Closing the loop

In August my wife Pam and I concluded our seven-month boat journey around the eastern United States and Canadian provinces, a version of “America’s Great Loop.” Our future plans include cruising the “Inside Passage” between Vancouver Island and British Columbia, with the eventual destination being southeast Alaska.

We chose our boat, Treasure State, because of its relatively shallow draft — for all the sandy canals of the east coast — for its low bridge height — hundreds of bridges along the way — and its ability to get up and scoot — 32 knots at wide open throttle — for those uncomfortable ocean passages.

Those are not the features of a good Alaska bound boat, which should be bigger and heavier, to deal with the waves and currents and weather.

Thus, Treasure State is for sale in Maryland, where we concluded our trip. Naturally, the market for boats is currently abysmal. Everyone bought a boat during covid, to hide away in, and now are selling it. We listed the boat three months ago and haven’t had a single inquiry.

I flew to Pasadena, Maryland last week to prepare the boat for winter. The guys who had polished and waxed the boat to make it pretty forgot to keep it plugged into an electrical supply, so when I got there the batteries were dead and the chargers fried.

Eventually I found an electrician, got the boat started and delivered it to a boatyard where it was hauled out, placed on blocks and winterized. Those of you with boats, RVs, houses, trucks, etc. will understand that the bloodletting was copious.

I’ve generally been a very sensible person, financially conservative, pretty boring overall. This whole adventure was a definite aberration. I discovered a nonsensical part of my brain I didn’t know I had.

Those who study decision theory differentiate those who make choices impulsively or emotionally from the people who relentlessly study Consumer Reports, research endlessly and agonize for a year over which leaf blower to buy. Interestingly, when satisfaction with decisions is studied at one year, results are about the same. The romantics and the nerds seem equally content.

For the most part, sensible decisions serve us best. That cute hottie who makes you laugh at the kegger might not be the best life partner material. It is hard to get a car seat into a Corvette.

But sometimes life spice isn’t sensible. At 2 a.m., sitting in the ER, waiting for an operating room to open up so I could repair the carnage on an alcohol-addled unrestrained bro, I would think of a boat and a trip of a lifetime. No doubt you have similar dreams that keep you afloat as you navigate the mundane. And, of course, dreams often come with emotional and financial complications.

A 43-foot boat might be a little large for Seeley Lake or Lindbergh, and it is 2,500 miles away, but if it works for you give me a call. It totally makes sense.