Sailing
I don’t like sailing. I’ll admit that it was once a thing I was drawn to. When I was very young I dreamt of owning a Sunfish or a Starfish or even a Cat. I couldn’t wait until I got my drivers license so I could transport a sailboat to where ever I wanted to sail.
My brother was always a boat builder. He built several boats, and my love for sailboats inspired him to build a Glen-L sail dingy. He’d take me out sailing from time to time and taught me how to sail.
I was sixteen years old at the time and I was in love with this girl named Lynn. I really wanted to impress her so I talked my brother into driving us up to a lake at Ringwood State Park with the sail boat. I knew it was a way to her heart.
It all started well. I was tacking like a pro, zipping all around the lake going exactly where ever I wanted to go. I was feeling pretty cool and impressed with myself. I was sailing with a beautiful girl that I was in love with. It was perfect…until the wind died.
This situation found in the dead center of the lake. Sail boats need wind, but we were OK just bobbing around for an hour or so. Then we both realized at about the same time that we both had to pee. This was a problem that got worse with every passing moment and the more we though of it the worse it got.
After another hour or so we were at the panic stage. Fortunately there was a fellow trolling by with an aluminum boat with an electric motor. As he got closer I asked if he could tow us to the ramp. He agreed, so I threw him a rope. And ten minutes later we were at the sandy shore of the west end of the lake. I got out and pulled the boat up on the shore and I helped Lynn out.
Our bladders were so full that neither of us could stand up straight. Bent over like old folks with really bad back problems, we shuffled up to the day lodge where the bathrooms were. We both walked into the first bathroom we could find. We never checked if it was the men’s or the women’s room. We both just went in and found a stall and pissed for what seemed like fifteen minutes.
Eventually there were two flushes, and we both emerged for the bathroom and stood under an awning shaking. It was some sort of fatigue for holding it in for so long. We shook like cold wet puppies.
Eventually she looked at me and smiled and said, “We better be getting home Captain Guy.” There when my ego and all the coolness I was cultivating.
To this day, every once in a while my brother will still address me as, “The Captain.”
Shit!
posted by The Guy Who Writes This at 5:48 AM
7 Comments:
Such intimacy - I'm assuming the relationship was not a long-lasting one.
(At 16, such an experience is a bit too humiliating.)
Pappy, why do you tell us stuff like this? Now I am gonna have to bust out "Captain" once in awhile too. Maybe Captain-Pappy.
Nice story though, thank you for sharing it with us.
Beth, it was on again-off again for years after. It seemed to totally end when I co-signed a loan for her and then she skipped town. She contacted me several years after with remorse, and said she'd pay me back someday. Thirty years later... I'm still waiting.
Auntie, pipe down squirrely.
Ahhh, even the best of plans....:):)
Okay Guy, I'm more than a little perplexed.
I spent a LOT of years sailing (not voluntarily, my parents didn't believe in putt-putts), and if I had to take a leak, I just jumped overboard with the painter rope in my hand (so the boat couldn't escape) and just peed my heart out. It never would have occurred to me to wait to get back to shore.
P.S. Always kept one oar on hand,and always had an oarlock in the back of the boat so I could scull home if I got becalmed. Swam home a couple of times towing the boat, too, when it was too hot to scull.
Astorianna, this was an eight foot dingy. There was no standing room, nor enough keel to re-enter the craft without pulling the whole craft over. It sat about a foot or so out of the water.
Yikes!
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