It is helpful, when your life or job is in grind mode, to have a diverting obsession. At 3 a.m., in a fluorescently lit surgeon's lounge, waiting my turn in the OR to reconstruct a face that, earlier in the evening, had lapped up a dozen beers or so, then flew through the windshield of his Ram 2500, I would peruse innumerable websites related to way cool boats and yachts and exotic locations. The fact that many of these vessels cost ten times more than my net worth (counting the sale of a kidney) didn't matter, as I suspect it doesn't matter to you, when you look at real estate or cars or whatever tweaks your adrenal glands.
The last few years I began to focus on a trip called "America's Great Loop." One acquires a boat with living accommodations, essentially a floating RV, and beginning in Florida, the route circles the eastern US. So up the east coast on the inland "ditch" called the Intracoastal Waterway to New York, up the Hudson River, then up north through Lake Champlain to Montreal, down the St. Lawrence seaway, through the Trent Severn canal to Lake Huron, through the Great Lakes to Chicago, then following various rivers south to Mobile, Alabama, across the Gulf of Mexico back to Florida. The Great Loop.
As of Feb. 9, we were in Fort Pierce Florida, on a 43-foot motor boat, which is a twin engine three cabin (watch your head, suck it in, no more doughnuts) vessel made by a Swedish company named Nimbus. We chose it because it is pretty low to get under the countless bridges along the way, and it has a shallow draft, so we don't run aground on the many sketchy channels we will traverse.
We plan to cruise down to Key West before starting north. Driving a boat in South Florida is akin to being in an all-star, meth-head NASCAR race. The "no wake" signs along the way mean that 80-foot sport fisher boats will pass you, four feet away, at 30 knots, their six-foot wake turning our modest craft into a yard sale.
There is no more ill-conceived, irrational, or plain dumb decision than buying a boat such as this. However, similar to marriage or having a kid, it somehow seems irresistible. I suspect the lemmings know how things are going to turn out, yet they hurtle toward the cliff.
The boat is newer - a 2022 - and passed a vigorous pre-purchase inspection. Within 24 hours of our moving on, we had a major electrical failure that required a marine electrical specialist (don't call me an electrician) six and a half hours to end up essentially amputating the affected limb. I would relate the cost but to even mention it causes me a disturbing chest pain.
If you think that the origin of the universe is a profound mystery, it pales in comparison to the operation of a marine toilet. Since the boat is Swedish, the builders decided to use these indecipherable symbols that would baffle the most astute Egyptologist. None of the buttons seem to result in a flush.
As many of you know with RVs and other contraptions, you have to roll with the many mines along the way. The upsides - seeing things and places you've never seen, the sensations of seas and skies unfamiliar - are rejuvenating. This sort of adventure requires attention and constant learning, as opposed to swilling tequila in front of the football game.
Pam and I will take you along in the Pathfinder, she with photos, me with the prosaic bilgewater.
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