage to the boat, etc., made him just a bit frazzled. I complied, on a pitching deck covered with sails, and took it down by myself. After that, I went below. The scene was something out of poltergeist. The stove was rocking back and forth almost out of its bearings, as few degrees more it would have been spinning like a pinwheel. EVERYTHING was rocking and rolling to its full extent—things flying off shelves, then swimming among the floor with everything already there. The scene was unbelievable. With all this rolling, I was surprised to peek my head through the hatch and still see Griz at the wheel. I told him of the scene, trying not to wake everyone with my laughter. There was a gray box under the table downstairs, and it worked its way out, inch by inch. It contained all kinds of cans and other food, and it made quite the shocking noise when it hit either my bunk or Jack’s bunk. Everything that wasn’t anchored to the boat came alive, writhing to and fro with delight. BoB came out twice to tame the spirit in the gray box, but like a cat that won’t stay put, it would somehow untie and escape again, to proudly prance around the floor. Once out from under the table, it would pace back and forth, testing and then extending the limits of its cage. Finally, after BoB’s second attempt, I grasped the gray box and wedged it between my bunk and the table, where it timidly remains, even now.

 That morning, Jack mentioned to Liz that we were all upset with her, since she slowed down our progress by saying that the boat was “skimming across the waves, and then slamming into the next wave.” Not very likely since we were going at 6 knots max. BoB said that it would be embarrassing to go the doctor with a broken collar bone and tell him that you got it from a flying can of spinach.

 Last night was more of the same, but less so. A bit more quiet. With warnings of storms everywhere, but not much of anything anywhere, we chug along without the jib. That is the same sail that the other boat, the Majema, lost. Jack should know never to make fun of someone else’s problems and misfortunes.

Today I discovered a rip in the main sail and a problem with the second reef—the batten was hanging out. Had I not noticed it, it could have fallen in the water, lost for the next few days. Little problems starting to settle into the boat. A result of many days at sea with an inexperienced—or, perhaps, exhausted—crew.

Yesterday Liz mentioned I was doing too much foredeck work, and would I show her and the Bob twins what the story was up there. I was delighted. It was right around then that I found I was losing my seasickness and gaining confidence aboard ship. Jack even let me use the ham radio, trying to make a call to home. Couldn’t get the operator, though. After cleaning up with the boat rocking quite a bit, I came on deck and orchestrated taking down the tri‑sail (Trixy) and putting up the main. Actually, I had Griz do most of the coordination, and I just helped, cleaning up lines and then the deck. Scrub, scrub, scrub. A cleaning binge, which had begun with my polishing the stove-top a few days before. I began to feel more in control of the boat, and more in control of the crew. Jack is taking my suggestions without as many questions. I suggested heaving to when we had to stuff the battens back in today, and it was a very quiet and pleasant maneuver. Then we raised the jenny with a spare halyard while going downwind, the staysail was blanketing the jenny, and I held on to the sail making sure it wasn’t filling. Jack said it was the easiest raising of the jenny ever, but he didn’t admit that it was my idea. I said to take the staysail down, because it was still blanketing the jenny. Jack didn’t seem to want to do it, but he proudly suggested it later on, claiming a wind shift.

 Liz started to cut into me today when I was cutting to Jack, just a little, in defense of Griz. I said that the Captain of a vessel has to make the decision of who does what. The fact that Jack made five sail changes on his own this morning before anyone was up didn’t take into account that I often ask if he needs help and he turns me down. I said that if Jack can’t take the sail down and get all the lines fixed up, the work isn’t finished. He is the captain, crew selection and choosing who does what is his decision. Liz didn’t like that and began defending Jack and saying that I was always negative. She forgot the suggestions that I’ve made that helped the boat and crew, and the many times that I help off my shift, etc.

I said if you expect something of someone, you have to state it clearly, OR not complain when it isn’t done. Sure, this isn’t the love boat, it is a work boat. So—state what you want done, and how often and you want it done. Don’t try to prove that you can do it, and then complain that you are doing it alone. The old sailing ego story. That is why people buy their own boats. Then she was about to say something else, she stopped herself, and went below. Doing two shifts and extra shifts of cooking takes its toll....

 Yes, it was a big sleep deprivation experiment, with (Bob)**2, myself, and the control subjects...

Sunday, June 28, 1992
20:24 EDT
0:24 next day local time

Well, it is three weeks, give or take 12 hours, since I touched the Intrepid good-bye. I was the first to set foot on, to touch land. Now I am in the Hotel Fayal, near an empty fireplace, with the best swordfish that I have ever eaten in my belly, writing by the light of a nearby lamp, 220 volts as opposed to 12 volts. Stationary. I don’t need to worry that this computer will go flying out of my lap, or sliding along into someone’s lap, for into the ocean, for that matter. A strange look from a local, peeking at what is going on here, perhaps trying to determine if my beer is finished or not. A welcome sip (of Super bock, a local beer). Yes, this computer is firmly sitting on my legs, and I can write without holding on to it or making mental contingency plans for what I am going to do when I lose my footing.

 Arriving here today, we found lots of boats with many problems, boats that had a crossing on highway 41 and got battered big time. Or perhaps (I take another sip) lost a sail, all its sails, or even a rig. Lots of battered sailboats. Charity had some problems. Many people motored in after all kinds of disasters. We had an easy trip. A Non‑Such jibbed and lost her rig. Yes, the gods had smiled upon us. Almost enough to become religious, or something.

 Dinner at Alfredo’s tonight, with all the crew. I made the toast to the Captain, and he apologized for some of the yelling. Lunch at the hotel, char‑broiled squid and steak. Dinner was much better. After some TV, phone home, a mega bath/shower, BoB and I met the others in the lobby for dinner, and we took a taxi over to Alfredo’s. The wine was also great, as was the spinach. The soil here makes magic, and so do the waters here for the fish. Speaking of which, I stayed up late with BoB last night, and did we ever have a BIG fish on the line last night, before seeing a red over red fishing? boat. When the fish hit, I really didn’t know what to do. BoB kept telling me to hook him, but that was really the last thing that I had in mind. The fish kept running and running, finally the fish bit through the line. Jack said that the only fish that could do that is a shark. Glad I didn’t catch it. Even if it was a tuna, what would we have done with it? Midnight sushi? In any case, we missed the fish, and settled back to talking about future kids, future wives and the incredible meteor shower that was going on at the time. A meteor that left a 10 degree arc in the sky, AND a vapor trail.

Tomorrow, we will be renting motor scooters and see the island. Just in time too, because Tuesday Jack needs help on the boat. Zoom, zoom. And much fun. Breakfast for free before 10:00am. A challenge just to get up. Plenty of ethanol to go around.

 Speaking of which, it is time to enjoy my fine meal, sleeping on a stationary bed, digesting this huge meal. You know, except for the first few minutes, I haven’t felt any swaying floors or tables. Jack said he felt it when he slept and awoke. I’ll let you know....

June 29, 1992

The taste of a love that lasted...tonight it is the taste of Frangelica, in a bar, in the Azores, in Horta. A place that I got to the hard way. Pilgrim, pilgrim. Emily. The thought that lasted. Now, we wade through life in the Azores. A small town, complete with craters.

That is why I came here, to be here and to write this. A compelling story, about to come true, all for the lack of a pen to write something down. So, I try to remember. I forget parts, get mixed up, yet find what I really came to find. How lovely a story to come true in my hands like this, even if it is only the tips of my fingers that get to touch you, darling.

The beauty and magic of writing is that every night I can be with you and touching you. Mei said that knowing someone is in the world is good enough, but that is not enough for me. I need the touch. Today, June 29, 1992, I have not only the one I love with me in this world, but I have her touch. Through the keyboard, through this medium, another way to express myself, but not in vain. Drinking alone is a very vain way to express yourself, because there is no one to hear, here. I can be as close to her as I type and think this, as if she was here. Here and hear are so very important words. I remember a time that I thought I was with her, and the word hear didn’t work, or perhaps the word here didn’t work. It turns out, that on this planet, you need to get both of them working at the same time for the whole thing to get together. Why does that seem to be a difficult thing to get to resonate, like the bell in the field of this dream that I am having now, a bell with people all around, and one person looking at the bell from many miles away, and one person ringing the bell with that salt water on her face. Is she the one looking from a distance, and is she in the/a faraway place. Can’t tell through all this smoke, from the indecision and the last fall.

A really good flashlight that can focus right on the spot that you want. Switch it to red so you can even see with the light off. A trick, to be sure, when you turn off the light and you can see as well as with it on. Not at this piece of paper though. Since I have the flashlight loaded with the wrong batteries, it won’t work, so I can’t read this paper at all. Of course, it is too bad, because as a result I will wind up losing so much time. I mean, I could see if I had a reason to lose all of this, then it would be no problem. But it is a known problem, like the hear/here thing all over again. Flowing around, meandering, washing back, and starting over again.

Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh—let’s shake it loose. Yeah, if we have the right tune, the right song, the right note, we can even make the castle rise right out of the ground. Years ago that story passed in front of my eyes. That one special song, and man am I ever singing that song tonight. Moow Woow wow woooow. Just the right tune, for just the right amount of time.

‘Came out here for so many reasons, and this song is one. There is the song I will sing the day that plane touches ground in the US-of-A again, and the light goes off behind the fasten seat belt plastic thing in the overhead ceiling. Then my life will be very, very different than the day I left. The water was a doorway to all this, and she has taught me more than I can absorb in the time I have been given. Spain is the last part of this magic potion that I am quaffing now. In fact, my whole life has been part of this potion, and the Spain ingredient, the hard way around, seems to be the peak of this whole episode. Land that boat, and all kinds of things will finally be true. No one to prove anything, just me and her. Hear. Here. Like the angel said in my dream. She told me, floating above my head, that I had a secret that I would somehow share when the thing happened, and now that is the case. Well, not now. Here is the place to reflect and to write. Next. Yes, the next part will be what she told me about. I worked for it, not that hard, but the compass is set. I made it this far. Does that prove that I can make it much further, or even any further? No, it doesn’t state anything, but it does indicate that I CAN do it, not that I will.

Yes, I will. Such a nice place to be: I will. Not much of that stuff now‑a‑days, will. I brought some with me, have it right here. Floating down this river, just in time for a calling. Noises outside mix with the noise inside, kind of like when you hear the Perkins diesel going pop‑pop‑pop, and knowing that you are plowing your way through the waves and heading toward your goal, over some far away horizon. Certainly, past the one that you are pointed at. Pointed toward, the one you see is a thousand miles from the one you seek, but they are in a way the same goal. They just look different. A different name, but the same place all rolled into one horizon. Kiss the sky, and form one of those god sunsets or one of those hand painted air‑brushed skies. Wisps of clouds everywhere. A place that my soul can rise up and go play, frolic and such, and then come home and sleep silently. Pop‑pop‑pop. Never doubting that the next pop will come. Even doubting more the next sunrise than the next pop. Perhaps since they come so often, and so close together. Perhaps the melody that it forms, soft yet harsh. Like making love on sailcloth, in a rolling sea, with the one true lover that you have waited for this moment for. Like keeping a sailcloth in your bedroom ...

June 30, 1992
19:59 EDT
23:59 Azores time

Amazing what one can write in a state, and that’s where I was last night. The state of this country, a little tired, and a little high.

Next, a new feeling of high. The world is full of highs, so many variations. The doors close to this place, and I get the feeling the whole town will close its doors soon. Perhaps a few nights alone would have made the journey...

Back on the boat...
Thursday, July 2, 1992
17:01 EDT

Well, it finally happened. The horseshoe broke. Jack fudged a chain, but I hope that we don’t use it. Not a good first day. Of course, I was late, cause I was with Emily and Dorothy on the Pilgrim having lunch. I have a slight ear infection after going into the pool yesterday. In fact, Liz over the radio just gave me credit for pointing it out, and even said that I had a dream about it. I didn’t, but I was glad that I got the credit. Bob admitted that it was my original observation, but also said that anyone could see the problem. The guy would not give me all the credit, and why should he. I mean, just because I deserve it...

Yesterday we went to see the lighthouse and made a general trip around the island. Bob drove, and I took pictures. Spas, views, and lots of flowers. Dinner with part of the Pilgrim crew and Bob. We went to that place on the concession street that had just opened. The food was again just OK, but the company was good and it was a fun evening. Bob either let me have more control than usual, or I maintained more control than usual. Either way, I did much more talking, and got Emily’s address and phone #, and Dorothy’s number. Perhaps, I will see them again, but Emily was not “the answer” to this trip.

In fact, Bob could be a part of the answer. We talked about taking his big trip together, which of course is also my big trip. Having someone with his skill aboard, whether serving or commanding, is a great thing. This might be a door to another door, a ticket to a ticket. Well, doesn’t feel like it. I still feel the Karen thing just around the bend...

Well, my watch starts in a few minutes. I told Mom over the WOO to call Lupe and Maria, and her message was simply call Riva. So it seems that all systems are go, at least for now. A pretty sunset, and over my right shoulder Pico, a very large breast. Time now to get clothing, socks, and prepare for a cold watch. Hopefully, my ear thing will go away.

Friday, July 3, 1992
17:28 EDT

Well, everyone is getting out of work now, looking for parties, fun, weekend activities, bars, drinks, love, and of course, fireworks. Well, some of those are the same. I see instead a sunset over the bow, past my feet. The fishing line glows in the light. The home tape is on right now, and Peter said that the movie could be “The Tin Man”. Bob wanted to hear “Darling, Be Home Soon”. A quiet, simple day, some sleep, beating into the wind with some sail changes. A ship passes to our starboard beam. Bob just lost his Intrepid hat—the second hat that he lost today. The light blue on the keyboard is making things hard to see. Did you write the book of love? The moon grows, the clouds dance, and we motor at a smooth 5 knots and we pass within a 1/2 mile or so of the ship. A quiet night, the sail up to slow the roll, and I have the 1 to 4 shift. The sky does its prism imitation: blue, green, yellow, red, and that dusk color. The ship accelerates now into memory, still within sight. Three birds fly around, and I get the hankering for some more music... perhaps Enja. The bike on board seems strange in silhouette, and Jack’s cigar glows with a deep orange, filling in his silhouette. I can still see the keyboard, the white keys are light blue turning lavender, but the screen is invisible. Just words, letters are no longer visible.

Smooth seas today, and good spirits. All good old boys. Sort of a retiree party. I have not been doing the post card thing, and my opportunity window decreases. Perhaps some sleep now, my watch, then an early postcard start in the morning. Very quiet and contemplative, put, put, put, put. Home is over one of these horizons. Somewhere over the stern. The fish lure mocks the meat dinners that we have had. Thoughts of home now.

I drift to the alternate reality of being home and safe. And doing the 4th of July thing. Of course, one Forth of July was spent with a bunch of guys this age. On the 503 road, drinking St. Paulie’s beer. This year would have been different.  

Well, it seems that I have run out of light. Tomorrow, again, land.

Then...

A dot on the horizon. This trip will be that someday. A dot on the horizon of time. Now, I am in the dot... on the open ocean, drifting through memories, time, and water...

Saturday, July 4, 1992
16:34 EDT

I finally met her, my lady of the island. Sandra Alameda: Santa Maria. A restaurant, a waitress, niece of the owner. A smile. A tape, “Guns and Roses”.  A request, no words, understood. Eyes talking. More beer. More music. Another smile. Dreams, she wants to be a stewardess, or perhaps a computer programmer. She wants to dream. “I have a dream, but I think it might not come true.” Sandra, take your dream and fly as high as you can, and if from that height you can see me, then stop by for some coffee, and spend the night. Then if you like, you can spend the rest of your life with me. No real reason to give up a dream, Sandra. Just steer it from time to time. 18 years is just enough height to take a jump from. Hold that thermal with your beautiful wings, keep that freedom. Share it only when you are sure. My lady of the island, keep the light here on the coast. I’ll be back someday, in cards or stories, or phone, or flight. Or perhaps, you will find me, looking down from that thermal.

The water sloshes in the forward cabin as we begin our final journey, leaving the island to the port side, some rocks, and the long tack to Spain, hoping the current takes us south again. Only 9 days, making 100 nautical miles a day.  No water or fuel at this last port. Just the basics. And, of course, my lady of the island. Another dot, in time and space. A pointer, if you can see that far, or if you are a good navigator.

Important to know where those rocks are, important to mend that horseshoe NOW, sew that sail NOW. When the storm hits, it may be too late. Of course, it is only luck that when the connector between the main sheet and the sail breaks, the sail is down. Don’t count on dumb luck. Wave to a few friendly lighthouses and set sail eastward again. Open water. Spain.

Monday, July 6, 1992
16:03 EDT

The sun was supposed to do the god‑through‑the‑clouds thing, but the clouds have caught up with it. Well, it’s not too late. 3.8, 3.6, 4.2, knots. “I’m still young, but I know my days are numbered.” Heading 95 magnetic. Slowly going in about the right direction. “If I can, I would like to meet my maker”. There’s a Skeleton...

A lonely day, today, until some music comes on. Little sleep last night and today, getting my brains beaten out. Like wearing a helmet and getting your head beaten by a softball bat. Makes you mean after a fashion. Lots of sleep, but not enough. Shirley does the steering and Herman does the cooking tonight, and the chicken was very good, as was the homemade bread. Our speed is better, but still not something to write home about. I think if we take down the staysail, we will do better speed with no extra heel. However, it isn’t just the heel that is the problem. The speed is what makes my head and body pound on the ‘cushion’ up forward. Wave after wave, as we plow the ocean forward, my innards shake, rattle and roll. At least tonight it is my tack, and I get to lie on the side, rather than the divider. I feel that need to call home again. I bet mom has a couple of things to tell me. Shirley seems to be losing her cool, and this crazy computer is winking out on me again. Seems that the previous charge wasn’t even halfway. Shirley is bouncing between 100 and 115 magnetic.  

 This seems to be the loneliest part of the trip. Griz was the best friend I have had, so far, and if he were here, we would spend a good deal of time talking. BoB is still trying to prove something, and he has seemed less than friendly the past day or so. It could be for the same reason that I am less friendly—no one to love, away from home and land for so long. And besides, I got the girl.

 I haven’t really talked about that much here. We landed at Santa Maria to see the church that Columbus landed at after a storm. His boat was nearby, and his people came into the church and started to worship. Of course, the town’s people didn’t think much of this, and they were promptly arrested. Columbus was on the boat, and in hearing this, talked to the mayor and obtained their release. After our crew made this stop, via taxi, we asked where we could find a really good dinner. We said OK, and were taken to a nondescript restaurant that had both a beer sign and a VISA sign in the window. They opened the restaurant for us, and a rather attractive young girl greeted us with fairly good English. I recognized that look in her eye, and the songs kept coming. Patience, the G‑n‑R song that I have been thinking about for the past few days, was playing on the cassette. The looks kept coming, the beer kept coming, and I kept returning. Finally, in an effort to screw things up, BoB said something about working there, and what if I became part of the family. She didn’t understand, and I tried to encourage BoB to keep his mouth shut. He motioned with his hand, and she said “Oh, no...” “Why, is he too ugly?” “No, uhmmm...the reverse...he is perfect, but maybe he doesn’t want...” That shut him up for the rest of the meal and kept the smiles flowing and increasing in intensity. She asked if I was staying, and then if there was any way I could stay. She also said that she might be visiting Boston soon. “When?” Next year...oh well. I told her that New York was nice during the holidays. She wanted to be a stewardess but couldn’t get the hang of the French that she needed. Programming computers was another possibility. That was the night that the disco was open, and she said that the people there were friendly. I so wanted to go, even enough to contemplate jumping ship. Not enough to jump ship. I took her hand as the second taxi left (We could only get one cab, and Jack wanted me to take the first trip. I said no) to say good-bye, and she pulled me closer for a kiss on the check, and then the other—French style. My heart stayed, and thought about all the things that I wanted to say, could have done, could have said. My bed and dreams became torture chambers. Self inflicted. Well, not entirely, there was that softball bat...

I cooked the following day. Apart from breakfast, things didn’t turn out that well. The macaroni and cheese weren’t very cheesy and got cold instantly as I handed it up into the wind. Overboard, most of it. The ham did a little better. Also, the day was eclipsed by running out of fuel. At Horta, someone passed the fuel line over our boat to get diesel, and Liz even mentioned to get fuel while we had the chance. Perhaps Jack was saving money, perhaps he wanted adventure. In any case, we didn’t get fuel. He used the plastic containers to fill the one tank, only 3/4 full, and the other tank had fuel from the voyage here. Our second day out of Santa Maria and we are low on fuel. Low on water, for some reason. And since the towable propeller generator thing doesn’t work, we will have to conserve battery power. The transmitter really takes a lot of juice, 120 watts.

So—we have to run the engine to generate power, but we have only 3/4 of a tank left. The race is on. Worse, the wind direction and speed combination is not in our favor. The sail ripped at the center reef point. And there is no radar reflector up at this point.

 OK, OK, getting a bit negative. Losing my lady of the island hurt, so did the failed macaroni, and I guess the negative side crept in. I felt the first real pangs for home‑at‑last yesterday and today. The music that Herman brought along really helped, as did the ‘Dummies.’ The wind picked up.  With some hope the temperature will also pick up a little. And so will spirits. I have only another hour left for watch tonight. (This is my first time on watch that I am writing during my watch, occasionally looking for boats, and watching where Shirley is steering). The light is getting low, and so are the batteries, but the wind is picking up.

Yes, home will feel good this time. Warm bed. Dry Clean.

Thursday, July 9, 1992
17:10 EDT

400 nautical miles or so to go. A difficult day, yesterday. The cook was down, Ralph‑huing time. Lots of bouncing, 15 degrees or more of heel, pounding, and more pounding. Spirits were down a lot yesterday. I am getting really beaten up every night in bed, but not as much as Bob is. My watch last night was very pleasant, with Don Henley, Abby Road and Supertramp keeping me company.  

Today was very different. BoB woke me up at 10:00 to change a sail, when Herman and Joe were available. I was not happy about that. However, after I got some beauty sleep, I woke up, took a refreshing long shower while cleaning the head, and I peeked out the window.  I, of course, saw the ocean. Last night/this morning I had a dream that I had made it home, and I was at work, and I suddenly realized that I had made it, and I began to jump for joy. For some reason, I was yelling “I’m going, I’m going!” Right about then, BoB came in and I thought in the dream that he was taking the fire extinguisher to stop me from jumping overboard. Then I really woke up, and I saw BoB and told him what I saw/was dreaming.  He didn’t seem very impressed. I also dreamt about returning home on the QE2, and the captain somehow rode through some impossibly small spots and dropped me off very close to my house. Then there was something about Jack calling a tugboat on a certain frequency. The frequency was around 400 but he had a dial and not a digital readout, so he couldn’t complete the call.

Well, after my shower, and seeing the ocean passing by outside the boat, and realizing that we had arrived at the second halfway party, everything seemed all right, and despite all this bouncing and wave smash/crash/bashing, the bash that breaks the boat will not come during this trip, and we will all make port and look back at this moment as we have the ships passing by, small in the distance, apprehensive, then close, and when we know that it will not really hurt us, pleasantly as it passes by, back into the distance. Time being substituted for the length dimension. Right now, I am here, and soon I’ll be looking over this file, or perhaps someone else will be reading it, and this moment will be the dot of light on the horizon, a pointer of what had happened, a full color picture and experience, and still a dot. With this file, it will be possible to take all these words and treat them as dots: not only to read them, but to allow them to be pointers to other things that happened, not recorded here. The whole file, a dot pointing to the trip, and each word, a dot pointing to feelings, and slightly hidden memories.

Friday, July 10, 1992
7:49 EDT
11:49 local time
36.00 north
11:42 west

We are within 300 nautical miles of our port. Time seems to be stretching now, two or three days to last longer than the whole trip. Beating into the wind, bouncing along with water dripping onto my body or into my face, BoB hanging on for dear life, Herman wishing for port, Peter on the verge of getting sick but not actually getting sick, seems to make this sunny day not that sunny. But the sky is blue, and whatever I see of it I should be thankful because it could be rain. The not‑so‑infrequent bash from waves sends water over the side, makes the boat and all her rigging shudder, makes my hatch leak, and makes it impossible for me to “pop” my head up through the hatch for some air. A one-minute pop could be followed by Jack’s bunk getting soaked, and me also getting soaked. Perhaps some time above with just my bathing suit would make this day brighten a bit...

 Herman and Joe are still under their covers. BoB is just now getting up. I am cook of the day, with little sleep last night. The sleep I got brought a few dreams up, though. Like me in a mall, taking photos of some weird iron work, and three black guys trying to steal my camera. The police sent them away, then I found out I have to pass them again to get to my car. They hassled me again, and the police sent them away again. I grabbed a crowbar away from one of them, and I was going to hit them with it. I decided not to, and I found my car by using my transmitter for the alarm. I also had a dream that Lupe was living in a house near the World Trade Center, and it was knocked down by 6,000 mile per hour winds. Another snippet about high‑speed trains in Ireland crashing into another.

 Leftovers today for lunch. Perhaps, fresh bread for dinner. We’ll see how easy it is to get topsides. My water bed is no longer fit for sleeping in, so I will have to make other arrangements. Our noontime position and speed still indicate 48 hours plus a little extra from here. It is hard to tell how much fuel that we have, since we have been motoring to charge batteries and we didn’t start out with a full tank. If we have to motor the last day, we might have to dock with sail power.

I almost wish I could press the PgDn key and be there already, but I wouldn’t do it. This is the last few days, less than 100 hours, less than 50 perhaps. Skin darker, hair lighter, saltier, with 3,000 sea miles behind me. Hold this course, and as the little Snoopy thing says above my head (port side facing forward) “Sail on!”

16:19 EDT
20:19 Jack time
36:10.6 north
10.40.04 west
to Sherry 82 DT 214.57 NM
TTG 36:00 to 49:00 at 4.4 kts

Well, food today went much better than expected. First, lunch was a chicken noodle-vegetable noodle-tomato soup with less water than the concentrate asked for, and some of that spaghetti season stuff. For dinner, I did what Jack said was impossible—I made pizza. I just took 3 cups of flour, package of yeast, cup-plus of water, 3 tablespoons of sugar, soy sauce for salt content. I let it rise about two or three hours, then put it in the pan.

All I could find for ingredients was pimentos, an onion, some local cheese, sun‑dried tomatoes. I forgot the black olives. I also found some anchovies, and Jack, Joe and I all like anchovies on pizza. Better than expected, an even three and three. I also wanted to try some pesto sauce, but I put it on the non‑anchovy pizza. The little piece that I tried was OK. BoB liked the pesto slice better. It didn’t come out to all that much, but no one complained. In fact, Herman said he would try it at home. I was rather happy about that.  

Spending the whole day with flying knives, rocking stove top, people squeezing by to get to their watch, and the challenge of up‑hill moving food-bottles-onion slices-cutting boards. I couldn’t stop the garlic dressing from making a big splash in the floor/wall/other wall/door. It made the kitchen into a combination skating ring and cement mixer. Just holding on to something and not falling is a challenge. Making pizza from flour was another story. Fun though, and I didn’t feel the least bit sick during the whole process. Keeping the mind busy with so many things to do seems to be the answer. The food was warm and filled the gut. Strangely, the crew seemed to like the soup with rice better than the soup without. But every meal was eaten in its entirety, and nothing was left over or thrown out.

Jack just contacted Liz at the Intrepid. She is there with a Christianne and some other folks. After we switched to beta we had a fairly good contact. That is, when the Russians let us have a minute or two. Seems most of the other talking on the SSB is Russian or Spanish, although today there was some Portuguese. I was just wondering if I mentioned that at the halfway party we all toasted Sandra Alameda, as “all the girls left behind in various ports with broken hearts,” and others reinforced with “yes, to Sandra!”, especially me.

Executive decision—time to eat a Pop‑Tart. Smells like apple...hmmm... let’s see… ah, yes... frosted brown sugar cinnamon. Good, though. Think I’ll make a hoagie and eat both of them.

 BoB was saying that he would just as soon not be on this leg, but he wanted to be able to tell people that he made it all the way to Spain, not just to the Azores. It was curious that he said that. Not from the point of view that he would feel that, but since he tries to make himself out to be so invulnerable to others, that he would admit to a heavy external reference. I thought about it, and I know that is a reason why I have done many things in my life. Darn, Peter took the other Pop‑tart. I didn’t do this for that reason. I did it to prove to myself that I can set a course and follow it. Bam. Wow, after I typed it I heard it, and a good one also. I made this journey because I knew that it was something that I had to do. Of course, I will be telling, boasting, of this journey. But I wouldn’t give it as a reason for it. Any part of it. Even this last leg, missing out on a night with Sandra. All had to be done, for me, internal. I spoke to BoB today about mystical thing and cards/stars/etc., and he is definitely a pig. In fact, he called “us” a pig: “Even a blind pig can find an acorn.” Well, BoB, everything has a reason, and my reason for being here is the compass thing. Not to tell a story. But the story does blend in well, at times. Like here and now...

Saturday, July 11, 1992
2:53 EDT
6:53 local
35:58.27 north
09:32.59 west
Dream sequence (I did get sleep last night)

I was walking down a long path, through all kinds of backyards. Always live close enough to a store that you can walk. Walking and walking. Now I am in another country. I think it is Ireland. I expect to see Margaret. Aihwa is there. She is linked into the movie somehow, and the movie in the end of the dream is what we are both watching in a store window and we are both crying, because it talks about two people just like us that get back together and are very happy forever.

 I am in a department store, and it is a combination store and school. I am naked, because all of my clothes are dirty or smelly or I simply woke up without them. I know that I should feel embarrassed, but I don’t. I am walking along, very quickly, down some stairs so fast that I am almost floating. I buy some clothes, and they look nice. I think that I charge them to my account, since I work there.

 I have a job as a teacher of small children, and I am a fun and wacky teacher. All the students love me, and when I ride the escalators, I hold out my hand and they all hold out their hand, five’s style. Everyone recognizes me and loves me. My boss, I think, it is “T”, and I am really under cover as a teacher for something of international importance, goes to a meeting. At the meeting, first he is shown some of the wacky things that I am doing, and how all the students love me and are learning quickly. Then, when he is ready to leave, they tell him that they do not want me anymore, because this is not their method of teaching, and teaching should be structured and strict. Now “T” tells me that he has no one, and he isn’t mad at me because I did a good job.

 Aihwa took some German, and I am following her as she is doing her job and I am trying to talk to her. She doesn’t understand the German phrase “sprechen Sie Deutsch?” but it could be the way we are pronouncing it. Now, instead of being at her job, we are at a computer convention. There are people all around that I have seen for years. Not only is Ann Viggs there, Judy is also there. I am waiting in line for food, and then since I have connections or I am helping in the event, I try to bypass the line. No good. People get upset. I try to catch up with Aihwa again. She is going to the gym.

 Later, I am in Chinatown, and I am trying to buy a notebook, because I want to write down the number that I saw, 6589. Or 689. Could be a date, I just realized. Anyway, I run in to her while I am about to buy lunch at some kind of a cafeteria, and she walks with me. I start telling her about my job, and I know that she needs a new job, so I let her know that people are looking for someone. I show her the things that young students have written, and one is written backwards. I seem amazed, but Aihwa takes it and links it to a whole passage which has a certain amount of letters in each word, and she reconstructs the whole message from just the first letters, knowing the rule of how many letters in each word and what words could fit there, etc. I am amazed, and then I begin to realize that she is an even better fit for the job, that she is perfect. It is then that I realize that she is perfect for me, and we are walking in a mall and I then see the movie, that somehow also links to a song.

 There is also a part where, in this country, everyone is issued a very powerful gun, and the bullets have your name on them. When you shoot someone, you have to explain. Aihwa says that they adopted my idea, and in this country I was a spy but at a very high level. So it is probably true.

7515
7/5/89
7/15
6589
$7
$9 American
Saturday, July 11, 1992 (remember 7/7/77?)
13:21 EDT
17:21 local time

Our last full day sailing. The water stopped its bashing, the boat leveled off, and we are doing a comfortable 6.4 without even trying. Sails are trimmed for a close reach, everyone was on deck today at some points, and it was warm, sunny, and coca‑butter kind of weather, ever since we passed cape saint Vincent’s. Now, the seas are very light, big rollers that are less than 1 meter. The cream of the last few days, after all the torture. Well, not the last day or so, my making bread and pizza, and other stuff. All that you buy, beg, borrow, or steal. All eclipsed by this trip, at least for now. In a few days, home will be all around me, and this trip (dot) will be getting smaller. The memories of BoB’s problem will be gone, late night Pop‑Tarts, wet beds, other memories. Baking bread. Lost in time, found in this file, and a few addresses and photos. And some gray matter.

 My bread is rising, and it is time for me to put my shirt on. I’ll be on watch in two hours or so. Good to have a place to store the trip, here and all.

 Sunday, July 12, 1992
10:29 EDT
14:29 ship
36.32 north
06.19 west (from Herman’s hat)

 The end... well, not quite yet. The smell of land, the cat sensed that last night. Up early, 6:20 or so ship time. Ready to land, and I feel sad. The trip is over, and I have seen the ocean last night, steering by the moon, and felt that the world is not big enough to run away from anything. I have sailed an ocean and found only one thing... me. All these sea miles, sun, bashing, and water, lots of droplets. Fuel, perhaps low, perhaps not. Lots of worn canvas, worn boat parts, worn crew members. Lots of everything. That is what the sea is, lots. Sea-Lots. Puts things into perspective. I was saying good-bye to the ocean last night. Lots of tears, contained in the ocean. She has made many weep, for many reasons. Distance that she uses to separate people from things, people from people. I guess the only way to really overcome distance is to make the ocean your home, your lover. Then you can be at home everywhere because every point on Earth has been shaped by the ocean, in one way or another.

 Towers. Steer your course. Captain Jack was very nervous today, scrambling to keep command. Poor guy, one whole month-plus trying to hold on. Did a darn good job.

 I was the first one to spot land. 12:19 pm ship time. Through the haze, with the benefit of my Revo’s. Gotta admit, they do work, they really do cut through some haze. Felt good, even a moment shaking BoB’s hand, saying “Congratulations, you have just crossed an ocean.” Yep, straight across. Boom. Now I know what lies under the Verrazano bridge. Here.

Not tied up yet, stuff still has to be cleaned up. Jack tried to mobilize the crew, but we didn’t get much done. Joe steers 50 magnetic now. Get out fenders, comes the command. Lower the landing gear. The smell of the burning rubber soon.

 Steering a compass heading is not as easy as steering a point. We have done OK with GPS, but little else. Food was good, times could be hard. Breakfast was good—corned beef hash and taters and onions. Hungry for lunch.

 Talking about songs that mom sang to you as a child. Bushel and a peck. Or more. Being adopted, a long conversation rang out last night. BoB says to leave well enough alone. Small talk, and BoB performs his song. Proud man, he is. Good for the transfusion system. Yes, it is time. Some of us have nothing to prove, only time for life. Some are reciprocal. I am probably somewhere in between. Things to prove to others, but settling in to believing in me. Somewhat easier, now that the sea is behind me.

 The dock. Just to the right of the lighthouse, meters away. Looking for the hole in the breakwater. A beach 1/4 mile away. Still have no real plans on how to get home. Finding it should be easier now.

July 15, 1992
18:39 EDT
0:39 local time

 Ronda, and too tired to leave the room. Perhaps. We did Gibraltar in 24 hours or so. “Ness” is playing keyboards today or tomorrow. I will be flying home within 48 hours. Remember playing those games on the boat? LESS THAN 100 HOURS TO GO? Just wanted to leave a marker here in Ronda. For when I return yet again...

Saturday, July 18, 1992,
9:12 EDT
15:12 local time

If I could see the GPS, and if there was one here on board, it would be moving VERY fast right now. 2 levels of magnitude faster than when I was on the boat. The trip—seems as if I had gone to a movie and seen it. Except for the fact that that my hands are still pretty chewed up.

Iberia, sailing to London, to then sail to the US. Motoring, not diesel, But jet fuel. I have a selection of tickets, all from false starts. Trying to find a bargain returning home proved to be more of a challenge than sailing across. First a flight, then another, then another. I have a ticket that I booked in Ronda left somewhere in Madrid, and a fax floating in Ronda, and a brother/father/friend /travel companion in Torimolienos, Spain. No bargain, at last. A reservation made from a phone booth. Where? In the center of Seville. What time is the flight? 13:45. Oh, ok. Well, what time is it now? 12:30. Right? Will he make it? I’ll handle it, as Herman loves to say. Herman also loves to say “VPL—visible panty lines”, “She still has the shrimp in her pocket”, “When then say that something is wrong with them, agree”, “The perfection stage”, “Lifting the dining room table”, “You don’t UNDERSTAND”, “I wonder where my ducks are now...”, I will have to send him a couple of dollars now that I used some of these. I’m sure more will pop up...

We split the car and last night’s room. Dinner was good, at the Antoxo place, near the fountain. Rape fish, two ceramic vessels of wine. Then I get up late. Might not have made a difference, I don’t know if I would have left without a copy of the ticket. I think I would have, and made the best of things... Well, I am here now, bearing no gifts, other than this file. And stories not written. And photos. I have to share this with anyone who would like to take this trip, but only for a day or two. Elapsed time: about 43 days. And 43 nights, give or take...

The loudspeaker announced on the ground in 30 minutes. Then three hours to get things regathered, and back up in the air. Likely check some bags, and then cab home. No sense in saving money now, might as well just go for it. It seems that I have been having this idea of coming home at night and surprising Girlie. The daytime arrival didn’t make much sense, so it didn’t happen. Nighttime arrival, 10:30 or so. The plane slows and drops. I feel the keyboard tilt forward. 12 hours to go, plus a little. Home will feel very good after this whole mess. My bed, my shower. Home will mean different things soon. Re‑decoration, new this and that. Flashback to a dream of finding a new wall unit at Moby‑mud. And BoB telling me that I am fired, just before I woke up. The stress of the trip, and some allowed‑in fear. Not a big deal, we all know now what lies under the bridge. Home will also mean cooking bread, and other cooking. Level ground makes a good seasoning. Pizza ‑ you tried all the rest, now try the best. It the best available this side of Azores and this side of Gibraltar. Domino’s doesn’t deliver out there. Surface returning soon, so I will return to this file there—or back in the air...

Saturday, July 18, 1992
2:45 PM EDT
? Local time

This is the last and final leg back to the US, and one more leg to go yet—the cab ride home. Home, HOME—the word sounds good. Dry clean. Things returning to the center. Home will mean something different now, and so will the ocean. I am very glad to be home, and I will make it just that for now. And I will be making full speed effort to get everything in my life status OK-and-ready. I have run as far as I can, and now I have found, on the other side of the ocean, my home.

Inside? Not as much as I thought. Somewhere over in the US. The possibility of going to Lafayette exists, but Herman didn’t seem too thrilled to have me as a permanent guest. But he will be a very good host should I visit, I feel sure of it. I NEED my OWN boat. No more playing and begging for a boat. I will learn and teach and make mistakes on my own boat. I guess I haven’t found a good captain yet. Perhaps I will captain a charter boat to Turkey or teach sailing. That would be the best expression of what I am, and a good balance of fun and business.

Travel? Enough for now. Travel can exist within, also, and that is what I will do for a while. Travel in this file, to all the places I have been within all those little dots, points of light. Tenant’s Extra and Bloody Mary mix, to start the day going. I wonder, what’s my alcohol situation at home? Time to replenish. Time to PARTY. All day tomorrow. Home will feel great. All that Star Trek to recover, and the day-to-day stuff that I will mix in with what I have seen/learned. Of course, I’ll have to make pizza tomorrow...

 Do it...course is set, and no excuses. I have a right to be happy, and I have no reason to any longer make excuses. This plane started to bounce a little, and I noticed that it didn’t shake me, and I didn’t feel it. The sailboat on the screen was funny—bounce, bounce itself. The heads here are bigger, and you don’t have to pump them. They are the suction variety. I wonder if you were to use them whilst sitting down if they would suck your balls off...?

For the next week or so—keep a shield up and keep out all day-to-day stuff and have some fun with my trip. Some drink, some love. Swim off the side for a week while making slow forward progress. Step by step, little by little. OK.

I hope the Moby is in really better shape, with the wall unit, paint, or at least the louvers. If not, it will be nice to know the fridge is clean and the carpets are not dusty. Time to breath that bad air again. Also, time to really love life. And work. I will be putting in more time at Con Ed, no OT, just more time. Thanks Con Ed, and Riva. Could not have done it without you. I mean all this recovery stuff. Money speaks. Course, there is plenty of it out there...Just need a way to divert it...

I have a sailboat—Gene Hirschel. Time to out up Bubba. Shake out those reefs.

Glossary

Aft—the rear of the boat.

Batten—flat reinforcement slid into a sail, like a rib, to stiffen the sail and prevent fluttering.

Beam—width of a boat at its widest point; a “beamy” boat is wider than usual for its length.

“Boom vang as a jibe preventer clipped on to the port side”—the boom vang is a secured line which is used at the end of the sail boom (the horizontal pole to which the sail is attached) to pull down on the boom and shape the sail; clipping the mainsail down securely prevents the sail jibing on its own in a sudden change of wind direction; an uncontrolled swinging boom can cause severe injuries.

Cutter—a single-masted boat, with two or more headsails. A headsail is a sail set forward of the mast. It is triangular in shape and the luff (front) may be hanked (fastened) to a stay that supports the mast, or it may be set flying (not attached to any stay). Where two headsails are set, the most forward one is called a jib, and the one nearer the mast is a staysail. A jib topsail may be set as a third sail, positioned above the jib and hoisted to a higher point, such as on a topmast.

Force 5 wind—17-21 knots, a fresh breeze, moderate 4-8 foot high and long (wide) waves, many whitecaps, some spray.

Forward—front of the boat.

Halyard—a line (rope) used to hoist (raise) a ladder, sail, or flag.

Heeling—boat leaning sideways because of the force of the wind on the sails, typically counterbalanced in a sailboat by a weighted keel (main structural component running down the center of the bottom of the boat)

Interrupt (computer term)—an event whose processing takes precedence, “interrupts”, other computing in process at a lower priority, like a phone call interrupting someone.

Jenny—A genoa jib, a jib sail that envelopes the mast (the vertical pole to which sails are attached.

Jib—front-most sail.

Jibe—to “flip” a sail by swinging the boom so that it is taking air on the other side to take better advantage of the wind.

Lee cloth—a cloth panel attached to a boat berth to keep the sleeper from rolling out of bed as the boat pitches.

Lee—away from the wind, or an area where the wind is blocked, like a “wind shadow”: the same way a building blocks the sun causing a shadow it can block the wind and cause an area of no wind. Usage: The sailboat came to a stop after passing into the lee of the mountain.

Moby mud—nickname for my apartment.

PA—Port Authority of New York/New Jersey.

PgDn key—key to page down a screen’s worth of information on a computer screen.

Port—facing forward, left side of the boat.

Reefed sail—typically the mainsail, pulled up only partially up the mast in high winds to reduce sail area and stress on the boat; the excess sail is secured.

SSB (Single Side Band)—A method of modulating radio signals; marine SSB operates on medium and high shortwave frequencies, 2 to 26 MHz.

Starboard—facing forward, right side of the boat; a easy way to remember port from starboard s which is both “port” and “left” have the same number of letters,

Staysail—the main sail behind the jib sail.

Throwable cushion—typically square waterproof cushion used for seating and which is certified as a floatation device.

VAX—A computer model manufactured by the former Digital Equipment Corporation.

V-berth—a V-berth is a sleeping berth at the extreme forward of the boat, named for the sides of the boat coming together at the prow (the portion of a ship's bow, front, above water) in a “V”.

FINIS