Position 34 56.74N 074 15.10W. We'd hit a patch of water that had no wind for three days and, needing to meet sponsors schedules in New York, the race was terminated in our present rank (7th for us, a finish so common that we call ourselves Uniquely Seventh). We're now motoring up to New York. We'll be there in 48 hours.
Right now we're about 60 miles off of Cape Hatteras on the border between North Carolina and Virginia. My old residence in Northern Virginia, the area which has been my home for most of my life, is just 275 to the north northeast.
In some ways, then, you could say I'm close to completing a circumnavigation of sorts of the globe, having moved to England a few years ago, then having continued on to the east on this boat to find myself back so close to home.
In truth, however, all these details of distance, time, and supposed accomplishments are meaningless to me. The world is my home and its contents, in both people and other natural beauties, are my rewards. The only accomplishments I concern myself with are whatever difference I make to those I meet.
On a lighter note, bored as we were drifting in a windless sea these last few days, when I started to give myself a haircut with the hair trimmer, someone asked if she could give me a mohawk and I conceded. It seemed fitting for New York. Truly now I do in fact look just like this:
Position 30 27.41N 74 42.27W When people I've met over the last year ask me where I'm from, I tell them I'm currently homeless and live on a boat. The longer answer is that I've lived in England for the two years preceding this race. Before that my home was in northern Virginia, though I was rarely there. If I had a place I'd call a second home, it would be Groveland, Florida (an hour west of Orlando).
I've never been particularly enthused about any location where it never snows but this area of Florida has a few merits (great friends and great hang gliding, to name two) that have drawn me back again and again. I even own a small trailer there.
We're opposite this region now and will remain so for perhaps two days, having hit a wind hole we've long known was in our path. Jamie just e-mailed me to say she noted on the Clipper Website that we were opposite her home just south of Cape Canaveral and was waving as we sailed by, 300 miles off the coast. Unfortunately I was below decks at the time and missed it.
Since we'll be here a while, I've pondered asking G.W. to jump in his sailboat and motor out to bring us a case of beer. As gracious as he may be, however, I'd have to admit that the 600 mile round trip that would entail might be considered unreasonable.
We'll just have to make do with our usual powdered fruit drinks, tea, and coffee until we hit New York in a few days (hopefully).
Besides Jamie, I've also have my daughter and three of her friends here, something they've been planning for almost a year. Standing at the dock the other night (it was probably 1:00 a.m. when we eventually got in), they all were there. A friend on another boat leaned over as we docked next to him and said, "Tim, you've got to write a book."
"On what," I asked.
"On how you do that," he said, gesturing towards the five screaming, waving, shouting, enthusiastic women calling my name over and over.
These last two days here, many of my friends (and strangers, too) have passed us and then stopped to turn around and stare in wonder as I and five women walk down the street.
I'm back on the boat in a few hours and should be in New York at the North Cove (www.thenorthcove.com) on June 1st or so. We'll be there only two or there days. Stop by if you're in the area.
…which actually is the title of the first of Jamie’s blog entries about her trip down here to see me. Reading it off her laptop as she composed the blog entry, I started chanting, “Panama! Panama ah ah ah AH ah.”
“You get it!” she exclaimed.
Well, of course I did. Do any of you?
We only had 36 hours on the Pacific side of the canal before we were scheduled to start the transit at 8:00 a.m. on May 16th, so Jamie and I spent a rushed day touring the canal museum (at the first lock on the Pacific side)...
...and strolling the old town before finishing her visit at one more (again) party that night at the marina.
She had so much fun with us here that she bought a ticket to Jamaica and will meet me there in a few days.
Although it might be hard to imagine that any clear night out here at sea could be more spectacular than another, I do in fact think that we were given some of the clearest field of stars I've ever seen in my life over the span of a couple of consecutive nights in early May off the coast of Mexico. I was on the helm one of those nights and noted that up to my right was the first cloud I'd seen in the sky all night. Upon further observation, however, I saw that it was no cloud. It was the section of the Milky Way around Scorpius so bright and clear that it looked like a cloud.
Almost every time I see the Milky Way, I recall the time my uncle George (who was there in Santa Cruz) told me about how, when he once took some inner city kids from L.A. out into the desert for an overnight trip, they were all awestruck to see the Milky Way for the first time in their lives, something many of us take for granted.
All around me that night in May perhaps a collection of five dolphins popped to the surface now and then, tracing their glowing wakes in the sea that we often see in the dark, taking audible breaths that sounded like the gasps they are. They seem so human when you listen to their breaths that analytically.
Yesterday we saw the largest collection of dolphins ever during this voyage. As all of us on deck stood dumbfounded by the sight we were witnessing, I asked the skipper if he'd agree with my estimation of fully 1000 dolphins around us, whipping the water up in deep play. He said, "Easily."
I've just finished reading Jacques Cousteau's first book, 'The Silent World,' about his early adventures in and under the sea. He estimates that there are more dolphins in the oceans than there are humans on earth. Considering the relation of water to land (maybe 4:1), it's quite conceivable.
Every hour one of us enters a string of data into the ship's log; heading, wind, barometer, etc. One of the data inputs is the water temperature, and it's been delightful to note how warm the water became as we headed south. Leaving Santa Cruz, it was 15C (59F). When it reached 30C (86F) a few days out of Panama, I grabbed a bucket out of storage and tied it’s rope to the railing before tossing it over. This is a standard precaution since it’s easy to underestimate the force the water flowing past the boat at 7 or 8 kts will exert on the bucket once it flips and catches water. What I failed to consider, however, was that the knot attaching the line to the bucket might have worked loose. I tossed the bucket over, it caught water, tore loose, and sat there floating as we sailed away with it's rope dangling from our guardrail.
I’ve yet to take a saltwater bucket shower.
Below is a video I made during this leg about working on top of the mast while at sea.
Position 13 24.86 N, 095 57.83 W. Due to the complete lack of wind in these latitudes off the coast of Mexico (something we all had anticipated from the start), the race was terminated at a pre-determined gate drawn across the sea and we all are now motoring to the Panama Canal. It will take us six days.
This morning I entered our remaining route into my GPS and was quite surprised to learn we've only just under 6,000 miles left in our voyage (with 29,000 miles completed). The longest sail will be from Syndey, Nova Scotia to Cork, Ireland: 1750 miles. From Jamaica to New York will be only 1200 miles. Everything else between here and Liverpool will be even shorter sails.
It's as if we're done with the marathons and have nothing but two 10Ks, one 5K, and a few 400m sprints to do. Personally, I'd rather run a marathon than a 10K. In a 10K, you have no excuse but to push hard right from the start, and so it will be in many of our races left.
In terms of time, it's only 58 days until our July 5th arrival in Liverpool. On one hand, I've certainly felt the weight and effect of all that time passed on the sea, but on the other, I am surprised there's so little left.
What do I miss the most? Running, biking, and even swimming for hours on end simply because I CAN.
What have I enjoyed the most? That's obvious: the people I love, whether in this race or on the lands we've visited.
...and strolling the old town before finishing her visit at one more (again) party that night at the marina.
