THE $750 BOAT
BOATS ARE BOATS AND ROCKS ARE ROCKS
APRIL 8, 2009
Boats, in my opinion, are like houses and spouses. It's just as much fun, and much cheaper, to know someone who has one than to own one yourself.
About eighteen years ago my friend Mars bought a boat for $750. It was a vintage 1950's cabin cruiser, all wood, like something out of a Humphrey Bogart movie. Being a carpenter by trade, he lovingly restored the craft, repainting and varnishing every surface.
Mars invited me to come out on it several times over that summer but I was busy putting Chameleon World together and getting into the swing of being the Singing Cab Driver, and kept putting him off. Well one Saturday afternoon in September he called me and said it was the last time he was taking it out for the year and I HAD to go out with him. Mars would NOT take no for an answer.
I have to work tonight, I protested, but he finally talked me into coming out just for the afternoon. I figured I could be cabbing by six or seven so I agreed, got in my taxi and drove to Mars' house way up in Deerfield. There I found myself in a sitcom episode. Yeah, we'll take her out but the wife won't let me leave until I finished painting the porch. Here, grab a brush. OK, that's done, now we need to clean out the boat. The kids use it to store all their toys.
What do you think, should we bring this case of beer? No, man, I have to drive tonight. Just bring a six pack or two. Finally we hitched the trailer to his truck, drove to a gas station, filled it up, then drove to the launching ramp in Waukegan. By the time we got the boat in the water and started her up, it must have been almost four o'clock.
I was feeling uptight about missing work, but I was already there, on a boat. I decided to do what you should always do when you can't control the situation. Relax and enjoy the scenery. We put-putted out of the harbor into mighty Lake Michigan itself, turned to starboard and headed south. We went maybe a mile down shore, dropped anchor and broke out the six-pack.
Just bobbing in the gentle waves on a beautiful summer afternoon, listening to eight-track tapes, drinking beer from a can, I mellowed out. Oh, I thought, now I get it. I see why people like boats!
Time slid by. We talked or just grooved to the music. Sometimes it was nicer just turning it off and listening to the waves or people on shore. The beer ran out and I wished we had brought that case. The sun slipped down in the sky and finally set in the west. The wind died. The mosquitos came out and now I DEFINITELY had to get back to the city. We pulled up the anchor and Mars started the engine.
When he put it into gear, there was a mighty roar and...nothing happened. He tried it again with same results. Oh that's just the transmission, Mars explained, laughing. It's been on it's way out all summer. He would rev the motor until I thought it might explode. The boat moved a few feet forward, possibly propelled only by the sheer force of the exhaust.
You got a radio, I asked? We should call the Coast Guard.
No, we can do this. It happens all the time. Worse comes to worse, he said, I have an outboard motor we can use.
Well, let's use it! No we can make it like this it just takes a little longer.
By now it was dark and I realized Mars is a weekend sailor who doesn't even know the Rules of the Road. We were making painfully slow progress. Eardrum splitting engine roar and smoke were moving us in the direction of the harbor but the bow rarely pointed forward. Water wasn't flowing past the rudder fast enough to steer.
I'm no maritime expert, Mars, but I think the entrance to the harbor is over there to the right.
The harbor is right in front of us, he insisted. Look, you can see the boats.
Yeah, I see the boats, but there's a breakwater between us and those boats. The entrance to the harbor is marked by those red and green lights. Remember we went straight out, then turned right.
Oh yeah, he admitted.
Boats are boats and rocks are rocks. They do not mix well, even hurtling forward at one mile per hour.
Eventually we made it into the harbor, up the ramp and onto the trailer. By the time we finally sat down in his truck it must have been pushing ten o'clock. Tired, hungry, sweaty and full of mosquito bites, it felt great to just rest for a moment in the silence. Rolling my head toward my friend, I thanked him and summed up the day.
That was quite an adventure, Mars, but I'm sure glad we didn't go flying in your $750 airplane.

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