the magic tummy rub

my little dutch girl. kid couldn’t have been more than two or three at the time. disney movies were in full swing, so i guess that helped. i never talked baby talk to her, but gibberish is another matter. it would thrill her & sometimes i’d get into a real kick- dr. suess all day long. my mother being the queen of dyslexic suess. but out & out make up a story that was designed to convince, no. i couldn’t really talk about santa but in circular terms- it bothered me. i’d use absurdity to get her to think something through. when she was pushing my buttons this young, i used to tell her i ate all her previous brothers & sisters, so she’d better watch out. barbecued them. she’d eye me suspiciously, until one day she put her little hands on her hips & said loudly - notuh! this night i lied my ass off. i hear the kid, in the middle of the night, calling out for me & find her in the bathroom.

she’s on the toilet. arms wrapped around her belly, bent in half, rocking. bathroom smells worse than i could possibly entertain with. it set me back a step. but that’s my only, shitting there & she’s pale lipped & got a green-grey glow about her, so i go in. flush. flush again. i tell you, i learned the hard way not to let her try to many new foods at once between the ages of one & two because of what i had to suffer while she was still in diapers & just after & i’d have to conquer. pregnancy made me a professional puker. motherhood gave me the ability to pretty much forego vomiting. this was a challenge. but oh, the pain on her face, in her rocking body. i wanted only to take it from her this very second, so i sit down next to her and circle rub her back. nope.

don’t touch her. she’ll take a sip of water & even that was negotiation. epic failure. took a few minutes to clean up the expressed fluids. there was nothing she’d let me do for her. i checked the bathroom cabinet, in case we had some Tums or Maalox. don’t bother. she’s convinced that swallowing anything will make it worse. she was that bad. so, i sit down next to her- yep, the offending pot, too & think. -you know what? i know just the thing!

she’s eyeing me suspiciously again, but she’s not wise to this one yet, so i try. felt like the wicked queen from snow white that i had seen a thousand times that week. i hadn’t a clue what to do & could barely handle the thought of making it worse, but she needed something. -i know the magic tummy rub!

oh! to believe in magic. the change on her face. the interest, the hope, the curiosity. still, this is my kid & she’s skeptical. -tell me about it, she says. she’s testing me & i’m about to fail. nothing came to mind. -one cannot explain magic. one can only do it. she nodded. seemed convinced.

then test two. -what do you need to do? even at her worst, she’s prodding me gently for every answer under the sun. so afraid to fuck up, too. -well, i gotta rub your belly. no, she’s shaking her head no. -i gotta, honey. she hangs her head. -look. do you want this over with quick or slow? she just groans. it was so pathetic, i had to laugh a little. she gives me the evil eye & tells me to go ahead. permission. now comes the true test!

i felt like going & getting my mother at this point, for absolute real. which tells you something, because all i’m gonna get from her is judgement for not having That Instinct. That Tone of Voice goes with it, too. i would argue that going & getting a woman that’s been through this a few times before was a good instinct, but it would be wasted on her. she made up her mind about me long before i was that size, miserable on the toilet. i’m on my own, so i act like i’m warming up, to buy a little time.

crack my fingers. stretch them back. blow on my hand, warm it up. help her adjust so i can put my hand on her belly & just start real gently press back & forth. took about a minute of her at her worst. i was about to give up & come clean. then the look of surprise on her face. she was looking better, too. just that quick, and that slow. you can have that Car Accident Slow-Mo even at these relatively ordinary times.

she sat up a little & gives me a nod. i start going in circles on her soft, tiny little belly. this was magic. she changes back to her normal pink beige & she starts getting color back in her lips. you can hear her tummy growl, gurgle & gulp. i told her this was just the last hiccups that her belly was making to get back to normal. she just nods. you can tell she’s paying close attention to what she’s feeling. i’m sure we are both wondering how, but i can’t show that. i’m glenda the good witch now.

we get her cleaned up. would have just hosed her off if i thought i could get away with it. i’ve done that to her after the really messy, muddy or paint covered shit over the years. i take that pudgy little hand to lead her into my bed. she looks up at me and says, -that really was The Magic Tummy Rub. i nodded down to her. put that beautiful little thing in bed with me & wrap us up nice & tight & warm. hope & pray painful nights like this will be few and far between. still, you’d never know the magic you had without them.

bees in the boobs

i was in big south fork on the ky/tn border, just joy riding. primitive camping back in the same spot the bear decided he liked my tent a lot. it was 10-20 miles to the better campground, showers and the rangers didn't mind, so i'd cut all around these hilly twisty turny roads. the 20 days of rain was over and i finally had some spring sun and deep fresh air, so i had nothing but a smile on my face. you learn not to smile too big or you are going to swallow something coming at you fast on a motorcycle. usually about the size of a fly and really hard to do both at once sometimes.

it's spring obviously and everything is blooming. it was a gorgeous place to be at a fantastic time. i saw the bees coming. nothing i could do. two, i figured mating, probably more true- fighting bees. locked together and i was flying right into their space. down the tube, right into my left boob. who would have thought those sports bras let so much in? i felt the first sting and practically locked my brakes. let the bike fall over and off comes everything from the waste up. on the road. one swoop. fucking bastard locals really enjoyed that. like three passed real slow, all men, cat calling. i had no time to care. stung twice by now and screaming in madness. i'm sure i don't know what i looked like. it must have been fun. ranger passes me. almost stops. i think the boobs confused him. bike's laying down at the side of the road and i'm still trying to hop over it, dancing my top off, beating the ground with my top. forgetting they only have one stinger a piece and they are both implanted in me. i was going to kill those things if i could. it was just a few moments of pure spontaneous pissed off madness. i looked up in time to see the ranger driving away, his eyes watching me in the mirror. that's when i burst into now crazy laughter, and yeah, i'm sure i look certifiable. good thing i had taken everything off the bike. it was bare, too, so it was easy enough to get back up.

hell'va jump in arkansas

the motorcycle had started really breaking down in arkansas. right before i rode into hot springs & found myself in the middle of a biker rally, as a matter of fact. god bless tucker & dick weed. they had me set up camp, fed me bacon wrapped deer & beans for every meal & someone worked on my bike like every five miles until it got going properly again. by the time i was more than half-way through the state, heading east, it was back at it again. wiring, starter & battery problems. i was mailing parts ahead to myself just to get home.

i had picked up a japanese closed battery, like really something. some serious cold cranking amps. thought it would really get me through. i had put another starter on earlier in the trip & was gonna charge this battery in a rest stop bathroom while i rebuilt this starter & maybe opened the bike up a bit & for the upteenth time to see what i could see with the wiring. you should see it. it’s a bit of a mess in parts. i don’t know what the previous owner was thinking. there was no reason to touch a damn thing. but the battery came charged, no need for anything, so i plop it in & get on down the road. i keep the last battery in the saddle bag, just in case there is a problem early on. well, there’s a problem.

i’m not even close to the end of arkansas for all i’ve been through here & i was just riding through, not lollygagging. really just riding to get home. i gotta stop as soon as possible now. my whole system is shutting down on the highway. lights, motor, everything. no battery, no nothing on this bike. it’s night & i got truckers flying by at high speeds & no street lights, plus one of those deep grooves that runs awkwardly in my lane that bikers love so much. yeah, i gotta find somewhere to deal with this now. right now. a state rest stop for truckers only is within a mile. truckers & bikers are very kind to one another, especially on the road. they won’t leave you stuck. the average driver will definitely fuck you over in a heartbeat.

so, i pull over & i’m tinkering with a flashlight in my mouth, half my pack on the wet ground. have to take it off to open the seat to get to the battery. i figure one of the connections was loosened. it kind of acted like that. my bike attracts a lot of attention. that & the fact that i’m a female biker alone on an obvious road-trip from hell. my little 440 is loaded, strapped & bungied. i check what i easily can & it’s not that. about that time a trucker comes up & asks me what’s up. i tell him. he says that japanese battery might not have been fully charged, even if it was supposed to be. good point, but the act of running the bike should have helped charge it. no, not necessarily so. running the lights & whatnot could possibly drain it more. small system i have here. wanna try a jump first before i charge it? see what that does? yeah, sure.

so we push it to his truck & he opens up his hood. he has a bank of batteries. that’s a eye opener. uh, sir? i don’t know about this. i don’t need all these batteries giving my little battery a jump. he says it’ll just be the one, not to worry. so we get out my little motorcycle battery jump cables & he thinks that’s cute. he pulls out his & puts them on. i’m still fully dressed for the night ride- leather boots, chaps & jacket & gauntlet gloves. i guess i had a glove off, i don’t know. i also don’t know what i was touching. i suppose the key &/or the starter button, or whatever, maybe i reached down & shook a cable, but i sorta remember the white lightning.

i sorta remember hitting the tree at full force. had to be 20 feet away. cracked the whole spine & i crumbled to the ground, moaning. i sorta remember the guy standing above me, i don’t know for how long. it was very nightmare/dream-like, deep garbled answering machine voice. i suppose he was asking if i wanted an ambulance. it wasn’t the first time i was asked this on this trip. in fact, i was asked this just a few days before, writhing in pain on a rest stop floor. thought i was having a virgin birth. apparently, i was having a gallbladder attack. i always say no. just no. i’m not explaining myself, but in all honesty, i’m not leaving my bike. i’m not having it towed, or stolen. it’s all i have & i’ve collected some cool memories from this trip. gone hunting for all sorts of stuff & met all sorts of people. for example, i met the woman that found the most perfect diamond in the world- the strawn-wagner diamond (named for her grandfathers, both famous men in that world that found special diamonds. she really took a liking to me. gave me pictures of her grandfathers. told me the stories of her family & gave me something to remember her by.) & many more things, but things like this, so fuck it, no. i really don’t know what just happened, but unless i can get help without getting my bike raped, especially in a foreign place, no.

so, the next day, i’m assuming, i start moving. apparently i’ve relieved myself, but i really have to go to the bathroom so bad the pain in my body can’t stop me from climbing the offending tree & popping a squat right there. i don’t even have focus yet. i’m lucky enough when i do look around on this side that it’s kind of pine forest for just a touch, at least where i’m looking right now. when i turn around, it’s all truck stop. it felt like it took 15 minutes to pull my pants up. god, i hurt & my mouth was so dry. my tongue tingled painfully.

when i turned around & started walking like a newborn deer, i saw three truckers standing over my bike. the seat still open, the battery still exposed. it was impossible to think. i wonder what i looked like. these guys were standing around my bike. one guy had a coke, one guy had a beer. as i walked up to them, i remember needing to pee real bad again, or it felt like it or something. the guy with the coke held it out for me, but i reached out for the beer & he gave it to me. i guzzled it. i looked down into the bike & the fucking battery was melted into a blob. i was starting to understand. tears started to come to my eyes. my poor bike. i asked for the bathroom & they pointed it out. i broke down in the bathroom. oh, my baby. i also chewed on a few aspirin.

back at it, the guys asked me what i planned to do. i showed them the last battery, but told them i thought it was no good, and what about this hot mess? one of them pulled out the blob of japanese battery with gloves while another one filled the old one up with water & put it in. the other one went & got someone with a car & brought him over & hooked me up, ran it for awhile. someone gave me cheese & crackers & a coke, while i ate & sat there in a stun. see? the kindness of strangers.

the roadrunner & me

magnificent cedars deep in the heart of texas. just about where the desert has started for real. the last line of real trees for a texas mile or two. well, there’s plains & mountains beyond that. “mountains” to a yankee city girl, this was desert. kept hearing from the locals that this was the worst drought since the dust bowl. clearest from the two 90 year-old cowboys that took me dove hunting. they might actually remember the dust bowl.

so the reservoirs are down 60 feet & i’ve been staying mostly at army corp of engineer campgrounds up through the heart of texas. learned a few lessons after castro, tx- just east of san antonio. stories in & of themselves. there were no leaves on anything anymore. even the deer didn’t move when my motorcycle comes by & i’m gonna jump in about where they came in. they just look at you with UGH! i didn’t bother them, they didn’t bother me. north of waco & georgetown were a little cluster of campgrounds- from primitive to full hook ups, the primitive always being the furthest out or in, depending on how you want to look at it. i had never seen a roadrunner before. just The Roadrunner.

it’s not all the time, but there are extraordinary times when even the most wild animals will come close. running over the armadillo was too close. that happens sometimes, too. i checked in with jesus for a few seconds there. was doing about 70 or 80 in the motorcycle at night. he’s ok & i’m ok. about the fifth time on that trip i thought i bought it. but this one was so cool. i’m out there, deep in & enjoying the hell out of it when i hear an animal get close to my tent night after night, lay down on the other side of the tent from where i lay my head. i had learned my lesson from the bear. no food or even gatorade in the tent- not dusk to dawn, at the very least. this area has snakes, scorpions & shit. this had no qualities like a raccoon. couldn’t be as big as a deer, made no sound except for when it got that close & settling down into sleep. didn’t do anymore than that.

for the first week i had no clue what it was, then one day this funny little interloper is doing a hopping jog across from me as i walk the driveway down to get water. Smooth & Herky Jerky stays on the other side of the road. his nickname changed depending on his visible mood. he was real curious about me, loved looking at me. so i start going out at the same time of the day for water, getting walked to & fro by my new suitor. he was something.

i’d started talking to him & he’d plump up. sometimes i’d talk to him in bed, but not much. he had the stamina & patience of my turkish ex-husband. got flustered easily. he got his attitude too, sometimes. like if he caught me out walking at a different time of day. like i’m out trying to pick up another animal. he wouldn’t look at me. he’d just prance a few feet to my right, going the direction i was going, but he wasn’t talking to me right now. look the opposite direction only. i stayed in this campground, melting into the ground, just because i was enjoying this so much. the mountain lion kept me for awhile, too- different campground. three weeks i tried to get a picture of her catching her bird in a tree every damn day. every day i failed. no shade. but every day i saw it. every night she sat on the top of the hill & watch me.

i thought i had the flu, too. apparently, the only thing in nature i’m allergic to is the texas cedars. lady at the gate just laughed at me & handed me a claritin. fixed that shit right up. there was a small family that were camp hosts to a completely empty campground, except me. so i’d go over every few days & shoot the shit. they were right behind the bathrooms anyway. three cute kids that perked right up hearing about my roadrunner. and damn, if he wasn’t right on time, too. peeking at me from behind the bathrooms like a jealous lover. wouldn’t come over & say hi. nothing. but he did enjoy the kid’s ooo’s & ahhh’s. came out from behind the bathrooms & showed off his plumage. just for a minute. had to let me know he was pissed. guess i wasn’t paying enough attention. i don’t know- he didn’t say. i can only laugh at this shit. i divorced this, happily. still, he had the plumage & he knew it. gotta love it.

the only picture i got of him was blurry feathers as i pointed the camera out of the mesh of the tent in the middle of the night with the flash on. i deleted it thinking i’d definitely get a better one. i never did. the opportunity really just wasn’t there. he shied away from my camera, so i didn’t push it. and it just seems like hell is only getting hotter. i take the bike out just to get some air moving on me. gotta go eat well, at least. no breeze. even swimming in the reservoirs was not helping. i had one of those off-days. i didn’t get moving before it topped 113. felt like it was hardly ever below it. i left the flap open. reading on my kindle. had all my little things within my reach. hot, but a pleasant day listening to nature, reading Dickens. the Master of the Tangent.

out of fucking nowhere this damn bird bolts through my tent flap, hits the back of the two person tent & spazzes out. heads right for me. i was still getting to a sitting position, thinking -damn, my camera is on the other side of this bird, when he turns on me full tilt. only had a foot between us, so i didn’t really have a second when he took a full running leap into me. i’m sure i only registered shock. i don’t know how that tent stayed standing, given how bad it got. all i could do is cover my head for the first, seemingly, minutes. i’m getting battered, feathers are going everywhere. claws are going all over me. by the time i got scratched and fucking pecked a few times, i decided to do something about it. not for the first time on this trip did i think i could die from this. i could see the tiny paragraph in the local paper that says they found a dead girl in a tent with a bunch of feathers. no other clue was available.

i start fighting like a girl, just flailing my arms. maybe he’ll find the door. it’s only ¼ of the tent. if you found you’re way in, ya know? but no, we were both getting more & more freaked out. i finally got a hold of his neck. both hands. i didn’t want to kill him, but i didn’t want to die, either, and this was starting to hurt. i remember that exact moment when i felt like i was in a cartoon, and i got a childhood idol’s neck in my hands. oh, hell no! i tossed him hard out of the tent. i took a few deep breaths, feathers falling lightly all around me before i yelled -and stay out! i became my mother, yet again.

well, the romance was gone. he did not sleep with me anymore. if i saw him on the road, he wouldn’t only be across from me- he’d have to be 10 feet forward or behind. just like my fucken turkish ex. poor thing, though. i apologized a thousand ways, even though it wasn’t all my fault. he’d still make sure i got to the bathroom alright. a true gentleman. i jerry-rigged the spigot outside to keep a drip going that day. scorpions all around those rocks. i was still cursing him, though. my boy could be seen to be getting a drink there, as could the local union of deer & whatnot. should have thought of that before. might have saved me from having to figure out What the Hell the hard way.

we're all niggers now

how young & stupid I was. how wonder a country, a city, to know that you have time to grow up. depending, that is, on how stupid you are & what part of the country you are in. sadly, the color of your skin does buy you some grace, for reasons that have always made a difference for or against you... well, this being one of those days, I didn't know what I had just earned, but I figured I was paying the piper now.


i have a great friend that is an activist & musician from back in the 60s- yea, uh, huh. a beautiful black man dreaded out. a mix of dutch, scotch & island indies. what an interesting life. stories that blow me away. he lives a nice life with his wife & cat. very creative, very special to me. his wife is a beautiful woman. a strong, intelligent woman. college professor in such a mind blowingly great area to talk about for a pleb. going over there, sharing a bottle of wine, having a smoke, a nice dinner is a great send off for my road trips- or any time of the year. so, he’s riffing one time, singing to me & i caught it on my phone & made it his personal ringtone. it was how big business & government has turned us all into rats running the race. the chorus… we’re all niggers now, we’re all niggers now.

well, i caught about twenty seconds more & it was great. i got it loud & clear. now i’m a baltimore girl, born & bred. there isn’t anywhere i haven’t walked, day or night. i’ve lived in the village, country, city & ghetto. i’ve attended to emergencies or inadvertently caused them. ey! it’s city living & i’m a city girl. so, i’m making my way home from somewhere & i’m taking the late bus on a friday night going right through the heart of the ghetto. can’t be helped & i’m not even gonna try.

i’m sitting near the front of the bus & pretty much across from me is a middle age woman. you just know this woman works a steady job & always has. she is the cornerstone of her family & has lifetime responsibilities. a few seats behind me is a crazy old man with a cane talking some serious shit to the voices in his head. he has the disability check & he’s lucky if he has any family or friends that answer the door when he knocks. in the back is three twenty something ass-cracks with do-rags, dripping in gold & grills. nefarious characters that think they got it all. at least they are trying, working on it & having fun in the process. they are playing with their phones & fooling around. the bus driver is working his day, too & it’s another case of ‘the only white girl for miles around’. all the sudden my phone goes off & it’s my dreaded friend calling.

it takes a few seconds to hit me. if i ever have a tombstone, it should probably have my most likely last words on it. ‘holy shit’. dummy me had one of those big open bottomless pocketbooks. i popped up to the seats across from me & start digging in the damn thing. look over to the big mirror to see the driver looking at me, jaw dropped, shaking his head. looking me straight in the eyes. by the time the chorus is kicking in again, the middle age woman is doing the baltimore woman head shake & giving me the -uh, huh, i know that’s right, but i’m still in a bit of a panic. there’s only four words from the depths of my humongous purse that are absolutely crystal clear -we’re all niggers now!

i’m looking around & digging hard now but for the life of me i can’t get ahold of the damn phone. i got all eyes on me. the three boys in the back are silent. expressionless. the one with a baseball cap changed it’s position while i looked up at him. too many gangland symbolism to even try to know, but regardless a movement like that made me swallow hard. holeymotherfuckenshitfromhell, i may be taking a beating tonight. damn it!

the phone stops ringing & now i start explaining myself to the whole bus, got one hand going at the same time the other’s looking for the phone… -this my friend’s ringtone. he’s great, he’s an activist from way back, you’d love him, he’s dreaded, he’s singing about how big business & the gov’ment got us all panting for the penny! about now is when the damn phone starts ringing again. goddamn it, what could he possibly want at this hour? now i flip my pocketbook over because i got everybody shaking their head at me except the middle age woman who’s giving me the -amen! well, the phone fell behind the seat & just about everything scattered. you can really hear the chorus now that the phone is on the floor & i’m cursing my friend in a mosh of languages. it didn't matter the cute trueness of the thing in the moment i made this ring-tone, i hadn't thought about being misunderstood. i think the Great Point got across to Most, but did i really need the test to see if i had to explain myself further to someone not willing to listen? maybe, but this certainly wasn't the time or place- or was it? i waffled on that for a long time, thinking i did a awful thing to my own people, but being in a different place where nobody will stand up for anybody or anything for any reason, i see my community took care of me even in the iffiest of situations. no real explanation needed. i also see the bus driver’s jaw dropping further as he’s wrenching his neck & body to turn & see this shit. he never stopped shaking his head, looking at me. nobody rings the bell, but he’s pulling over & opening the door. oh no, i done done it now.

the silly old man is popping up out of his seat & raising his cane, coming at me. not fast, but… my first reaction was laughter. i mean, come on! he was a frail old thing. that cane would have hurt, but i would have only let him strike me once & taken it from him & that’s all. still, things instantly got a whole lot worse. really really looked bad. bad as it could get. the boys jumped the seats & were running down the aisle. fast. fuck me!

i was slipping on whatever makeup & shit that had hit the floor, and i was headed for the door. i said -thank you, sir! as i swung on the pole. he wasn’t even stopped yet. i got to look back as i was rounding the corner & it stopped me cold. the three boys surrounded the old man. they did nothing but hold his cane & surrounded him, told him to calm down as they helped him to his seat. they all sat down with him, while they gave me the nod with huge smiles on their faces. the bus driver asked me what i wanted to do. i told him i wanted to find my damn phone. he said -yeah!

teeny tiny boat

teeny tiny woman on a insey winsey boat,

with teeny tiny binoculars & weiny winy rope.

she has a teeny bit o’ sail & itty bit o’ hope,

but she moves her wiittle rudder for a ‘ittle bit of slope.

the ribs and the rocks

I go out sailing by myself. Wind & water medium to getting hard- especially since I was getting out there. Way past the - well out there. Had put the jib wrong & couldn't get her to turn, so I had to jibe- turn her ass end into the wind. Wind this high, it probably wasn't a good idea to throw it over so quick, she went in less than a heartbeat & it was EXCITING. Lost the solar shower. Oh well. 5 gallons of fresh water in there, too. Do it a few more times. Another mile out or so & I do it again, but this time, I go over the side! Probably should have sat down long ago. Did a cartwheel & hit my ribs on the way out. Second time on this sailing trip I nailed my ribs. Damn! Guy that owns the boat (just paid it off, but he still has title) taught me to sail. Boat Dude, Panic Man. Patience of Jesus Christ Himself. Never a cross word! He was right, thankfully. Boat will go into the wind & stop. Oh, thank Neptune! I'm a good swimmer, but I'm at least 4 miles out & I knocked the wind out of me. Bruised some ribs & a boobie. Ok, so a few hours later, I'm ready to take a break, maybe pack it in for the day, make lunch. Still clipping. Boat's leaning all the way. Wind isn't the right direction to get to where I know I got sandy bottom, so I try to start that fucking motor that Boat Owner Guy (slower than mud) hasn't showed me 3 times yet. He doesn't understand Brainleen yet & that's ok. I'd really rather skip the full explanation if I can help it (it becomes clear I can't, but not necessarily from this one- uh oh). Motor needs help, but I had got it started a few times before I left my anchor that morning, knowing the wind, so I wouldn't have the worst problems getting back- wind was just a touch south.

Sails still up- see land way out there- go & work on starting on the motor. Hey, what do u know, got it going! Oppp. Nope. Pull. Pull. Pull. Pull. Yep. Jesus Christ Mother Fucker Mississippi Goddamn!!! I've got a huge rock jetty not 20 feet away now. Whaaa??? Emergency stop on motor, hop a few things & throw the anchor & cleat it a few feet past the chain. It's a public park I know. People fishing. Looks like a thousand eyes looking at me. Probably 50 people max. I had to keep my hands busy not to panic. Put the sails & tie down. 5 minutes. Light a ciggie & pace. I'm fucked. I have no clue how to get to get out of this one. I won't call Boat Dude for anything if I can help it for a few reasons- 1-he stresses easy, just stresses. Doesn't point that at me, but why stress him out when time, tide & a few bruises will fix the problem. I know I'll figure it out. 2- i'd rather call for big shit like this then all the stupid little shit you wouldn't believe I could possibly fuck up. Everybody's got their limit, so don't push it- I'll fix that shit as good as new. 3-I gotta figure for as easy going as this guy is (& as attached & loves this little boat -freaking rebuilt it 100 percent) there's got to be a point where he explodes. I was right. So very right.

So, I text. Of course, Slower Than Mud takes awhile to get the text- like 10 chain smoked ciggies. feels like FOREVER, but understands I'm panicking now. Clear, short words- good advice. I take a hour or so to get it all done. Forget what it's called, but gets me some distance from the rocks by using the other anchor to pull the boat out to water, put the sails up & get the motor going. What I don't know is-there's no forward thrust on that fucker. He told me it was in perfect working order, but it never was. UGH! Anyway, I did something extra stupid & put the sails up. Can you tell I'm really new to sailing? I guessed the wind wrong wrong wrong. Pull the anchor & go right over into the rocks...

Know, you can only imagine how much this Little Pony means to me. I'm not losing her this easy. If there's going to be a hole in this boat, I swear to God, if I can help it at all, there's gonna be a hole in me too. So, you know I jumped off between the boat & the rocks- and took a hard slam against the rocks. I went under right when the world turned Bright White. Bad time to forget to inhale. That's when I broke a rib & dislocated two. Breathing White Lightening from that point on, by the way. I can laugh about it now. I remember screaming for help when i came up, but NOT ONE FUCKER MOVED UNTIL I CAME UP & SCREAMED FOR HELP. Probably as shocked as I was. It all moved in slow motion for a few minutes. About 6-8 people jumped in & got me & my girl into the harbor. It didn't really get easier yet.

Now I got each one of them giving me directions. Trying to get me out of there. Each one a man. Probably none of them sailors. Didn't sound like it. Did that fucker just hop on my boat without asking? Yep. Ummm, I know my stress level is high, I'm hurt, I'm also from Baltimore where it is rude rude rude to go where you are not invited at least for the first time (these people down here!)... I know this is a emergency, but he wasn't doing anything like getting lines or pulling sails- I WAS STILL DOING THAT. Imagine putting up or down that mainsail when you have a broken rib puncturing a lung & these fuckers sound like the Tower of Babel. Angel (found out his name later) from Kokomo. Ummm (I did invite him to stay the night after he brought me dinner that night. Umm Latin, coco brown beautiful, bright smile & just looking at me so, I don't know...) comes up & tells me to sit down, they'll hold the boat... take a breath... yeah, I kind of need one...I look around & the motherfucken rudder is floating away! Nooooooo. How on asslick mountain? I'm gonna nut punch Boat Dude... I'm getting unreasonably wound up. Now we got Colleen swimming out & getting it. It was almost gone to open water. Too bad the boat never even got close to getting there. Colleen was FUNNY! Biker chick funny. I'm not even going there, but I was venting at that point. Venting to Colleen about how i was going to legendarily fuck Boat Dude, but not now! She was right there with me, winding me up. Love her. Really really really venting. Probably winding myself up too much, but I did not know that then. All the men are silent, by the way.

Almost a hour of trying we end up tying to the public dock, but not before Castro (Antonio- the golf cart riding, county park manager) comes & starts hollering at me at. Can't tell me you can work at a county park & not speak English. Accent laid on way to thick. He's 20 feet away & speaking way too fast. Angel tells him I don't speak Spanish & what the problem is. That's Castro's first pass.

Cut to a dozen people all around. Most of them on my boat. Doing all sorts of things. Picking through my shit. It was like being a kindergarten teacher all the sudden. None of them helpful. Instant human seagulls. When the hell did this happen? None of them were the ones that helped push me. I got people standing around just watching me, too, as if I'm behind glass- actually standing there talking like I can't hear them & they are just feet away! I'm in a nightmare. I've got so much do do before my boat really starts crunches the dock or the slip badly. And, Oh, how I like to be watched. Yeah, make me the center of attention. I'd rather have the noose, Your Honor. But I got to eat it. Got no choice. I got people all over my boat.

This jackass is throwing my anchor into the lines the fishermen had out all day & there was 180 degrees of open water to use! Plus he had his feet in the lines. -Listen Jackass, I don't care if you are a Navy Admiral, I paid for everything on this boat- you don't touch a fucking thing without my say so. And never throw a line with any body part even close to that line. Skin burn. Now I gotta fix your mess & my own. Get the fuck off my boat now or hit the water. One... two... he got off right there & then. I was going to push him into those lines. Now some motherfucker just came out of my cabin! No fucking way! OH MY GOD! EVERY ASSHOLE OFF MY BOAT NOW! (These weren't the people that had helped me anyway. None of them. I think they went to dry off or catch their own breaths. It was some hard ass work). I turn around & there's Castro standing there watching me. Arms crossed. Great. He calls me over. In Spanish. Speaks to me ONLY in Spanish. Ever notice how stubbornness breeds stubbornness? Speedy Gonzalez. Rapido rapido rapido. I still haven't gotten my hands on any pain killers yet. Every fucken breath hurts. I hear him say- can't stay, the police are coming & the one that's pissing me off... -where's my man? I say nothing except -I know you speak English & I don't speak Spanish (yeah, right- lie to me & see what you get). I've had a hard day & I'm sorry about this mess. I need you to understand, but if you just won't, I'll be happy to talk to the police, at least they'll speak English to me. So, I got all the piss-ants off my boat & I go below. You just know I'm crushing those pills. Chewing those babies. I can't help if alls it is is asprin, i'm believing them to be goodies & that'll do for me. I need 30 second Mercy. This is 30 minutes past due at least. My hair looks like a bird got caught in it. Take care of all this shit. Getting texts from Panic Man-current boat title holder. I should have told him all was good. Told him I was gonna need bail. He shows up later outside the park 5 minutes after it closed & Castro wouldn't let him in. Good 'ol Classic Castro!

I get some tools out to try to fix the rudder. Knowing this guy, if the underpinnings came off, there will be a replacement set in a obvious place, probably two sets. He has the 'original, the backup & the backup to the backup' down to a science! I don't think he realizes what a saving grace a thing like that is, not just in boating- in everything. Or maybe he does & just plays dumb. Not smart to do so, but I don't know him well & that's his business. He's always five minutes late for the door, so it's hard to know what his thought process is. I see no underpinnings or anything like that. Find out later that he has it set to break away just for situations like this. Better to retrieve it than break it. Damn. Schooled me again! Amazed constantly how much there is to learn (probably never coming back to dry land) & how many creative ways this guy can find to do the same thing. Not dumb. A unique kind of mind I haven't encountered before. I also need some tools to look at the baby Honda motor. Can't understand why it did absolutely nothing. NOTHING. But then again, I really could have fucked that up. I haven't a clue what I'm looking at anyway, but everything is attached. The two things are right next to each other, so I'm out there, after I go & make sure all my sails are secure & my lines are clean. I'm out there doing my thing & there's Castro, @ 50 feet away, sitting in his golf cart, watching me. Just watching me. I'm spitting vile Arabic from between my teeth, waiting for the cops, I suppose.

You'd think I would have calmed down, but it's not like I'm getting a half an hour to myself. This is all piling on top of me. Castro comes back right after I bang my finger. Really hurt. Got it in my mouth, looking at him with hateful eyes. And he's giving me shit in Spanish again. Yeah, I'm very, very angry calm & quiet, so I understand a whole lot more of what he's saying. He's saying, I can't dock here. Sheriff's coming. I'm going to jail, boat impounded. Where's my man? You know how to use those tools? (Said those last two in perfect English) I exploded! -OH MY GOD!!! (Actually called him Castro, not Antonio- don't think he caught it) -CASTRO! Boobs don't make me stupid! New to sailing makes me stupid! Pain makes me stupid! I'm sorry for the mess & taking up your space, I'm working on it. I made a stupid mistake getting in this position & I broke a rib saving my boat.  

At this point I get shit on by a SkyRat. (Fucking seagulls- all those fishermen & their shit) right in front of him & let out a sick little giggle. -Yeah, this isn't even close to the worst part of my day (as it drips down my favorite sweater). He's got his hands in his pockets, looking down, shuffling his feet like a little boy now. - Look, today you are my man & I'm asking you to have some understanding.     Oh, no, I am way past reasonable. No explaining my behavior or actions to a judge. I haven't budgeted bail. I'll be sitting in there forever in Florida, I know how I react to being forced to do anything. It's just not Pretty Me Anything. I'm wrong wrong wrong. But I'm so far down this path I can't back up & I can't even see straight enough to know why. Castro surprises me (why am I getting surprised so much lately? Odd for me). Castro tells me OK. Now he's speaking English Only. I can stay. He'll call the Sheriff. Friend of his. I'm OK. Gotta be gone by 7:30 am. No problem. -Thank you. Won't even leave my boat.

I'm not even gonna go into the million little pieces Boat Dude exploded into. He had every right. He was spot on. Didn't beat me up for anything thing that I wasn't saying to myself. Oh, one thing & I'm surprised it sticks in my craw. He made a nasty comment about my bike the second he hopped on the boat. ASSHOLE RULES THE NAVY! Now you know that's like talking about somebody's Mama. I've seen grown, seemingly reasonable men pull guns on each other & a hundred people hit the dirt. Hot springs biker rally. This was not biker gang types, either. Boat Dude crossed a line, but I stayed silent. He was wound up. Had to fix the motor & tow my boat like 6 miles. Let him spin, it's just words. Whatever. I would have lost my shit on me long, long before. Lost the keel line like two weeks before- no clue how (oh, couldn't have been my fault, maybe?) & he had to fix it. He was mildly miffed for a micro-second. Oh my God!

Nobody ever told me how Dangerous Sailing was! I should have been out here years ago. I'm having the time of my life. Don't ever want it to end.