Tack!!

At the end of the night last night I counted the number of miles I had traveled during the week: I had ridden about 50 miles by bicycle, 4 by car and 5 by sailboat. Today I will travel by plane a thousand miles to Denver.

For me, the most enjoyable mode of transportation is a toss up between the sailboat and my bicycle. There is no more beautiful path than the wake of the boat catching the waning light in green glints off of the waves. But a racing sailboat with a competitive and experienced crew is not the best place to leisurely bask in the awesome sights of nature, as I came to find last night.

I had only been out sailing with these guys once before, a couple of weeks ago. None of the sails got put up that day - we traveled in a thick fog that reduced visibility to a 20 meter radius around the boat to the starting point, where the race was cancelled. I stood on the bow talking shop and watching lookout with the guy who normally handles bow duties as we drifted through the ghostly spectral waters. I loved it.

This time the weather was cool, the winds were sweeping and the skies were clear to the stratosphere. I felt like a wide eyed ingenue or provincial cousin as the weight of my inexperience and technical incompetence was hard to shrug away when I stepped onto the boat. The best thing to do was to keep busy and out of the way when necessary. I found myself at a woeful disadvantage: upon biking six miles to get to the harbor, I discovered that I had only one shoe in my backpack. I distinctly recalled seeing the other shoe in next to my closet at home and realized that I had forgot to grab it on my way out. When I looked at the slippery flip flops on my feet, I knew I had to resign myself to a long night of feeling like an idiot.

Before all the roll tacking and jibing would take place, I still took time to marvel at the systems on the boat and the simple mechanics behind them. I helped pull down the mouselines and uncover the mainsail, and felt the gears turn in my head in high drive listening to the organization of the ropes that would control the main sail, jib and spinnaker. As we reading the boat to leave the port, a small Beagle with soft enormous ears was carried onto the deck clad safely in a life vest. He was carried by the handle that attached to the back of the life vest and would occasionally pop his head out throughout the rest of the evening.

"Hopefully next time you'll have some real shoes on," said the bowman from last time.

"Young lady, not only is it crazy to have those on your feet, it's dangerous!" scolded DS.

We had too many inexperienced sailors on the boat to have had a good showing in the race, but the boat was full of smiles as we parked it in the dock. We had towed a Rhodes 19 rocked precariously by three dorky, overly enthusiastic and breezy young preppy looking guys in khaki shorts, and as we turned into the boat's space one of the young men fell in the lake when they rocked him over. I rode the six miles home in two stages and stopped to eat, and when I got to bed I fell into a dead sleep.