Three Beer Bacon

 I've found the absolute best way to cook bacon - even the cheaper brands.

You're gonna need 3 beers a pound of bacon and a propane grill.

Turn on the grill and set the flame as low as possible - as low as possible.

Open a beer and put as many strips of bacon on the grill as convenient without overlaps. Leave the grill open, do not put any cover over the bacon.

As the bacon heats up, it should get pussy. This puss is a slight whitish substance that forms on the top of the strips. If you don't see this puss, the heat is too high.

When the first beer is gone, open the second. By now you have turned the bacon over 2 or three times, which is totally unnecessary. You really only need to turn it once, but what the heck, it's something to do.

We have our own tastes as to when the bacon is done. Some like it crispy, some like it limpy some like it in-between. My preferance is just a tad into the third beer.

I put my cooked strips on a paper towel as I take them off the grill. There is considerable shrinkage evident at this point and actually very little bacon butter (you may call it grease?). This is because it's all been turned into flavor.

If you haven't 'test tasted' all the bacon yet, put your BLT together while finishing off number 3.

Then maybe another beer with your BLT?

Don't forget to turn off the grill.

Road Trip - Quadruple Whammy

I told Ray I'd be by at 2pm. He's in Livingston TN about 250 miles from my place in SC. When I retired almost 20 years ago, my prime directive was to slow down, and I'm an expert at it now. I'd allow 6 hours for the trip which the GPS said would take 4 and 1/2.

I'd met Ray on a boating group on the net. He has a boat like mine - a 1972 Land-n-Sea houseboat. I'd stop by, we could swap boating stories and I could get a look at his boat. Including mine, I'd been aboard 6 of these old houseboats. There were only about 250 of them built in the early 70's. His would be 7.

When my dog Merlin and I left home at 8am it was raining. Rain, rain, rain, then fog on our way up the mountain. Just past the Continental Divide we had about 30 minutes of sun, then the rail continued. After that, all the way to Ray's house, we never had the wipers off for more than about 10 minutes at a time.

And then there was the traffic. Who would have expected so many people on the road on a Sunday morning? And all of them in such a hurry to get out of their cars. This makes my intended leisurely pace a bit inconvenient, not only for those in such a hurry but for me as well.

And the road work. The longest distance we experienced without road work was 30 miles, and this was on back roads off the interstate on the way to Ray's house. How did our city planners and engineers go so wrong when it comes to our nation's roads? Every Interstate is bogged with either construction or repairs and in many cases those roads are less than 10 years old?

It was a good thing I'd allowed extra time because there was a 43 minute delay on I40. Thankfully, I'd allowed for this and anyway we rather enjoy going slow. I remember many years back, my wife and I drove coast to coast in an old Plymouth Valiant Signet (with a slant 6) at never more than 49.5 mph all the way, on roads with no construction and no traffic. This is how I like to travel.

I told Ray I'd call about 1/2 hour out. He told me that he doesn't like the phone and usually doesn't answer and to just leave a message. Sure enough, when I called his answering machine warned me that his number was on the Do Not Call List and I would be reported if I was a spam caller. I left a message, and good thing I pulled over to call when I did, because 1/2 mile down the road there was no service. Ray lives in the tulies. 

 

I had stopped to make the call to Ray on my phone, because I don't like to talk when I'm driving, and frankly, I don't know how to initiate a call via the car screen, although I can answer the car if the phone rings while I'm driving.  After I hung up from leaving the message my car started talking to me. I thought it was Ray calling back, but just about then my GPS also started a conversation. I didn't know whether to talk on the phone or answer the car or answer the GPS. My old brain is intimidated and easily confused by modern technology. I discovered later, that somehow, when the car answers the phone, the GPS starts talking? Anyway, it wasn't Ray, it was my son-in-law Trey. He said I'd just called him - and my phone showed I'd made the call, but how I did is a mystery.

It was still raining when Merlin and I got to Ray's. The gate was open as he said it would be for my arrival, so evidently he did get my call. We pulled in. I gave the horn an abbreviated beep and waited in the car, in the rain, to see if there was activity inside. Ray soon came out and we talked in the driveway, in the rain, for 5 - 10 minutes while his dog barked from behind the screen door. I glanced around the yard through my rain spattered glasses during our conversation, noting the machinery scattered about the yard. There were 3 Monte Carlos. Each of the three classes of RV's were represented - there was an A, B, and a C. Besides the tarp covered Land-n-Sea there were at least 2 other boats and a couple more cars here and there. Ray mentioned that out of the lot, three vehicles actually ran.

His dog continued to bark from behind the screen door. I shuffled toward the door, suggesting that when my dog Merlin barks, it's an invitation for a pet. Ray didn't think this was the case. He hustled to the house to close the main door after which his dog quit barking. Now, at least, we were out of the rain under cover of the the porch roof.

We talked for another 15 minutes or so. He told me his (now deceased) dad brought the boat back from Lake Powell pulling it with the class A RV. But neither had been moved since - I don't remember how long ago he said that was, but from the way things looked it could have been 10 years or more? At this point I asked if we could take a walk around the blue tarped Land-n-Sea. "Sure!"

It was still raining but by now I was wet enough that it didn't make much difference. As we approached the boat he mentioned that rats had come aboard and caused a mess, then motioned me toward a rickety ladder resting against the swim platform at the back at the boat. "Have a look inside if you don't mind the mess."

The ladder slipped as I was climbing up and my life flashed before my eyes, but I recovered. Couldn't hardly get the boat door open because the rain had puddled the tarp below where the door had to swing, but I was able to grunt the tarp up far enough with my shoulder to get the door open part way. I reached for my phone to turn on it's light just as Ray scrambled up behind me and handed me a flashlight. It was very dark below.

You non-boaters can skip the next section. Just some observations about his Land-n-Sea.

skippable ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The transom steps were missing. Probably because the boat was fitted with rather large trim tabs. You can't have traditional tabs and transom steps.

There was a huge wooden swim platform. Maybe a nice feature for the boat's life on Lake Powell.

The interior is pretty much original...including the Herculon cushions - which by now are brittle.

There was an RV air conditioner on the roof but I couldn't get get up there for a good look because of the sagging tarp.

There were no vents below for the air conditioner - maybe it was never commissioned?

The bow space under the step for the forward deck door, typically for an optional cabin heater was raggedly open and the cabin sole below it had been removed. When I inquired about the slight mess up there, Ray told me that the air conditioner output was ducted to the space that the optional heater would occupy, although I saw no evidence of that ducting. Ray suggested that maybe it was in the space between the ceiling and roof (there is a few inches of foam there)?

I noticed a wall heater mounted just off the isle behind the setee...so that ragged opening had evidently not been used for a heater?

The navigational instruments were all 70's. I'd had that same state of the art Seafarer flasher depth sounder on my sailboat in 1971.

The cabin sole, except for the small area under the front steps at the ragged hole was sound.

Ray said the boat had been fitted with three 100 gallon fuel tanks under the cabin sole. The official brochure says there are 2 50 gallon tanks there, but we didn't pull the cabin sole hatches to look. Mine had the 2 50s.

Overall, by their original appearance, the galley, dinette, head, settee and helm showed no major trauma. 

From my standpoint, the interior is very resurrectible.

The motor is a big block - 454. It had been winterized an eon ago and hadn't been brought to life since. My LnS has a small block Chevy which is about 100 lbs lighter but the big block seems to take up so much more room in the engine bay.

The outdrive is a Bravo (2?). With the big block and the Bravo drive, it's no wonder the trim tabs were added? No reason to think either unit isn't serviceable, but worst case a reman for either is about 3 grand.

There was a huge water heater on the port side in the engine bay.

There was a tank in the engine bay on the starboard side - some have extra water there, mine has a 40 gallon fuel tank there.

The trailer isn't original, probably quite a bit newer. It seems to be in workable condition although I was advised that one of the bunks needs replacing?

This would be a boat I might be interested in if I was 30 years younger.

unskip~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So after the tour aboard, Merlin and I bid Ray farewell and headed back to the car in the rain. Merlin barked and barked at Ray when Ray approached the car to say goodby, insisting on some petting via an open window before we left. So we added 10 minutes of rain to the back seat while Merlin got his petting and Ray and I tided up our goodbys. Sufficiently soaked, it was time to continue our planned journey north to visit Chicago relatives who we hadn't seen in years. Merlin and I backed out past the gate and headed down about a quarter mile to an abandoned store parking lot to see what the GPS recommended for routes.

We had enjoyed the back roads to Ray's because of a slower pace and the lack of traffic and construction but there were a few drawbacks...the first being the diligence needed to avoid the hazards of children and animals on the road (several of which we experienced), but also important is the unpredictability of restrooms for this 78 year old. We can tinkle almost anywhere but sometimes the urge to go is a little more complicated.

Our previous road trip vehicle was a 2005 full sized Ford van. It had taken my wife and I (when she could travel) across the US, coast to coast and top to bottom, for over 150,000 miles. I fitted it with two cots and a portapotty which made our miles unstoppable, except for 14mpg for fill ups...but still. So Merlin and I definitely miss the van - the van was more comfortable for long distances than our 2022 Honda CRV, but at my age we surely appreciate the adaptive cruise control - which follows the car in front of you and will slow or speed up as the person in front does - it will even bring us to a complete stop without my attention if the guy in front of me stops. This is a must have feature if an old fellow wants to ponder life while on the road. And hey! at 40mpg for the Honda vs 14 for the van, we can easily afford a cheap motel vs sleeping in the van, although we always thoroughly enjoyed sleeping in the van, often in Walmart parking lots on our 14,000 mile trip to Alaska and back.

The GPS has satellites everywhere and can tell you exactly where you are, but without the help of phone data it can't suggest routes and we didn't have cell coverage at the abandoned store nears Ray's place. This really makes one feel stupid that we didn't have a paper road atlas. I can bring up a map of the area from satellite coverage on my phone screen but if I zoom out to see my destination (500 miles away), the country roads disappear and I only see a general map. I guess I could have zoomed in and out and in and out to decide which roads to take but I opted to just drive randomly until I had cell coverage again...after all, I wasn't in any hurry.

It was still raining when I chose the suggested GPS route north. This of course was back roads for quite a spell until we picked up I65 south of Louisville. This rainy drive wasn't the relaxing one I'd hoped for but eventually I did pick up I65 North, anticipating a less complicated and less stressful drive to Chicago, as it was now a pretty much clean Interstate shot to my destination, albeit still in the rain.

The complications hadn't really been avoided once we got on I65. There was still regular lane changing road work and almost unbearable traffic. I'd been on this drive many times before and it was never this bad. I even had the misconception that I could easily drive straight through Indianapolis on I65 at 9pm on Sunday rather than going all the way around, but No!, I65 was closed in the city.

Now we were running out of daylight. We have the rain, the construction, the traffic and now it's getting dark. When Merlin and I had a two weeks off a couple years ago, we drove to the West coast. We didn't really have days and nights as most do. I love just being on the move and this was complete joy. We'd drive until we we got a weary and then we'd stop for a nap. We'd stop at almost every Rest Area so I could empty Mer and he could go for a sniff. Then we'd hit the road again. This was the routine 24 hours a day...like I said, there wasn't really day and night, we just drove until we were tired, then stop for a spell. The Interstates were pure bliss between the Mississippi and the Rockies...long stretches of open road with no traffic or construction - we even relished night travel along those roads. This is what I was naively anticipating.

With the rain, road work and traffic and now darkness on I65, driving became a nightmare. Three lanes of bumper to bumper traffic were going 70 mph in a 55 mph construction zone around Indianapolis. No way was I going to be able to deal with this. I considered just waiting it out at a rest area, but unlike the van which was easy to spend 12 hours in, the Honda is quite cramped for long periods. I couldn't imagine overnighting in the Honda. But Hey! with the money I'm saving on gas, I'd even be ahead of the van cost for gas by getting a motel. Yes, I'll just get a room for the night. At least it won't be dark tomorrow and maybe it won't even be raining? Yes, a motel. A dog friendly motel.

Then I remembered. Merlin is a retired Therapy Dog with over 200 visits to hospitals, old folks homes, churches and schools. He loves people, and like the barking encouragement he gave Ray before our departure, Merlin barks frantically as an enthusiastic invitation every time he thinks he's missing an opportunity for petting. The last time the family was at a motel Merlin barked every time anyone walked past the door. Eventually, that night, I left my wife and daughter in the room and spent the night with Merlin in the van.

Well, maybe it was worth at try. I might be able to endure an overnight in the Honda - it would be cramped and uncomfortable but tomorrow morning it wouldn't be dark and maybe the rail would quit? We'd give it a try.

After a trip to the disgusting I65 Rest Area bathroom, I looked for ways to spend 8 hours, going nowhere, in the little CRV. On previous trips I was successful at extended naps on the road in the Honda, but then I was at a point where it was lights out after a nice easy drive. This would be totally different. 

 

With my eyes refusing to close, I brought up the map on my phone (Waze) to see how things looked at my Chicago destination. The road construction, the traffic, the congestion - I was going to spend 8 hours in the little Honda for an opportunity to endure this?

Nope! I'm a firm believer in "No Challenge - No Joy"  and I can do traffic, or construction, or rain, or darkness but when all four gang up on me I've got to throw in the towel. If I'm going to endure anything, it will be the dark, rain, traffic and road work on the way back home. The way back was far less taxing than the way up. It got light and eventually the rain quit. Now it was only the traffic and road work which were tolerable.

The bottom line is that as we age, and you know you're getting old if it hurts, itches or wants a nap, our sense of adventure takes a back seat to comfort and ability, but our memories still want to relive adventures that our now old bodies and minds are not capable of fulfilling. It's been an awaking for me. There are still plenty of other things for me to do besides taking those glorious road trips. It's just so hard to say goodby to the open road. And to those who are still able, take heed - Do it while you can, has no meaning until you can't.

 

Click here for a similar road trip.

Unable to ponder.

 

Smitten by her Chassis - Spitfire 1500

 

For my 70th Bday I got a 78 Triumph Spitfire. 

  

I call her Tinker because she's a Bell and a Toy - but when I checked the fluids before her first time out, a piece of hard metal drained out of the gearbox. I drove Tinker for a spell, always worried that her tranny might soon give up the ghost. I didn't want to pull the transmission for a rebuild because I didn't want to have Tinker down that long. 

I sourced a used transmission on the net. The fellow selling the used gearbox said I could have the whole chassis for another hundred bucks. Why not, who knows what else my Bday present might need when I started putting her through her paces.

The gearbox donor.

 After getting the chassis home via a Uhaul car carrier for $50, I extracted the gearbox and sent it out for rebuild. I'd put the rebuild in my running Spitfire at the first sign of trouble. I've had a ball driving the '78 Spit for several years, still with no signs of a gearbox problem. The chassis has been sitting patiently under a tarp in the backyard all this time. 

Then I had a new neighbor move in behind me. Nice fellow in talking over the back fence. I got to feeling a little guilty about this ugly tarpped chassis being the view out his bedroom window, so I decided to hide it behind some bushes.

I had to take off the rotten bedraggled tarp in sections, then air up the tires, then rig a come-along to get the chassis out of the mud. But after it broker free, she rolled cooperatively to her new hiding place with little effort. 

I had a new tarp on hand, but as I began to cover her up, she said, "Hey big guy, I haven't seen you in a long time. What say we hang out together for a spell before you tarp me over?"

She is a petite little girl, about 1/2 my age and her flirting caught me off guard. "Sure!" I said, reveling in her wisdom of choosing age and experience to compliment her youth.

That is how it all started.

Knowing that she hadn't been on the scene for decades, I thought maybe I could bring her ticker back to the life she knew in the 70's...This old man loved the 70's.

Getting her parts in running order would be an involved project, but she was taunting me and I couldn't resist.

Then I had second thoughts. No way could I keep up with this teasing young female. But you know us guys, so I decided I'd give her the cautious approach and bail the moment her condition was beyond my aging years.

The first hurdle was would she go around at all. If she couldn't roll over our relationship would likely come to an end. I put a wrench on her flywheel...she spun 360 with no hesitation. This was encouraging.

I had to remove the radiator to get to this crank bolt, but there were only 2 bolts holding it in and the hoses weren't connected.

 She was missing many parts including battery, key, solenoid and associated wiring. Cautiously I briefly touched a hot jumper directly to her starter. Hey, she turns over...what a come-on, and one good turn deserves another so I fitted a key switch, starter solenoid and basic wiring for the starter so I could jump her with an extra battery I had on hand. This girl knew how to keep my interest.

  

While adoring her cooperation I noticed she was missing her fuel pump. I made a pretty block off plate to keep her insides inside.

  

Encouraged to continue, I changed the oil and put on a new filter. The old oil looked exceptionally clean - no particles or bad color. Good girl.

I had a Ford Focus oil filter that fit just fine.

 

Clean oil kept me moving on with anticipation. I wondered if there was any compression...if she couldn't take the pressure this would complicate our relationship. 

 When I removed the valve cover, the gasket was cemented in with some kind of silicone, easily removed...although the gasket looked OK. I removed the plugs, screwed a gauge in #1 and turned the new key. Oil squirted out of the side of the block when I cranked her. Was she throwing in the towel? 

But it was only because her oil pressure gauge had been removed. Fit plug to stop the oil deluge.

  

Brass plug to keep the oil inside.

The compression was depressing... all over the place between 25 and 120...no significant difference dry and wet. "Sorry Sweety, his might be the end of our relationship?"

Wearily, I adjusted the valves to decide whether to continue the endeavor or get the tarp back out. Only if I had 90 or better in all cylinders after putting her lashes back in spec would I continue. A little disenchanted with the likely outcome I didn't log the results - just wanted to see whether to continue or not. But she didn't let me down. Readings were 110 or better on all 4. She was egging me on.

After fitting a new coil (she came without one), she'd fire erratically if I squirted gas into the carb, but wouldn't stay running. But for me, this was light at the end of the tunnel.

 So now we add an electric fuel pump instead of squirting fuel into the carb.

  

She seemed like she wanted to make me happy. She'd fire, hesitate, limp and die before gaining and rpms. She was trying and encouraged me to do the same.

New points and plugs. A little help but still wouldn't stay running.

Discovered if I totally blocked the intake, she'd barely lope along at low rpm, but she would rev up nicely. Time to do some carb work for the girl.

The Zenith/Stromberg carb is totally foreign to me, with no less than 5 ports for who knows what. The rebuild kit was ouch, $40!

I never did install the rebuild kit.

Discovered loose carb mounting nuts (which are, pardon me, a bitch to wrench on), and wrong carb to intake gasket, oh, and also missing PVC valve and associated plumbing...maybe accounting for some of the above problems.

Well now she would start and run pretty much on her own but I wouldn't let her go for long without cooling. Now she was warming up to me. I'm thinking she misses having her distributor communicating with the Stromberg, but it's not in the 'carbs' right now.

She was missing her alternator so I fitted her with a rebuilt which required making custom bracket mounts. Now her (new) belt would turn the water pump and fan to let her radiator catch a breath.

Rebuilt alternator.

I had to make these spacers to get the pulley to line up with the crank.

 Next was fixing/replacing radiator hose plumbing, closing up the heater core nipples and giving her a new thermostat. I like my girls hot, but not out of control.

New thermostat and gasket

After some minor tweaking I would run her long enough for the thermostat to open. As cantankerous she had been, she was now totally cooperating. What a sweety.

Add temp and oil pressure gauges to keep track of her vitals now that she was merrily and consistently running.

Franken fitting for the new temp sensor.

 

She levels off at just over 170.

I use 20W50 and never see anything less than 20psi even hot at 750rpm.

  

We knew the alternator allowed the belt to turn the fan, but would it charge the battery? 

Order the alternator plug. 

 

These push on terminals aren't available in any generic size.

When it came, solder on leads and wire it up to the battery. This is a simple measure if you have the (uncommon) connector/plug for the back of the alternator...basically it's a single wire alternator. 

I hooked up a Harbor Freight VOM to measure alternator output, and found she puts out after hitting the required 1,000 rpm. See, she doesn't just put out, you have coddle her by getting her revs up! Decided to just install a small voltmeter to monitor the output.

Yup, the alternator does feed the battery.

Now she willingly lights up a second or two after I turn the key, bubbles with comforting enthusiasm idling at 750 rpm and jumps alive when I tickle her throttle. She's a girl after my own heart - click the link to hear her purr.

Bless her 71 horses.

She is a quite proper girl. She doesn't dribble or smoke anywhere, even her unplumbed valve cover PCV port shows no signs of bad breath.

Had no incentive to do the PCV plumbing after plugging the carb side.

This girl has led me on a very satisfying chase that I just couldn't resist. But her home is no longer here. I have too many unfinished projects and I want to find someone to put her into productive use.

I asked around about what she might be worth - a respected source said she should bring $750. But there were no takers. Then a fellow offered me $425. After realizing that anyone with this vintage car doesn't want a running engine...they want to rebuild one to factory specs and make it OEM new, I accepted the offer...but never heard back.

Now she's getting lonesome out back and I'd like to find her a good home. I started an ad on Craigslist but decided I didn't want to deal with all the complications - I put my camper up for sale there and got 24 inquiries from not too serious buyers in a matter of hours. The sale was ultimately agonizing. I'm too old to deal with the hastle of that kind of selling. So, if she tickles your fancy - make an offer. If no one here is interested, maybe someone knows of an Auto class or Scout project that would like a donation.

 

Okeechobee

This episode was at the tail end of a cruise where a buddy and I had taken our boats down to the Keys for several days in 2012. On my way home I...

~~~~I then decided to launch and cruise the freshwater side of the St Lucie and head toward Lake Okeechobee. The wind was blowing, but the canal was extremely pleasant. Maybe I’d do the whole 30 miles to the Port Mayaka Lock that opens into the lake? Na, I couldn’t make it on the gas I had aboard. OK then, I’d run up 15 miles, then head back. A couple miles short of the 15 miles I planned on going, I found a marina, the Indiantown Marina. Hey, now I could go all the way to the lock before turning around. The gas was about $2/gallon, so I only bought 5 gallons, plenty to get me to the lock and back to the ramp. After the enthusiastic boating Tris and I had done in the Keys, I was really enjoying the serenity of the canal. When I got to the Port Mayaka Lock, it was open. I wouldn’t have considered transiting the lock if it had been closed, but for some reason I had to go in and lock up. I had trouble managing the lines solo in the lock because it was so windy, and the lockmaster suggested it was a bit rough on the lake, but these warnings did not register after the pleasant cruise I’d had on the canal. As the lock gates opened and the wind and seas funneled into the lock I knew the picnic was over. I’d studied the ‘Rim Route’ around Lake Okeechobee, so I was familiar with the placement of the markers and knew the nearest marina was 10 miles. I could make that even in the slop that had surprised me on the lake.. Or could I? I was about 3 miles into the run when the wind really picked up. The Rim Route is right at the edge of the lake. There was 25 miles of fetch for that NW wind of 25 mph. There were no beaches along the lee shore – there was rip-rap. I couldn’t get on a plane in the 4’ swells so I had to grunt my way along at a terribly inefficient speed, using up my precious gas. If I ran out of gas, I’d try getting the anchor down, but if it didn’t dig in I’d surely end up on the rocks. I was taking every wave aboard, soaking wet, hanging on with both hands, 6 miles and hour, up and down, rocking, rocking, rocking. At least it was fresh water, and it was reasonable warm. I started to get exhausted from the constant barrage of water in the face, and contemplated tying off to one of the markers and waiting it out – except the forecast was for the wind to increase and the temps to drop…to freezing that night. Even with the motor out of gear, the gas gauge wouldn’t stay put long enough to get a decent reading – I took it as a good sign that there was enough gas in the tank to slosh. Finally the marina began to materialize on the horizon…I’m almost there. But as I approached I realized it was a park, not a marina; I still had three miles to go, three long miles. “If I make it, I’m not coming back out here – no way!” Finally, the Pahokee Marina and Campground. Man did those breakwaters look good. Even though the wind was howling, the water inside was peaceful. I tied up to the dock at one of the ramps and collapsed in the cuddy for a few minutes to collect myself. I then put on some dry clothes and walked to the marina. When they heard I was in a boat, they asked if I wanted a slip for the night. “Heck No I don’t want a slip! What I want is a ride back to my truck/trailer. I’m not going back out on that lake!” I asked if there was a cab service for the area. They ran their finger down a column in the Yellow Pages and read off a number. The phone rang through about 4 circuits. Someone finally answered. The ‘cab’ company was 10 miles from the marina, but they didn’t have a ‘long distance’ cab and the manager wasn’t there. (The folks at the marina had warned me that the cab was not known for it’s long distance capabilities.) I’d have to call back when the manager was there. I did call back about 45 minutes later. The manager didn’t speak English very well, but we did come to the understanding that he didn’t know where the St Lucie Lock was and he wasn’t enthusiastic about a 40 mile fare. “Someone around here has to be going to Stuart,” I kept telling myself. I asked folks in about 6 cars parked at the lake overlook. No takers. I couldn’t blame them – I hadn’t shaved in 5 days and even though I was wearing a ‘fresh’ set of clothes (that I’d pulled out of a dry bag) I had to look pretty questionable. Maybe there was a boater on board at the marina that would take pity on me. But I couldn’t get out on the docks – there were locked gates. I was about to see if the folks at the marina would allow me on the docks, when I saw a couple heading for a pick-up camper in the parking lot. I was out of breath when I overtook them, he was reaching for the door handle. “I’m a boater. That’s my boat at the dock. I don’t want to go back out on the lake. I’m looking to buy a ride to the St. Lucie Lock.” He hesitated...like I would have done while I was trying to think of a way to not have to deal with this nuisance. His wife was silent too. I’m not known for approaching strangers, but I had to give it another shot. “The weather turned on me out on the lake. I don’t want to have to go back out there!” He said, “We’ll take you to the St. Lucie Lock. We’re camped there. You go around and sit on the outside, my wife can sit in the middle (of the front seat of the pickup)”. I went silent. Did I hear right? Were these folks really going to give me a lift? I got in. We hit it off right away. They were boaters too. Great couple. We shared boating stories all the way back to the lock. Great folks. It felt funny pulling the empty trailer back to Pahokee, like there was a part of me missing. The trip seemed longer back to the marina than the ride to the lock. Nicky (my 18' Seaswirl cuddy) was where I left her, and it wasn’t long before she was on the trailer, ready to head north. I was ready too. The wind was still howling as we left the parking lot (4pm ish), and it was getting colder. I was happy to be in the nice warm truck. The trip to and up I95 was uneventful. I didn’t know how many of the still to go 600+ miles I could get behind me before dark, or even if I’d have the energy to make it that long, but I was in no hurry at all. For some reason, even though I was still pretty fatigued from the Lake Okeechobee experience, I kept driving well into the night, eventually sleeping in the truck at the SC Welcome Center. I was home by 1pm Saturday…and wouldn’t you know it, the place was covered with snow!

Buttercup & the Red Chair 0-1/2