Flying Scot, Inc. is pleased to provide eleven new Flying Scots to the 2011 Adams Cup finals at Lake Norman Yacht Club near Charlotte, NC. These boats will not have been sailed prior to the event and could be picked up after the event in October 2011. Ordering one of these boats now with a deposit makes it possible for you to get into a new Flying Scot at a great price. Place your order early to pick your colors and save on accessories. Boats will be assigned on a first come first served basis. These boats are race rigged and are complete with anchor, paddle and compass. They are also complete with main, jib and spinnaker sails, galvanized trailer and tie-down rig.
Delivery to other areas may be available at an additional cost. Details of how these boats will be rigged are as follows:
Flying Scot complete
Mad main, jib and spinnaker – AirX spinnaker - white with two color stripes
Galvanized trailer and tie-down
Mast hinge
Jib sheet cleated on seat with Harken auto ratchet
2:1 jib sheet rig
360 swivel cleat for centerboard
Ronstan X-10 fixed h-o stick
Mainsheet – 5/16 polypro - rigged 3:1 with Harken Carbo blocks
Spinnaker rig and spinnaker pole
Two rings on mast for pole
Spinnaker halyard led aft with take-up reel
Spinnaker guy hooks on deck with cleats at chainplates
Spinnaker sheets – ¼” Ultra-lite - internal system with self-ratchet cheek blocks under seat
Spinnaker turtles on forward seat corners
Outhaul – 6:1 internal wire
Cunningham system led aft to console
Vang – 12:1 cascade purchase led aft to console cleat
Pole lift – 2:1 - led through deck to console cleat
Pole downhaul – shock cord through deck
Mast head fly
Break-away rudder blade hold down pin
Ritchie compass and mount
Safety equipment - anchor & line, paddle, cushion, whistle, bucket & chamois
Price complete $19,826.00
Less Adams 2011 discount – 15% - 2,973.90
$16,852.10
Class measurement certificates for hull and sails 85.00
Freight to Lake Norman Yacht Club, Mooresville, NC 200.00
Total price delivered $17,137.10
Deposit of approximately 50% ($8,600.00) due with the order and balance due on delivery following the 2011 Adams finals October 10, 2011.
Order early and save!
Order by August 1, 2011 and get up to $300 in free accessories. Order by September 1, 2011 and get the first $100 in accessories free.
Prices are subject to change without notice. Freight is approximate and subject to change with rising fuel prices.
Friday, July 22, 2011
Saturday, July 16, 2011
NAC Series Day 3 Final
Final race of the series in the Chamber of Commerce conditions we had been expecting on Long Island Sound: warm, lovely, 6 knots of breeze, sunshine. We got the old boat revved up and brought a little game to the day.
One general recall, and then one five-legged race in which the leaders switched positions back and forth between Al and Katie, Andrew and Jackson (an especially Southern team), with the Goughs, us, and Team Morgan nipping at their heels.
Al and Katie won the race, followed by the Goughs, and then photo finish put Andrew ahead of us (by about one foot, according to the RC), giving him the championship over Al and Katie by a single point. Tight racing up top! For the regatta, the Goughs finished third, John Aras and John Wake (skipper John is a master, btw – AND he dated Dave Perry’s sister. Cool the stuff you learn in the parking lot) we shook into fifth place, and stable-mates Team Pletsch finished sixth. Way to represent, Florida.
As always, the awards ceremony is quite a spectacle: the class has folks sign for every perpetual trophy, and there are a LOT of perpetual trophies. Al and Katie got a beautiful silver teapot trophy among the loot, which might have been for top family with female aboard? Anyway, it was a big vanload of prizes, expertly expedited by John Cooke, one of the best MCs in the biz.
Wonderful regatta. Sorry it’s over. Jeff was offering flyfishing lessons early this morning -- (ten and two Ryan! ten and two!), so the week is complete (fishing at least once every seven days). We’ve packed up the various bits and bobs (extra mast for Mark and Dean and Judy – check. Bow-bag for Ed – check. Bikes – check. Lawn furniture – check. Small dog – trick question. She’s always packed and ready), and flirted with the idea of trading the Mighty Majestic in on a less seasoned model from Harry Carpenter. We said our au reviors, had a last cocktail hour with Donny Brennan and Josh Goldman and Andrew and Jackson. We are hopeful that Andrew and Jackson will have a pleasant adventure in Manhattan and that we won't get the call for bail should any such call be needed.
Tomorrow the less scenic route home down the big highway---maybe. We’ll see what mood strikes us and the GPS gal Beatrice.
One general recall, and then one five-legged race in which the leaders switched positions back and forth between Al and Katie, Andrew and Jackson (an especially Southern team), with the Goughs, us, and Team Morgan nipping at their heels.
Al and Katie won the race, followed by the Goughs, and then photo finish put Andrew ahead of us (by about one foot, according to the RC), giving him the championship over Al and Katie by a single point. Tight racing up top! For the regatta, the Goughs finished third, John Aras and John Wake (skipper John is a master, btw – AND he dated Dave Perry’s sister. Cool the stuff you learn in the parking lot) we shook into fifth place, and stable-mates Team Pletsch finished sixth. Way to represent, Florida.
As always, the awards ceremony is quite a spectacle: the class has folks sign for every perpetual trophy, and there are a LOT of perpetual trophies. Al and Katie got a beautiful silver teapot trophy among the loot, which might have been for top family with female aboard? Anyway, it was a big vanload of prizes, expertly expedited by John Cooke, one of the best MCs in the biz.
Wonderful regatta. Sorry it’s over. Jeff was offering flyfishing lessons early this morning -- (ten and two Ryan! ten and two!), so the week is complete (fishing at least once every seven days). We’ve packed up the various bits and bobs (extra mast for Mark and Dean and Judy – check. Bow-bag for Ed – check. Bikes – check. Lawn furniture – check. Small dog – trick question. She’s always packed and ready), and flirted with the idea of trading the Mighty Majestic in on a less seasoned model from Harry Carpenter. We said our au reviors, had a last cocktail hour with Donny Brennan and Josh Goldman and Andrew and Jackson. We are hopeful that Andrew and Jackson will have a pleasant adventure in Manhattan and that we won't get the call for bail should any such call be needed.
Tomorrow the less scenic route home down the big highway---maybe. We’ll see what mood strikes us and the GPS gal Beatrice.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
NAC Series Day 2
Seems as if no matter where in the world we go, the hosts of any given sailboat race declaim loudly, “It’s NEVER like this here!” At Cedar Point YC – no one even begins to suggest that Long Island Sound won’t throw everything and anything at us. It’s always like that here…
Flying Scot Championship Racing Day 2
In the overall Winnebago adventure clock, this is Day 9.
So today, after the sailing predictions suggested that either there would be a fading Northerly dying and backing into a sea-breeze, or that the sea-breeze would kill the remaining cold front wind, or that it wasn’t nearly as windy off shore as on it. Bull. It was windy all day long.
Windy so that we even had some nice downwind runs today. And we had some holes going upwind. And there were streaks of shifted wind that could open passing lanes for people brave and lucky enough to give them a shot.
The results? Oh, I can explain. We had a rotten first race, and were lucky to end up with only 19 points. A giant cone of confusion must have settled over our mast overnight. Maybe it was the revenge of the lobster Jeff ate. Perhaps we just got, as Steve Davis says, Beflustercated. In any case, we came off the line at the pin-end in traffic and watched in noisy frustration as the right side of the course – the place we just couldn’t get to – had a big old lift in breeze. See yuh! We might have been in the 30s around the top mark. Blah blah blah, broken gooseneck track (BANG! Followed by a chorus of “oh crap, what was that??”) blah blah blah no passing lanes, no pressure, blah blah blah, deleted expletive, finishing downwind in 19th.
Luckily, Mr. Linton is no stranger to fixing problems on a boat without much equipment. That piece of fuzzy line we’d been using to tie up the main at the dock? Perfect for lashing the boom gooseneck to what was left of the track that holds it onto the mast. We watched it dubiously as we got ready for the second start. Then of course we forgot about it. This is racing. Go until it breaks, right?
Second race, we started at the pin, and despite a few moments where it looked questionable, made a one-tack beat of it, bee-lining for the dark sign of breeze along the shore. We rounded the top mark in WHOOHOO fourth place, and then hung on throughout the five legs to finish in fourth.
Andrew Eagan led the whole way, but our own Team Pletsch of Sarasota finished in second that race, edging out Al and Katie at the finish line by the power of starboard tack. Mighty black boat ahoy!
There was some carnage: I saw a couple of trailer-wheels-over-toes (ouch! No blood), plenty of bumps and oopsies at the dock, which is only natural given the ratio of Scot to dock divided by Junior Sailing boat. Watery carnage: at one point I looked upwind to see what looked like bookends in the water way off in the distance: a matched pair of flipped Scots. According to my Challenger-fleet mole, the two bookended boats turned out to be Mark and Maria Brenner, and Sandy and Keith Eustis – and then Sandy got a hand squished between mast and powerboat during retrieval. No hospital visit, so we are hopeful it’s a minor squish. Got a glimpse of it, and ouch: there is blue bruise on his palm AND on top of the hand.
He doesn't need this. Brian Hayes is calling the class upstairs for the annual meeting. I claimed this time to explore the wonders of Blender Bob’s contraption. As I mentioned earlier, this started life as a Thistle. ("Best use of a Thistle EVER," says Capt Winnebago) Powered by a gas two-stroke ("Sounds like your lawn man is bringing you a pina colada," John Aras), that runs half a dozen industrial-strength blenders. RPM control is like on a motorbike: throttle grip action!
On the other side of the contraption is a music center and my all-time-favorite technical device name, the BU 350 by American DJ, which is, of course, an automated bubble blower. It can even blow technicolor bubbles, which leaves my favorite clown joke WIDE open. (Ask me!)
Of course, hanging from a yardarm (All boats should have at least one, right?) is, of course, the piece de resistance: a disco ball. Just add liquid refreshment and you have yourself every excuse for excess and party!
One more race tomorrow -- if the wind doesn't completely crap out, which is what we have been promised. We are expecting it to blow 20.
Flying Scot Championship Racing Day 2
In the overall Winnebago adventure clock, this is Day 9.
So today, after the sailing predictions suggested that either there would be a fading Northerly dying and backing into a sea-breeze, or that the sea-breeze would kill the remaining cold front wind, or that it wasn’t nearly as windy off shore as on it. Bull. It was windy all day long.
Windy so that we even had some nice downwind runs today. And we had some holes going upwind. And there were streaks of shifted wind that could open passing lanes for people brave and lucky enough to give them a shot.
The results? Oh, I can explain. We had a rotten first race, and were lucky to end up with only 19 points. A giant cone of confusion must have settled over our mast overnight. Maybe it was the revenge of the lobster Jeff ate. Perhaps we just got, as Steve Davis says, Beflustercated. In any case, we came off the line at the pin-end in traffic and watched in noisy frustration as the right side of the course – the place we just couldn’t get to – had a big old lift in breeze. See yuh! We might have been in the 30s around the top mark. Blah blah blah, broken gooseneck track (BANG! Followed by a chorus of “oh crap, what was that??”) blah blah blah no passing lanes, no pressure, blah blah blah, deleted expletive, finishing downwind in 19th.
Luckily, Mr. Linton is no stranger to fixing problems on a boat without much equipment. That piece of fuzzy line we’d been using to tie up the main at the dock? Perfect for lashing the boom gooseneck to what was left of the track that holds it onto the mast. We watched it dubiously as we got ready for the second start. Then of course we forgot about it. This is racing. Go until it breaks, right?
Second race, we started at the pin, and despite a few moments where it looked questionable, made a one-tack beat of it, bee-lining for the dark sign of breeze along the shore. We rounded the top mark in WHOOHOO fourth place, and then hung on throughout the five legs to finish in fourth.
Andrew Eagan led the whole way, but our own Team Pletsch of Sarasota finished in second that race, edging out Al and Katie at the finish line by the power of starboard tack. Mighty black boat ahoy!
There was some carnage: I saw a couple of trailer-wheels-over-toes (ouch! No blood), plenty of bumps and oopsies at the dock, which is only natural given the ratio of Scot to dock divided by Junior Sailing boat. Watery carnage: at one point I looked upwind to see what looked like bookends in the water way off in the distance: a matched pair of flipped Scots. According to my Challenger-fleet mole, the two bookended boats turned out to be Mark and Maria Brenner, and Sandy and Keith Eustis – and then Sandy got a hand squished between mast and powerboat during retrieval. No hospital visit, so we are hopeful it’s a minor squish. Got a glimpse of it, and ouch: there is blue bruise on his palm AND on top of the hand.
He doesn't need this. Brian Hayes is calling the class upstairs for the annual meeting. I claimed this time to explore the wonders of Blender Bob’s contraption. As I mentioned earlier, this started life as a Thistle. ("Best use of a Thistle EVER," says Capt Winnebago) Powered by a gas two-stroke ("Sounds like your lawn man is bringing you a pina colada," John Aras), that runs half a dozen industrial-strength blenders. RPM control is like on a motorbike: throttle grip action!
On the other side of the contraption is a music center and my all-time-favorite technical device name, the BU 350 by American DJ, which is, of course, an automated bubble blower. It can even blow technicolor bubbles, which leaves my favorite clown joke WIDE open. (Ask me!)
Of course, hanging from a yardarm (All boats should have at least one, right?) is, of course, the piece de resistance: a disco ball. Just add liquid refreshment and you have yourself every excuse for excess and party!
One more race tomorrow -- if the wind doesn't completely crap out, which is what we have been promised. We are expecting it to blow 20.
NAC Series Day 1
Math question: with two sailboat races with five legs each, what are the chances that each of the six upwind legs saw puffy conditions up to 15 knots, while the downwind legs each took place in 3 knots? Yeah, that’s just odd...
The Real Racing Begins: Flying Scot North American Championships Day 1
(Day 8 of our adventure)
More strange NW conditions, with the breeze both spotty and shifty. We finished with a 4 and a 7th, which puts us 8 points out of the top, Andrew Eagan (of the fleet Eagan clan of New Orleans) is up there, as is Katie and Al Terhune, John and John, the Goughs and Josh Goldman. Most everyone had to battle back to their spot: we got to the first windward mark in about 30th, having gambled on the wrong puff, but then, managed to sail like Buffalo Girls (‘round the outside, ‘round the outside) to pinch off a pack or two before the fans turned back on for the upwind leg.
The boat seems to be going well: we adjusted the shroud tension up, and then down, though because the wind is so uppy-downy, it’s a gamble.
Ira Cohen took himself home before racing yesterday – a medical problem, which meant that Paul Abdullah had to retrace his Odyssey. With luck, Paul won’t have seventeen stops on the flight back home to Jax. Who knew there was a Delta local flight that takes on passengers in both LaGuardia and JFK!
Kris Smith’s boat took a mighty thunking pre-race, though I think everybody bounced back safe and still floating. Race organizer and man-about-town John Cooke lost a spin halyard in the second race, but managed to hold position not so badly going downwind with jib and main.
Two races today and the banquet tonight.
I write this on Thursday morning: two races plus the lobster/chicken dinner on Sprite Island took me out of the writing game yesterday.
The Real Racing Begins: Flying Scot North American Championships Day 1
(Day 8 of our adventure)
More strange NW conditions, with the breeze both spotty and shifty. We finished with a 4 and a 7th, which puts us 8 points out of the top, Andrew Eagan (of the fleet Eagan clan of New Orleans) is up there, as is Katie and Al Terhune, John and John, the Goughs and Josh Goldman. Most everyone had to battle back to their spot: we got to the first windward mark in about 30th, having gambled on the wrong puff, but then, managed to sail like Buffalo Girls (‘round the outside, ‘round the outside) to pinch off a pack or two before the fans turned back on for the upwind leg.
The boat seems to be going well: we adjusted the shroud tension up, and then down, though because the wind is so uppy-downy, it’s a gamble.
Ira Cohen took himself home before racing yesterday – a medical problem, which meant that Paul Abdullah had to retrace his Odyssey. With luck, Paul won’t have seventeen stops on the flight back home to Jax. Who knew there was a Delta local flight that takes on passengers in both LaGuardia and JFK!
Kris Smith’s boat took a mighty thunking pre-race, though I think everybody bounced back safe and still floating. Race organizer and man-about-town John Cooke lost a spin halyard in the second race, but managed to hold position not so badly going downwind with jib and main.
Two races today and the banquet tonight.
I write this on Thursday morning: two races plus the lobster/chicken dinner on Sprite Island took me out of the writing game yesterday.
Monday, July 11, 2011
2011 NAC Qualifying
Damn, Amy's updates were piling up on me a little. I'll try to do better. Zero excuses.
Today, Monday, (Day 6) started with the sunshine and heat as promised. 80 Flying Scots to hoist into the water. Ten o'clock harbor start, a cast of thousands of volunteers. No problem. But wait -- there is no plan that can't "gang aftly," as the phrase goes. In the case of this morning's start: just add 60 junior sailors. HOLD the PHONE, everybody. There is only so much dock space, and since it was a millpond –– but MILLpond -- on Long Island Sound, the Scots waited for the pram kids to be hauled off to their corner of the water.
Seriously: small, duckweek-covered millpond flat. Skating rink flat. So flat that the haze in the distance obscured any horizon and it looked like a big sheet of whitish poster paper. So flat –– well, I've seen pancakes with more waves. Nice news was that the boat traffic was way down. Must be some poor saps have to go to work this week. That must suck.
Isn't gloating just so unbecoming and vulgar?
On shore postponement lasted until noon and a little. Our first shift: waiting until nearly everyone was in the water before we put the Mighty Majestic into line.
We sailed out to the racecourse in under five knots, making note of the current at every opportunity. I got about an hour of quality helm time (I never drive, but today I needed a little horizon-therapy, until the ginger brew kicked in. Go figure. Flat as all that, and still my sandwich wants to make a reappearance.) The wind faded, streaked, faded some more, and the race committee showed patience and restraint while waiting for the conditions to improve.
The hand-held radio proved entertaining: I am not sure which chase-boat was doing the reporting, but at one point, the report for the race officer went like this: "We are seeing a lot of current out here. It's –– the current is bodacious out here." Later, same voice reports in: "The wind is looking pretty dank over here."
There was a near-heat-stroke moment, but Brian Hayes (on a powerboat) saved the day with a ball-cap full of ice and some cold bottles of water for the sufferer.
Sure enough, the wind eventually piped back up to around five and then a touch more for the first race. The tide was setting downwind, so the starting line was fairly easy to cross on time. The course was W-L-W-L, with a gate and an offset mark. Five minute sequences. We started in the second flight, split sides with John Aras/John Wake, and they put the boots to it: a hundred yard lead that never shortened up much. We finished happy with a second place. Trying to sail conservatively (no over-earlies, and do some smart course-management so that nobody gets too far out of touch), but more often than not choosing the wrong sides, we were delighted with the boatspeed and point. A fairly loose rig and the beautiful new jib felt great upwind. Going downwind, we felt pretty good too.
We were in the first flight for the second race. The RC set us a W-L-W-L-W course, and the wind shifted right during the starting sequence -- enough that it was a challenge to get over the line on starboard. But again. patience prevailed, and the RC blew off that start and reset the line. We'd expected a right shift all afternoon, as the sea-breeze seems to come in at around 240, but the wind built ––maybe 8? We were hiking –– and shifted around a bit both ways, though by the second upwind leg, the RC had moved the windward mark to the right.
Andrew Eagan proved untouchable in our flight, pulling a solid horizon job on the gang. We finished with another deuce, and went to shore happy. Plus Brian Hayes was handing out beers just after the finish, and you know that's bound to put a smile on anyone's face.
On shore, the Dave Perry seminar is happening as I type. The little dog needed some attention, and once back in the Winnie, I found it really really hard to step back outside and take the bike back to the YC. It's less than a quarter mile, but by golly, I think I am done for the night. Time to recharge.
Tomorrow's forecast is for thunderstorms. The race organizers re-scheduled the clam bake on Sprite Island from tomorrow to Wednesday. We'll be using the older jib for tomorrow's one race. Aim for a top-twenty finish and and sail right into the Championship fleet...and then start all over again, like Markie Taylor says.
Today, Monday, (Day 6) started with the sunshine and heat as promised. 80 Flying Scots to hoist into the water. Ten o'clock harbor start, a cast of thousands of volunteers. No problem. But wait -- there is no plan that can't "gang aftly," as the phrase goes. In the case of this morning's start: just add 60 junior sailors. HOLD the PHONE, everybody. There is only so much dock space, and since it was a millpond –– but MILLpond -- on Long Island Sound, the Scots waited for the pram kids to be hauled off to their corner of the water.
Seriously: small, duckweek-covered millpond flat. Skating rink flat. So flat that the haze in the distance obscured any horizon and it looked like a big sheet of whitish poster paper. So flat –– well, I've seen pancakes with more waves. Nice news was that the boat traffic was way down. Must be some poor saps have to go to work this week. That must suck.
Isn't gloating just so unbecoming and vulgar?
On shore postponement lasted until noon and a little. Our first shift: waiting until nearly everyone was in the water before we put the Mighty Majestic into line.
We sailed out to the racecourse in under five knots, making note of the current at every opportunity. I got about an hour of quality helm time (I never drive, but today I needed a little horizon-therapy, until the ginger brew kicked in. Go figure. Flat as all that, and still my sandwich wants to make a reappearance.) The wind faded, streaked, faded some more, and the race committee showed patience and restraint while waiting for the conditions to improve.
The hand-held radio proved entertaining: I am not sure which chase-boat was doing the reporting, but at one point, the report for the race officer went like this: "We are seeing a lot of current out here. It's –– the current is bodacious out here." Later, same voice reports in: "The wind is looking pretty dank over here."
There was a near-heat-stroke moment, but Brian Hayes (on a powerboat) saved the day with a ball-cap full of ice and some cold bottles of water for the sufferer.
Sure enough, the wind eventually piped back up to around five and then a touch more for the first race. The tide was setting downwind, so the starting line was fairly easy to cross on time. The course was W-L-W-L, with a gate and an offset mark. Five minute sequences. We started in the second flight, split sides with John Aras/John Wake, and they put the boots to it: a hundred yard lead that never shortened up much. We finished happy with a second place. Trying to sail conservatively (no over-earlies, and do some smart course-management so that nobody gets too far out of touch), but more often than not choosing the wrong sides, we were delighted with the boatspeed and point. A fairly loose rig and the beautiful new jib felt great upwind. Going downwind, we felt pretty good too.
We were in the first flight for the second race. The RC set us a W-L-W-L-W course, and the wind shifted right during the starting sequence -- enough that it was a challenge to get over the line on starboard. But again. patience prevailed, and the RC blew off that start and reset the line. We'd expected a right shift all afternoon, as the sea-breeze seems to come in at around 240, but the wind built ––maybe 8? We were hiking –– and shifted around a bit both ways, though by the second upwind leg, the RC had moved the windward mark to the right.
Andrew Eagan proved untouchable in our flight, pulling a solid horizon job on the gang. We finished with another deuce, and went to shore happy. Plus Brian Hayes was handing out beers just after the finish, and you know that's bound to put a smile on anyone's face.
On shore, the Dave Perry seminar is happening as I type. The little dog needed some attention, and once back in the Winnie, I found it really really hard to step back outside and take the bike back to the YC. It's less than a quarter mile, but by golly, I think I am done for the night. Time to recharge.
Tomorrow's forecast is for thunderstorms. The race organizers re-scheduled the clam bake on Sprite Island from tomorrow to Wednesday. We'll be using the older jib for tomorrow's one race. Aim for a top-twenty finish and and sail right into the Championship fleet...and then start all over again, like Markie Taylor says.
2011 NAC Prep
Day 4, Saturday, July 9, Flying Scot North American Championships: Measurement
Cedar Point YC is just buzzing with activity. Flying Scots arriving, getting unhitched from their cars, and then whisked away by the excellent big team of volunteers in lime green shirts as the drivers and co-pilots tumble out of the cars, full of stories about the drive. (Overheard: There is NOTHING like taking a trailer on the cross-Bronx Expressway first thing in the morning!) Today, our road-trip turned into a regatta.
Here's how it goes –– Since the Flying Scot is a one-design class, the boats come from the factory resembling one another pretty closely. Then, as this skipper decides to replace that part, or relocated that cleat, or run those lines a different way, or make that bit smoother or flatter or whatever, the boats diverge. And at official regattas like this one, the class has to make sure that the boats all measure back into the class standard. Has a boat gotten too light? Has the centerboard changed shape? Are the sails the right size?
There are a couple of measurement stations set up at Cedar Point, including one for the sails and one for the hull, and then a team of folks going boat to boat. Reminiscent of the Lightning Worlds in Ecuador, when the yacht club employees wore yellow shirts marked "marinera," the lime green tees for the regatta staff are hugely distinctive. They are helping step masts, checking measurements, offering cold drinks, and generally making folks feel welcome.
So far, aside from the usual small kerfluffle about the fatness of the centerboard (there's always some controversy about how the measurement team decides to measure it: calipers? jig? measuring tape?), which will result in somebody having to take a grinder to a board to slim it down. Same as ever, it looks like quite a few centerboards need to go the Red Door Slim-down Spa. There are lots and lots of helping hands, which makes the whole process speed along.
The weather is great: sunny, breezy, and warm, and it's good to see so many familiar faces. Cameron is growing curly hair on her cute little bean.
File under "Crew, Motley"
Here's the short story on Kelly Gough's adventures: yesterday, within 45 minutes of the club, Kelly was gliding up I-95 on the absolute home stretch of his 1800-mile solo odyssey from Texas. In the left lane when Bang! the axel on the trailer breaks. He brings the rig to a halt in the scant left emergency lane-ette, assesses the situation, and then manages to unload the boat so that he can jack up the trailer and get the axel off the ground and have the whole thing cranked onto a tow truck that is supposed to be arriving sometime soon. 18-wheelers blowing by at top speed. Road dirt everywhere. Kelly's life flashing before his eyes. He's under the boat when a particularly powerful gust of air from a passing truck lifts the boat and trailer and sets it back down 6 inches to the side. Kelly admitted to screaming like a girl, scrambling out from under it, and then having to nerve himself back up to finish the job. Yes, he thought about leaving it on the side of the road. Yes, he said he never wants to drive on 95 again. Yes, the tow truck hauled it all back to Jersey, where a crack team of welders put it all back together in an hour and a half better than before, for a couple of Benjamins. You gotta hand that to Jersey -- they got hustle! Kelly's potential adventures are still going: while hoisting the boat on the lift, some quick-thinking observer noticed that his lifting bridle (the wire or rope thingie used to raise the boat from its trailer) was unravelling. Mercifully, they got the boat back down before gravity applied herself. (Overheard: Holy Crap, THAT would have sucked.) Knock wood that Kelly has taken all the close calls for everyone already this week.
Sunday July 10, 2011 Day 5
Flying Scot North American Championships:
Conditions on Long Island Sound are nearly identical today to the warm, humid weather we left in Tampa: wind at around 7 knots, plenty of big chop from powerboats, and a strong tidal pull under the bright sunshine.
The Women’s and Junior’s North American Championships are going on as I type. Meant to sail the Women’s with Monica Trejo, but it turns out that the skipper must be a boat-owner. I am categorically not prepared to drive, though –– bless her good heart –– Monica was willing to crew for me.
Instead, Mr. Linton decided to splash the boat, try out the new Gus sails from Bill Draheim, and check out conditions around the racecourse. We were sad not to see Hans Noordenhaus, though several folks sported orange in honor of our Netherlander friend. Amy Miller’s toenails, for instance, are safety orange, though regrettably, I didn’t catch it on film.
We sailed out the harbor and directly into the reef area at the top end of the Womens-Juniors racecourse. Nice race committee (Thanks Nelson!) chased us down to tell us we were okay for now –– but when the tide dropped, the rocks under our boat would be about out of the water. We rolled right into a tack and got the heck out of there. That’s some critical local knowledge.
The new jib looks nice and crisp, so we rolled it back up to save it for later in the week. The new spinnaker looks equally fresh and lovely. We felt a little off the pace: plenty of point but not much punch, as the phrase goes. Our head-stay was fairly tight, so the skipper decided to loosen the rig. Since the process involves removing a pin to disconnect one of the shrouds, and then replacing that pin while the mast wavers around (not quite as hazardous as changing a tire on the fly, but sort of similar), I was relieved when he opted to make the change on shore.
We sailed with John Aras and John Wake from Fishing Bay and with John Kredler from North Carolina (we hit a patch of Johns, evidently) for about an hour or so and came back around 3 pm. From what we can see, the tide is going to play, and there will be a lot of competitive boats on the field.
Given how bumpy the water is (though one might hope it’s Sunday traffic as much as anything), I’m glad to have laid in a supply of ginger brew. For years, I have felt yurpy as we start sailing. I blamed it on the migraines, the pbj, the weather, or my own bad attitude. But during the sail back from Honduras with Jeff’s papa (what an adventure THAT was), I realized what I was feeling was eerily like sea-sickness. Totally like sea-sickness. Really, just like sea-sickness. Oh. Wow. Duh.
The answer: powdered ginger brew from the Asian market mixed with Gatorade. Sip, sip, sip, and no more yurping.
I am a terrible reporter of the racing news, sad to say. I don’t know how many races they got off, or how it shook out; I can only report that Melanie Dunham took the top spot among the Women's NAs. I think the Flying Scot website should have results for Womens and Youths posted shortly.
Opening ceremonies were yummy: lots of homemade appetizers, vast stores of beer, soda, water, and the best use of a Thistle yet: six blenders, a bubble maker, a disco ball, a head into which one pours ice, a stereo, all built into an old Thistle on a trailer. It even has a license plate. I hope to capture the glory by camera later in the week.
Qualifying races start tomorrow. There are four divisions (a, b, c, d). Each will face off to determine which boats will sail in the Championship fleet or the Challenger fleet on Wednesday. The class also reserves the right to boot a normally high-performing boat into the division they think it deserves, which is kind of an interesting twist on the idea of a qualifying series.
Cedar Point YC is just buzzing with activity. Flying Scots arriving, getting unhitched from their cars, and then whisked away by the excellent big team of volunteers in lime green shirts as the drivers and co-pilots tumble out of the cars, full of stories about the drive. (Overheard: There is NOTHING like taking a trailer on the cross-Bronx Expressway first thing in the morning!) Today, our road-trip turned into a regatta.
Here's how it goes –– Since the Flying Scot is a one-design class, the boats come from the factory resembling one another pretty closely. Then, as this skipper decides to replace that part, or relocated that cleat, or run those lines a different way, or make that bit smoother or flatter or whatever, the boats diverge. And at official regattas like this one, the class has to make sure that the boats all measure back into the class standard. Has a boat gotten too light? Has the centerboard changed shape? Are the sails the right size?
There are a couple of measurement stations set up at Cedar Point, including one for the sails and one for the hull, and then a team of folks going boat to boat. Reminiscent of the Lightning Worlds in Ecuador, when the yacht club employees wore yellow shirts marked "marinera," the lime green tees for the regatta staff are hugely distinctive. They are helping step masts, checking measurements, offering cold drinks, and generally making folks feel welcome.
So far, aside from the usual small kerfluffle about the fatness of the centerboard (there's always some controversy about how the measurement team decides to measure it: calipers? jig? measuring tape?), which will result in somebody having to take a grinder to a board to slim it down. Same as ever, it looks like quite a few centerboards need to go the Red Door Slim-down Spa. There are lots and lots of helping hands, which makes the whole process speed along.
The weather is great: sunny, breezy, and warm, and it's good to see so many familiar faces. Cameron is growing curly hair on her cute little bean.
File under "Crew, Motley"
Here's the short story on Kelly Gough's adventures: yesterday, within 45 minutes of the club, Kelly was gliding up I-95 on the absolute home stretch of his 1800-mile solo odyssey from Texas. In the left lane when Bang! the axel on the trailer breaks. He brings the rig to a halt in the scant left emergency lane-ette, assesses the situation, and then manages to unload the boat so that he can jack up the trailer and get the axel off the ground and have the whole thing cranked onto a tow truck that is supposed to be arriving sometime soon. 18-wheelers blowing by at top speed. Road dirt everywhere. Kelly's life flashing before his eyes. He's under the boat when a particularly powerful gust of air from a passing truck lifts the boat and trailer and sets it back down 6 inches to the side. Kelly admitted to screaming like a girl, scrambling out from under it, and then having to nerve himself back up to finish the job. Yes, he thought about leaving it on the side of the road. Yes, he said he never wants to drive on 95 again. Yes, the tow truck hauled it all back to Jersey, where a crack team of welders put it all back together in an hour and a half better than before, for a couple of Benjamins. You gotta hand that to Jersey -- they got hustle! Kelly's potential adventures are still going: while hoisting the boat on the lift, some quick-thinking observer noticed that his lifting bridle (the wire or rope thingie used to raise the boat from its trailer) was unravelling. Mercifully, they got the boat back down before gravity applied herself. (Overheard: Holy Crap, THAT would have sucked.) Knock wood that Kelly has taken all the close calls for everyone already this week.
Sunday July 10, 2011 Day 5
Flying Scot North American Championships:
Conditions on Long Island Sound are nearly identical today to the warm, humid weather we left in Tampa: wind at around 7 knots, plenty of big chop from powerboats, and a strong tidal pull under the bright sunshine.
The Women’s and Junior’s North American Championships are going on as I type. Meant to sail the Women’s with Monica Trejo, but it turns out that the skipper must be a boat-owner. I am categorically not prepared to drive, though –– bless her good heart –– Monica was willing to crew for me.
Instead, Mr. Linton decided to splash the boat, try out the new Gus sails from Bill Draheim, and check out conditions around the racecourse. We were sad not to see Hans Noordenhaus, though several folks sported orange in honor of our Netherlander friend. Amy Miller’s toenails, for instance, are safety orange, though regrettably, I didn’t catch it on film.
We sailed out the harbor and directly into the reef area at the top end of the Womens-Juniors racecourse. Nice race committee (Thanks Nelson!) chased us down to tell us we were okay for now –– but when the tide dropped, the rocks under our boat would be about out of the water. We rolled right into a tack and got the heck out of there. That’s some critical local knowledge.
The new jib looks nice and crisp, so we rolled it back up to save it for later in the week. The new spinnaker looks equally fresh and lovely. We felt a little off the pace: plenty of point but not much punch, as the phrase goes. Our head-stay was fairly tight, so the skipper decided to loosen the rig. Since the process involves removing a pin to disconnect one of the shrouds, and then replacing that pin while the mast wavers around (not quite as hazardous as changing a tire on the fly, but sort of similar), I was relieved when he opted to make the change on shore.
We sailed with John Aras and John Wake from Fishing Bay and with John Kredler from North Carolina (we hit a patch of Johns, evidently) for about an hour or so and came back around 3 pm. From what we can see, the tide is going to play, and there will be a lot of competitive boats on the field.
Given how bumpy the water is (though one might hope it’s Sunday traffic as much as anything), I’m glad to have laid in a supply of ginger brew. For years, I have felt yurpy as we start sailing. I blamed it on the migraines, the pbj, the weather, or my own bad attitude. But during the sail back from Honduras with Jeff’s papa (what an adventure THAT was), I realized what I was feeling was eerily like sea-sickness. Totally like sea-sickness. Really, just like sea-sickness. Oh. Wow. Duh.
The answer: powdered ginger brew from the Asian market mixed with Gatorade. Sip, sip, sip, and no more yurping.
I am a terrible reporter of the racing news, sad to say. I don’t know how many races they got off, or how it shook out; I can only report that Melanie Dunham took the top spot among the Women's NAs. I think the Flying Scot website should have results for Womens and Youths posted shortly.
Opening ceremonies were yummy: lots of homemade appetizers, vast stores of beer, soda, water, and the best use of a Thistle yet: six blenders, a bubble maker, a disco ball, a head into which one pours ice, a stereo, all built into an old Thistle on a trailer. It even has a license plate. I hope to capture the glory by camera later in the week.
Qualifying races start tomorrow. There are four divisions (a, b, c, d). Each will face off to determine which boats will sail in the Championship fleet or the Challenger fleet on Wednesday. The class also reserves the right to boot a normally high-performing boat into the division they think it deserves, which is kind of an interesting twist on the idea of a qualifying series.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
2011 NAC, Getting There
The 2011 NAC is being hosted in Westport CT, which lies on Long Island Sound. We aren't going this year but our friends Amy and Jeff Linton are so we will be posting Amy's account of the adventure. In case you don't know, Amy is a writer, the kind that earns a living from it. So you will want to check in here frequently to get the scoop.
One note; Amy has including some pics that do not cut and paste very well. "Cut and Paste" is the preferred lazy persons way of stealing, oops, I mean sharing, others peoples work. I'll try to pop some pics in but.... Maybe I'll will include some of my own pics, they will have nothing to do with the story but it might be fun.
This first post will be about the trip from Tampa, Florida to Westport, CT. The Lintons travel right; a Winnabago, about 25 feet, Scot in tow with a dog inherited from Amy's mom. So here goes;
Flying Scot NAC’s
Chapter One: Preparation is 9/10ths of the Law
The Winnie being gassed up, packed to the gills, festooned with bicycles and trailing a stout, well-wrapped Flying Scot, we set off a little after 7 pm on Wednesday, July 6.
We’ve been doing this for a while. Probably 300 road-trips towing a small boat. Even more for Captain Winnebago, who has, after all, been heading out for regattas for thirty-some years.
Nevertheless, there’s always a bit of mad scramble. This time, we almost-but-not-quite-forgot the hand-held radio. About two days from now, I will declare, THAT is what I forgot. We live in hope that it’s not too critical an item. Once, in the Bahamas, I neglected to pack toothbrushes. The nearest store was on Staniel Key, an hour or so away by outboard. The store was rumored be open for business a couple of hours some days a week, so we made the trip. On Staniel, which is all blinding bright rock and skittering lizards and the occasional lush plant, I was delighted to walk into that cool, dark store and pay $5 US per toothbrush.
Even knowing better, I once forgot to pack any fleece for him when he was sailing the Pan Am Trials in Rochester NY in August. For heaven’s sake, the man freezes at 70 degrees. It’s Lake Ontario, a body of water I swam from April to November all through my childhood. It’s always going to be too cold for him. Poor thing. Cold front came through, and in photos he has the expression of one of the survivors of the Endurance expedition.
And why didn’t he pack his own dang gear? Divide and conquer, that’s what we have learned after 300 or more trips: I handle the on-shore logistics, the luggage, the clothing choices; he prepares the boat and the car, does the lion’s share of driving, and never complains.
This time, we are driving to Westport CT, to the Cedar Point Yacht Club where we and somewhere around 70 or so Flying Scots will compete for the North American Championship on a little bit of Long Island Sound.
Captain Winnebago tells me that if it’s going to be really windy, stormy, cold, nasty on the Sound –– then by golly, we are heading to Maine. This is an empty promise. But it works on my imagination anyway. I want to sail, yet I am soothed and charmed by the idea of just haring off into Maine. Us, cozy in our boxy little cottage on wheels, heading into the North woods. Blueberries. Bar Harbor. Ahhh. Alas. Never gonna happen this trip.
We have a new addition to the on-board gang. Aside from the Captain and his trusty snactition (me), and the charming small dog, we have a new GPS. Old Alice did great for years but like so many of us, she got a little forgetful and tired. She seemed on the verge of going Mayhem on us http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=140261009364622
The new gal –– Beatrice, Berniece? we aren't sure yet -– has an uncertain accent. Not quite our preferred British English. As Leslie Fisher says, a British accent goes a long way to making an insult bearable. (Imagine Julie Andrews telling you to go piss up a rope.)
The new GPS gal talks a lot more than Alice. She announces that the exit will be to the left. She tells us the name of the road we’ll be taking. She also, in a shirty sort of way, asks us to return to the marked route. What?? We are pulling into the Starck, FL Super Wal-Mart for the night. “Return to marked route,” she repeats, sarcasm evident in her flat tone.
“Keep your pants on,” Captain Winnebago tells the machine, “it’s time to tuck in for the night.”
Chapter Two
On the Road Again, Naturally.
Saw a pair of bluebirds at the Welcome Center in Georgia: bright, cheerful scraps of denim blue and rust that ––inevitably ––made me think, oh look! Blue birds of happiness!
It’s refreshing, going along I-95, to see LIFE wildlife. Some years ago, my sister and I made the run from Florida to Clayton, NY towing a U-Haul. The trip was one long Ab-X workout: we found everything hilarious. My sister (Sarah Ellen Smith Artist...http://www.facebook.com/pages/Sarah-Ellen-Smith-Artist/176965461051) does a great line in journals; for that trip we kept a road-kill diary, thick with descriptions of road-jerky, possible possums, skunk strips. Outside Wilkes-Barre, PA, something larger than the run-of-the-mill butterfly and dragonfly thunked on the windshield. I looked up, startled. “Tinkerbell,” my sister said matter-of-factly, pointing to the smear.
The Captain and I are trying not to keep track, but these trips have their deathly highlights. This one started with a big black pig that went to dirt along the road to Ruskin, with a flight of black vultures like dirty angels gathered to sing him home. A mysterious soft thump might have been a bat at dusk last night hitting the side of the Winnie. While I was typing, Captain Winnebago spotted a rare family grouping of armadillo road-kill. Usually they seem to find their way solo to their ends.
On Thursday, July 7, we split tacks with I-95. Since our top speed is around 65, we figure it’s worth an extra hour or two to take a calmer, longer route North. This way, we avoid Washington and then we miss the majority of Jersey. Last time we took the Parkway (or was it the Turnpike?), the road was so bumpy and rutted that we scraped the skeg of the Lightning. Nice –– and had to pay for the privilege of jouncing along that road.
Instead, we are swinging past Charlotte –– ooh! I say, I saw that same amusement park from the air last week –– and following 81 for a while. We’ll hang a right at some point to get to the Atlantic. But for now, it’s this friendly-seeming highway along the hills. If I-95 is the preferred corridor of serial killers (drive it solo in an unreliable sedan once or twice and you’ll agree), Route 81 is a stomping ground for amateur highway-drivers. Folks who talk to you at rest-areas. People who stay right unless passing. People who point at the hills, the cows, the vistas, as they zip along the pavement. This particular route number seems like home to me, even down here in tobacco barn country.
The Winnie is chugging up the hills with a will so far. The gas bill is staggering, and the new GPS gal, Berniece, has the unsettling ability to tell us the dollar amount it costs to get to a waypoint. Yoiks. Jeff listened to Out Stealing Horses by Per Pettersson while I wrote. We had snacks. Lilly slept and neglected to eat her breakfast until dinnertime.
Berniece did a fantastic job of finding us a berth for the night: Buchanan, Virginia is near the Jefferson National Forest. The Middle Creek Campground is a mere six miles from the highway, along a lovely twisty road. Ahh. Electric hookup. Fishing pond. Wild berry brambles, lightning bugs and bats, and nearly perfect rural silence.
FSNACs Day 3: Lots and lots of driving.
We saw our first woodchucks today. I know –– woodchucks? But it’s not a species we see in Florida. In fact, the first time Captain Winnebago saw one, years back, he was theatrically astonished: “Look, a little furry creature! Bucked up on its hind legs!” Can he possibly be serious?
So many state lines today, July 8. We listened to podcasts of the excellent radio program called Radiolab (http://www.radiolab.org/) and watched as the skies darkened with storms over Maryland. And stayed dark all the rest of the day.
We got five or so CDs into Grave Surprise by Charlene Harris. She wrote the Sookie Stackhouse books, but this is a darker, more suspenseful mystery series.
As we drove through our narrative and atmospheric haze, a flattened galaxy of red giants appeared through the distance: brake-lights. Eschewing our normal Stoic approach to traffic, we bailed immediately. The GPS gal, Berniece, had to have her voice dialed down to zero (“Make a U-Turn. Turn left. Turn right! Ahhh”). In revenge she kept moving our estimated time of arrival one hour out. At one point we were fifty minutes from our destination, but alas, the brake lights appeared and we had to wait it out. Then it was an hour, an hour, an hour from the current time. We were in…the twilight zone.
Still, I write this from the driveway of Josh Goldman’s house. We arrived unscathed, if a little tired of the aggressive drivers (“Bitches!” the Captain was moved to exclaim over and over with no regard to gender). Great to see John Cook’s smiling face at the Cedar Point YC. Excellent to crack an icy chiller and walk the little dog in the misty rain.
Measurement starts tomorrow at 9. We hear the Goughs broke an axel on the Jersey Turnpike. In the left lane. Nightmare! But only four hours worth of delay, which, all things considered, is not bad. And they didn’t get shot. We look forward to hearing about that.
.
One note; Amy has including some pics that do not cut and paste very well. "Cut and Paste" is the preferred lazy persons way of stealing, oops, I mean sharing, others peoples work. I'll try to pop some pics in but.... Maybe I'll will include some of my own pics, they will have nothing to do with the story but it might be fun.
This first post will be about the trip from Tampa, Florida to Westport, CT. The Lintons travel right; a Winnabago, about 25 feet, Scot in tow with a dog inherited from Amy's mom. So here goes;
Flying Scot NAC’s
Chapter One: Preparation is 9/10ths of the Law
The Winnie being gassed up, packed to the gills, festooned with bicycles and trailing a stout, well-wrapped Flying Scot, we set off a little after 7 pm on Wednesday, July 6.
We’ve been doing this for a while. Probably 300 road-trips towing a small boat. Even more for Captain Winnebago, who has, after all, been heading out for regattas for thirty-some years.
Nevertheless, there’s always a bit of mad scramble. This time, we almost-but-not-quite-forgot the hand-held radio. About two days from now, I will declare, THAT is what I forgot. We live in hope that it’s not too critical an item. Once, in the Bahamas, I neglected to pack toothbrushes. The nearest store was on Staniel Key, an hour or so away by outboard. The store was rumored be open for business a couple of hours some days a week, so we made the trip. On Staniel, which is all blinding bright rock and skittering lizards and the occasional lush plant, I was delighted to walk into that cool, dark store and pay $5 US per toothbrush.
Even knowing better, I once forgot to pack any fleece for him when he was sailing the Pan Am Trials in Rochester NY in August. For heaven’s sake, the man freezes at 70 degrees. It’s Lake Ontario, a body of water I swam from April to November all through my childhood. It’s always going to be too cold for him. Poor thing. Cold front came through, and in photos he has the expression of one of the survivors of the Endurance expedition.
And why didn’t he pack his own dang gear? Divide and conquer, that’s what we have learned after 300 or more trips: I handle the on-shore logistics, the luggage, the clothing choices; he prepares the boat and the car, does the lion’s share of driving, and never complains.
This time, we are driving to Westport CT, to the Cedar Point Yacht Club where we and somewhere around 70 or so Flying Scots will compete for the North American Championship on a little bit of Long Island Sound.
Captain Winnebago tells me that if it’s going to be really windy, stormy, cold, nasty on the Sound –– then by golly, we are heading to Maine. This is an empty promise. But it works on my imagination anyway. I want to sail, yet I am soothed and charmed by the idea of just haring off into Maine. Us, cozy in our boxy little cottage on wheels, heading into the North woods. Blueberries. Bar Harbor. Ahhh. Alas. Never gonna happen this trip.
We have a new addition to the on-board gang. Aside from the Captain and his trusty snactition (me), and the charming small dog, we have a new GPS. Old Alice did great for years but like so many of us, she got a little forgetful and tired. She seemed on the verge of going Mayhem on us http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=140261009364622
The new gal –– Beatrice, Berniece? we aren't sure yet -– has an uncertain accent. Not quite our preferred British English. As Leslie Fisher says, a British accent goes a long way to making an insult bearable. (Imagine Julie Andrews telling you to go piss up a rope.)
The new GPS gal talks a lot more than Alice. She announces that the exit will be to the left. She tells us the name of the road we’ll be taking. She also, in a shirty sort of way, asks us to return to the marked route. What?? We are pulling into the Starck, FL Super Wal-Mart for the night. “Return to marked route,” she repeats, sarcasm evident in her flat tone.
“Keep your pants on,” Captain Winnebago tells the machine, “it’s time to tuck in for the night.”
Chapter Two
On the Road Again, Naturally.
Saw a pair of bluebirds at the Welcome Center in Georgia: bright, cheerful scraps of denim blue and rust that ––inevitably ––made me think, oh look! Blue birds of happiness!
It’s refreshing, going along I-95, to see LIFE wildlife. Some years ago, my sister and I made the run from Florida to Clayton, NY towing a U-Haul. The trip was one long Ab-X workout: we found everything hilarious. My sister (Sarah Ellen Smith Artist...http://www.facebook.com/pages/Sarah-Ellen-Smith-Artist/176965461051) does a great line in journals; for that trip we kept a road-kill diary, thick with descriptions of road-jerky, possible possums, skunk strips. Outside Wilkes-Barre, PA, something larger than the run-of-the-mill butterfly and dragonfly thunked on the windshield. I looked up, startled. “Tinkerbell,” my sister said matter-of-factly, pointing to the smear.
The Captain and I are trying not to keep track, but these trips have their deathly highlights. This one started with a big black pig that went to dirt along the road to Ruskin, with a flight of black vultures like dirty angels gathered to sing him home. A mysterious soft thump might have been a bat at dusk last night hitting the side of the Winnie. While I was typing, Captain Winnebago spotted a rare family grouping of armadillo road-kill. Usually they seem to find their way solo to their ends.
On Thursday, July 7, we split tacks with I-95. Since our top speed is around 65, we figure it’s worth an extra hour or two to take a calmer, longer route North. This way, we avoid Washington and then we miss the majority of Jersey. Last time we took the Parkway (or was it the Turnpike?), the road was so bumpy and rutted that we scraped the skeg of the Lightning. Nice –– and had to pay for the privilege of jouncing along that road.
Instead, we are swinging past Charlotte –– ooh! I say, I saw that same amusement park from the air last week –– and following 81 for a while. We’ll hang a right at some point to get to the Atlantic. But for now, it’s this friendly-seeming highway along the hills. If I-95 is the preferred corridor of serial killers (drive it solo in an unreliable sedan once or twice and you’ll agree), Route 81 is a stomping ground for amateur highway-drivers. Folks who talk to you at rest-areas. People who stay right unless passing. People who point at the hills, the cows, the vistas, as they zip along the pavement. This particular route number seems like home to me, even down here in tobacco barn country.
The Winnie is chugging up the hills with a will so far. The gas bill is staggering, and the new GPS gal, Berniece, has the unsettling ability to tell us the dollar amount it costs to get to a waypoint. Yoiks. Jeff listened to Out Stealing Horses by Per Pettersson while I wrote. We had snacks. Lilly slept and neglected to eat her breakfast until dinnertime.
Berniece did a fantastic job of finding us a berth for the night: Buchanan, Virginia is near the Jefferson National Forest. The Middle Creek Campground is a mere six miles from the highway, along a lovely twisty road. Ahh. Electric hookup. Fishing pond. Wild berry brambles, lightning bugs and bats, and nearly perfect rural silence.
FSNACs Day 3: Lots and lots of driving.
We saw our first woodchucks today. I know –– woodchucks? But it’s not a species we see in Florida. In fact, the first time Captain Winnebago saw one, years back, he was theatrically astonished: “Look, a little furry creature! Bucked up on its hind legs!” Can he possibly be serious?
So many state lines today, July 8. We listened to podcasts of the excellent radio program called Radiolab (http://www.radiolab.org/) and watched as the skies darkened with storms over Maryland. And stayed dark all the rest of the day.
We got five or so CDs into Grave Surprise by Charlene Harris. She wrote the Sookie Stackhouse books, but this is a darker, more suspenseful mystery series.
As we drove through our narrative and atmospheric haze, a flattened galaxy of red giants appeared through the distance: brake-lights. Eschewing our normal Stoic approach to traffic, we bailed immediately. The GPS gal, Berniece, had to have her voice dialed down to zero (“Make a U-Turn. Turn left. Turn right! Ahhh”). In revenge she kept moving our estimated time of arrival one hour out. At one point we were fifty minutes from our destination, but alas, the brake lights appeared and we had to wait it out. Then it was an hour, an hour, an hour from the current time. We were in…the twilight zone.
Still, I write this from the driveway of Josh Goldman’s house. We arrived unscathed, if a little tired of the aggressive drivers (“Bitches!” the Captain was moved to exclaim over and over with no regard to gender). Great to see John Cook’s smiling face at the Cedar Point YC. Excellent to crack an icy chiller and walk the little dog in the misty rain.
Measurement starts tomorrow at 9. We hear the Goughs broke an axel on the Jersey Turnpike. In the left lane. Nightmare! But only four hours worth of delay, which, all things considered, is not bad. And they didn’t get shot. We look forward to hearing about that.
.
Friday, July 8, 2011
NAC Tune-up in Tampa
The Lintons will soon be at the NAC in Long Island Sound so we rescheduled fleet racing to help get them ready. That may seem silly or unecessary to some but they have been busy sailing other boats so it was time to reconnect with the Scot.
The day was July 3 and as you would expect it was HOT in steamy Tampa. We do a mid afternoon start to give a the sea breeze a chance to develop, but it was a little late in arriving. It wasn't exactly a drifter but it was close, the puffs may have been 5 or 6 knots and the lulls were next to nothing.
Tom Taylor was good enough to RC for us and he kicked it off with a few practice starts. Then we did some 4 leg W/L races with the Lintons enjoying some bullets.
Note the smokestacks in the background...
What's this? A new boat for us.
A puff would be really nice right about now.
After 3 races the gang of about 10 Scots along with a 420 and Windmill had had enough, it was pool time. While putting the boats away the term "Africa hot" was discussed and while Paul agreed he quickly added that Africa has less humidity.
So it was off to the pool with a short detour at the outdoor Tiki bar. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
After an hour or so of sipping cocktails in the pool a few of us decided on a format change. For the August gathering we will convene in the pool at 3 pm. that way we can carefully consider whether we remain there or go sailing. Yeah right!
Good luck Amy and Jeff!
The day was July 3 and as you would expect it was HOT in steamy Tampa. We do a mid afternoon start to give a the sea breeze a chance to develop, but it was a little late in arriving. It wasn't exactly a drifter but it was close, the puffs may have been 5 or 6 knots and the lulls were next to nothing.
Tom Taylor was good enough to RC for us and he kicked it off with a few practice starts. Then we did some 4 leg W/L races with the Lintons enjoying some bullets.
Note the smokestacks in the background...
What's this? A new boat for us.
A puff would be really nice right about now.
After 3 races the gang of about 10 Scots along with a 420 and Windmill had had enough, it was pool time. While putting the boats away the term "Africa hot" was discussed and while Paul agreed he quickly added that Africa has less humidity.
So it was off to the pool with a short detour at the outdoor Tiki bar. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
After an hour or so of sipping cocktails in the pool a few of us decided on a format change. For the August gathering we will convene in the pool at 3 pm. that way we can carefully consider whether we remain there or go sailing. Yeah right!
Good luck Amy and Jeff!
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