CHAPTER ONE - MISADVENTURES ON LAND

We ran away from Harper Canyon on May 4, 2012 – actually drove away in Art’s 2000 Explorer. This SUV was not expected to make it across America, especially with the load of boxes and suitcases and files we stuffed into the back. We spent our first homeless night in Parker, Arizona, the definition of desolate. The motel was attached to a BK, most likely the worst BK in the world, but we got a 20% discount for staying in the motel next door. Not worth it.

From Parker, we drove to Vail, Arizona, an oasis in the desert where my sister, Sue, and her husband, Butch, live in a most civilized fashion. We were still waiting to hear from the boat repair place in Ft. Lauderdale when our boat would be ready to put back in the water. So we planned on spending a few more days showering and laundering in a real home – and swimming and walking, all the things someone with a home and a pool gets to do on a daily basis. Sue made some great meals – how about those Philly cheese steaks? It was hard to leave that place for the unknown future. We were able to send 9 boxes of “stuff” to the UPS Center in Ft. Lauderdale. We were told it would take 8 to 10 days on the ground. That sounded great – that long without our “stuff” made us feel positively giddy.

But no, UPS must have slipped the boxes on to an express flight cross-country, because we found out 2 days later that all nine boxes had arrived in Florida. And from that day forward, there was the daily phone call: When are you going to pick up this “stuff”? That pressure did not prevent us from making a fairly leisurely (500 miles a day) trip across country.

After leaving Sue’s outpost, we drove through Deming, New Mexico and spent 45 minutes visiting with my cousin, Carol Krum. The skies looked threatening and we still had half of Texas to get through. We checked out Carol’s desert paradise and saw some of her paintings for the first time. The visit was too short, but our newly nomadic life was beckoning.

Shortly after leaving Carol’s we ran right into hail and torrential rains. This was Tuesday or Wednesday of the following week (May 9 or 10). As Brenda pointed out in an email, that may be the best way to view Texas. Somehow the SUV stayed upright despite the 20 mile an hour winds buffeting us. There was literally no traffic, besides us, on Route 10. We had the rest stops to ourselves too. Yowzah! We crawled across Texas battling the elements until we reached Ft. Stockton, a hugely overpriced town in the middle of the state with the only motels within a radius of 150 miles. Oh yes, they have taken big advantage of their location, location, location.

The next morning,  the storm had cleared and we headed for a rendezvous with Lisa and Gary, two goat farmers who live in the outskirts of Houston.  Art knows both of them from Stewart Title, the most mismanaged corporation on earth. We joined them for dinner at Willie G’s, after settling down in our luxurious digs in the Omni, about 5 minutes away.  Houston was relatively hot and humid, but the restaurant was an icebox. Welcome to the land of super air conditioning. Lisa and Gary had great stories to share and the seafood measured up to its reputation, so we felt we had ventured back into civilization for a few hours.

But the next day we were off to New Orleans, then our only really long travel day (more than 750 miles). New Orleans offered some beautiful sights, Tulane, well groomed lawns, a streetcar, bridges, boats, barges, the Mississippi. We had received some restaurant recommendations from Sabina, Art’s Tulane grad daughter. But unfortunately we didn’t follow them. Instead we ate at Landry’s, another icebox, but here the service was pitiful. We should have known it was on a downward slide, when we noticed that there was only one other table with customers. Don’t eat at Landry’s.

We left New Orleans and drove along the Gulf Coast, observing the ever present signs of the destruction caused by Katrina. Many buildings were still just shells. Other places had lots where buildings had been.  They sure did build close to the Gulf. How did they ever get flood insurance? Not much rebuilding going on.

Okay, what’s with the ubiquitous casinos? Have we become a nation of gamblers? There are casinos along the Gulf Coast, attached to huge hotels. Living on our new shoestring budget, we did not enter any casino. Also, both of us cannot tolerate smoke, and apparently tobacco is still King in the Deep South. We stayed near Biloxi or Gulfport (sorry, I’m sure they’re very different, but not after a 14 hour driving day), and the next morning we were ready to return to Route 10. Still no traffic on this well maintained roadway. It was like driving through an area hit by neutron bombs.

Now, as we approached Florida the big question was: Are we going to Disney World or not? Turns out we went to Disney World, but not during our first foray into Florida. Instead we turned south and headed to Sanibel  Island. Yep, there are still mountains of shells there. We spent two nights in two different motels on Sanibel Island. One day we just sat on the beach and watched the birds – egrets, herons, sandpipers, run around near us. That was restful – and no driving. We enjoyed a dinner at the Fish House one night, but the rest of the meals were not memorable.

As we left Sanibel, we drove on to the mainland and traveled through some very ritzy communities on the West Coast of Florida, where everyone seemed to have at least one boat in a slip in a canal. We had been told that work would be completed on our own boat on Friday, May 11, so we planned to arrive in Ft. Lauderdale on Monday, May 14, hop on the boat and motor away.

Disappointment on Monday, May 14 – the boat was nowhere near completion, as far as we could tell. Art had tried throughout the month of April (we left the boat at Apex Marine April 4) to pin the repair supervisor down for a list of repairs that had been completed and repairs that still needed to be completed. Not only was the boat not ready, but there was no list either. We were told that the boat should be ready Friday, May 18, so things were looking up. However, the estimated cost of the repairs had nearly tripled from what Art had been told as recently as April 12. And still no list to show us what had been done to justify the tripled estimate.

So what does any reasonable homeless couple do, when confronted by an uncommunicative repair supervisor causing major delays and headaches? We went to Orlando, so I could be near the happiest place on earth. I visited Epcot Center, which was like taking a world tour of 11 countries, as well as entering space and the future. I road on every boat ride I could find for the vicarious experience of being a “boat person”, if only for a few minutes.

Meanwhile, Art had enlisted the aid of Alex, his boat broker, to try to get through to the owner of the repair place. Alex emailed him the night we arrived in Orlando that the owner, Issy, could meet with him the next day. So while I toured China, Mexico, Japan, France, Italy, Canada, Germany, Morocco, USA etc at Epcot, Art drove back to Ft. Lauderdale to get some answers about the state of our boat. He got a big apology and a lot of answers to a lot of questions we had. The good news was that the owner was going to finish the repair work. The bad news was that much of the repair work and improvements still had not been done. So the owner said he would work really hard to complete the work for the Memorial Day weekend.

That’s right. This is supposed to be a blog about our adventures on the high seas. And I haven’t even got the boat out of the repair shop. By the way, the boat is named Slow Motion. We didn’t know in naming it that the title would apply to the pace of the repair work. We should go with my brother, Rusty’s, suggestion for a name: “Das Boot”. People still don’t mess with Germans, do they?

So here we are reading our navigation charts in our motel room, taking day trips to marinas north of Ft. Lauderdale, checking them out for the day that we actually motor into them from the ocean side, not Route 95. We are still living out of one suitcase each. We reunited with our 9 boxes and promptly put them in storage, but since moved them to Das Boot – progress! The boat is a mess right now, with tools all over (good sign) and furniture stacked up and footprints on the pristine white surfaces. We expect to get a new fire suppression system and some other major items installed this week. The air conditioning is working on the boat and the batteries are all new and hooked up properly. 

And we have a brand new hull! The blistering was much worse than was visible. The former owner had painted the hull recently – twice – so the guy who did the boat survey noted that there were a few blisters, but not of the number and magnitude that were lurking under the paint job. When someone starts talking to you about soda blasting the hull of a boat, just say “No thanks. I think I’ll go stand in a cold shower in my clothes tearing up thousand dollar bills.” (That’s Bill Buckley’s line.)

Soon enough we’ll get to those romantic sunsets. But I wanted to share the mundane experiences we have shared leading up to the romance of the sea. Art still believes that he is the Admiral of Slow Motion, although he acknowledges that I am the Captain. However, he uses those ranks in a military sense, so he claims greater authority. We’ll see. I know I have a lot to learn about navigating and piloting. And fishing – we bought fishing poles the other day, and today we were looking for “snap swivels”. My vocabulary is growing in this area. My God, every time we visit West Marine or any other marine supply store (like the funky second hand store, Sailorman), I need an English/marine dictionary.

We are using our “down” time to prepare for this journey. As we approach Memorial Day weekend, I say with all optimism possible, that someday we will be coming to your port. Keep your eye out for the slowest boat in the harbor and some guy in an Admiral uniform and me, the Captain of dubious authority and questionable knowledge. W