It's been something like 51 years, since I first did this. Stuff hurts more, and I suppose I walk a little slower, now. But, in some ways, it could have been only 51 MINUTES ago. Did, what?

I'll get to that in a bit. First. Just a small amount of explanation.

There are the doubters and dissenters who maintain that "If you remember the sixties, then, you obviously weren't there." For some, that dichotomous offering may bring some sort of clarity. But, it's pretty much hogwash, if you ask me. That summer of 1964 was such a tipping point. In many ways, living in that brief moment was very much like leaving footprints in the sand. More, like a roller coaster ride.

When the roller coaster reaches absolute apogee, everything slows. You think you see what's coming next. Your mind tells you that, somehow, you've reached the top. Somehow. Things will just stay this way. I think it's possible to cling to that vision for a lifetime. Even, after the inevitable plunge.

So, join me, at the absolute tip top of the roller coaster. The sun is warm. The view goes on, and on-to the horizon and well beyond. There's somebody sitting beside you. Probably somebody you haven't seen or thought about for decades. You are in absolute control of your known world. The things you do make implicit sense. You're good. And, you know it!

That's pretty much what I was thinking, as my latest "little girl" and I blasted on past the same, exact geographic spot that I first took the helm - and the responsibility for life, limb, property, and seamanship - aboard somebody else's "speed boat." And, what better way to take this particular run down memory lane, than in an almost perfectly preserved example of what could have been on the water beside me? Then, and there.

To my way of thinking, this whole thing has been pretty remarkable.

The boat, herself, has been part of a single family for her entire life. Meticulously cared for, with one significant exception. The poor girl has never been given a name. Something that I'll soon rectify. And, for reasons not immediately clear to me, she's been stored away under tarps and an equipment shed roof for the past quarter-century. But, with almost-new canvas covers, clean oil, and gel coat that rubbed out as if new; I was easily persuaded to abandon my original intent. I figured, what with the squarish shape and all; this would be an outstanding candidate for another shanty boat. And, it would. But, probably not now. Now, that she's helped me trace some important personal footprints.

Most of the boat people I know, and read about, don't have a lot good to say about this general class of boat. Most of 'em talk rhapsodically about quiet paddles in pristine estuaries, the tactual pleasures of well- crafted oak and teak, and the joy of a spanking breeze set to music by a thrumming jib sheet. And, I completely agree. And, yet.

There's a visceral attraction to simply "raising hell" in a small runabout. To being completely irresponsible, perhaps. We don't get to do that sort of thing very much anymore. Besides.

I'll bet more than a few of us can trace a summer romance, and other significant turning points back to a similar little boat. Maybe wood. Maybe fiberglass. Maybe an inboard; probably something with a screaming Merc or purring Evinrude on the transom. Not real big, nor terribly fast. But, for most of us on the cusp of adulthood that magical, stop-motion summer after Kennedy went to Dallas; these were the boats we knew. And, yes, the boats we loved.

There's a quarter-ton or more of Detroit Iron under that mustard color deck. Just basic stuff. Points, condenser, carburetor. Just touch the key, and that in-line six jumps to life. No sensors. No plastic. Just an engine, that anybody can understand. A piece of machinery a guy could teach his grandkids about.

I'll bet there's a boat like this one someplace in your own special memories. One that taught you to water ski. One that took you to that bonfire on the beach. One that maybe got you that first kiss. One that put you on the top of the world, and buried toes in the sand all at the same time. Time?

Yep. A time machine...

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