Chapter 21

It’s about 200 miles ... give or take ... from Montreal, Quebec, Federation of America, to Ottawa, Ontario, Princessapality ... and Tyche said, “We’re going to need fuel.”

And I said, “I was planing to sail.”

She said, “Can’t.”

So I said, “Can.”

Wait a minute ... I’m getting into an argument ... with a FOUR year old?

“Can’t.”

“Why not?”

The brat won ... I flinched first.

She did a fist pump... “Contrary winds.”

“What?”

And she explained.

“When you changed course I was asleep. I woke up because the motion of the boat had changed. The bow had been going up and down now we’re rolling ... ergo...” Really ... she said ‘ergo,’ honest. “We are broadside to the current ... the first roll was to starboard ... we turned to starboard ... right. Right is north ... and the weather report for tonight and tomorrow is north winds veering west throughout the morning. Therefore ... we must motor and we have a quarter tank of fuel ... I looked at the gauge.”

If she had been smug I’d have wiped the smug off her mug ... but she wasn’t ... smug. Damnit ... she was right. Fuel ... first chance. I was hoping to get farther west ... before I got a wild hair. That hair was Carole at Visa and the hired driver. What was his name?

I rumbled through my past...

Charles.

Yes ... Charles.

Remembering Charles is like remembering that Gary Cooper was the Sheriff in the movie “High Noon.” Just a little digression there.

And sure enough ... Tyche was right. Before I knew it ... the wind shifted and we had to lower the main and roll up the jib start up both Perkins and start motoring. Against a fairly strong current our fuel usage went sky high. We made it as far as Hudsonville before we had to hit a diesel dock.

“Help you?”

“Fill her up please.

“Interesting flag,” it was more a question than a statement.

“New Zealand.”

“Really ... you’re flying a Fed A courtesy flag so I assume you’re checked in. Where you heading?”

“Ottawa.”

“Nope ... the Carillon Canal lock is closed for repair ... will be closed two seasons. Didn’t anyone tell you?”

“Closed?”

“Yup ... they didn’t mention it at check-in?”

“Spur of the moment decision. I have friends in Ottawa.”

“Well ... you can’t get there from here. Where were you headed before you made for Ottawa?”

“Pentwater.”

“Where’s that?”

“Lake Michigan.”

“Pentwater in the Princessapality or FedA?”

“Princessapality,” I said. “Ya know ... I didn’t know there was such a thing when I left Dunedin.”

“Didn’t?”

“Nope.”

“Where you been?”

“At sea since I was Ten.”

“Really? That must have been some trip.”

“Wasn’t always at sea ... worked some in New Zealand and Australia.”

“What did you do?”

“Built boats ... catamarans.”

“Must have been good at it ... this here’s quite the boat.” He nodded at the Flint.

He handed me a paper...

Due to necessary work to rehabilitate the structural components of the vertical door, Parks Canada announced the cancellation of the navigation season at the Carillon Canal. Boaters will have to find an alternative route this summer and next to reach their destination without passing through the Carillon lock.

Hmmm.

“Heck and shuckeydarn.” I turned to Tyche, “Did you know about this?”

“No Ma’am.”

The fueling stretched longer and longer.

“You must have been darned near empty,” the attendant said.

“Came in under fumes,” I said.

“I’ll say,” he said.

The nozzle clicked off.

“445 gallons...” “gimme a minute” “1665.25” “Canadian.” “Wow ... that’s a lot.”

I just handed him my VISA.

He ran the card and my phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Surprise?”

“Carole!”

“Where are you?”

“Hudsonville.”

“You Okay?”

“Yes, Ma’am. Fuel for the boat. I was coming to see you but the river is closed.”

“To SEE me?”

“And Charles.”

“Charles?”

“My driver.”

“??”

The printer printed out my receipt.

“Oh ... I remember.”

“Gotta go.”