Time had streamed rapidly by, gliding from a cold winter, into wet spring and now into the morass of hot, humid heat called summer on the Mississippi gulf coast. Tom remained land locked. He fretted and frittered his time away, necessitating me taking a longer time away from home than usual. It was too sad to watch.
May proved to be a completely unproductive month for sailing and now June loomed on the horizon. I was back home from a trip, but days for sailing were rapidly dwindling away what with a convention planned, a second Texas trip, vacation. The weather continued to be uncooperative, too. Tom watched the oil spill coverage diligently, as well as the weather, which was now showing an impending first hurricane. His spirits were glum, to say the least.
But, then he got a break. Two days on a June weekend in between other activities, hurricanes and bad weather magically appeared. He was excited. I started to say thrilled, but somehow I hadn’t seen that emotion in him in quite some time, maybe even a sailing season or so ago.
Tom lined up his helpers, hauled the boat to the harbor behind his big SUV, got his boat in the water, get the mast up, and all that done before the first “teeny, tiny” problem arose. The little outboard motor that he had just filled with gasoline before leaving home wouldn’t start. It was out of gas. It had all leaked out somewhere along the way adding to the gunk in the water or on the land going down to the water already generated by the oil spill, unfortunately.
He had to have someone tow him in his boat around the piers to his boat slip. (Which we now had been paying for month by month for nearly a year with no boat use.)
That was disgrace enough, but the problem appeared to be simple and easily repairable. (Note the words “appeared to be” closely.) A screw seemed to have fallen out, or been jolted out, of the motor, causing all of the gasoline to leak out. He and his best friend, Ron, went nearby to Biloxi to a boat store, but they did not have said screw in stock, nor did they recognize it’s kind and shape. But, not to worry. Tom had the boat motor owner’s manual and quickly found the parts he needed. He ordered two sets of two different screws, bolts, do-hickys . . . you know - one cannot be too sure in such a spot and must take all precautions against not having all needed parts when time is of the essence. And the order was only slightly more than $50 bucks (albeit only $5 boat dollars).
I just about had a heart attack upon seeing the bill when the order arrived. Four lousy little pieces of metal and they cost MORE than $50 bucks?!
But, what’s a husband’s happiness to be compared to, you know? Besides, he had greater problems to deal with. The exhausting heat and humidity caused him to stay in the SUV with the A/C going full blast about half of each day of the weekend, and that added up considerably, as well as concerning me greatly about his health. Then, he just did not have the strength alone to get the second boom up on the boat from which one of the sails is rigged. So, he had to find more help for that a second day in a row.
The next weekend, motor parts in hand, he got another break in the weather and wandered back down to the harbor. I never did get the whole picture on the next part of the deal, but either the screws weren’t needed at all (after the $50+ expense, plus whole extra set), or else when replaced didn’t stop the gasoline leak. Plan B developed, in which the motor was to be unlocked from the metal cross beam to which the lock was attached, the motor lifted, taken out of the water, driven home and taken to a boat repair shop, one being conveniently located close to home.
Tom has four sets of keys to the boat, each set consisting of about 10 or 12 keys on four rings. He had two sets with him at the boat, but none fit the lock on the motor that was locked to the cross beam on the back of the boat. So, what did he do?
He called me up, of course, and said, “Dee . . . what did you do with my extra two sets of keys to my boat?”
A roar of dead silence ensued while he revised his question.
He didn’t even know where the sets of keys were, much less where THE key was to THE lock on THE boat, etc, etc.
He never did find THE key. So, Plan B-2 developed in which he would borrow a friend’s specialty hacksaw to saw off the cross beam to get to the lock to get the motor off of the boat. All he had to do was buy a new blade for said saw.
He did, and even got the motor off without too much trouble, just with more help. Got the motor fixed, too. After refurbishing the entire carburetor on the thing. (Chi-ching, chi-ching – don’t ask – I’m incapable of repeating the cost, boat dollars or not. And I haven’t even mentioned the newly painted, “much needed” “bottom job” on the boat that he had planned to do himself, naturally, in the spring, but which had to be done professionally after he went in the hospital for heart surgery.)
Meanwhile, we were in and out of town and sailing time was zipping on past, unrelenting. So were the effects of the oil spill in the gulf. Oil and tar balls were washing up everywhere. The clock rolled around to the last day of June, the harbor closed, with booms blocking all entrances or egresses, and Tom realized that as soon as he got the motor back on the boat, he was going to have to take the boat out of the water, again, still unsailed for the season.
He clumped over to the harbor master’s office and gave up the slip. He called his worthy friends who stood by him like real sailing men do and came to help him get the boat out of the water. It was a dreadful day. And it wasn’t even over.
The final next to final twist occurring that horrendous day was that he had a flat tire on his boat trailer on the way home at about the same time he realized his fancy cell phone was totally dead because he’d left it in his sailing shorts and it had gotten submerged in salt water while trying to get the boat on the trailer. They were having trouble with it, you see. (Yeah, tell me about it.) He luckily was close to a gas station and borrowed a stranger lady’s phone to call me, not to let me know he was okay or what time he was coming on home, but to ask me to call Ron to come over and help him, if he could. Ron could, and did.
Turns out the tire was not just flat, it was stripped. So, now add a new trailer tire to the new doors (some with three, some with two coats of varnish), new bottom job, new lock, new keys, new cross beam, newly refurbished carburetor on the motor on the boat on the trailer that was doing all of its travel over land, not the over the windblown waves of the oily mess in the gulf of Mexico.
It still took a while for him to make it home. Longer than I would have thought, even with the flat tire, and of course, I assumed the worst. Which happened. After he got the flat fixed and was on his way, a state trooper pulled him over to see his registration and insurance papers. While I faithfully keep our current insurance papers in both vehicles, Tom could not, for the life of him, find the latest, up to date card in his vehicle. I can only suppose that the officer saw how frazzled Tom was, because he let him go, telling him to find the card and make sure he kept it close.
The boat is now home sitting in the driveway in the way, rather than on the grass. It doesn’t even have a tarp on it at the moment. Tom keeps trying to think of someway to get that boat in some clear water where he can have fun sailing and relaxing, leaving the cares of the world behind. He’s plottin’ and plannin’, but I see no hope, myself, nor do I see that he still has that will to keep torturing himself like this.
Yet . . . he thinks he’s come up with a solution – of sorts. When I heard his plan, I came up with a solution of my own. So, while this may be the conclusion to one chapter of his boat life, next time I’ll share with you the Epilogue. At least for now. Till next time.
Cheers! Dee