Chapter 80

The sailing was a comedy of errors. At least we didn't hit anything getting out of the little Marina. We had an audience, Anet, Keirstan and Brigid represented the Deckhouse gang. There were more as Grace and the girls found worthy sauna buddies to join in the fun and games. The Deckhouse had become one of the more sought-after residences for Scandinavian beauties attending the university in search of the valued Mrs. degree.

Mr. Arnold Strong, Supafly, of Hoe-Lee She-It beach and trail bike fame ... the lessee of our warehouse ... and guardian of our fabulous collection of Pennsylvania Flintlock firearms ... attended. We were charging Arnie a buck a year lease in exchange for looking after the place. If truth be known ... several of the Deckhouse girls have discovered what mystical creature lies behind Supa's fly ... and they like it.

Doctor and Doctor Patel were there to cause trouble ... since we had aged her many more years than the two she advised us.

Daddy, Lucy Lou, CharlieB, and two year old Maryanne, Grandfather Harry and Grandmother Myrtle Bleeker, Uncle General Harry Bleeker and a pair of his enlisted sail buddies, Admiral John Crossman (Ret.) and his beautiful wife and teenaged children represented the Family. His children were our ages and despised us ... we were the example that could never be attained.

Somewhere in the very back of the crowd I was sure I caught a glimpse of Chief Brewster ... but maybe not. It was a fleeting glimpse ... out of the corner of my eye ... I looked again but he was gone and I didn't notice him again.

Finally, celebrated and feted to a fare thee well, we pulled out of the minuscule Marina and motored out to deeper water. Grace was sobbing into my chest until the people on the dock were a dot against the background of the shore.

She pulled away from me, dry eyed, grinned and said, "I didn't think we'd ever get away!"

Piper was almost four and the kittens were two. They settled right in and slept.

Far enough out, we said good bye to diesel fumes and hello to silent sail. Out of Lake Saint Clair and into the Detroit River, we sailed past Grosse Ile and out into Lake Erie. We were in a hurry. Tropical Storm 2 would decide to make a name for herself and became a Gulf hurricane called Audrey.

Audrey struck the Sabine River with winds of 145 mph and moved inland heading northeast across the United States and Lake Ontario on June 29th. And I knew it twice. I wanted to be well away from the Lake and southern Quebec before then.

My remembrances were that the hurricane season was generally mild in the Atlantic and there was very little contact with the United States the rest of the season. There were tropical storms but nothing in July and I planned for us to be in the Canal by mid August at the very latest. The sooner the better.

The only Pacific storm that could possibly affect us would begin August 9th and follow the Baja coast for six days and die out. We wanted to be in Berkeley by or before the 15th of September.

We were taking NO sightseeing cruise. We were in a hurry. We had one little side trip yet to make. Uncle Harry decided we needed to be an armed vessel and cut orders, countersigned by Admiral Crossman, for the Naval Air Station at Jacksonville, Florida.

We sailed southish to Monroe, squared up and headed directly between Point Pelee and Pelee Island. Out on Lake Erie we flew the spinnaker for the first time and piled on the knots. We were flying... 15 knots. We were entering the Port Colburne Marina 14 hours later... 241 miles. The 12th of May, quite late ... or very early ... depending on if the glass is half full, half empty or you ordered a cheeseburger.

Some officious fellow in a Port Authority uniform asked the million dollar question:

"How long have you two been awake?"

Our answer, given as twins, "We don't know, what day is it?" displeased him immensely.

It seems the average trip down the Welland takes 12 to 14 hours and, for some unknown reason, Canada insists, positively demands, that the crew be awake the entire trip. We were put in durance vile and told they didn't want to see so much as a nose above deck for 12 hours.

Twelve hours! Twelve hours would put us in the middle of the afternoon and there was no possible way we would chance half the trip at night. Some of those Lake Bulk Freighters are huge and our little K5 wouldn't even leave a stain when they ran us down. We were in the Marina until sunup a day later.

Grace took me shopping and flirted with every eligible male in three miles.

My mistake.

Grace kept her Bettie Paige bikini on with nary a nipple slip or excessive cleavage exposing bend over the entire expedition. Grace simply pasted a shy smile on the face and kept it there the whole time we were wandering the town.