” It’s, right now, only two more days until the end of the longest damn short month of the entire, cotton pickin’ year. Not to be whining, but it’s already been 85 in Tulsa, 80 in Denver. Dave and the Tikitroops are, no doubt, already dropping ice cubes in the river to keep their bottom paint from blistering. And here we sit. With WINTER. Lake’s frozen.”
Sometimes. When you stop, and look around. That’s, exactly where you are.
It’s, right now, only two more days until the end of the longest damn short month of the entire, cotton pickin’ year. Not to be whining, but it’s already been 85 in Tulsa, 80 in Denver. Dave and the Tikitroops are, no doubt, already dropping ice cubes in the river to keep their bottom paint from blistering. And here we sit. With WINTER. Lake’s frozen.
Launch ramp still has two feet of snow on it. River’s open, but the ramps are combo ice, snow, and idiocy. March is sooooooo close, you should be able to smell it.
The first planned mini-cruise of the “season” is less than three weeks from now. I picked St. Patrick’s Day as the lead-off in a burst of “green thoughts” back last September. Back, at the beginning of the fall-to-winter period. When just about anything should be possible. When a modest proposal is, still modest.
If I just hadn’t been so durn cock-sure. Heck. For all I can tell, this year the kids may be out doing Easter egg hunts on snow shoes. Why the air of blue-funk?
For starters. If I’m gonna’ keep my own schedule; I need at least one boat ready to launch on or before 17 March. There are three cruising boats, on trailers, within a hundred-foot arc of this keyboard. And, would you believe it? Not one of ’em is ready for duty. Two are iced in so bad, it’s impossible to tell when either one will make the call. And, our current hero, could use a patched bottom and the not-minor thing of a sea trial. Even if I rub noses with each and every one of those little ‘poxpeople, they aren’t gonna’ be swimming around fast enough to jell a glass patch in 25 degrees for weeks to come. So, I’ve come up with an immodest proposal.
We’ve got a three-horse race. Could be, not any of ’em will win. So, I’m taking steps to bet equally on each of ’em.
Tomorrow morning, in the heat of the day (maybe up to 29!?!) I’m gonna go out and patch that silly hole I drilled in the bottom. I’ll put a heater on it from inside. And, I’m gonna ask you to give it warm thoughts. Could work. That way, the minute the ramp turns to slush, we’re off to see if Gypsy Wagon is likely to remain upright and empty.
Miss Kathleen has been promised a new rudder and steering system. Tonight, I was out doing just-about-the-last of the fabrication on that sucker. A day up in the driveway, and that should go together. OK, two days.
Just as soon as the snow berms that have her captured at the bottom of a tractor-eating hill soften enough to at least get a shovel into them. Good ol’ MK just could be our leader of the pack. Maybe.
And today, in a fit of total hubris, I found and ordered an almost-new, used Hobie-14 main from Minnie’s in Costa Mesa. I’ve been searching for such a thing for years. Lady Bug has worn a hand me down sail for the past 15 years, now. She needs a major clean-up and spruce up.
Anybody seen a sailboat. I put one out here, someplace.
And, she’s mired in snow waaaaay above the trailer. Half way up to the deck level, truth be told. So, new ball gown, or not. Well, it’s a horse race.
I think there’s a sailboat in here someplace.
So, if you’ll think warm thoughts. I’ll practice yodeling, and see if we can’t get some sort of an avalanche going.
Ahhhhhhhh, there she is.