A Not So Nostalgic Day Trip to Fort Myers Beach and the Fort Myers City Marina...

Fort Myers is but a mere fifty or so miles on up the road from Marco Island not that I expected you to give a rat's ass one way or another. Nevertheless it also happens to be the place where I purchased S/V Blondie-Dog a while back on somewhat of an impulse.

For you see, I happened to be "wandering" about Florida at about that time essentially camping out of my car while driving from one marina to another and checking out boats that I'd found listed on Craigslist.

In hindsight I suppose that it was a pretex for doing something "constructive" while attempting to collect my thoughts and figure out what I wanted to do with the rest of my life after an abrupt end to a marriage of twenty-five years.

So after inspecting a number of crapped-out, over-priced project boats along the east coast of Florida in addition to passing through a few gawd forsaken communities such as Indiantown, a remote dot on the map where alligators far out number residents, I finally came across a boat that satisfied my criteria insofar as cost and seaworthiness.

Sure there'd be a few issues to deal with such as ground tackle, a topping lift, electrical wiring clanging inside the mast, the head, and finally a compass but other than that she pretty much satisfied my criteria of being fully functional and ready to sail.

And with the boat already having been heavily discounted insofar as price was concerned it was decision time as to whether or not I'd buy the boat.

So there I sat inside my car with a Starbucks coffee in hand overlooking the Calloosahachie River contemplating whether I really wanted to re-live the past and be a live-aboard cruiser again and if not, then where would I go.

An hour had already elapsed past the time that I had committed to call the seller while I sipped the last of my coffee but that's when my phone rang. It was the owner calling me and cheerfully inquiring whether I'd purchase the boat if he dropped the price another thou.

And with me kinda-sorta already having decided not to purchase the boat I proceeded to unilaterally start listing the few things that needed to be done on the boat to make it cruiser-ready. Yet somehow I inadvertently and inexplicably talked myself into buying the boat even though the asking price had never been an issue with me.

If anything, I could re-sell the boat at the same heavily discounted price that I had paid if I were to later to decide that living aboard no longer suited me.

Living aboard would at least give me some time to figure out what exactly it was that I wanted to do with the rest of my life if anything.

Yet the irony of it all, inspite of having had plenty of time to figure out just what it is that I want to do going forward, I'll confess to still being at a loss as to what exactly comes next while tending to an aching heart.

And I'm reminded of the lyrics to an old U2 song... "But I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For"...




Fort Myers Beach




City of Fort Myers Marina




Lounge area inside the Fort Myers City Marina.




Yacht Basin

Signs, Signs, Everywhere You Look in Key West there are Signs...

It occurred to me while cruising on my bike the other day that there must be close to a gazillion signs to be read all throughout Key West.

And while a good many of these signs can be found on store fronts and bars, others can be readily seen stuck on bumper stickers and tourists T-Shirts.

So yeah... there are "Signs, Signs, Everywhere are Signs, Breaking Up the Scenery, Breaking My Mind, Do This, Don't Do That"... to quote the lyrics of an old Seventies song.

In any event, here are but a few signs that readily come to mind.


Slow Down, This Ain't the Mainland
Yeah dude.. slow down... What's you're hurry?... you're already here. Goodness gracious dude... all dem scantily clad babes ain'ts going away just yet so ya need to tap on the brakes.


Balance the Budget... Tax Marijuana
Interesting concept, but don't count on me to help balance the budget by taxing weed. I'm too old for that sh*t and prefer that my brains not be all muddled up come daybreak.


Doing My Part to Piss Off the Religious Right
Now here is a sign that gives me a chuckle every time I come across it....

Der ain't many right-wing, religious zealots if any down here in the Keys which is certainly a good thing as far as I am concerned... You'll just have to drive on up through the hinterlands of central and northern Florida before ya come across any of these folks.

And don't worry about not readily recognizing any of these rabid nutcases for they be the ones spending a good part of their day on one knee Tebowing.


I Get It Everyday
Hmmm... I'm not sure what "It" might be for this is Key West and ya just might not want to be getting whatever that one particular fellow might be getting everyday.

Yep... there be a "live and let live" mindset down this way but no thanks... I don'ts wanna "take a walk on the wild side" if in fact this is what this sign might be implying.




Ban Country Music
Well heck, I kinda like Country Music... in small doses at least... and yeah man, I be the one singing an occasional karaoke country song at Two Friends come Friday night while smiling into the webcam.

So no dude, let's not ban country music just yet and don't anybody scoff at karaoke on a Friday night for dats' where all the mature, sensible, attractive ladies like to hang out for a little social diversion and a few laughs.




Mile Marker 0
Well this is pretty much self explanatory and ain't any statement insofar as I can tell... it just lets everybody know that you drove all the way down to the Keys until the road came to a dead end and that you couldn't drive any further. (Ooopps... wrong pic... for dat be a channel marker and not a mile marker.)


Support Your Right to Arm Bears
Kinda funny.... and a bumper sticker most unlikely to ever be seen on any vehicle driven by one of the many disgruntled, retired Navy fuddies-duddies here in Key West. Their vehicles can often be seen sporting an NRA decal or something derisive about President Obama being a Socialist or the like.


Nice People Swallow
Another sign that gives one pause and one that can be thought of as a tad bit unpalatable even if this is Key West.




Warning. Islands Under Surveillance At All Times
That's right dude... your ass is under constant surveillance whether ya know it or not and every movement you make is duly reported to the Department of Homeland Security.




See the Lower Keys on your Hands and Knees
This is indeed Key West and for whatever reason it ain't uncommon to see tourists bellying up to a bar, order a round of shots only to then follow that up with a big celebratory scene while simultaneously slamming the shots down their collective throats.

And as my lady-friend from up on Marco Island likes to say, "Get Drunker, Stupider, Faster".

Well heck, just the other day I saw a patron slamming down one shot after another while hurling gratuitous F-bombs... and when asked by a bartender to tone it down the patron proceeded to get all indignant and boastfully announce that he was a New Jersey police officer and no cops from Key West would ever think to mess with him before he strode on out of that bar while hurling a few more F-Bombs along the way.

Dude... I mean Mr. Officer... Key West cops love nothing better than to bust an out of state officer for public intoxication... especially one with attitude from "up north" wherever that might be. Consider yourself forewarned.


Came On Vacation, Left On Probation
Uh oh... that same officer was reportedly last scene wearing a t-shirt stating the above. Oh well...


No Shoes, No Shirt, No Problem... You're in Key West.
Hmmm... I for one don't give a rat's ass whether or not this is Key West... Dude... put your shirt on.... that outlandish tattoo your sporting on your fat gut ain't disguising the fact that you be but a lardass with an attitude...

So dude... put your shirt on... 'cause ya ain't impressing anybody with that moronic tattoo displayed across your hairy back.

Speed Up, Not Everybody Here is a Tourist
Yeah man, quit poking along and speed up... That beach ain't going away any time soon and neither are those well oiled, tanned babes wearing little more than a skimpy thong. So dude... take your foot off the brake.


Relax Gringo, I'm Here Legally
This message is self-explanatory but if you should ever want to clear out your favorite sports bar of any and all San Antonio Spurs fans, then just emphatically shout out, "Ëmigracion! ... Viene la Migra!"

But be sure to stand back on out of the way when you do so for otherwise you run the risk of getting trampled upon when all those Spur fans clear on out through the back door. Hey, what can I say other than it works for me every time.



You Can't Drink All Day Unless You Start in the Morning
Yep, drinking first thing in the morning is what tourist be doing...


I Like Girls that Like Girls
Dude, though this sign might sound good in theory, ya better take a closer look at the chic sporting the razor sharp buzz cut, combat boots and leather accessories before hitting on her girlfriend... for she might wanna take you out back and kick the crap outta you and leave you lying senseless alongside the Harley that she and her girlfriend rode in on earlier in the week.


It's Only Kinky the First Time You Do It
Hmmm... once again, no thanks... and nope... I don't ever wanna go there...

Nevertheless I do knows that the difference between sexy and kinky is that sexy is when you use a feather and kinky is when you use the whole chicken.


I've Got the Pu$$y so I Make the Rules
Damned right girl... no arguments here... anything you say dear!


Tell Your Boobs to Quit Staring at My Eyeballs
Yeah girl... you're boobs are making me nervous... so tell dem "girls" of yours to quit staring at me... Enough already!

(Incidentally, the definition of Grammar is knowing your Sh*t and knowing you're Sh*t... not that you didn't already know this.)


Spill, Baby, Spill
Bumper sticker spotted on the back of a pickup truck with Texas plates. Well heck... why would you expect any different?


I Support PETA... People Eating Tasty Animals
Now here's another bumper sticker most likely to be found adorning a pickup truck with Texas plates... but I happen to kinda like it for dat be why peoples be up at da top of da food chain.




Supporting Single Moms One Dollar at a Time
Oh gawd... sorry dear but dat just ain't my kind of scene. I'll just have to leave it up to the tourists to do all the ogling.

Few things are worse than hearing some burly disc jockey screaming into a microphone while extolling a crowd of drunken dudes to shout "Hell Yeah!".

Nope... I'd much rather go sing karaoke and hopefully meet up with someone that might actually take a personal interest in me and not in what I might have nestled in my wallet.




I'm On a Boat
Yeah, yeah, yeah and I've heard this before and nobody gives a rat's ass... What does that make you... special?



Anything Southernmost...

Yep, this being Key West, everything is Southernmost whether it be a law office, an ice cream parlor or a massage parlor for that matter.




So there you have it folks... commonly seen signs and bumper stickers throughout Key West along with my unsolicited commentary! ... Me hopes dat ya'll have been enlightened!




Yep... I be but a Bar Stool Sailor.

"And the Sign Says Long-Haired Creepy People Need Not Apply"... "Can't You Read the Sign"!

Oh Gasp! I've Become an Old Fuddie-Duddie...

Well we all knows that I certainly wouldn't be telling ya sumptin' dat you didn't already knows if I were to tells ya that Key West is renowned for its many drunk-fest celebrations held throughout da year.

And rivaling Fantasy Fest in sheer debauchery, happens to be the annual New Year's Eve Celebration punctuated by the dropping of an over-sized high-heeled ladies dress shoe as the clock ticks down to the beginning of a new year.

Yet what makes that over-sized shoe a real crowd pleaser is the fact that seated within is a drag-queen enthusiastically waving to the boisterous crowds down below.

And it also goes without saying that this is the same boisterous crowd that has been imbibing copious amounts of alcoholic beverages all evening and is now completely sh*t-faced beyond any and all reasonable comprehension.

Unfortunately I cants give ya'll a first hand account of all the decadence of that already forgotten event for I simply wasn't there in Key West to partake in the scandalous festivities.

Instead I found myself blissfully sprawled out on my lady-friends sofa up on Marco Island with the tv remote in hand flipping channels. And since I be but a vagrant-on-a-boat and since I ain'ts got no tv aboard my boat, I was indeed a happy camper.

And it was after watching the Apple drop in Times Square that the festivities in Key West were briefly featured on television. The scene along Duval Street in Key West made the festivities in Times Square seem rather stale and tired.

I suppose that comparing the two New Year's Eve events might be kinda like comparing Playboy to Hustler back in the day. One preview of Hustler, and Hugh Hefner's Playboy magazine was but an afterthought. But I digress...

The reality of it all is that I've become but an old fuddie-duddie not unlike the many winter snow-bird fuddie-duddies roaming about on Marco Island during the winter months.

And it is these same folks who can be readily spotted for the attire that they wear... boring checkered Bermuda shorts along with white socks to go along with their black dress shoes.

Yep, I now officially be but yet another old fart comfortably sprawled out on a sofa as the shoe drops in celebration of a new year.

Unabashed Frivolity On Duval Street... Key West, Florida.

PROCEED WITH CAUTION... ADULT CONTENT AHEAD!

If I had to use but one word to describe Key West it would be frivolity.

Frivolity as in zealously chasing a good time while throwing three sheets to the wind and not giving a rat's ass as to the consequences while imbibing copious amounts of liquid courage.

And Duval Street is the place to be if one just wants to let it all hang out, pun intended, wink, wink, for it is but one long, continuous strip of bars, night clubs, and tourist shops.

Nevertheless, the unabashed revelry of that scene can get old pretty quickly after but a time or two of strolling along that street. Before long one is sure to be seeking out a quiet sports bar somewhere off the beaten path and away from all the tourists.

In any event I happened to be strolling along Duval the other morning in search of a coffee shop when I happened to come upon the "Bull & Whistle", an open aired bar not unlike the many others along Duval.

But what caught my attention about that place was of the sign posted alongside the entry way to the upstairs portion of that bar. That stairwell led to "The Garden of Eden" and posted on that sign was "Clothing Optional".

All of which had me thinking back to the time when I had first purchased my boat and had it tied up alongside the City of Fort Myers Marina seawall and alongside a wide pedestrian walkway.

Well after working on my boat all day and later sipping on a few cold beers in the late afternoon, I'd pointedly sit up on deck and wave hi to one and all as they strolled on past the boat.

For you see, Fort Myers can be a bit boring at times and I had little else to do but amuse myself by goofing with those who might perhaps pause a moment and exchange a few pleasantries.

And of course I'd always say hi to all the hot chicks wearing their tight fitting athletic attire as they jogged on past whether or not they waved back.

But the black chicks that would stroll on by were often times, for whatever reason, only too happy to put up with my goofing and without exception would always dish it right back at me but in much larger doses.

On one occasion I happened to be jovially chatting it up with two plus-sized sistas one afternoon when one of the two young ladies asked where I might be sailing off to in the near future.

I quickly responded, "Key West... Would you like to come along with me? I ain't got a girlfriend", all the while smiling real big.

And after laughing for but a very brief moment and without even bothering to dismiss my invitation, she sets upon telling me all about her recent weekend excursion out to Key West.

She proceeds to describe in some detail the boisterous decadence along Duval Street without hardly pausing a moment to take in a breath.

She then goes on to describe the scene in what surely had to be "The Garden of Eden" and of its clothing optional policy and of all the nudity going on up there and of a group of white dudes throwing down shots and of her being the center of attention.

And with her eyes bulging out as far as they could possibly go and with both hands squarely placed upon her wide hips, she emphatically leaned forward and punctuated her animated description of that bar scene by loudly exclaiming, "DEM White BOYS Wanted To EATTT MEEE"! before striding off all the while outrageously laughing and with her over-sized booty in tow.

Oh gawd.... it seems like I might have gotten more than I had bargained for. I can't seem to remember ever laughing so damned hard.

And as my lady-friend from up on Marco Island is prone to say, "Youth Is Wasted On The Young".

Boy ain't that the truth.

Early Sunday morning seated at a dockside picnic table...

It's early and I've already had my first cup of coffee. It was my good fortune the other day that upon opening a latch door that is not readily accessible and upon reaching down and about, I discovered an assortment of galley items left behind by the previous owners of the vessel.

Among the items I discovered was a small metal coffee percolator somewhat encrusted with what looked like calcium and who knows what else. Upon declaring that this gadget was a part of the purchase of the boat, I then gave it a thorough wire brush cleaning and welcomed it to the boat... and with Starbucks not opening until later in the morning, and with me in dire need of some coffee among other things, I brewed myself some coffee. Not neccessarily the best mind you but quite acceptable...when you need some, you need some.

Also found within the deep recesses of that hard to access moist, storage bin was some tupperware, aluminum foil, a huge metal whisk, and wax paper of all things. The tupperware was a definite keeper...and I'm not talking about that cheap Sterilite crap with the ill-fitting lids either.

This tupperware is of thick ply with clamp-down on lids. The aluminum foil was a keeper but the wax paper was disposed of with little after-thought. I can't ever remember using the stuff so out it went. The giant metal whisk along with a number of other kitchen gadgets will most unlikely be aboard either once I set sail.

The next morning...

I've got banking issues... as in a depleted checking account, few dollars in my wallet, an almost empty gas tank and an extended list of things that I need to do before I can set sail...

For whatever reason, I've had a problem funding my checking account and I'm bothered by it all to say the least.

It's early in the morning and I'm seated at Marina's computer with printer problems. I've got the marina manager attempting to assist me print off a wire transfer form when suddenly I'm feeling the presence of someone hovering over my shoulder.

I look up and there before me is Jacobo, the emaciated sailor with his skin sagging down all over the place, now peering down at my screen and inquiring, "What are you doing?... are you busy?" After a moment of hesitation, I turn and look straight at him and in my most professional and dispassionate tone of voice inform him, "I am attempting to resolve a personal matter"... as in get the f*ck out of my face, go away, this does not concern you and don't ask any favors of me.

Jacobo does seem to take a hint but not before informing me, "I need for you to drive me to the liquor store..." before ambling off back to his boat. I then turn to the marina manager, and blurt out, "I am not his caretaker". Upon which the manager responds "I see that all the time, you need to nip that in the bud"... which I emphatically do.

No... there was no subsequent drive to the liquor store, or the hardware store or the grocery store... nor did I find the time to empty the rain water out of his damned dinghy and hell no was I going to kill a day hauling his scrawny ass off to the VA Hospital.

Not that anyone really cares, but dinner last night was a can Campbell's ham and bean soup along with two slices of bread.

Damned... too much drama... time to set sail.

Goodness... this place is starting to wear on me. There's just too much damned drama going on around here. It's been a good twenty-some years since I last cruised aboard my Morgan 35' throughout the Florida Keys and the Bahamas. Somehow I had forgotten all about all the personal bullsh*t that goes along with it.

I'm ready to haul ass on out of here and start experiencing the cruising lifestyle for what it should be. I had some dude engage me in a one-sided conversation the other evening and proceed to tell me all about his disputes with the City Marina. After awhile, all I could think about was that "I don't really give a rat's ass". Later in his extended one-sided dialogue he chides me for being tide up at the marina and not out on a "hook" in the river. Somehow the caricature of a river-rat floating on an inner tube down the Brazos River in Texas came to mind.

Another too-much-drama incident involved a large gray heavy-duty plastic garbage bin chained up to the wall just in front of the slip where S/V Blondie-Dog happens to be tied up to. On two consecutive late Saturday evenings, a sailing vessel pulls in after hours to avoid dockage fees and ties off onto the docks. Soon thereafter four somewhat young guys can be seen trekking past along the sea-wall and on over to the local taverns.

Well the first Saturday evening after the local bars had shut down at two in the morning, all four dudes come staggering back down the piers hollering obscenities and kicking dockside gear all over the place including the large grey trash can in front of my boat. Moments later a loud splash can be heard and all the trash that had been neatly tidied up in plastic bags can now be found floating alongside my boat.

I of course am awakened out of a sound sleep and poke my head out of the hatch above the V-berth... (not unlike an office cubicle-mole)... to see what the hell is going on but I think better of a confrontation and settle back down below. Well the same scene repeats itself the following Saturday evening and now I'm hacked... its been another week and the trash still hadn't been picked-up for whatever reason and once again can be seen floating alongside my boat in the river.

I'm incensed about the smelly trash not having been picked up and of the damned horse-flies hovering around the trash-can and bothered about not having purchased a VHF radio that I had planned on purchasing earlier in the day so that I could report their collective asses as they motored on down the river.

I did nevertheless shout out to them as they were pulling away from the docks, "Hey asshol*s... you will be reported first thing in the morning!". Admittedly, this certainly was a chickensh*t response made once again avoid a confrontation. I did indeed report the incident to the Marina the next morning. The dudes haven't been back since and my big regret is that I did not have the presence of mind to record the name of the vessel when she tied up that second Saturday evening.

There is more drama to report but I can't take anymore of this bullsh*t either.

Not that any anyone "le importa tres carajos"... but lunch/dinner earlier today was some genuine comfort food... and I'm not talking about another greasy burger with soggy fries or even a chicken-fried steak with instant mashed potatoes and over-boiled brocolli with fake cheese either. I'm talking about some delectable "Lechon asado" along with a huge mound of "arroz con gandules" with a side order of "tostones" and a salad to boot!

I happened to be wandering down Cleveland Avenue in Fort Myers looking for a place to get a bite to eat when I happened to spot a place. I swerve over two lanes and shortly thereafter find myself seated in a small, austere, yet air-conditioned eatery. I have arrived at "El Pilon" restaurant. Soon thereafter I place my lunch order and somewhat impatiently wait for my food to arrive as I see one delectable plate of food after another get placed on adjacent tables.

My lunch order finally arrives and I'm not dissapointed in the least. Damned that was good eating! My only reqret was that I didn't take a moment to take a picture of my plate of food when it arrived... nevermind that I have yet to figure out how to download pictures from my cell phone to my computer.

Up on the walls were scenes of Puerto Rico from back in the day and a Puertorican flag as well. What the proprietaries and other patrons probably wondered was "what the hell is that "gringo" doing in here"... not realizing that I, having lived on the island for an extended period of time and having played in a multitude of chess tournaments throughout the island probably knew more and had seen more of the island than they'd ever seen or would ever see.

http://www.elpilonrestaurant.net/

Captain "Jacobo"

There aren't many of us sailors here at the City Marina... nevertheless for better or worse, I have established a relationship of sorts with a fellow mariner. By all accounts he is in his mid-seventies but could easily pass for someone in his late eighties... How he managed to sail down from Maryland all by himself is beyond my comprehension.

Jacobo is frail beyond his years, hard of hearing, and somewhat of an old grumpy neurotic. He has no muscle tone to speak of and his weathered skin sags all over the place. I suppose this is what happens to chain smokers when they get old. I'm not certain whether he ever eats much of anything but he routinely offers to mix up a Bloody-Mary for me every morning whenever he sees me striding either to or from my car. It's an offer that he knows that I will politely yet resolutely decline but nevertheless an opportunity for him to hit me up for yet another favor so it seems.

We often meet up at a local tavern for happy-hour in the evenings along with another wanna-be boater. Together we talk boating and what not. Somehow I've got to keep reminding myself that I am not his caretaker, nor am I his chauffeur to be driving his scrawny ass around places. Sorry... don't mean to be an A-hole about it but I see a pattern developing along here somewhere.

I spent a couple of hours today figuring out how to program Captain Jacobo's GPS... GPS, as in Handheld Global Positioning, not that any cell-phone savvy, pimply-faced adolescent couldn't figure out. Somehow while at the tavern yesterday evening I got snookered into agreeing to programming the thing and getting it to work. Well I had made a promise to "look into it", so the handheld was waiting for me first thing the next morning. I didn't mind... I even learned a few damned things along the way.

After a simple google search I found and proceeded to download the GARMIN GPS76 operators manual and read through it. I also found a website with GPS coordinates submitted by other boaters which I then proceeded to load into the handheld.

Later at the bar that evening, I show Jacobo how to operate the GPS as well as how to load way-points and what-not. He was pleased I suppose, but didn't deliver on his promise to buy me a few beers for my efforts.

Boater Wanna-Be soon thereafter shows up and inquires of Jacobo whether he had brought his GPS handheld along because he was lost. Jacobo looks over at me and proceeds to derisively dismiss the question with a "he was just messing around with the thing"... He might as well have stated "He's just f*rting around with the thing." This all after I had spent the previous thirty minutes or so methodically explaining how to operate the thing and having him perform the various operations himself. I later find myself doing a slow-delayed burn.

Next on my agenda for tomorrow is to haul his dinghy out of the water and who knows what else...

Memo to self: Park car elsewhere... disengage to some extent... haul ass on out of here.

Oh Gasp! I'm Inadvertently becoming a Vegan...

For dinner earlier this evening, not that anyone gives a "Fiddler's Fart", as often expressed by acclaimed author Frank McCourt in his writings, were two small boiled red potatoes, along with steamed carrots, green beans, yellow squash, and a small plum tomato...

Drizzled atop of it all was some olive oil and my favorite... Kraft, Sun-Dried Tomato Vinagrette and all seasoned with some salt and freshly ground pepper in my mortar & pestle.

Somehow missing in the menu is meat... as in MEAT... as in I'm a carnivore and I need to eat meat and that is how my kind evolved and I haven't really eaten unless I've had a slab of medium-rare MEAT placed in front of me for a meal.

But it is too damned hot to be cooking meat onboard the boat... and there is no refrigeration onboard either for that matter. Besides, I'm still somewhat tentative about my temperamental alcohol stove. I can never really tell when she'll put out a nice intense and gratifying amount of heat or whether she'll flame out with total disinterest.

The scary part of it all is that I rather enjoyed my vegan dinner.

I love the smell of Starbucks in the morning...

I love the smell of Starbucks in the morning... smells like coffee.

Bash Starbucks all you want but I happen to like the wide expansive tables, the cushy sofa chairs, the air-conditioning, the free Wi-Fi, the electrical outlets, the relaxing music and of course the coffee.

I never bother with the foo-foo coffees. I like my coffee hot, sweet, and black... just like I imagine to like my women. Ooopps, I didn't mean to say that. Nevertheless, its the usual tall, bold coffee for me with three packets of raw sugar. Yes, raw is indeed good.

Yesterday was spent shaking out my anchor rodes, chains, and spare sails. I've got enough line to tie off a couple of cruise ships and barges. I made it a point to crawl down beneath the lazarette in the cockpit and pull out a bunch of surplus miscellaneous outboard gasoline tubing and crap. I certainly don't want any of that gear getting intertwined with my anchor rode at the least opportune moment.

Memo to self: Purchase some canvas and mesh bags as well as some large milk crates for the anchor rode.

The previous owner wasn't kidding when he commented that he had blown out his 110 jib off the coast of North Carolina at some point. After hauling that jib off the boat and spreading it out onto the pavement, I found it to be beyond repair to say the least. It was torn in multiple places. Perhaps I can construct a wind-scoop out of some of the remaining canvas at some point.

Thinking about the previous owner brings to mind a personal experience of his while docked at a marina somewhere in the Chesapeake. He had gotten up around four in the morning to relieve his bladder and check his dock lines when he heard what he thought was a feint cry for help. He called out to his wife who was down below sleeping to ask if it was she who had said something. Once again he hears a feint cry for help off in the distance and he proceeds to call out, "who's asking for help?"

With yet another plea for help he sprints down a number of piers at the secluded and dark marina and finds a would-be fisherman clinging onto one of the pylons for dear life... now hypothermic and exhausted and too weak to pull himself up out of the water. He had evidently slipped off the dock while attempting to get an early start on his fishing.

Yes Brian, there is indeed someone out there that will forever feel indebted to you for saving his life.

Not that anybody gives a rat's ass, but dinner last night was a package of Ramen Chicken noodles mixed in along with a tin of Tuna in oil. It was surprisingly tasty and satisfying.

Success!! I got my wiring squared away...

Hurray! S/V Blondie-Dog now has her wiring squared away... Wiring the boat was more involved than I had anticipated since all the wiring on-board seemed to be spliced in every imaginable way and wrapped up in spools of electrical tape.

After putting in a full day and then some trying to figure all the wiring out, I finally relented and called the first marine electrician listed on the Marina's approved vendor's list. It was pointless by then to keep banging my head trying to get that wiring properly connected without some direction from someone who knew what they were doing.

Soon enough I had someone out onto the boat from Bo'Sun Marine to check out what I was having to contend with... before long he was pointing out even more superfluous wiring that needed to be removed and explaining ground connections and such and how to test a circuit...

Thirty minutes later after a crash course in basic marine electrical wiring I was diligently grounding my ground wires, replacing excessively spliced wiring, attaching my wire connectors, and testing my circuits with my circuit tester. I proceeded to tightly wrap up my connections with electrical tape and lastly to screw the electrical panel back into place.

It was an effort that took me another four hours or so but the satisfaction of seeing my running lights, cabin lights and deck lights all work and having done the repair work myself, made for a joyous occasion... one that was later rewarded with a few cold ones at City Tavern in downtown Fort Myers.

The twenty-dollar fee for the wiring tutorial was indeed well worth it. I'm just gonna to have to shoot Bo'Sun Marine an email that I got my wiring all squared away and that I won't be incurring any $60 an hour labor charges to fix my wiring. Okay... I'll leave that last part about labor charges out of my email.

Arrggg... still not ready to set sail.

Whoever thought that wiring a sailboat could be so problematic? I've got so many wires coming and going that I can't figure out which way is up. I've enlisted to have someone come on out to the boat to see if I'm overlooking a simple fix.

I've had a random thought to simply purchase solar powered running lights. Surely someone has already thought of it... simply clip on the running lights to the bow pulpit and clip on a light to the stern. That should comply with safety regulations while underway at in the evenings. What the heck... I seldom ever sailed at night while previously living aboard my Morgan 35'.

I'm missing a decent bimini. The sun at mid-day can be brutal. At least I salvaged all of my white long sleeve dress shirts from the storage unit back in Dallas. Long sleeve shirts are a must while sailing in the brutal sun. I'm quite certain that none of these shirts will ever see the light of day within the confines of an office cubicle again.

Dinner last evening, not that anyone gives a flip, was a package of cream sauce noodles with a tin of salmon mixed in. The package of noodles called for some butter and milk which of course was nowhere to be found onboard, but the olive oil made for a decent substitute. This meal was a winner... I'll stock up on some more tins of salmon and packages of cream sauce noodles.

My evening consisted of downing a few cold ones at a local neighborhood bar and yearning for the companionship of a certain exceedingly attractive patron who happened to be with her boyfriend yet nevertheless kept checking me out. Damned she was hot.

Spaghetti onboard the boat!

Spaghetti.. and I'm not talking about pasta either. I'm talking about 12gauge wiring all intertwined and slithering together throughout the boat in one endless moment of confusion and ecstacy... I'm talking about wiring spliced up in more than one place with multiple connections not knowing where the next jolt of current is coming from.

One way to dispel any and all apprehension one may have of a vessel, is to slowly and purposefully carress each component and then methodically disassemble each part piece by piece and then rythmically work it all back together again while ensuring that everything performs as intended... and so it happened this morning after a good pot of strong coffee, that I took a large screwdriver with a wide tip and unscrewed the electrical panel. Behind this panel was a tight-fitting box with all the wiring of the boat coming together in one complicated mass of confusion.

I worked up one hell of a sweat trying to sort out all the wiring. The one big climactic moment of completion will have to wait a few more days until after I purchase and install a new electrical panel box and start working it again.

Quite possibly I haven't sorted out the wiring yet because I've got something other on the brain.

Tropical Storm Bonnie skirts on by...

Rain... wind and more rain.

I'm not going to gripe about Tropical Storm Bonnie dumping a lot rain on a Friday. It's gotta rain sometime otherwise we'd all be griping about a dry spell. Bonnie did indeed dump some rain but not near what seemed to have been forecast-ed on the weather reports.

The rain I suppose was a nice change of pace from the oppressive heat of the past two weeks and an opportunity to see what leaks the boat may perhaps have. Well yes...S/V Blondie-Dog does indeed leak in a few places. She's got a leak at the base of the mast, the V-berth, and leaks along both port and starboard portholes for starters. What the hell... all boats leak somewhere. The sea-cocks don't seem to leak and the bilge has yet to fill up so I gotta be happy about that.

It was my first day not to do a damned thing aboard the boat. I closed everything up as best I could after deciding that I wasn't quite ready to put up with a stuffy cabin all day. I later headed out to Starbucks, then later to the public library so I could spread my stuff out on a table, and finally back to the comfort of the air-conditioned marina lounge. Later that evening I went chasing a good time and a few cold ones at a nearby tavern that caters to chain-smoking, fuddy-duddies. The place has a multiple flat TV screens and cheep beer. I happened to want to watch a little Texas Rangers baseball for whatever compelling reason. (Rangers 1, Angels 0 for what its worth)

Not that anyone really cares, but penne pasta along with garlic-basil pasta sauce were on the dinner menu today. The galley was hot and steamy since all the hatches were closed up in an attempt to keep all the wind and rain out. It certainly was no a joy to be slaving over the alcohol stove but I was damned hungry and scarfed it all down with a few slices of bread to mop up the sauce.

It's now a day after Bonnie swept by and it is a beautiful morning with blue skies and gentle breezes. I've got my bed linen and comforter drying out up on deck along with my sleeping bag. This all after wiping the deck dry with a dish towel.

Memo to self: Cleanup, shave, and say hi to all the good looking young and not-so-young ladies strolling by with their dogs throughout the day.

Still messing around with the boat...

Much to my surprise, the un-diluted bottle of bleach that I had liberally sprayed throughout the V-berth and head certainly had its intended effect. The boat is starting to actually feel habitable. The bleach made a world of difference on me wanting to sprawl out in the V-berth for any period of time.

I gotta believe that disposing of the four inch thick spongy bed mattress that came with the boat was definitely the right decision as well. All it seemed to do was absorb moisture and propogate germs not unlike a dishwashing sponge. It didn't seem that it would ever dry out in the hot sun and I certainly wasn't going want to be sleeping on a giant moist germ-collecting dishwashing sponge... so that thing was unceremoniously carted off into the marina trash dumpster.

In its place is a sleeping pad for camping, a sleeping bag, and a small air-mattress... not entirely nautical, but functional for the time being.

The alcohol stove had its turn today... I pulled it out of its recess and gave it a thorough examination and cleaning. The valve to the back burner was stuck in the open position but I finally worked it enough that it now opens and closes readily enough. The burners were encrusted in rust and burned crud but not after I put a metal battery terminal brush to good use. I made a mess in the cockpit but it was better than taking a chance on losing some small random fitting overboard.

The real test came later and Voila! The stove actually worked... both burners were burning away... I still need to get use to controlling the amount of flame coming out of the burners though... and I'll also need some real stick matches... that Bar-B-Que grill lighter that I purchased doesn't light on cue and the plastic cigarette lighter that I claimed off of a bar-room floor not long ago seems to take a layer of skin off of my thumb every time I attempt to use it.

On the menu tonight, not that anyone really cares, was maccaroni and cheese along with boiled red potatos and diced Italian hard salami. The water boiled readily enough inside the pressure cooker. I've got too much cookingware aboard the boat but the pressure cooker certainly is a keeper. I'll hold off on buying a propane stove for the boat for now.

Memo to self: plan meals ahead of time, dig out all the food items and seasonings as well as the pots & pans to be used BEFORE lighting up the alcohol stove.

The Wood is Permeated...

Permeated... now that's one word that is not often heard.

I finally relented and sought out some professional help to come check out the head onboard the boat. There is still a lingering foul odor emanating from beneath the V-berth and I simply won't be able to sleep in the V-berth until that odor is completely done away with.

A quick inspection by the father & son team disclosed that all the fittings and hoses were new and in good order and that there were no leaks to be found... and the rubber elbow that I inserted to eliminate a hose kink was the right thing to do.

They readily concluded however that the surrounding wood was nevertheless "permeated"... uh-oh... that sounds expensive... and that the only remedy was to treat it with bleach... okay, not expensive... and to use un-diluted bleach. With that they took off... "now you know what to do".

I proceeded to remove all the gear that I had stored in the V-berth and liberally spray bleach into every crevasse imaginable...whether real or not.

Permeated?... I'll show permeated... that permeated wood will come to understand permeated... as in permeated with bleach.

Flare-up in the Galley!!

I finally got motivated enough to start messing around with the alcohol stove. For some random reason I was convinced that the stove was outdated, crapped-out, inefficient, and simply impractical.

I'd already concluded that I'd soon be ripping this thing out and pitching it overboard. Nevertheless I thought that it would be unwise to not even attempt to light it up not to mention that henceforward I'd be thinking of myself as a weeny for not even trying. A quick google search soon spat out a pdf file with the approprite operating instructions.

The instructions were simple enough and it wasn't long before I was priming my Homestrand gimble mounted two burner alcohol stove. Soon enough to my surprise the front burner was putting out a nice intense flame.

The back burner was another matter... evidently the valve was stuck on open and upen lighting it, a small flame intensified into a larger flame, and then into what seemed to me to be a blow-torch. In an instant, I grabbed for the fire extinguisher and was all set to put the thing out when all of a sudden it started to die down on its own. It did however give me quite a scare.

Memo to self: Disasemble burners, clean, lubricate, reasemble, test.

I later gave the front burner its first real test and cooked up one those Goya packaged seasoned rice dishes. I threw in some Italian hard salami that I had chopped up and to my pleasant surprise the burner had worked like a charm and I had a meal to boot. Dessert was a small cup of Mott's original applesauce.

"Don't Complain and Don't Explain"...

 

Don't complain and don't explain... and to that I'll add that one would be well advised not to comment about one's personal affairs to other boaters that you don't really know.

No sooner had I tied up to the slip after pulling into the marina when a fellow boater came along to introduce himself... no problem there and no objection to possibly sailing in tandem once out in the open waters and no objection to the offer of help either... "you help me and I'll help you..."

Well the next day for the sake of idle conversation I commented on some of the gear I'd be needing before setting sail... among of which was a VHF radio and in passing wondered aloud whether there was such thing as a VHF radio and GPS combined in one unit upon which the fellow boater instantly jumped out of his sofa chair in the marina lounge and onto the computer. A quick google search revealed that sure enough there was indeed such a thing for a whopping $800 bucks or so... "you see, I've already helped you...". Now I'm thinking wtf??

A day later upon entering the air-conditioned marina lounge, I once again encounter my fellow boater and I randomly comment how hot it is onboard the boat and once again the guy seizes the opportunity to offer his expertise... "you know what you should do?" he deadpans... "you should purchase some fans for your boat"... wow... how brilliant... why didn't I think of that... what would I do without this guy...

The following day after laboring on the boat all morning and after a soothing cold shower later that afternoon, I find myself in the marina lounge, spawled out on a sofa watching Giada ever so delicately slice up an onion on TV when in walks you know who.

After mutually observing that her cooking use to be even more delectable when she use to show more cleavage while on her show, so-and-so jumps on the computer and once again I'm getting a condescending index finger motioning me to come hither... now I'm annoyed... hell no am I getting out of my comfort zone and hell no am I getting up to go check out the cleavage you googled on the web and hell no am I wearing a choke collar and a leash. and I proceed to emphatically inform him of such.

A day later against my better judgement I accept an invitation from so-and-so to go to a local watering hole that I had previously discovered... and I am reminded by him once again how he has already helped me with the VHF radio and how to deal with the heat onboard the boat and how to get about town... I can't believe what I'm hearing from this guy and soon thereafter conclude that this guy is full of crap and I question whether this guy even knows how to set an anchor.

While sipping on a cold beverage, the guy proceeds to tell me..."you shouldn't wear that hat... I don't like it... you look like Crocodile Dundee... I like your black ball cap better"... well my black cap was back on the boat drying out after a good washing, but now I'm aggravated and proceed to inform the dude, "I don't give a crap whether you like my hat or not... I like it and I'll wear it.... that was more unsolicited commentary on your part".

He soon departs a moment or so later but that didn't stop him from making an observation the next day that it is hard not to sweat while waiting for the bus at a bus stop... and that he had previously helped me with the VHF radio all the while giving me this wounded puppy-dog look. I had another wtf moment but elected to not pursue the conversation.

Damned... if you want to borrow my fully depreciated crappy car... just ask... I won't be an a-hole about it.... just don't carry on about me being indebted to you for some bullsh*t unsolicited advise.

Don't complain and don't explain.

Messing around with the head...

The least pleasant thing to mess around with on a boat is by far the head. It stinks to say the least and is problematic to fix and maintain.

The wastewater holding tank is located directly beneath the V-berth, right next to the water tank and try as I might, there is still a slight residual odor wafting from that tank... all inspite of my best efforts to sanitize the thing and retire it in place. A port-o-potty is on my puchase list... it has less moving parts and is air-tight... that as well as a cedar-bucket for when I'm offshore.

I spent a whole day the previous week siphoning that tank dry with the dock waterwater siphoning hose... dumped half a bottle of bleach into the head as well. It was a vast improvement but nevertheless all it takes is a few drifting molecules to offend one's nasal passages.

Next on my list of things to do is to replace the gasket and other parts on the head and see if that helps. I've been sleeping out in the cockpit in the evenings... if for no other reason than for the cool breeze and to get as far away as possible from the unpleasant molecules.

Cleaning the Engine Compartment...

July 13, 2010
Presently tied up at the City of Fort Myers Yacht Basin Marina.

S/V Blondie-Dog is a 28' Cape Dory sailboat purchased some two weeks ago. I spent my first week attempting to get my mindset squared away with living on-board a sailboat once again and resisting the temptation to add A/C powered creature comforts.

Spent the past week performing a thorough cleaning of what was once the engine compartment. The Yanmar diesel was deemed unrepairable and discarded by the boat's previous owner. Nevertheless, left in its wake were rusted bolts, cables, nuts, washers, wiring, and shards of rusted metal.

I must have filled my mop bucket halfway up with rusted crud. A can of engine de-greaser was liberally sprayed throughout the compartment and left to soak awhile and was followed up with a stiff brush and elbow grease.

White vinegar was not effective as a cleanser but the bleach certainly was. A good spraying with the water hose followed soon thereafter and the dockside waste-water pump hose was brought in to siphon all the gray water out of the bilge.

All in all it was a worthwhile cleaning effort.