tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69487218256818099612024-03-13T21:59:28.598-07:00Four Men on a BoatPierbennicklement Gelltinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00417768668578943790noreply@blogger.comBlogger36125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6948721825681809961.post-35491423310485514632015-06-22T14:07:00.002-07:002015-06-22T16:42:12.752-07:00Day 25: Adieu<div class="p1">
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I, Dockenstein, awoke at six to the coo of my alarm, momentarily distressed at finding myself in a bed. How had I gotten here? Where was our boat? Had it all been a dream?</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I snoozed the alarm and studied my surroundings. Beside me, Crimper lay with his head buried in the double bed's pillows. Across the room, River Hair and Grommeter shared a similar bed. The evening began returning to me: driving through Mordor at night, the walk over the levee, showers all around, the other three watching <i>White Men Can't Jump</i> on the hotel TV while I did laundry. Yes, I remembered, I'd left my clothes in the dryer when I'd gone to sleep around two a.m., though I could not remember my head hitting the pillow. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I left the other Cat Sassers sleeping and headed to the laundry room, planning to fold my and Grommeter's clothes right quick so we could head to New Orleans and I could catch my 10:15 bus to Memphis for my flight back to New Jersey—a vestige of the phase when we'd only hoped to get as far downriver as Memphis and its mighty mirrored ziggurat. I'd be leaving earlier than the others, who'd hang around the Big Easy trying to sell our boat.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">To my horror, the mass of clothes in the dryer was as warm and damp as the inside of a boat-pitched two-man tent at dawn. These clothes included every stitch of clothing I had with me (I'd brought everything indoors to pack), and all the clothes the others had worn. I jogged back to the room in boxer shorts, discovered I didn't have enough quarters, jogged to the front desk, swapped a dollar for change, and sprinted back to the laundry room. I set the dryer on another cycle and hoped intensely and specifically, the atheist's semi-prayer I'd exercised so often on this trip, though with much lower stakes. No oncoming barges, no broken motors, just some moist jeans. Come 6:50, I had no choice but to prematurely interrupt the dryer cycle and fold the clothes, most of which—Cat-Sass be praised—were nearly dry. The other lads were happy to receive their shorts again. We packed up and enjoyed a quick complimentary breakfast. Nick remarked that consuming this food was the most he'd ever enjoyed and appreciated a continental breakfast, and the most he'd ever felt like an animal. After looking down and realizing we had each taken several heaping platefuls of prepackaged cereal bowls, bagels, English muffins, and cups of milk and apple juice, we couldn't help but agree.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We hit the river around 7:30. The journey to New Orleans proper was twenty-one miles, so we needed to make at least ten knots in order for me to catch the bus, and on this bright Friday morning the river was good to us. Around nine fifteen we pulled into a dock at the Audubon Park near Tulane University. I said goodbye to the others, and a nice local doing some water tests took a photo of us with the boat. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Before I knew it, the boat had pulled away and I was sitting in an Uber on the way to the bus terminal, my Mississippi trip nearly over. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">My driver, Jim, said he'd moved recently moved to New Orleans from Atlanta. "My bride and I were called," he said. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"What do you mean by that?" I asked. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Jim explained that he and his wife had received a message from God that they needed to drop everything and move to New Orleans to found an apostolic center, where people could organize to spread the word and do good in the community. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"What was it like getting the message?" I asked. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"It's funny," Jim said, "my bride and I always said we'd never move to New Orleans, but then Poppa—I call Him Poppa—started sending the message loud and clear. As clear as this conversation we're having here, you and me."</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"How did you get the message?"</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"Weird little things. People moving to New Orleans, sending us back packages. I said to my bride, 'We both know we need to move somewhere. Let's both say where on the count of three.' And it was New Orleans."</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Jim says he loves the city, and that even in a mere seven months the apostolic center has boomed. They started in someone's living room but have since moved to an office. Several other people have specifically received calls to relocate to Mandeville, across Lake Pontchartrain from New Orleans. Jim mentioned another couple and a former world-touring evangelist "who made, like, six figures a year."</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"I've never seen anything like it," Jim said, shaking his head. "The best part is the peace. I know for sure that I'm supposed to be here. There's no striving. Sure, we could find striving, but we don't need to. This job, I only drive this car because I like it. I like driving."</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Jim parked outside the station and shook my hand. </span><br>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"You're the man," Jim said. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I boarded the bus, watched the city recede. I rode the bus all day, reversing in hours a journey that had taken weeks, back through Natchez, Vicksburg, and Greenvile, where a storm appeared ahead of us, and I felt anxiety rise in my chest as my mind raced with the precautions we'd need to take, rolling down the tarp sides, sealing our waterproof duffels, finding a place to beach, until I remembered I'd left the boat. We were safe inside this bus, no longer at the mercy of the wind. We hit the storm, and rain drenched the windows, and we all stayed dry</span>, listening to music or chatting quietly on the phone or sleeping or watching the light fall across the scenery—cornfields, mostly, and every now and then, beneath a bridge or through the trees, the river.</div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><i>Piers arrives home, Skypes during group hug.</i></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">• • •</span></div>
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Though we were sad to see fair Dockenstein go, we could not dwell long on the Dockenstein-sized holes he left in our hearts. Grommeter, River Hair and I (Clement AKA Crimper) carried on south towards central New Orleans (or N'awlans as the locals say), concerned about if we'd be able to sell Cat-Sass, and if it would be enough money. Our last stop was to be Lake Pontchartrain, just a canal and lock away from the New Orleans-bordering Mississippi. We arrived at "Industrial Lock" and radioed them for a time estimate. We received no answer. After repeatedly radioing, we finally decided to call the lock, where we were instructed to radio again. We did so, begrudgingly, only to finally receive the response that they could not give us a time estimate. Though we were further enraged, the ensuing 5 hour (!) wait proved to be an adventure in and of itself. In the midst of a distracted game of "Settlers of Catan," Bennett, who had been negotiating the whole game (which made for a sorry performance) with the guy who had checked out Cat-Sass in Baton Rouge, broke the news that we had a confirmed sale and would be dropping the boat off with him that evening. Though the price was not as high as we had hoped, we were all flooded with relief at the knowledge that the old girl was off our hands once and for all. The Settlers of Catan game was never finished.</div>
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After losing a 3-way game of Rock Paper Scissors, I, Crimper, was left with the boat while River Hair and Grommeter went to get some food and water. Though the temperature was well into the 90's and I felt a bit like I was going to be reduced to a raisin-man, I had a good time chatting with two barge-workers standing at the bow of a butane barge across the lock-wall from me. From them I learned some interesting barge-facts, such as: barge work is non-union; no qualifications are required; once you get on a barge, you don't get off until the cargo is delivered, and you sleep in shifts because the barge never stops moving; sometimes barge workers treat the barges as a manner of hitch hiking, quitting at their desired destination; if anyone that isn't a barge worker or the coast guard gets on a barge, everyone would probably lose their job; the more seasoned of the two workers had only been boarded by the coast guard twice, once when his captain smashed a tugboat (at the fault of the tugboat) and once when they found a dead body in the water.</div>
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Bennett and Nick returned to Cat-Sass, and roughly 30 minutes later we were told we'd be locking through with a tugboat and two police boats. Nick, who was at the wheel, drove us into the lock, but due to varied and conflicting instructions from the lock, the tug and the police, Nick ended up slamming the back of the boat into the lock wall to the total disgust of the policemen. </div>
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We ended up tying off to the tug, and waited for the water to fall. As soon as the gates opened, we were off, delighted to be rid of what was far and away the worst lock we'd ever encountered. Both over-powered police boats followed closely behind us, and soon rocketed past us, keeping us safe by almost capsizing us with their enormous wakes. Shaken by the whole grueling 6 hour ordeal, but excited to sell the boat, we took turns cleaning the deck as we made our way to the designated marina.</div>
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Upon arrival we took all our personal effects, including the attractive custom toilet seat lid and the fake duck, and left the rest for the future Cat-Sassians. They soon arrived to load her up, and, fully aware of what an incredible bargain he'd gotten, Mike (buyer), offered to give us a ride to our hostel. We gladly accepted, and loaded our bags into his pick up. We watched forlornly as Cat-Sass was driven onto a trailer, and her Bimini top folded down. In the words of a young Che Guevara, the trip was "a glimpse of [five] lives running parallel for a time, with similar hopes and convergent dreams," and now the five lives diverged, Cat-Sass going one way, and each crew member going his. </div>
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Mike said he'd have to follow the pick up with the trailer back to his house before he could take us, because the trailer didn't have tail lights and he didn't want them to get a ticket. On the way he gave us some incredible insight into his time as a firefighter during Hurricane Katrina. He and his fellow firefighters slept on an abandoned cruise ship docked at the submerged Domino sugar plant, and during the day drove boats around the 8-foot floodwaters that were his childhood streets, picking up refugees on rooftops and bringing them to the local high school from which they were evacuated. He reflected on the neighborhood's recovery, pointing out what used to be stores and houses, where an oil refinery had burst and had been legally obliged to buy up the real estate, and where a sewage plant had acted as a fertilizer for the regrowth of the cypress swamp that had been ruined by the sea wall. </div>
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Finally the trailer reached his house, and began to back down the driveway. Mike pulled a u-turn and started to head the other way.</div>
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"Look at this guy," he said, disgusted, and we turned to see his son mooning us as we drove off. Though the adventures of Cat-Sass's crew continued that night in the Big Easy, it was clear that Cat Sass's spirit had already imparted enough (cat) sass into Mike's son to prompt him to reveal his (cat's) ass, and we knew she was no longer our boat, and that it was here that our story had come to an end.</div>
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One final thank you is in order: to everyone who followed our journey. We are honored to have shared this time with you.</div>
Pierbennicklement Gelltinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00417768668578943790noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6948721825681809961.post-14969515173352295432015-06-21T20:22:00.001-07:002015-06-21T20:28:50.394-07:00Day 24: yes, we are on an adventure<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The crew woke up around six a.m. to prep the boat for potential buyers of Ole' Cat Sass. She was looking fine by 8:30 after some sweeping and organizing. We had a couple interested parties lined up in Baton Rouge and we had told them to meet us at the Baton Rouge boat ramp. With only a few days left to sell the boat we were not optimistic about getting the price we felt Cat Sass deserved and anxious about what would happen if she did not sell at all. First to arrive was Mike, a retired fire fighter from New Orleans, and his son. Mike had told us he had plans to use Cat Sass for a trip on the upper Mississippi, so we hoped to sell it to him. We took them for a spin and appearing to approve of the boat, Mike said he would do some thinking and get back to us. With high hopes we awaited the second pontoon enthusiast, however the timing did not workout and we had to continue on to New Orleans before we had a chance to show him the boat. Despite the bad news, we continued on our way south in good spirits. An hour or two down the river, as I (River Hair) piloted the boat, my phone began to ring. I slowed the boat so I could hear above the engine and paused the blasting music, expecting it to be someone interested in Cat Sass as I'd been receiving calls about the boat. However, the voice on the other end said something like, "you guys are in the pontoon south of the white steam ship, right?" Confused but intrigued, I replied that we were. It turned out that he worked on the steam ship that gave people rides up and down the Mississippi and was friends with Layne (administrator of Mississippi Paddlers group mentioned in previous blog posts). He had seen Layne's posting about our boat and trip in the group and then looked out from the steam ship and saw Cat Sass. He gave us advice to visit the Nottaway plantation house a few miles down (oldest existing antebellum plantation house in the South) and he spoke to the captain of his ship who gave us a location he believed we could dock for the night at our destination, Luling. This is another example of the incredible kindness from strangers that we have received on our way down the river. We pulled up to the levy at Nottaway and walked around the plantation that was now a resort. Our new friend on the steam boat sent us a picture of Cat Sass in front of the white mansion. </span><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheCn3A8y6Ai1LwaFKhTtAMDA_CoyqOwGeYR4Xd_u26uoGW97Dvj7CEoP2XQWBydh9e7pW_EiopXyCgsBCoQ4FTZ2QD-BvNFTvvAa02AerHD95yhkHHAOnYywEZpJtSmGp0X_UZFlcBAOk/s640/blogger-image-1886942359.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheCn3A8y6Ai1LwaFKhTtAMDA_CoyqOwGeYR4Xd_u26uoGW97Dvj7CEoP2XQWBydh9e7pW_EiopXyCgsBCoQ4FTZ2QD-BvNFTvvAa02AerHD95yhkHHAOnYywEZpJtSmGp0X_UZFlcBAOk/s640/blogger-image-1886942359.jpg"></a></div></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Our next stop on the river was in the town of Donaldsonville. We stopped to refuel and Crimper, Grommeter, and I went ashore in search of food and drink. After finding nothing but a small fried chicken shack, Grommeter returned to shore. Crimper and I kept searching, but finding nothing we returned to the chicken shack. We ordered one lunch meal and talked with the window attendant at the shack. He offered us snowballs (like snow cones) while we waited outside the window of the hot shack. When the chicken arrived we realized that they didn't accept card (although it said they did on the window) and we had no cash. They offered to drive one of us to the nearest ATM, so Clement hopped in the car and the man backed out of the shack driveway. He immediately drove forward and into the path of a fast moving pickup truck that had to swerve onto the grass to avoid collision. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"Oh shit," the driver said, nonplussed. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Without stopping the car or slowing down, he pointed at the pickup driver and nodded. After some angry honking, they were off. Loud Dirty South hip hop blasted on the not inconsiderable subwoofers of the car, until track 8 on the CD, which started to skip. Every time the car went over a bump, the track skipped to a section in the song where someone yelled "Bullshit!" until Clement changed the track. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I stayed and chatted with the restaurant attendant and ordered more snowballs for dockenstein and gromiter back on the boat. Clement returned after a short while and we headed back over the levy, snowballs in hand. Grommeter and Dockenstein scolded us for taking 45 minutes, which we believe is an exaggeration. A few days earlier, after Layne (mentioned above) posted about our trip in the Paddlers group I'd gotten a facebook message from a man named A.J. who was a member of the group and lived between Baton Rouge and New Orleans on the river. A.J. gave me information on docking in New Orleans. We did not know until he told us that we would need to lock through to a channel that fed into Lake Pontchartrain as there was no mooring on the Mississippi in the city. He also put us in touch with a woman named Trixie. She lived with her husband in Paulina, Louisiana, a small town on the shore of the Mississippi. Trixie offered us, over facebook, any assistance we needed and a place to dock over night. There are no good places to dock on the section of river between Baton Rouge and New Orleans, so we were very happy that A.J. had put us in contact with Trixie. We highly recommend, for anyone planning on doing a similar trip, getting in contact with the Mississippi Paddlers group on Facebook. We discovered there is a whole network of kind people willing to help travelers on the river and we wish we had know about it earlier. Earlier that day, the boat had been faced with the decision of stopping due to darkness and waking up four a.m. in order to reach Dockenstein's bus in New Orleans, or going for another few hours in darkness and waking up at a more reasonable hour to complete our journey. We chose the former (no, we didn't make Dockenstein take a bus because that wouldn't be a very nice thing to do), meaning we wouldn't be able to stay at Trixie's as we needed to make it farther south. We did however ask if they could help us get more gas as we wanted to travel fast to minimize time on the river after darkness. When we pulled up to the side of the river at Trixie's dock, Wayne (Trixie's husband) and his brother awaited us on golf carts. After meeting the brothers, Crimper and I hopped on the golf carts, loaded with gas cans, while Dockenstein and Grommeter hung out on Cat Sass.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgljRrEIkn9lP7swOPmlNI1YOTK55D0UYawKUyC0vgdrEP7w2ls-T98pSVhzII1KfA2FdxuBhBuhdt-c5Y5li3pYi5R7Y_LTaMZ1k_Tk2TH6d1cLGZjGNL3QTqyZIrmZX8J_WjdlhG_1oc/s640/blogger-image--1441501554.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgljRrEIkn9lP7swOPmlNI1YOTK55D0UYawKUyC0vgdrEP7w2ls-T98pSVhzII1KfA2FdxuBhBuhdt-c5Y5li3pYi5R7Y_LTaMZ1k_Tk2TH6d1cLGZjGNL3QTqyZIrmZX8J_WjdlhG_1oc/s640/blogger-image--1441501554.jpg"></a></div></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We rode the carts back to Wayne's house and moved into his pickup truck to drive to the gas station. We chatted with Wayne and his brother during the ten minute ride to the stations. Their strong Louisiana accents (or our inability to understand accents outside our own) made it difficult to have a conversation, but both parties wanted to and tried. They had been born in Paulina and had lived there for 70 years. Surrounding Wayne's house were the houses of numerous family members, which he pointed out as we drove by. Wayne had 12 siblings. His father, who it seemed was the patriarch of Paulina, had over 300 descendants (12 children, 77 grandchildren, over 200 great grandchildren). The city of Paulina used to be mostly sugarcane farmland and Wayne and his brother had watched its transformation into a suburb. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Meanwhile, back at the boat, Grommeter and Dockenstein met a series of interested passersby, all riding golf carts, including an older gent who described the town as "golf cart heaven" because of all its trails. Shortly thereafter a woman and several children pulled up on another golf cart. Though Grommeter and Dockenstein couldn't hear the details of the conversation between the woman and the older man, the Car Sassers were privy to a simmering tension between the two. The man soon scooted away to watch a baseball game. The woman's husband arrived, and the couple and the assembled children questioned the Cat Sassers about their boat-living situation for a few minutes. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"Are you on an adventure?" one girl asked as the woman motored away. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The Cat Sassers confirmed that they were.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br>Soon the gasmen returned. We loaded the gas cans back on Cat Sass, said goodbye to Wayne and his brother, and we were back on the river. The section of river between Baton Rouge and New Orleans is known as Cancer Alley, due to clusters of cancer patients that have been covered by the media in the area (in one case 15 cancer cases within two blocks). The area has sections lined with industrial plants and was formerly called petrochemical corridor. We were the only recreational boat on the water for obvious reasons. As we had continued south on the river we were constantly warned about this area due to the huge barges and numerous cargo ships. We started seeing cargo ships once we had reached Baton Rouge. We ended up navigating the most dense industrial sections well after sunset, meaning that the lights on the factories lit the sides of the river brightly. The lights on the plants look like scary miniature city skyline at night. It kind of looked like Mordor. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFXKIFMQYJLH13DBNI0yBkgKN53vrYqM0Oo_r4XU7yt2AC8l5mJGNfaBBDt-449tQVE8TDLf2ZqL_MqVJVox10ia0DwiVo4ZsYmTHxmycSaXURNzd9Wh5YQPb3t3Z8Fin058SdbweT9Fc/s640/blogger-image-1443702910.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFXKIFMQYJLH13DBNI0yBkgKN53vrYqM0Oo_r4XU7yt2AC8l5mJGNfaBBDt-449tQVE8TDLf2ZqL_MqVJVox10ia0DwiVo4ZsYmTHxmycSaXURNzd9Wh5YQPb3t3Z8Fin058SdbweT9Fc/s640/blogger-image-1443702910.jpg"></a></div></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">At one point we passed a massive tower with a huge burning gas flame at the top. The air reeked of burning chemicals so we covered our mouths with our shirts in desperation. During this very surreal and stunning section of river, we were also all in edge as we navigated around barges and cargo ships. Crimper was at the wheel, and the rest of us rotated between using the spotlight, navigating and eating dinner (this also was convenient as we only had one clean fork). Barges are especially difficult to see at night as they are low in the water and blend in with the sides of the river. The only way to see if them is by searching for their green and red navigations lights and determining their direction from the orientation of the lights. After a stressful few hours we tied up at the bank of the river near a bridge and crashed at the Ramada Inn for our first night on beds in weeks (thanks to Father Gelly for the bed funding). <br></span></div>Pierbennicklement Gelltinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00417768668578943790noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6948721825681809961.post-37766794018414572362015-06-18T12:37:00.001-07:002015-06-18T13:41:55.692-07:00Day 23: "you don't get to meet a state trooper every day"<span style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We awoke in the sunny town of Natchez, Mississippi, halfway between Vicksburg (or Sicksburg (sick in a good way) for those in the know) and Baton Rouge (or "Red Stick" for those in the know). We were tied off to some trees along the bank just too far to get ashore, so we drifted downstream a touch to a boat ramp where Bennett, Piers and I (Clement) jumped ashore with our nine Terry cans. We began the long walk to the gas station, but, as most gas runs tend to go, someone offered to help us. A woman named Gail stopped us while walking her dog and asked if we needed help. We certainly did, and Gail, who turned out to be friends with Lane (of the Vicksburg chapter of the Lower Mississippi Paddlers Club), told us we could use her truck. NB: she did not drive us, she gave us the keys to her truck and told us she hoped the starter would work. </span><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We were very happy to drive ourselves around, and stopped by the gas station and The Donut Shop (purveyors of some of the finest coconut donuts this writer has ever had). After unloading the Terrys and dropping off Gail's truck, we could no longer resist Ole Man River's siren song, and pushed off into the eternal current of time and the Mississippi. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">The day passed uneventfully, causing this writer to remark that he always gets the boring days and guess that Boethius' Rota Fortunae has a four day period. The most interesting things that happened were: when Nick and I had to hold onto a tree limb so we could refuel and lots of little bugs crawled off the branch and into our hair; and, when we realized that we ought to dance at the front of the boat when we passed barges, regretting that we had not done so earlier.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Since not that much happened, we have decided to take this time to thank the people without whom this trip would not have happened.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Mark Mitchell (from Maine, not the Muscatine Contrary Brewing Company), who sent us the charts for the Upper Mississippi River, Quimby's 2015 Cruising Guide and a marine radio. Without these things we may have died, either from getting caught on a wingdam, getting eaten alive by mosquitos or getting sucked into the turbines of a dam.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Our parents, for supporting us in this endeavor. Nick's mother <span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">picked up Nick and our bags from the airport, </span>let us ship hundreds of boxes of supplies to her house, let us use her car to drive around Milwaukee picking up more supplies, helped us rent the pickup we used to ferry all said supplies to Pewaukee and beyond and, in the words of Nick himself, "put up with this crazy idea."</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">The Gelly parents had us to stay in Peapack, made us a huge breakfast, drove us to the airport and, in the words of me myself, "put up with this perfectly reasonable idea."</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">The Gelly's Uncle John kindly donated some weatherproof speakers to the cause, which were used frequently and to great effect.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Manon Lefèvre disabused Piers, her boyfriend, of the notion that a hammock would be sufficient sleeping quarters for this journey, and lent him her nice tent, in which Piers and Clement have slept nearly every night. Thanks, Manon!</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">River Dog (<a href="https://bacshortly.wordpress.com" x-apple-data-detectors="true" x-apple-data-detectors-type="link" x-apple-data-detectors-result="1">https://bacshortly.wordpress.com</a>), who has completed several journeys on the river and gave us a huge amount of information and advice without which we would not have known where to begin at all.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Though I was resigned to another slow blog day, the blog day was not over, and some small amount of bureaucratic adventure was still to come. Upon arriving in Baton Rouge, we docked on the side of a casino boat, and Piers walked inside to ask if we could dock there. Fifteen minutes later, Bennett got a text from Piers reading "I'm in the security office and they have my ID." Bennett, Nick and I furiously untied the docking lines and were ready for Piers to sprint out the door and jump onto our escape boat, until we received another text two minutes later which read, "I think it's cool, somebody inside casino broke glass on slot machine so they are on edge." We calmed down and were ready when a few security dudes came out and started chatting with us. Apparently, since the casino is a government organization, they have to report all such incidents to the state police, who have to come get a statement. This is a stupid rule from a stupid government that runs money-sucking hell barges, and alas we were thusly caught in a bureaucratic wormhole for the next hour.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Piers sat across the desk from the head of security while she and the head of surveillance watched footage of the alleged glass-breaking on a loop, trying to determine whether or not they had evidence on their hands. Evidently the suspect had also threatened a casino employee, saying he was going to go to jail for beating up the staff member. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"It's a dumb reason to go to jail," the head of surveillance said. "You get there and you're like, Why did I do this?" Then he seemed to realize anew that Piers was in the room. "Not that I've ever been to jail," he said. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Two more officers entered the room. "It's like somebody cracking the whip," one said, and explained that she'd just returned from breaking up an altercation at the hotel. "It was like, 'My ex-boyfriend slept with my next boyfriend,'" she said, shaking her head. "Too many boyfriends."</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">All three officers gathered around the screen, which Piers could not see, and tried to make sense of the tape. "See," the head said, "there he goes. Whack. Whack. Whack." The head of surveillance said he'd need to see the guy draw back and deal the thing a real blow in order to be convinced.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">More bureaucratic cogs were set in motion and eventually, because I am not of age to be on the premises of a casino, I was left outside with a surly security guard who really really wanted his cellphone to contact his "side bitch." I tried to engage with him: </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"Do you see lots of crazy shit working here?"</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"Crazy shit? Uhhh yeah all types of crazy shit."</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"Oh nice, like what type of stuff?"</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"...I dunno, people getting drunk and doing stuff."</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"What's, like, one thing that's happened?"</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">At this point, someone got back to him via radio about his cellphone, and he became otherwise engaged.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Inside, State Trooper Evans gave Piers a few rudimentary sobriety tests, and generally tried to flex his government appointed muscles. Nick commented that when Evans first walked in, Nick thought he was the guy who had broken the slot machine.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">He walked us onto our boat, and offered to take a picture. "You don't get to meet a state trooper every day," he said, and we thanked our lucky stars this was true. The picture turned out to be a picture of us, not with us, which is not really an exciting thing for him to offer to do.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggQy4AmcRLSmx9RywMDBkNacauNKF2J4jhdQZwh_L1UQrSSKaFhe7Zbb9gqZHNR3SI9H52a75g0B8PMIkZZi4SCykcCfVSJMHQoF4f_UfN1AITah9aE6VCJji4T-wdqb1f1zaKajMYQCk/s640/blogger-image--888029446.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggQy4AmcRLSmx9RywMDBkNacauNKF2J4jhdQZwh_L1UQrSSKaFhe7Zbb9gqZHNR3SI9H52a75g0B8PMIkZZi4SCykcCfVSJMHQoF4f_UfN1AITah9aE6VCJji4T-wdqb1f1zaKajMYQCk/s640/blogger-image--888029446.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We left the casino, found some nearby trees to tie off to, and slept on the deck.</div>Pierbennicklement Gelltinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00417768668578943790noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6948721825681809961.post-67762164596173293442015-06-17T09:35:00.001-07:002015-06-17T09:52:50.638-07:00Day 22: it's always sunny in Vicksburg<span style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We awoke at the Vicksburg harbor boat ramps, sweltering and ready to consign the town to the growing stack of river chart pages we've finished. But as if the previous night's trials had allowed us to work off unknown sins, we found Vicksburg heaping its bounties at our feet. While Clement wandered the town on his eternal quest for postage stamps to mail postcards and sampled an "award winning green tea frappé," and while I (Piers) crouched in the shadow of the sea wall in a tank top to make a work phone call, Bennett and Nick met a friendly man who recommended the town's riverboat museum and a restaurant called Klondyke Trading Post, both down the road. </span><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">The Trading Post's facade had us a little worried. It looks like an abandoned gas station. Never ones to judge a book by its cover, we boldly strode through the door, where we found a nice little restaurant/deli with a great lunch/brunch deal. We went to work on heaping plates of chicken, cabbage, black eyed peas, and macaroni and cheese. Stuporous from food, we sat around completing the local newspaper's crossword, sipping fresh-brewed coffee, and discovering a Kid Rock song called "All Summer Long." This song samples the entire piano line of Warren Zevon's immortal "Werewolves of London," and its lyrics principally address how much fun it is to listen to Lynyrd Skynyrd's dingus anthem "Sweet Home Alabama" all summer long. Whether Kid Rock's tune is a masterful use of postmodern pastiche or a woefully empty piece of schlock is not for us to say. (Nick thinks it's the former.)</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">The museum was closed but we did stop into a market full of kooky goods. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZGa8HOqlI6PM9fyPRIYqY1jA_-QrkjwqhEGrZjXSJXIvduYbyDrzewPN3AfJQ8-Bbq3Vt-LNrGFfmvtWa3ERJj9f3GIp6lbg_qJJYBt14UKLWLpVxlw2aS2MipacUIBFbWX39mZgRcqE/s640/blogger-image--1726523535.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZGa8HOqlI6PM9fyPRIYqY1jA_-QrkjwqhEGrZjXSJXIvduYbyDrzewPN3AfJQ8-Bbq3Vt-LNrGFfmvtWa3ERJj9f3GIp6lbg_qJJYBt14UKLWLpVxlw2aS2MipacUIBFbWX39mZgRcqE/s640/blogger-image--1726523535.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP1Hz3Ds3BbE7ZARr9ZnC3P3IdDmwj-bzVReVgdvmtI4u4vTQivUaiVUZNaoidMEzxIpFY5zt48HuS3lX0rSBxB1XlFOD84AxMD6IWKaHn5t-1KtNIVbJ1hoWZ_ybOicPkCOsGmquPnY0/s640/blogger-image-1212759921.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP1Hz3Ds3BbE7ZARr9ZnC3P3IdDmwj-bzVReVgdvmtI4u4vTQivUaiVUZNaoidMEzxIpFY5zt48HuS3lX0rSBxB1XlFOD84AxMD6IWKaHn5t-1KtNIVbJ1hoWZ_ybOicPkCOsGmquPnY0/s640/blogger-image-1212759921.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We had our eyes on a volleyball printed with an imitation bloodprint à la "Castaway," but at $20 we could not justify the expense. Bennett picked up a tropical shirt in preparation for tropical storm Bill, whom we might encounter a few days hence. While we checked out, we learned that one of the employees' sons, Lane, was a big guy in the Lower Mississippi paddlers' scene. She said it was too bad we hadn't got in touch with Lane because he has many connections further downriver and would have loved to meet us. She offered to pass our information along, so we left a phone number and a link to this blog.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"> </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We returned to our boat to clean it up and ready our gas cans for what promised to be a scorcher of a gas run. We met a nice guy named Greg who hooked us up with some starter fluid. He's thirty but looks like he's our age, and sells grass seed for a living. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"Finally I can legally sell grass," he said.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We also met two brothers named Kentavius and Cameron (13 and 6 years old, respectively) who were hanging out at a nearby park waiting for their mom to get off work. Having availed themselves of the fountain, they had moved on to the waterfront, where they discovered us. As we went about our business they began asking questions evincing a mixture of fear and awe of the vessel. We told them we had to make a gas run, but suggested that if they wanted a ride when we returned, we could take them on a quick loop. They nervously accepted. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">No sooner had the Cat-Sassers (Terry Cans in hand, Kentavius and Cameron in tow) ascended the ramp onto Levee Street than a man holding a sandwich asked if we needed a ride to a gas station. We gratefully accepted, loaded the cans into the truckbed, and climbed in. Kentavius and Cameron came along for the ride. I rode up front and learned that our benefactor is a physicist who works for the Army Corps of Engineers, the organization that makes the charts we use. I thanked him for this and asked about his work. He said he takes riverbed samples up and down the Lower Mississippi in order to determine whether and how to direct the flow of sediment.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"Oh," I said, "so you're responsible for all the dikes and wing-dams we've been desperately steering around."</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"Yep," he said. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We kept it civil, filled our cans, and returned to our boat to find Lane, who had cancelled a bike excursion to come meet us. He is champ of the day, with that nice physicist earning a cool second. Lane gave us some tips on the rest of the trip, some places to find travel resources, and, most fortuitous of all, an intro to two online communities where we could perhaps find a buyer for our dear Cat-Sass. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Yes, reader, it's true: we're hoping to sell our beloved boat by the end of this trip. We've been gambling on offsetting the trip's costs thusly. We'd been posting on Craigslist in Baton Rouge and New Orleans, finding a few interested parties and so, so many PayPal scammers, who swarmed us like the Edgewater Marina's mosquitos. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt99VDA41wAqb2pE0iEtgKp8YAUxri83iAs1Llqs2DJdhPpoc5uvlnUekfl38u8khwi5Yj0yvyNCS4Lr8_4d4b-BdmWnjfazIT6wbJIXHhmKpgyHFY8-aDazud8zOmYg7vtBJzneIRwvA/s640/blogger-image--886879746.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt99VDA41wAqb2pE0iEtgKp8YAUxri83iAs1Llqs2DJdhPpoc5uvlnUekfl38u8khwi5Yj0yvyNCS4Lr8_4d4b-BdmWnjfazIT6wbJIXHhmKpgyHFY8-aDazud8zOmYg7vtBJzneIRwvA/s640/blogger-image--886879746.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">With Lane's social media bump and his blessing, we took Kentavius and Cameron for a spin on the water. Cameron took some photos using Clement's camera, and Kentavius drove the boat a short ways before bowing out. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcDqr-ZBbmXGnvXBtdJZMAtdwy_dJMrehMWi250K0GB70wYe57LoS7kTmsz7Pz8hwuyiO_QCf8AXOiK9qHq7IT-COQzWIeVUXkua-Jr3lk_X9w9VYEVsAjIka5rJvt67QMhI6jQ79XF1k/s640/blogger-image--73451890.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcDqr-ZBbmXGnvXBtdJZMAtdwy_dJMrehMWi250K0GB70wYe57LoS7kTmsz7Pz8hwuyiO_QCf8AXOiK9qHq7IT-COQzWIeVUXkua-Jr3lk_X9w9VYEVsAjIka5rJvt67QMhI6jQ79XF1k/s640/blogger-image--73451890.jpg"></a></div></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"I drove my dad's car once," he said. "When I tell my mom I drove a boat she's going to be like, What?"</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"Should we let your brother drive?" Clement asked. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"No," Kentavius said. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">On no condition did Cameron wish to drive, anyway. We learned that the boys' mom would be back to retrieve them in fifteen minutes, so we hurried them back to the dock in order to avoid any kidnapping-related comedies of errors. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKfb-RJ8dfL48LjdBup4Fuolo1ZV_toCLNZaj-YfW8vKzg7H5EpF72erJ4Bw-XIg_PhRpy8uyg_FyPj5DEmrRqNY341sA-cnczVyzkjXAVll9zLXygLQ6OUNv7qTd5hnNLMUynSIr_z5M/s640/blogger-image--1214903836.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKfb-RJ8dfL48LjdBup4Fuolo1ZV_toCLNZaj-YfW8vKzg7H5EpF72erJ4Bw-XIg_PhRpy8uyg_FyPj5DEmrRqNY341sA-cnczVyzkjXAVll9zLXygLQ6OUNv7qTd5hnNLMUynSIr_z5M/s640/blogger-image--1214903836.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We bid Vicksburg adieu and headed to Natchez (pron. NATT-cheese, apparently). The trip was smooth, which prompted a discussion about whether it was better to suffer and have something to write about, or instead to have an uneventful day and a short blog entry. We decided that for all the stress of the moment, we look back with some fondness on all our Cat-Sasstrophes short of mortal peril (arrival in St. Louis, flooding engine in path of barge, etc). </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We arrived in Natchez after dark and tied up to some swamped trees beside a casino boat, feeling lucky. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">A parting note: Gelly bros' beloved cousin Iris has requested photos of daily life aboard the Cat-Sass.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Here's Clement making coffee:</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTGGaRw9zXNue1ipMHOhpGgLeFera6Uwxs_GVMo8N_qwJyxXhjPhSowVAHv64HveH6nl8cPS87NFLBvDAeerAGbCT9NJCoQk0_D1AioEMiaVAy-U3xWMxx6pS2gms3K81wHGq-F57Imuo/s640/blogger-image-2141112093.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTGGaRw9zXNue1ipMHOhpGgLeFera6Uwxs_GVMo8N_qwJyxXhjPhSowVAHv64HveH6nl8cPS87NFLBvDAeerAGbCT9NJCoQk0_D1AioEMiaVAy-U3xWMxx6pS2gms3K81wHGq-F57Imuo/s640/blogger-image-2141112093.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Here are Bennett and Nick keeping it real: </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5XFU_ekvbydlynsIGUUXROBBFGPAQIwqQYbHOZdwvLbknfv9xsAw_Qyqr7M0wmva-xXgVjwoC6OOsBwgIzvtnTg6rMQ-f1KN7b8s_D2pSXYRf5MtW3_ZbyGxWmCiwAtxZiO2jTRnnLq4/s640/blogger-image-16402499.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5XFU_ekvbydlynsIGUUXROBBFGPAQIwqQYbHOZdwvLbknfv9xsAw_Qyqr7M0wmva-xXgVjwoC6OOsBwgIzvtnTg6rMQ-f1KN7b8s_D2pSXYRf5MtW3_ZbyGxWmCiwAtxZiO2jTRnnLq4/s640/blogger-image-16402499.jpg"></a></div></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Here are our gas/mileage notes, and our navigation charts, which I've briefly stopped reading in order to write this post: </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixXnCVP6mX0ZUJ-en2n_YuwEp7H8CId0yHbE0l-VtX5FvSD2_XVVyGzUYBhJKddxh8b8ETkpHbCEVNwUGecDVK00Moq5jUd7HSwAE3GY-45y0WTwqxC9KlAFAwijjAwIMRY0VM7GCQRXk/s640/blogger-image--1874793313.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixXnCVP6mX0ZUJ-en2n_YuwEp7H8CId0yHbE0l-VtX5FvSD2_XVVyGzUYBhJKddxh8b8ETkpHbCEVNwUGecDVK00Moq5jUd7HSwAE3GY-45y0WTwqxC9KlAFAwijjAwIMRY0VM7GCQRXk/s640/blogger-image--1874793313.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Pierbennicklement Gelltinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00417768668578943790noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6948721825681809961.post-23454948654968290572015-06-16T17:18:00.001-07:002015-06-16T17:24:43.273-07:00Day 21: Grommeter's inferno<div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcrZOJrV7JrBOv7a39UBtOeaoJB9doQWKBFhgaQlu2fe_e7k22P4mvu5hN_zka7BXyZDOwnwQn0yXcUmLfyIiRBDZPobZj23aTPFt_ZwKyghOykqiMRc25-FaFNC7iUOfObPd9EioQRM0/s640/blogger-image-1213710475.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcrZOJrV7JrBOv7a39UBtOeaoJB9doQWKBFhgaQlu2fe_e7k22P4mvu5hN_zka7BXyZDOwnwQn0yXcUmLfyIiRBDZPobZj23aTPFt_ZwKyghOykqiMRc25-FaFNC7iUOfObPd9EioQRM0/s640/blogger-image-1213710475.jpg"></a></div></span></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div>Hello world. Grommeter here.<br><br>Our day in Greenville, Mississippi began as all days nowadays seem to begin: with me seal-posing off my Therm-a-Rest Z-Lite sleeping pad and admiring the hickey-like dappling that it'd lovingly imprinted on my skin in the night.<br><br>Our rest was certainly thermal, for when we awoke, canopied by our tents, the pressed metal Bimini top and a hazy, imperturbable sky, the thermometer read a scorching ninety degrees and I was left feeling like I'd passed out after a long night of drinking in the center of a Deli Meat Hot Pocket™ warmed in the pouch of an infirm kangaroo. It was certainly camisole weather, for the sun inspired my bones to wheeze and a crusty rheum to coat the undersides of my eyes.<br><br>But the Mississippi has no time for camisoles or kangaroos so we set to work washing the previous night's dishes and refilling our water coolers. Unfortunately this day was a Mon-day and it just so happens that the Greenville Yacht Club is closed on Mondays so, much to our chagrin, the gas pump so easily at hand was shut off for the day. <br><br>And so it was decided that we would have to venture into town. But upon leaving the dock we quickly came upon the Cat-Sass crew's sworn mortal enemy: fences. It seemed that we were locked in, however Crimper, after some keen finagling, was able to find a way out, and so with Terrycans in hand we left our dear Cat-Sass to the mosquitos and the humidity. We trekked past the first riverfront casino of the day, one Trop Casino, and made our way into town where we came upon the dingy storefront of Jim's Diner and stopped in for a bite. Inside it was cool and dark. Pictures of old men, boats, and the cast of "O Brother, Where Art Thou?" adorned the walls, and we learned that the movie was filmed not too far from there. </span><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhCIw0T5guNBf__2ni0mdWQ_ZI-xChyphenhyphenE2HhswP9QoerZAsFqi7SINlC-V5siFxAPgQrZC2x8WNbp__byfj3w3IWI3BGtetifkyVcXayK-SzkmTwsZ95E4kHMGxXyD95VkMajTF-t4XuQY/s640/blogger-image-1927876673.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhCIw0T5guNBf__2ni0mdWQ_ZI-xChyphenhyphenE2HhswP9QoerZAsFqi7SINlC-V5siFxAPgQrZC2x8WNbp__byfj3w3IWI3BGtetifkyVcXayK-SzkmTwsZ95E4kHMGxXyD95VkMajTF-t4XuQY/s640/blogger-image-1927876673.jpg"></a></div></span><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi72cYEGI0Iz9di5URbsgbh54yT-YJGVerCmmJQY2MI0FrFA6_p7QvOoa85ZQwqzx6dF8vCU2oVGr86D9jBm0W1o8mPk58tYNEODvIaNmEJlncvf-WM4BUq-aXCyHQC9HgKaHDwqZTGyRA/s640/blogger-image--164081784.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi72cYEGI0Iz9di5URbsgbh54yT-YJGVerCmmJQY2MI0FrFA6_p7QvOoa85ZQwqzx6dF8vCU2oVGr86D9jBm0W1o8mPk58tYNEODvIaNmEJlncvf-WM4BUq-aXCyHQC9HgKaHDwqZTGyRA/s640/blogger-image--164081784.jpg"></a></div></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The meal kicked off with a complimentary appetizer of saltines dipped in a saucy combination of ranch and hot sauce. Dockenstein ordered poached eggs and rye toast and I ordered eggs over easy. All of our orders came with grits and we all got coffee which we agreed tasted like burnt corn. <br><br>After our meal the kindness of strangers graced us once again when a man in a beat up white sedan named Frrf stopped outside the diner and gave us a lift to the gas station. We filled up the bellies of our Terrycans and scooted back to the boat. <br><br>As morning went on and the sun rose with the temperature I began to feel like I was smelting, so when, after a refreshing and humid poop in the company's beloved poop bucket, Crimper discovered a swimming pool off the main building of the yacht club, I was heartily relieved. We dunked our heads and lounged in the cool water before taking an impromptu hose shower in an abandoned dockyard, where we all agreed that if we ran out of finances we could always start working as sunburnt car washers specializing in people rather than cars. Instead of "Car Wash" our signs would just read "Wash," we decided. <br><br>The rest of the day was spent in various forms of navelgazery as we motored downriver. Crimper and River Hair cooked up some culinary fireworks consisting of fried potatoes, spam and pears. Eventually we pulled into Vicksburg, Mississippi beneath an ascendant Venus and docked in a cozy nook about a half mile south of DiamondJack Casino. Michael Allen --resident frog- put in another nocturnal appearance, considerably boosting Cat-Sass morale. <br><br>Once ashore, we had another run-in with our old nemesis, the fence. It seemed we'd docked in an Industrial Marine Yard guarded by barbed wire and surveillance cameras. Doing our best impressions of cool dudes who are totally not trespassing we weaseled underneath the front gate and started the uphill walk into town with the intention of catching a late showing of Jurassic World in three dimensions. Alas, our plans were foiled by the two-mile walk to the cinema and the little time we had to get there, so we settled on getting some grub downtown. <br><br>Downtown Vicksburg has a sleepy southern/southwestern vibe, but as we treaded its meandering path we were distressed to find no restaurants openly. The only kitchen still flingin hash at the hour was one Fastway gas station, and with our stomachs mightily a-grumblin' we decided that we'd sup on some fried chicken therein and call it a night. <br><br>While the rest of the town slept Fastway was busting with a nocturnal razzmatazz: at least twenty people entered in the time it took for us to wait for our Philly cheese steaks and fried chicken, all of whom seemed to know one another. We'd found the rumbling heart of the town and the vibe was fun, fun, fun. <br><br>After picking up our orders we trotted off into the night, intending to sneak into the Marine Yard from the other side of where we'd weaseled out earlier. We took a shortcut down to the river and began to follow one of a series of roads along a railroad meant mainly for industrial purposes. And thus began the beginning of a two hour walk that Dockenstein describes as "miserable", Crimper as "hellish", and River Hair as "I can't think of one word to describe it." Infernal it was, reminiscent of Dante's journey through the dark wood that would begin his descent into the many levels of hell. For in attempting to circumnavigate the Marine Yard we ended up getting lost in a labyrinth of abandoned construction roads and industrial pathways threading through the forested riverbank. We came across a series of obstacles such as enormous gravel piles, the skeletons of beached barges, jacklit petroleum yards and swampy marshland, all the while very aware of how tresspassy our trespassing was. I made a note in my iPhone that read: "Every obstacle is infernal when you're wearing Tevas." We did, however, learn a lot about the gravel industry.<br><br>Another thing of note: at one point as we tromped through waist-high grass, all the tens and hundreds of bull frogs all around us stopped croaking all at once, and I wondered how they were able to coordinate such an operation. <br><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx5TqYxEVF2hCc_Rkor3satrr6FOW3GBUKx0rnk6cho66NAYhPaotD-7j3fegZxtKlqXtNbpxXse8_enMgVt9ZSQsye_V40jr8VjqDyAtwyZvnh6R1rPHy-vzhaxfX9sWAINZ29GGh8IY/s640/blogger-image--589962038.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx5TqYxEVF2hCc_Rkor3satrr6FOW3GBUKx0rnk6cho66NAYhPaotD-7j3fegZxtKlqXtNbpxXse8_enMgVt9ZSQsye_V40jr8VjqDyAtwyZvnh6R1rPHy-vzhaxfX9sWAINZ29GGh8IY/s640/blogger-image--589962038.jpg"></a></div><br>Finally we made it back to the Marine Yard, weaseled underneath our final fence of the night...</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuyWJxqPDmk5jxbINRALogaQM5zOCK6U2SrDpe6YQMXVWy2L0YCFgnbvrY2y7xczPpSq7MNjTD8bMRxPNIMMjmnier1IegN3Do-_D9bLauz569mU6dQSNl92yuLhea40L4romrivDoXrg/s640/blogger-image-165119779.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuyWJxqPDmk5jxbINRALogaQM5zOCK6U2SrDpe6YQMXVWy2L0YCFgnbvrY2y7xczPpSq7MNjTD8bMRxPNIMMjmnier1IegN3Do-_D9bLauz569mU6dQSNl92yuLhea40L4romrivDoXrg/s640/blogger-image-165119779.jpg"></a></div></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">...and collapsed on the beautiful, beautiful poop deck of our dearly beloved Cat-Sass.<br><br>But the story doesn't end there. Not some twenty minutes after bedding down for the night we were awoken by a mighty jostling. It seemed we'd chosen an inopportune spot to dock as it was right near a tugboat refueling station, creating mighty waves that shook the foundation of our poor Cat-Sass. So, sleepy-eyed and grumbly, we decided we'd have to change locations for the night and began to motor further downriver where another boat landing awaited. As we approached the dock we realized that it was five minute walk away from Fastway. Had we chosen to dock there originally we'd never have had to walk through our own personal inferno. But, looking up at the stars, at the beautiful things that heaven bears, at the Big Dipper a'dippin away, I thought to myself that it wasn't all that bad. <br></span></div></div>Pierbennicklement Gelltinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00417768668578943790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6948721825681809961.post-12084757328222983582015-06-15T20:04:00.001-07:002015-06-15T20:04:33.778-07:00Day 20: onslaught of the elements<div>Day 20 started like our average day on the lower section of the river, we took down our tents, cleaned up the boat and went searching for gas. We carried a couple cans each and walked to the nearest gas station, about a mile away. Our plan was to travel 140 miles to Greenville, Mississippi, so we needed to be at our full fuel capacity (approximately 144 miles). After refueling we began the return trip, carrying significantly more weight. Thankfully, yet another kind stranger took pity on us. A man pulled up beside us in his pick-up and offered us a lift back to the boat. Nick, Clement, and I (Bennett) jumped in the back with the gas cans while piers hopped in the cab of the truck. The man was one legged and was on a donut run for his church when he saw us on the side of the road (the back seat of his truck was full of donuts). When pulling up to the sea wall separating the launch from the town of Helena, the man said, "I'm gonna show you something weird" and slowed the truck. </div><div><br></div><div>"Which direction is that train going?" (referring to a mural on the sea wall) he said. </div><div><br></div><div>"It's coming towards us", Piers replied. </div><div><br></div><div>"How about now?"<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> the man asked after pulling his truck past the mural. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"Woah, it's going the other way now, what's going on there?" said Piers in surprise. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"I don't know, man," said the man. </span></div><div><br></div><div>The day had started off great, but we would soon face an onslaught of all five elements currently known to man: Fire, Wind, Earth, Chef Boyardee's Beef Ravioli with tomato and meat sauce, and of course, darkness. It all began with a period of above average speed and gas consumption by the notorious hot rod, Gromiter. We realized that we weren't going to make it to Greenville (location of next marina and gas station) on the gas we had left, so we started desperately googling potential gas stations that we could reach. Finding nothing, we turned to our last resort, the old, dirty fuel tank that we had never removed from the boat when we bought a new one. Crimper and I went through the painstaking process of drilling many holes through the thick plastic and cutting between them with a knife, as we don't have a saw. We revealed about 7 gallons of yellow-brown fuel and some sediment sitting in the bottom of the tank. We fashioned a scooper out of our oil measure and a filter out of a dish towel, and began the scooping and pouring process. After about an hour we were covered in sweat and smelled strongly of gasoline, but we had enough fuel to reach our destination. This was the element of fire because we got out our fire extinguisher as we feared we would catch on fire. Soon we were again making our merry way down the river.</div><div><br></div><div>An hour or two later I was just about to be in debt a full steak dinner to Clement after a couple of tough losses and 'double or nothings' in chess when the board suddenly flew at Piers's face as he drove (phew). A storm had quickly approached us from the south west and before we knew it we were in the middle of it (element of wind). </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVxIYjR5x0ZpmPZqvFhea9J3CKRrT83WyTu2plTdqrQdIcP-XBrMnyOwIJX_3blrcSvl6PQcMFYqtmv4uMb10DWzGVNkr8U3qkvMDMGPE93dsLRocelQEr0xsoCVoEnTldsBATpJ57T2Q/s640/blogger-image-588219322.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVxIYjR5x0ZpmPZqvFhea9J3CKRrT83WyTu2plTdqrQdIcP-XBrMnyOwIJX_3blrcSvl6PQcMFYqtmv4uMb10DWzGVNkr8U3qkvMDMGPE93dsLRocelQEr0xsoCVoEnTldsBATpJ57T2Q/s640/blogger-image-588219322.jpg"></a></div></div><div><br></div><div>Hearing thunder and seeing light<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">ning through sheets of rain, we steered the boat to a nearby island to wait out the storm. We covered everything we could with tarps and enjoyed a can of Sriracha corn as we watched the storm make its way up river. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipvfB2ON0S8geEkVIqND4Hc7gSnuH1PQ4RxhjQe2uqMdodZGcL8AFx7AUVpEAEfC3ckBVK4_k0RTwXbMhkjYbgGeawI-yNa9j0MB8JuOTd1We1ze52u5gAYNT3Fbg4554obzAwRAd4jzs/s640/blogger-image-1902007389.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipvfB2ON0S8geEkVIqND4Hc7gSnuH1PQ4RxhjQe2uqMdodZGcL8AFx7AUVpEAEfC3ckBVK4_k0RTwXbMhkjYbgGeawI-yNa9j0MB8JuOTd1We1ze52u5gAYNT3Fbg4554obzAwRAd4jzs/s640/blogger-image-1902007389.jpg"></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Blue sky was soon visible, and we pushed the boat off the sandy beach, feeling soaked but slightly cleaner and tried to start up the motor. Every time it rains some wiring on the controls get wet and the starter doesn't work, so we weren't optimistic. Sure enough we were forced to jump the solenoid with wire while the boat dried out. About twenty minutes after we got her started, the element of earth also crept up on us, but this time from below. The high water levels on the river have submerged much of the land along the river, making it difficult to gauge depth in areas without channel markers. The boat suddenly slowed and skidded to a stop. Gromiter, who was standing, was thrown off balance but was able to maintain his dignity. We soon realized our error, tilted the engine up, and walked Cat Sass, in knee depth water, away from the submerged island. Luckily the propeller and engine were not damaged after having hit sand pretty hard. As we pushed the boat into deeper waters Crimper noticed some rust on the engine and thought, "Cat Sass is just an old woman and will probably die soon." After losing several hours funneling gas and waiting for the storm to pass, we realized we would be getting into Greenville later than planned. This meant cooking dinner on the boat (the element of Chef Boyardee's Beef Ravioli with tomato and meat sauce) and about two hours of navigation after sunset (the element of darkness). We broke out the rusting cans of warm red slop and navigation lights to confront our new challenges. Much like everything we do the wiring for the navigation lights were installed right at the time when we desperately needed them. Fortunately there is not much to mention regarding these two elements other than some mushiness and a barge passing. Also, a fortuitous appearance was made by Michael Allen (River Frog), who hung out for a while, raising spirits all around. Michael Allen is the frog that has been on Cat Sass since joining us at Hoppie's. We were exhausted by the time we reached the Greenville Marina and quickly pitched our tents and fell asleep.</span></div>Pierbennicklement Gelltinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00417768668578943790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6948721825681809961.post-31084213829957120522015-06-14T08:07:00.001-07:002015-06-14T08:07:31.952-07:00Day 19: poop deck<span style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Dawn breaks. A gentle drizzle begins over Memphis, Tennessee. Piers stumbles out of his tent to attach the rain fly, and wonders where his tentmate, Clement, has gone. Three out of four Cat-Sassians are aboard her supple deck in the Memphis Yacht Club transient dock.</span><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Rewind thirty minutes.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Clement unzips the tent door and does a slow and graceless somersault over Piers' sleeping body. Nature has called, and Clement can't let it go to voicemail this time. He runs up the hill to find a bathroom, remembering one down a corridor he'd used last night. 30 steps from the door he can only waddle, but makes it to the door successfully. It is locked. Clement swears out loud with no small velocity, waddles around a corner, and has no choice but to relieve himself in a concrete corner of the corridor.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">The crew has a relaxed start, slowly dismantling the tents and chatting with the marina staff. They gave us sausage patties and told us about other boats that had stopped there that were traveling the whole river, including a boat that was entirely solar powered, and a boat that was made of the top half of a VW camper van. We all felt a bit inadequate in our dirty and fuel-inefficient pontoon boat, but felt better when they gave us the bargain of our lives on 3 gallons of motor oil and also some complimentary novelty Memphis Yacht Club license plates. I, Clement, stopped by the Mud Island Mississippi museum gift shop to pick up some post cards, and talked to the attendant about Elvis for half an hour. She respected him a lot, "but not his doctor," who had given him no nutritional advice. She had also once owned a wooden box lined with the upholstery of one of his couches, and her cousin was married to his cousin. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Feeling like we had conquered Memphis, we pushed off and carried on southward. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Herein I will address several questions people have had about the poop bucket:</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">The poop process is a simple 10 step procedure:</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">1. Take the lid off the bucket</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">2. Line the bucket with a large garbage bag (Piers gave it the mathematic abbreviation "P1," though I suppose for me it would be "C1," for Bennett "B1," and so on)</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">3. Line P1 with a smaller garbage bag (P2)</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">4. Attach the attractive custom bucket lid toilet seat</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">5. Place head+limbs through appropriate holes of the privacy poncho</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div>6. Remove pants/shorts, sit down and do some business</div><div>7. Stand up, pull up pants, take off privacy poncho, and remove attractive custom bucket lid toilet seat</div><div>8. Tie up P2 very tightly </div><div>9. Tie up P1 very tightly</div><div>10. Place bucket lid back on bucket </div><div><br></div><div>Though we've only ever had one P2 per P1 before we had the chance to empty the bucket (emptying the poop bucket is our prime concern), if two people used the bucket in a row, the second would untie P1, re-line the bucket with P1, and line the bucket with P2' (math-speak for P2 prime). </div><div><br></div><div>After many hours of travel, we arrived in Helena, Arkansas, tied off our boat near an abandoned boat ramp, and walked into town. Helena is a former blues capital of the South, and is home to the Delta Cultural Museum. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAHo0bUHsbpHx7dTX7tuZmHcCdIRlhljEsRzRUNl4aVsh0TXqxpopqdMeSgI7OoQxXHgBvBPv18KawGeb7lZx3Ne4sqL8fYwJEEuoIzpQqJKzbPFJ8opOi4zKmWP9RkFJv0e0hr9Xh7pE/s640/blogger-image-1513462533.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAHo0bUHsbpHx7dTX7tuZmHcCdIRlhljEsRzRUNl4aVsh0TXqxpopqdMeSgI7OoQxXHgBvBPv18KawGeb7lZx3Ne4sqL8fYwJEEuoIzpQqJKzbPFJ8opOi4zKmWP9RkFJv0e0hr9Xh7pE/s640/blogger-image-1513462533.jpg"></a></div></div><div><br></div><div>Unfortunately this was closed when we arrived, but we walked down the Main Street to find the annual Cherry Festival in full bloom, wherein we saw an amazing and interminable blues band, and a Kool-Aid pickle eating contest. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1BG-UhIsUtwuYIG670-UJA9Vuhfpo2wTUf9ARZfDH_el2eW0LA9PiMtMp6ETJI7HbKxlWk7C9lXOGPw9vsXpSLK4phXSKHMfDvnVAt0JkXI9jeXtrKRLXdt3tTKjExOePCkxY5mgvOwI/s640/blogger-image--642845006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1BG-UhIsUtwuYIG670-UJA9Vuhfpo2wTUf9ARZfDH_el2eW0LA9PiMtMp6ETJI7HbKxlWk7C9lXOGPw9vsXpSLK4phXSKHMfDvnVAt0JkXI9jeXtrKRLXdt3tTKjExOePCkxY5mgvOwI/s640/blogger-image--642845006.jpg"></a></div></div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3ZsBR5L-HUgbWaOe9wgApHv5rwDG8hhBzW4YUAlKLyN-KsFMdl4QiyoSe8n9pHgnUTmxam9hBaOGJmK3mDuH8umZiHrDtM_zny9b_1e1tdKqOJBnOs5N441wnLFCLCrhSjTlObZ5jggM/s640/blogger-image-191955371.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3ZsBR5L-HUgbWaOe9wgApHv5rwDG8hhBzW4YUAlKLyN-KsFMdl4QiyoSe8n9pHgnUTmxam9hBaOGJmK3mDuH8umZiHrDtM_zny9b_1e1tdKqOJBnOs5N441wnLFCLCrhSjTlObZ5jggM/s640/blogger-image-191955371.jpg"></a></div></div><div><br></div><div>Aside from a liquor store and a Mexican restaurant, nothing in the whole town was open. </div></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We walked back to our faithful steed, whipped up a bit of pasta, had a few rounds of cards all cramped in Piers' tent, and then hit the hay. Everyone reported that we had each frequently woken up to the suspicion that a meandering fishing boat was scoping out our boat for robbery. We woke to no stolen goods.</div>Pierbennicklement Gelltinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00417768668578943790noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6948721825681809961.post-83078132424869578112015-06-13T14:26:00.001-07:002015-06-13T14:26:25.260-07:00Day 18: a summons to Memphis<div><span style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH9O7mp9dLkjHm2EPsJ8yY-RlQxB2W6ge8yao4Hjgd7MOCISn0oevc8grh0F0lSTk77eNrd7OhcsTgUohi8ykajoewbddhHS5dqxhdunSdAo2XXo9r_p84vMxSOecoNla4AOV_Y8uB9Pk/s640/blogger-image-67029276.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH9O7mp9dLkjHm2EPsJ8yY-RlQxB2W6ge8yao4Hjgd7MOCISn0oevc8grh0F0lSTk77eNrd7OhcsTgUohi8ykajoewbddhHS5dqxhdunSdAo2XXo9r_p84vMxSOecoNla4AOV_Y8uB9Pk/s640/blogger-image-67029276.jpg"></a></div></span></div><span style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div><span style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></span></div><div>Grommeter, Crimper, and I (Dockenstein) awoke to the incipient grindings of the Caruthersville fertilizer plant beside which we had slumbered. The smells of manure and burning rubber floated on the breeze. We didn't even make coffee: we skedaddled. </div></span><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We needed gas, and pulled up to a Caruthersville boat ramp anticipating a long, Cairoid walk in the sun. I trounced Grommeter in a game of Rock Paper Scissors and won the privilege of doing dishes on the boat rather than fetching gas. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">(In case anyone ever faces off against Grommeter in Rock Paper Scissors, you should know that he favors Rock. I learned this on Day 16 when my own deployment of the Avalanche strategy ((Rock, Rock, Rock (((I am not making this up; see "The Official Rock Paper Scissors Strategy Guide," published by the World Rock Paper Scissors Society))))) resulted in a series of draws that ended only with a cheeky Paper on my end that left Grommeter twiddling his thumbs on the boat while I enjoyed the privilege of exploring Cape Girardeau. Anyway, Grommeter currently favors Rock, so should you ever spar with the G-man, use Paper. Or, bearing in mind that he'll have read this post and will likely play Scissors in anticipation of your Paper, go ahead and play Rock.)</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Grommeter's fate wasn't too grim, as a nice fireman named Ron gave him and Crimper a ride to and from the station. Ron told them he prefers working the night shift because on the day shift, "there's too much brass." We loaded our tanks, drank some coffee, and headed to Memphis, where our dear River Hair awaited us. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">No motor woes troubled our travel, so the next great rush of adrenaline took the form of three horseflies with plans to turn us into three bodacious blood bags. These flies had come aboard the preceding evening, and they bided their time until yesterday afternoon, when their brief inquisitive flights around the deck became bids for blood. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">I learned many things about horseflies yesterday. First, they don't bite syringe-wise like mosquitos bite. Instead, they slice you with a mouth knife instrument, causing blood to flow freely, and then attempt to drink this blood. This presumably works on horses and other animals with restricted ranges of motion, but for us these cuts served only to drive us into a bloodthirsty frenzy of our own, giving our vampire adversaries no chance to feed. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Second, I learned that as badly as one might want to crush a horsefly, this is far easier said than done. They are extremely fast. For nearly an hour I hunted the flies around the deck with an empty Terry can, which made a loud boom whenever I slammed it down where a fly had been resting mere milliseconds earlier. I certainly rattled Grommeter and Crimper with this unexpected booming. I killed one fly by accident when, focusing on a fly on the ceiling, I felt a sting on my leg and swatted without looking: KO. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Third, I learned that while a horsefly, like the Cyclops, cannot be overpowered, it can be outwitted. I observed the two survivors' movements and determined that my best shot would be their preferred deckside roost, the underside of our corrugated metal ceiling. Holding Crimper's pleather-bound journal parallel to the ceiling, I inched toward one fly with the cold-blooded patience of the narrator of "The Tell-Tale Heart." I looked the fly in its compound eye and imagined the animal looking back, perhaps seeing me as we see ourselves looking up into the heart of Anish Kapoor's Cloud Gate sculpture on Chicago's Michigan Avenue. I slammed the journal into the ceiling with a loud bang and withdrew slowly, bearing a fly corpse on my little bier. The next fly soon followed. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkMxM5UH-QK2JoROz5XVm7T4MKoY8LMGsmVKqwy0rB7H7KgELFXbUWftcScAdfzATB2-I_KYCyFipcHFatTZj2YPvEg1NRd9-1PcDErrDpY82j00QVV-3wC4Dc0asuOCP32Fl668s26e8/s640/blogger-image--417505759.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkMxM5UH-QK2JoROz5XVm7T4MKoY8LMGsmVKqwy0rB7H7KgELFXbUWftcScAdfzATB2-I_KYCyFipcHFatTZj2YPvEg1NRd9-1PcDErrDpY82j00QVV-3wC4Dc0asuOCP32Fl668s26e8/s640/blogger-image--417505759.jpg"></a></div></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">I feel no remorse about what I did, but I will say that I respect these flies for their tenacity. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Soon enough, Memphis appeared on the skyline. Travelers will know it by its enormous shiny Bass Pro Shop pyramid, apparently a former arena. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDawqgZNeRweTkpbYqmtzCgWWaTkJOZDYkyEnRdbu5smh4eX4kbw_Ycw72wTl14w3M9uuU_t2fHaMy_-MN1wxvAFm5yOuYnLBd1yu06TOgO3FR-wCHglQundcyo1dwTTnSBR8VrWT_-5k/s640/blogger-image--1319756687.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDawqgZNeRweTkpbYqmtzCgWWaTkJOZDYkyEnRdbu5smh4eX4kbw_Ycw72wTl14w3M9uuU_t2fHaMy_-MN1wxvAFm5yOuYnLBd1yu06TOgO3FR-wCHglQundcyo1dwTTnSBR8VrWT_-5k/s640/blogger-image--1319756687.jpg"></a></div></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We met up with River Hair and our friend (and, for River Hair and myself, bandmate) Sam, who is traveling across the United States with two of his friends. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Hi Sam! </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We knocked back a few warm bruskys from our cooler full of warm water fragrant of sriracha, traded stories of our exploits on the river and road, and headed to a barbecue place with good Yelp! reviews: Charlie Vergos' Rendezvous. Crimper and I were after some fresh vegetables in addition to more meat, so we decided to split a salad and a large rack. He ordered the ribs and I ordered the salad. When the waiter returned with our food, he had six plates of ribs and no salad. He asked what I'd ordered. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"A salad," I said. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">I received a look of pity and, a minute later, our salad. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">The ribs were expensive, and in my opinion inferior to Pappy's. Sure, they were still pretty excellent, but the best thing about this restaurant didn't cost a cent. The men's room at CVR abuts the area where all the rib-smoking happens, so that before or after a trip to the WC one can stand for a moment in air blue with savory smoke and enjoy that culinary pleasure for which Rabelais suggested the only price ought to be the sound of one's money. Wonderful. Yelp!, take note. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Sam gave us a ride back to the marina and the four Cat-Sassers crashed hard, finally all back together on our floating abode. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfQWB2ZkpUoJJWrkkJII4rrl3KLDiWvF4RzMvi2cEt9zXGx2a-IcTJQNkJEv4AB559KGS0QYn1ONwGMYPUdkHmiSk0gGytrOUIc0CLXlcOM4ziUAIVfbn5A-BwEO1Bql3Qc9MGZHWciaA/s640/blogger-image-585518615.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfQWB2ZkpUoJJWrkkJII4rrl3KLDiWvF4RzMvi2cEt9zXGx2a-IcTJQNkJEv4AB559KGS0QYn1ONwGMYPUdkHmiSk0gGytrOUIc0CLXlcOM4ziUAIVfbn5A-BwEO1Bql3Qc9MGZHWciaA/s640/blogger-image-585518615.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Pierbennicklement Gelltinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00417768668578943790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6948721825681809961.post-17734497447383877072015-06-12T11:26:00.001-07:002015-06-12T11:26:25.967-07:00Day 17: got 99 problems but a beach ain't one<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVMVMMhDyhYSpK49SETxYmDm-fYz5N9c_Rpkt-l8gNcDOtI4JLH5ZBIaeEnc9hEQ2VjtcrL7Y9_VquzCivcK-cbmcS_kjVGwguEDC5pdfMv6ue3TXDTYqr3dvw_IwOpTMBI8ehyphenhyphenXOJe8w/s640/blogger-image-1066772632.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVMVMMhDyhYSpK49SETxYmDm-fYz5N9c_Rpkt-l8gNcDOtI4JLH5ZBIaeEnc9hEQ2VjtcrL7Y9_VquzCivcK-cbmcS_kjVGwguEDC5pdfMv6ue3TXDTYqr3dvw_IwOpTMBI8ehyphenhyphenXOJe8w/s640/blogger-image-1066772632.jpg"></a></div></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Hello world. Grommeter here.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><span style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Groggy-headed and a little bit sore after the previous night's bickering, we awoke to fair tidings from the River and weather. The sky was blue, just the way we like it. Crimper, Dockenstein (Piers's new river name, bestowed by the great River Dog) and I packed up our tents and cooked a mean cuppa Joe beneath a rising Jupiter while a taciturn River Hair packed his back-sack for a day's mingling in the Cape and Beyond, namely Memphis, where he was due for an appointment with a roll of bureaucratic red tape in order to acquire a passport for future ventures. After bidding the World's Greatest Brothers and a medium-to-light abstainer adieu, River Hair hopped over the dock gate and dispersed into dawn. </span><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">And then there were three: Crimper, Dockenstein, and Grommeter. We sipped out Joe silently, thinking fond thoughts of our dear River Hair, before setting to work raising the mizzen mast and shipping out from the Cape.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Despite our sadness at leaving a comrade behind (albeit briefly), River Hair's departure signaled a lightening of unspoken agreements previously undertaken whilst aboard S.S. Cat-Sass. I, Grommeter, removed my shirt and tanned my prodigious areolae. Dockenstein felt at liberty to sing out loud, and Crimper didn't brush his teeth, the rogue. What a day it was to be.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">And thus began the first leg of the 160 miles we were slated to accomplish that day. After some time at-River, Cat-Sass pulled into a shady sand-nook just outside of the fair city of Cairo (pronounced "CARE-o") in order to fill the red bellies of our empty Terrycans. Unfortunately, South of St. Louis all marina-life disappears and River-voyagers are forced to dock at city limits and trek into town. Wise to a shortcut that would allow us quick route to the town's only gas station (one Cut Mart) Dockenstein did what he does best, dock. Crimper, Dockenstein, and I found ourselves at the edge of a cattailed morass some ways, it seemed, from civilization. But no matter; onward! we cried, to Cut Mart, to Adventure! After rambling through tall grass, tromping over the crest of a tiny hill, skirting the edge of a glassine pond, and walking the length of a dusty farm road, we found ourselves in a deserted Cairo. We walked the long, straight road into town. 37th Street. For many minutes we saw no one. The only sign of life was a barking dog whose ferocity guarded a house with signs on its fence that read: "If I find you here tonight, they'll find you here in the morning" and "There's nothing here worth dying for."</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCY6mHFtXVT56hrTZlTcXI8F2gDsQRMm21oUf2ZIuhXXw87M7SiEC4RIEWQnro8zWSLBW0Cg9gj6FBUPjysjW3sbBA5kxp2a9dNeTo_kecUaC_hMX1-ZyNmkXBOxTpTMP0oQMv_lyKsJc/s640/blogger-image-1169934869.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCY6mHFtXVT56hrTZlTcXI8F2gDsQRMm21oUf2ZIuhXXw87M7SiEC4RIEWQnro8zWSLBW0Cg9gj6FBUPjysjW3sbBA5kxp2a9dNeTo_kecUaC_hMX1-ZyNmkXBOxTpTMP0oQMv_lyKsJc/s640/blogger-image-1169934869.jpg"></a></div></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Finally we reached Cut Mart and met a friendly Eric, the gas station attendant, who told us that if we waited there long enough someone would swing by to give us a ride back to the boat. Each 5 gallon Terrycan, when full, weighs a mean 30 pounds, so this advice was much appreciated. After sating our gas-thirst Dockenstein stood at the side of the road and stuck his thumb out, trying his best to look non-threatening and, in your humble narrator's humble opinion, achieving this goal. And yet, alas! Not a single vehicle would stop, despite the fitness of Dockenstein's thumb-form. Then Crimper had an excellent idea: if we put two Terrycans at Dockenstein's feet, passersby would perhaps think his car broke down and not that he was a blood-hungry serial killer. This immediately did the trick: mere moments after artfully placing the Terrycans a baby-faced man in a Green Lantern cut-off tank pulled his black pickup into the lot and offered us a ride. Mark was his name and small acts of charity was his game. The kindness of strangers never ceases to amaze me. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhasAbVVDYdvlPiKdJNtZFm6e6HiGUyeSyObTereLg6gO952n9nbNTPTLolr6lLx2UaTts-3s3-H4sCppLCChT0-X6qxrnnKi-Grlocje0G45PZ0RR8o7CHlQRz77pZ-811l_jEC1WM0SM/s640/blogger-image-1661982419.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhasAbVVDYdvlPiKdJNtZFm6e6HiGUyeSyObTereLg6gO952n9nbNTPTLolr6lLx2UaTts-3s3-H4sCppLCChT0-X6qxrnnKi-Grlocje0G45PZ0RR8o7CHlQRz77pZ-811l_jEC1WM0SM/s640/blogger-image-1661982419.jpg"></a></div></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">After our gas voyage in Cairo there is little to report of the day save a Close Encounter of the Barge-Kind. At midday we needed to refuel our tank so we motored to the side of a channel and stopped there, unaware that a barge was just around the corner. During the time it took for the tank to glug that octane we drifted right into the path of the incoming barge. With a marriage of panic and fear in our hearts we finished the job with little time to spare and went to start the engine. This was hardly the time for a finicky starter, but finick it did, and we found ourselves dead in the water with a barge bearing down on us. But do not fear, gentle Reader, for the very fact that I am writing to you today proves that we were able to start the engine in just the Grommeter of time and motor away to safer pastures. With a sigh of relief we vowed that from then on we would only refuel when tied off to shore.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvc6SXlxUgPhNzaNteJCmjgP17eu9WPtTq_FPgCAGSNkTcBmzv90nBWLdJkk7UyHEaJNMi6gJ5fXJwwBBRPxB8Gi_1oim26Dfw8OcZ6tox5GkqaHPqyIF9pBhd9vXstsSvCTAQK1F2tiQ/s640/blogger-image-875175455.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvc6SXlxUgPhNzaNteJCmjgP17eu9WPtTq_FPgCAGSNkTcBmzv90nBWLdJkk7UyHEaJNMi6gJ5fXJwwBBRPxB8Gi_1oim26Dfw8OcZ6tox5GkqaHPqyIF9pBhd9vXstsSvCTAQK1F2tiQ/s640/blogger-image-875175455.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Over the course of the next hundred miles we discovered a refueling method of surefire safety: find a sandy shore and beach our dear Cat-Sass there. And beach with did, with considerable beachy aplomb. We even might've fixed (I hesitate to say) our finicky starter! We gave her a dram of WD-40 and she's been purring ever since.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWOEmlIWyWHF0N4vnbHNeGirugW8CkSGBpJfCj6xTQSZrwhVxoQ7gMaUc1euc9eFHVL0zblbkgjH0XxI-70wx4mt2zKm_GFar29T_zRe7Q7kyw0AmdX0LwRn7icy5Ykq9TEf6J8PBW0xM/s640/blogger-image--958273164.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWOEmlIWyWHF0N4vnbHNeGirugW8CkSGBpJfCj6xTQSZrwhVxoQ7gMaUc1euc9eFHVL0zblbkgjH0XxI-70wx4mt2zKm_GFar29T_zRe7Q7kyw0AmdX0LwRn7icy5Ykq9TEf6J8PBW0xM/s640/blogger-image--958273164.jpg"></a></div></div></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Finally, come dusk, we pulled into the industrial harbor of Carruthersville, Missouri and tied up for the night in the shadow of a fertilizer plant. Crimper cooked up a mean chili concoction and bestowed the name "Crimper's Brown Meal" upon it. With our hearts and tummies full, we set up our tents and bedded down for the night while Jupiter lowered her astronomic bulk beneath the dusky Missouri tree line.</div>Pierbennicklement Gelltinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00417768668578943790noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6948721825681809961.post-55541727772471951252015-06-12T05:08:00.001-07:002015-06-12T08:16:08.555-07:00Day 16: world's greatest brothers (and one medium-light abstention)<div>On day 16 we woke up as early as "the boss" (elderly lady who seemed to run Hoppie's with her husband) said she would fill our gas tanks. This hour was 8 a.m. Although the husband had told us to ask his wife what time she could help us out, he showed up at 8:30 and filled up our increasingly numerous tanks of gas. This increase is due to (as we mentioned in Day 15) the fact that Hoppie's is the last gas selling marina for a long time. We've been told by many concerned Missourians and Illinoisans that it is very difficult to find gas on the stretch between Hoppie's and Memphis, which we were about to embark on. We also received a warning from the Hoppie's husband that the lower section of the Mississippi River would be strewn with branches and logs, like the ones we experienced in St. Louis (Day 15 blog), all the way to New Orleans. This is due to the absence of dams on the southern half of the river. This, combined with high water levels, made it very difficult to navigate. It made for the least physically smooth day of our trip so far as we wove in and out of the debris, also attempting to avoid the choppiest waves (high water levels and narrower sections of the river made the water rougher). It also happened to be our longest mileage attempt in a single day thus far. Highlights on the river include Clement starting to install a 12-volt outlet (powered by the boat battery), Clement lying down and stopping the installation process because he was seasick, and Clement finishing the outlet and providing the boat with a power source other than solar for the first time. </div><div><br></div><div>Additionally, we stopped to refuel at a creepy, dilapidated dock that used to be a marina. The torn up cabin on the dock had writing in black paint all along the walls and ceiling. The writer(s) definitely achieved the effect they were going for. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc7pHDxBnwXSRouke3wedIqfWbXKbYAcBaq3wCpD8mVfXP8FunBWQ_6PeNvXfhcmJGhILOxYM8s3lghVsJbFGNu7xCLD-L5rMQXUPJtLPIGg8R19MSWAZnDT3_lDDZuGlbWErVm2wN5OA/s640/blogger-image--1618060139.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc7pHDxBnwXSRouke3wedIqfWbXKbYAcBaq3wCpD8mVfXP8FunBWQ_6PeNvXfhcmJGhILOxYM8s3lghVsJbFGNu7xCLD-L5rMQXUPJtLPIGg8R19MSWAZnDT3_lDDZuGlbWErVm2wN5OA/s640/blogger-image--1618060139.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga45vU6rhz5yaGCvauVQAsPBLtihF4-X3uMEBHml0p-6BSt37ePcCyo8dKaETTaCkk0uDWbKrNh1mVMa8UhzeunR2EOcWU86qE5_tMDafAYkq6RYL4zsGQrpc213K2ARl6eeRdVw8Fiho/s640/blogger-image-283306170.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga45vU6rhz5yaGCvauVQAsPBLtihF4-X3uMEBHml0p-6BSt37ePcCyo8dKaETTaCkk0uDWbKrNh1mVMa8UhzeunR2EOcWU86qE5_tMDafAYkq6RYL4zsGQrpc213K2ARl6eeRdVw8Fiho/s640/blogger-image-283306170.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-WdgjL5HYAoHG43sICzN5Ka-Qzun74d2duc6dmoFxHXzotMNobjJNtq9ytuc55AcyEqPlTXNyfzQXcisV0U4OorgB_BjOWQm2Pgc_jOFV_G60agJjsoZtFtzqW1W59oD9NQxUhYag9eE/s640/blogger-image--2140944697.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-WdgjL5HYAoHG43sICzN5Ka-Qzun74d2duc6dmoFxHXzotMNobjJNtq9ytuc55AcyEqPlTXNyfzQXcisV0U4OorgB_BjOWQm2Pgc_jOFV_G60agJjsoZtFtzqW1W59oD9NQxUhYag9eE/s640/blogger-image--2140944697.jpg"></a></div></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div>Another point of interest is that the high water levels carried many items that don't belong in a river, such as five soccer balls, a tire, a bike helmet, and last but not least a fake duck. The fake duck totally fooled us until about 40 feet after we passed it we realized it wasn't moving, and looped back to scoop it up. </div><div>Our gas tanks neared empty around 7 p.m. and we docked in the town of Cape Girardeau (birth place of Rush Limbaugh) in order to walk to a gas station. As we walked down the street carrying gas cans, a friendly couple, Sam and Jana, approached us. They had seen us leave the dock with gas cans, and without our asking they had come to offer us directions to the nearest gas station and a ride back to the dock once the gas tanks were full. We were relieved, and accepted, as it was 95 degrees outside and the station was a mile away. Sam and Jana also gave us a tour of the town as they walked with us to the gas station. When we returned to the boat we all voted on whether we would continue on to Cairo, Illinois (60 miles away) that night or be done for the day, as we only had an hour of remaining daylight. I needed to be in Memphis on the 12th to apply for a passport and continuing on to Cairo would make this possible. It was essentially a vote as to whether I could stay on the boat or spend a day alone in Cape Girardeau, then take a 5 hour bus ride to Memphis where I would spend another day and night alone in a hostel. After a quick vote of 2 against Cairo (world's greatest brothers), 1 for it (me), and one medium-light abstention (Nick remained silent), we were off to bed. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNuZAyuaOgkakKWPbQRKA4TvwT75YZj3zlhMCJkACyVefqGqifCPypF6shS7smpcvNk0DIVlBAdzqM8B4RHdawb8J4AzmwPuJWTTDYHCbP8GgX_BTX_muZNwsIqRuZnJxCs-Z2FBy7rwM/s640/blogger-image--163276402.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNuZAyuaOgkakKWPbQRKA4TvwT75YZj3zlhMCJkACyVefqGqifCPypF6shS7smpcvNk0DIVlBAdzqM8B4RHdawb8J4AzmwPuJWTTDYHCbP8GgX_BTX_muZNwsIqRuZnJxCs-Z2FBy7rwM/s640/blogger-image--163276402.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Pierbennicklement Gelltinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00417768668578943790noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6948721825681809961.post-84144148427210515992015-06-10T20:24:00.001-07:002015-06-10T20:24:00.922-07:00Day 15: Saint Louis smiles upon us<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We awoke in the extreme comfort of our good friend Abrar's apartment. Two were on couches, one on a futon, and one shared Abrar's bed with him. We began the day as all days should be begun: by driving over to Pappy's BBQ and having some BBBQ (brunch BBQ). A managerial employee (unfortunately not Pappy) gave us a complimentary half-rack of ribs, so as we "know what to get next time," and they were indeed the best ribs I'd ever had. The rest of the day was spent in Abrar's car, in which he very very kindly drove us all over the city to pick up supplies and food and Bennett's debit card he left at a restaurant.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">A side note about driving around in the car: a little spoken of but significant aspect of living on a boat is the "sea legs" that come with it. One gets used to the constant rocking of the boat and soon experiences a variety of motion sickness when back on land. This land sickness, combined with driving around in a hot car, led to me being very carsick and generally befuddled all day, and spending half an hour in Home Depot wandering around having forgotten what I needed.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7gBPmDCYQx7bMpqXFBjnHbcdMBDWHNWTrLLlao_YwvWGty8JRuHAGuC4VAn4sPm0XhT5P1asJo7ODKFWnlUF2BPBOciB3tFeh4QUxARG9bUrJlas9ypEnNVn1U6IGUlS-ARFj9euNsVc/s640/blogger-image-311677383.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7gBPmDCYQx7bMpqXFBjnHbcdMBDWHNWTrLLlao_YwvWGty8JRuHAGuC4VAn4sPm0XhT5P1asJo7ODKFWnlUF2BPBOciB3tFeh4QUxARG9bUrJlas9ypEnNVn1U6IGUlS-ARFj9euNsVc/s640/blogger-image-311677383.jpg"></a></div></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Finally Abrar dropped us off back at Cat-Sass. We couldn't thank him enough, and still cannot, for how kind and helpful he was. We said our goodbyes and had a stressful few hours in the waning sunlight, until we arrived at Hoppie's Marina. Hoppie's is famous (and also infamous) for being the last place to get gas on the river for about 300 miles. For this reason, everyone traveling Ole Man River stops there, so it is famous. Because they have this geographic monopoly, they are also infamous because it is a bit of a dump and they charge a lot. We soon laid our weary heads to rest, after a delectable Chef Martino dinner. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOx93s-LPcSv_2nXm5ql24BWVqWltEYVzYbMCJYhaQHFhjSujDHaJf0L-lIORJOSVUt6LJyixiN8uTvzGj_NvtcGmCqN-vh1i4OCyt__yqQsEXVaZYVdIssgq8gGaHrJ7zRy6sJSzlNNc/s640/blogger-image--1426669414.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOx93s-LPcSv_2nXm5ql24BWVqWltEYVzYbMCJYhaQHFhjSujDHaJf0L-lIORJOSVUt6LJyixiN8uTvzGj_NvtcGmCqN-vh1i4OCyt__yqQsEXVaZYVdIssgq8gGaHrJ7zRy6sJSzlNNc/s640/blogger-image--1426669414.jpg"></a></div></div>Pierbennicklement Gelltinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00417768668578943790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6948721825681809961.post-42948076279324320562015-06-09T21:27:00.001-07:002015-06-09T21:27:14.147-07:00Day 14: Scylla and Charybdis<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnkmLrOvXc47o-T7E8qqk7lyACnsz1m4GO20xoG_dEA4BHo2l8paQL_FJk7_oAyX-fX1YVouA8oCpy7d2P48zL02aHhId2Wjbu7r_GwSC6VM7TYzhCKAyKNEMq642YpgjOUNwF5Bq2gyo/s640/blogger-image-1955855517.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnkmLrOvXc47o-T7E8qqk7lyACnsz1m4GO20xoG_dEA4BHo2l8paQL_FJk7_oAyX-fX1YVouA8oCpy7d2P48zL02aHhId2Wjbu7r_GwSC6VM7TYzhCKAyKNEMq642YpgjOUNwF5Bq2gyo/s640/blogger-image-1955855517.jpg"></a></div></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We awoke at dawn on the concrete patio of Cedar Hill Resort and packed our things as quickly as possible so that Cedar Hill would be none the wiser about our campout. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Sleeping on the concrete had been a fugue of semi-conscious soreness and short strange dreams (a lecture from my ex-landlord on the lives of his kids; helping someone leash several dogs together) so I (Piers) was glad to be moving around. We bundled all our sodden sleep apparel onto Cat-Sass and prepared to motor to the next marina, and thence to St Louis. But alas, our motor was as dead as the unseen fish rotting beneath Cedar Hill's dock. We tried a jumpstart: nothing. We tried calling Sea Tow and various marinae, only to find that no one was towing even on a Monday morning. We made coffee. The sun came out. We laid our wet stuff on the dock and watched it dry. We called some some shops and finally got a man named Pat on the line. He was downriver, only five nautical miles away, but because he didn't have a boat on hand, he told us, it would be a drive of several hours. He offered to talk us through a few quick fixes, and soon enough Clement was using a pair of scissors and a screwdriver to jump the starter. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"Are the scissors supposed to melt?" Clement asked. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"No," Pat said. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">The motor made a few noises, but nothing happened. Pat said he was currently working on a few boats, so if he could fix one in time, he'd boat up to us later that afternoon. We thanked him and resumed our waiting game. I went to wash dishes. But only two spoons in, I was stunned to learn that Bennett had got the motor running. We got shipshape in a hurry and headed downriver to Pat, who would hopefully make our ignition less of a cause for prayer. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We were feeling good until we looked at our gas tank: fluttering above empty. We did the math and determined that if we ran the motor at near idle, we'd have a shot, so we began puttering along, soon supplementing our meager five knots with an extra .4 knots of paddle manpower. We put DJ Danger Mouse's "The Grey Album" ("The Black Album" + "The White Album") on our weatherproof speakers and hoped for a Hanukkah miracle. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Aching and dripping with sweat, we coasted into the marina, where Pat tightened some nuts and gave us a few tools for future troubles. He refused any compensation whatsoever. Pat was the Terry of Day 14. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Feeling much more optimistic, we headed south. We were about five hours north of Saint Louis and hoped to arrive by nightfall. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">I'll note here that the river around St. Louis is notoriously one of the dodgiest parts of the Mississippi. About fifteen miles north of St. Louis proper, the Missouri River meets the Mississippi, which sometimes (though not yesterday, thankfully) makes for intense turbulence. In "Life on the Mississippi," Mark Twain writes about his fear of this confluence as a young steamboat pilot. After the Missouri comes the Chain of Rocks, which sounds like one of Odysseus' trials but is in fact a waterfall around which all mariners must travel by clearly marked canal. We traveled and exited said canal, locking through our final lock, and then the madness began. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">As readers of this blog--particularly yesterday's post--will know, it's been raining a lot, which means the water is high, which in turn means that the river has taken on no small volume of debris. All of it seemed to be floating in the few miles above St. Louis. On top of this, the river narrows even as barge traffic increases, which made for a nightmare of wakes and wake echoes crisscrossing around Cat-Sass even as the St. Louis Party Parabola arced into view.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhENLrNJw3pTvFwOC6pm4c_DIpISmRtd4sNOg0R3IjGDM983Zz3o-Gz_eRqjklq0g7bhBMXntptvY4R7gvV3FYj8Db9JA89rvIFOUKt5mGIX74srfE9hWGZDXXhgimo21ow8GC49hhDScA/s640/blogger-image-24027479.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhENLrNJw3pTvFwOC6pm4c_DIpISmRtd4sNOg0R3IjGDM983Zz3o-Gz_eRqjklq0g7bhBMXntptvY4R7gvV3FYj8Db9JA89rvIFOUKt5mGIX74srfE9hWGZDXXhgimo21ow8GC49hhDScA/s640/blogger-image-24027479.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Last and worst of our trials was the zag upstream to dock at Material Supply Company, our intended port. I was in the captain's chair, and had to thread the needle between a bridge leg and a stand of parked barges, against the current and through a veritable forest of current-borne logs. Navigation became a grim game of Would You Rather. If we avoided every log, the current would have driven us into a parked barge, so we had to accept some log pummeling, but if a log had taken out our propellor, we'd have been dashed backward into the barges anyhow, so it was a long few minutes as we struggled into port.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Two men sitting in chairs on the dock, one old and one young, told us our boat was in good hands. They were employees of a contractor repairing a nearby bridge for the city, working the 8 p.m. to 8 a.m. shift, so they'd be keeping a close eye on our boat. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"We have to watch the bridge," said Mark, the younger man, "and if anyone falls off, we retrieve the body." He shook his head. "I still can't believe I landed this job. I get paid to sit here all night and do nothing. People ask me, are you bored? I say, I rather be bored than busting my ass. I used to pour concrete."</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We met up with our high school friend Abrar, a recent graduate of Saint Louis University, who took us to a Lebanese restaurant, where we met up with our friend Rob, a St. Louis native. We regaled our land friends with tales of the water. When the receipt came, we were interested to discover that where our receipts ought to have said our table number, they read, "hipster like bros." Amused and intrigued, we asked our waitress if she had noticed that three of us were brothers. She said that she hadn't noticed but now saw the resemblance. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"I meant bros like friends, hanging out," she said. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We are hipster like bros, after all, so we had to agree. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We then traveled down to the industrial waterfront with them to give a tour of our boat. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We found Mark and his coworker cooking brats on a charcoal grill. They had nothing to report. Our friends seemed suitably impressed by our boat. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Suddenly a line of cars and motorcycles roared by across the water. They sped along the road and disappeared. Mark wandered over. "Old man's asleep," he said. He told us that this length of road was known as a congregation spot for street racers. Mark used to race cars along here, regularly taking home $500 pots, until he flipped his car. The line of cars reappeared and began parking along the side of the road, next to Abrar's car. "They're about to race," Mark said. We watched the assembled racers exit their cars and line the track, and fall silent. A low roar began in the distance. Then a screaming came across the waterfront: a motorcycle, with a car hot in pursuit. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Mark professed his dislike for such "crotch-rocket" motorcycle competitors. "I'm not going to lie," he said, "I want to see that guy eat it." </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We crossed the dock's gangway and observed the next race from up close. The assembled racers were courteous, and made sure to tell us when we could and could not safely cross the track.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We drove back to Abrar's apartment complex, giddy with exhaustion and the promises of laundry machines and indoor beds. These were the first of many amazing kindnesses bestowed on us by dear Abrar. </div>Pierbennicklement Gelltinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00417768668578943790noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6948721825681809961.post-34372660330491248482015-06-08T23:53:00.001-07:002015-06-08T23:53:31.862-07:00Day 13: Sea Tow-tally lame<div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYkyzewj22b4huLhnzw6dFgQTJsknev6yGNf80RpYQn-TZkEcgHtdFN4amhmLBPMYUQ7mnmXAR0oKLmrzdFSO0xZ1cqlXa9qU6q6cauugl1k-kzZkfRLq_plfoFgL-iy4xUgN-hc6IHDU/s640/blogger-image--1573670619.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYkyzewj22b4huLhnzw6dFgQTJsknev6yGNf80RpYQn-TZkEcgHtdFN4amhmLBPMYUQ7mnmXAR0oKLmrzdFSO0xZ1cqlXa9qU6q6cauugl1k-kzZkfRLq_plfoFgL-iy4xUgN-hc6IHDU/s640/blogger-image--1573670619.jpg"></a></div></span></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div>Hello world. Nick (Grommeter) again. Yesterday was a whirl of a day so bear with me.<br><br>We awoke beneath two canopies: the Mississippi sky and our slapdash mosquito net. One was prettier than the other but I won't say which. You could tell it was going to be a long, muggy day and I was a little bit sore in the ankles, so to speak. Remember that the previous night our motor very inconsiderately cut out on us and we had to spend the night on the bank of the river just outside of the sleepy hamlet of Hamburg(er?), Illinois. <br><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizGlgBV9y7uGjoazw9Tn1yuYgpjRuP8UQ12ndTW8C36reQUR7yPiHtxEOmLTsmEAM2z6NjOWltcCGPJWgZjHu6zgCQyqAssbSCDAWQB3z0xGsAjvK5LVt0mL5J1B-lUqHALjrLh9UbUyk/s640/blogger-image--1055405721.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizGlgBV9y7uGjoazw9Tn1yuYgpjRuP8UQ12ndTW8C36reQUR7yPiHtxEOmLTsmEAM2z6NjOWltcCGPJWgZjHu6zgCQyqAssbSCDAWQB3z0xGsAjvK5LVt0mL5J1B-lUqHALjrLh9UbUyk/s640/blogger-image--1055405721.jpg"></a></div><br>Well I was sticky and sunburnt and I could tell that other fellas weren't having any of it either so we quickly got to work trying to get the hell outta Dodge. <br><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtR56rZAPhcMnUWnp9vQTqsylBYGmi3cjbUuWyuPvXj_C3zVw3Pf37HLEDXIY1c6c-xJn3GhEFdJMe1_oM0dOlpiGlWAlyUhFmLv46Lp044vt-CWFuHLJ2sHWWU2Wy3F8XvhjIdQm_FG4/s640/blogger-image--920078725.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtR56rZAPhcMnUWnp9vQTqsylBYGmi3cjbUuWyuPvXj_C3zVw3Pf37HLEDXIY1c6c-xJn3GhEFdJMe1_oM0dOlpiGlWAlyUhFmLv46Lp044vt-CWFuHLJ2sHWWU2Wy3F8XvhjIdQm_FG4/s640/blogger-image--920078725.jpg"></a></div><br>More on that to come, but first I have a bone to pick. Before the trip began, us fellas purchased membership in an exclusive club of worrywarts unimaginatively named SeaTow. See, SeaTow is like the AAA of the Sea (and River). For the cool price of 169 clams SeaTow promises to find you a tow 24/7 should you be caught in a sticky situation, say, if your motor cuts out like ours did. Well, it is with intense displeasure bordering on ire that I report that SeaTow did NOT live up to the hype. They could not find us a tow on the night our motor cut out and yesterday they couldn't find us a tow either and basically gave us the telephonic equivalent of a whoopsiedoosie shrug and a halfhearted Sorry Charlie. I place a hex on thee, SeaTow. From the bottom of my heart I declare: you suck major, major balls.<br><br>Anyways, back to the sticky riverside where it was quickly dawning on us that we were on our own, up shit creek with a paddle, yes, in fact two paddles, but alas, a broken motor. We set to work on our only lead, a mechanic about a mile up river named Quillard. It turned out that his name was not nearly as fanciful (Tim) and that his shop was called Quillar's, but whatever. </span><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6ahgzjZfngABm0rCt14_WLt9cyMaohstOgzyNOjYbS0tAHjT0lAYsekc-u6IEWiTJgFTjY4J_cZedDSlQq9Kdmv1FFqlDZNdlGg-_qdio-7l-3hNnNuuM4hGjR_PJsU1T_lv1fF5ZhUU/s640/blogger-image-1609949511.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6ahgzjZfngABm0rCt14_WLt9cyMaohstOgzyNOjYbS0tAHjT0lAYsekc-u6IEWiTJgFTjY4J_cZedDSlQq9Kdmv1FFqlDZNdlGg-_qdio-7l-3hNnNuuM4hGjR_PJsU1T_lv1fF5ZhUU/s640/blogger-image-1609949511.jpg"></a></div></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Quillard was kind enough to motor over to us on a Sunday and sell us a starter, which Clement expertly installed over the course of the next few hours.<br><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKYNspxRPJ3pUDKO4uYg5mYev3Ah-JUhwKFGLIEiEk81i3pL6AzV4SYAcXRDUnzOt4h8ylE1qL7Q8LX_GLj5JAMVGBvIIN06eu1qFM78IBoaa2FH6ktrgJ5biMIu6hoQ9pc_DCYCFiNVg/s640/blogger-image-774345004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKYNspxRPJ3pUDKO4uYg5mYev3Ah-JUhwKFGLIEiEk81i3pL6AzV4SYAcXRDUnzOt4h8ylE1qL7Q8LX_GLj5JAMVGBvIIN06eu1qFM78IBoaa2FH6ktrgJ5biMIu6hoQ9pc_DCYCFiNVg/s640/blogger-image-774345004.jpg"></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>With a final greasy wipe of the forehead Clement said a few prayers over the hopefully-fixed engine and we turned the key and... Nothing. Still broke. We cursed our luck and resigned to spending another night as unwilling IV bags for greedy mosquitos a la Mad Max when a piece of advice from Terry #1 popped into our heads. "You know," he'd said, floating on his paddleboard on a cool Wednesday evening, "you can always try rope starting her if she gives you trouble." The idea here is that if you wrap a rope around the main flywheel of the engine and pull hard you can manually start the bugger. Well we wrapped a piece of laundry line around the flywheel as per instructions, gave her a tug, and wouldn't you know it, the durn thing started. <br><br>We counted our lucky stars and took off like a dirty shirt, setting our sights on a marina some 20 miles away. By the time we pulled into Cedar Hill Resort it was dinnertime and our stomachs were a-growlin'. Cedar Hill Resort is less a resort and more a bar/restaurant with a dock and a large green plot of land, but seeing as we'd just barely escaped from the Pit of Despair that was the side of the river in Hamburg, Illinois, it was paradise to us. We saddled up to the bar and ordered a dram while we waited for various fried victuals to arrive. Over fried mushrooms and hamburgers cooked with a secret spice that even master-secret-recipe-diviner Bennett could not divine we traded stories with the bartender and felt easy, breezy and beautiful (Covergirl™). After a while we scooted on back to our boat, grabbed our hammocks and set up for the night. The forecast said rain but I wasn't worried; while the rest of the crew had water-repellent hammocks, I had at my disposal the cutting-edge of water-repellent technologies: a tarp. After outfitting my hammock I settled into my cloth cocoon for an early night with lightning flashing wonderfully in the distance. Snug as a bug in a rug was I.<br><br>But snug bugs in rugs don't stay snug in rugs for long. At around midnight I, Nick, aka Grommeter, awoke to a wet rump and an even wetter rumpus roaring outside. The storm was really storming and the tarp wasn't really doing much to block out the sideways torrent of rain hitting me like a freight train. "No, no, no, no, no" I repeated, as if my pleas could stop the rain from getting in. They couldn't; my rump got wetter. My mind raced: what to do? Wait it out or flee for the boat? Let me note here that the boat was a good distance away and that in my sorry state I imagined that the rest of the crew was faring well, outfitted as they were with actual rain-repellent hammocks while I, humble Grommeter, only had a tarp at my disposal. It was to be a sad, lonely flight, but flee I did. <br><br>Upon emerging from the hammock I was drenched in an instant. Thunder crashed above my head. I felt at the mercy of an omnipotent, vindictive shower. Fleeing across the field towards the boat I was the rabbit that scurries across the interstate. "Crap," I said to no one in particular. <br><br>Emerging from the boat with tent and tote in hand it occurred to me that I was carrying a bag of metal rods on a metal dock in the middle of a lightning storm. "Crap," I said again to no one in particular.<br><br>But luckily I, Grommeter, made it back to the relative safety of the restaurant patio with all vitals intact. I was setting up the tent when two familiar faces arrived: Clement and Bennett, soaked to the bone, with Piers not too far behind. They too had been sacked by the rain. Seeing as misery loves company I gave a silent cheer as we set about setting up our lodgings for the night (again). At about one in the morning we drifted off to sleep, weary and worn but blissfully dry. <br></span></div>Pierbennicklement Gelltinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00417768668578943790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6948721825681809961.post-61546702745145459052015-06-07T16:49:00.001-07:002015-06-07T16:53:22.241-07:00Day 12: and then there were nuns<div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Nick, Clement, and Bennett awoke in hammocks on the shore of the island park that borders the Quincy Art Keller Marina of Quincy, Illinois. We walked back to meet Piers, who had pitched a tent on the deck of Cat Sass and began showering and making breakfast. </span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">After a brief poison ivy scare (those who slept in the park had walked through some suspicious looking leaves), we stopped at the marina gas station. The attendant at the station was the mother of the Illinois state bowling champion. He had bowled two 300s. We were all impressed.</span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFnvEwzy9NulfPw7cQVuUyLVIv1XdOA35PaxXS83cirmDBS_CCvgjEVFw2nxSHemMv_5zg2TPZWKuX2dziAyQuQixr386oq3BIJtqFRQCvPXHmUTZBfWy4rcAgwgzKHUSuaw9CvaASsmc/s640/blogger-image--249918349.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFnvEwzy9NulfPw7cQVuUyLVIv1XdOA35PaxXS83cirmDBS_CCvgjEVFw2nxSHemMv_5zg2TPZWKuX2dziAyQuQixr386oq3BIJtqFRQCvPXHmUTZBfWy4rcAgwgzKHUSuaw9CvaASsmc/s640/blogger-image--249918349.jpg"></a></div></span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Soon we were on our way to Hannibal, Missouri, the birthplace of Mark Twain.</span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">When we arrived on the dock of the Hannibal Boat Club we ran into a man named Sharkey. He had no sleeves, a cigarillo and a beer can. He looked a bit like a shark. We asked if it was okay for us to dock there and he said, through the window of his pick up, that it was and that we were better than most people for having asked. </span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"If anyone gives you any trouble tell them Sharkey said it was okay", he said, grinning. </span></div><div><span style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span><div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Sharkey is on the board of the club and has a boat himself in Hannibal but is "too anal about his boat" so he plans on selling it. He rarely takes it out on the water for fear of damaging it. As we walked away from the marina to look at a Twain statue, he yelled, "That's everything, now you've seen it all" and laughed. </span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7md_e3z1AsK6W3FFihYFL83jnCja7WFsbZ5f4KWvaeiBSxVMzrwr58p2vUvhP-7v2zTc5g6aML9cQmVkT8yFIHeIJlBTCRw00z8yv5zzRs4WxfbANYn3dvMTUGF190OTb0ETzQfF2UTk/s640/blogger-image-1583844513.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7md_e3z1AsK6W3FFihYFL83jnCja7WFsbZ5f4KWvaeiBSxVMzrwr58p2vUvhP-7v2zTc5g6aML9cQmVkT8yFIHeIJlBTCRw00z8yv5zzRs4WxfbANYn3dvMTUGF190OTb0ETzQfF2UTk/s640/blogger-image-1583844513.jpg"></a></div></span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">He wasn't totally joking, we found out. It became clear that the town had been manufactured to maximize quaintness. The main street was lined with stores like The Mark Twain Brewery (not really a brewery), The Mark Twain Motel, The Mark Twain Boyhood Home, Mrs. Clemens Antique Mall, Aunt Polly's Treasures, and the Mark Twain Wax Museum. All of them, from what we saw, were filled with touristy Mark Twain fare and had little interesting history about the author. </span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEyKrhn1ed5txhTKMjQR4qyH3-i_VnuSNzMWuwQc_QxA8Eq-yJghEoAaf7H8aKKwiJfTlupTWsXGVMUiFfVKios6aleToPGiR_3_7OXsdVBwvGxqToRYsemXiEoHwFGEVuqwm3gHNl26U/s640/blogger-image--1056087674.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEyKrhn1ed5txhTKMjQR4qyH3-i_VnuSNzMWuwQc_QxA8Eq-yJghEoAaf7H8aKKwiJfTlupTWsXGVMUiFfVKios6aleToPGiR_3_7OXsdVBwvGxqToRYsemXiEoHwFGEVuqwm3gHNl26U/s640/blogger-image--1056087674.jpg"></a></div></span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We did figure out the secret sauce of Finn's Restaurant as the waitress let slip that it is s*lsa and r*nch. With that small victory we made our way back to Cat Sass.</span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Hannibal was a bust. Anyone thinking of visiting should spend their time in Muscatine instead. </span></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></span></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgdXw8lj059T6HJrX_rfMKZiLk0CXeFOhjQYcv-CHAJgUFhy-PwqklmGZrLadzRzMlecCE3OeJ3ACTS32gpBwRDBz8xuaz1ECUHSWJkMDg5UFA0OO0VE8oOkRBtqMAXvDklsZfjIg4oP0/s640/blogger-image-1697188419.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgdXw8lj059T6HJrX_rfMKZiLk0CXeFOhjQYcv-CHAJgUFhy-PwqklmGZrLadzRzMlecCE3OeJ3ACTS32gpBwRDBz8xuaz1ECUHSWJkMDg5UFA0OO0VE8oOkRBtqMAXvDklsZfjIg4oP0/s640/blogger-image-1697188419.jpg"></a></div></span></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></span></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">However, this wasn't the worst part of our day. What you've all secretly wanted to happen, just a little bit, deep down inside finally happened, a Cat-Sasstrophe. We had almost reached our target marina when we heard a change in tone from the engine. We tilted the motor up to see if some sticks had gotten caught in the motor, but found nothing. Piers lowered the motor back into the water and twisted the key in the ignition, but the engine remained totally motionless. Nick and Bennett frantically paddled the boat out of the channel lest a barge come around the corner. The mechanic who fixed our motor at the start of our time on the river, Clint, had warned us that the starter on our engine would be the first thing to go, and we feared it finally had. We called local mechanics but at 9 p.m. On a Saturday night we found none. We blew our whistle five times (thanks, Caleb!) at a passing pontoon boat and they slowed to see if we needed help. They suggested we try a place called Quilliar's about a mile up river, but alas the mechanic was at a wedding. We tried our last resort, Sea Tow (basically AAA for boats). While we were told by a Sea Tow representative (when buying the plan) that they could find us service 24/7 </span><span style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">on the river, they could offer us nothing more than an apology for that night and the next day we would find out. They resorted to calling their competitor Tow Boat USA (who was honest about their limited service on the river when we asked before buying Sea Tow) and when they could not help us they called the police. Unfortunately all of the officers in Hamburg (name of the town were we landed) were at a fish fry so we were put in contact with Officer Steve of Pike County (one county North of Hamburg). He was very nice and wanted to help but wasn't allowed to have us towed unless we were in immediate danger. We thought about putting ourselves in immediate danger but decided against it. </span></span></div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-pMUVLWzxuX9v68Sy1vLFoGM-uQFQ_lZ2cuwYRmLZpDKrWIznOb1j0VSy3zJyiIJDfqtQY7kG45uv5jmZeZaMX1rWRwod2klc9gQPLGDAbC3C8HyoKRJXncsX8S7PqfhhfPcserhPVC0/s640/blogger-image--208290722.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-pMUVLWzxuX9v68Sy1vLFoGM-uQFQ_lZ2cuwYRmLZpDKrWIznOb1j0VSy3zJyiIJDfqtQY7kG45uv5jmZeZaMX1rWRwod2klc9gQPLGDAbC3C8HyoKRJXncsX8S7PqfhhfPcserhPVC0/s640/blogger-image--208290722.jpg"></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">R</span></span><span style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">esigned to our night on the eastern shore, we struggled to form a perfect seal on our mosquito netting (we slept on the deck as it was too hot for tents) and fell asleep to the sound of our pontoons grinding on rocks every time the wake of a barge carried us closer to shore. </span></div><div><span style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Note: this photo depicts an unidentified planet and 2/10000ths of the mosquitos we encounteted last night, all seen through our mosquito net. </span></div><div><span style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFPCl_ZBgkqCgsCuW3ZJHklPGtzaRCmW3MhhlwEpuhw80wX53j_oQFP2tLVYYuLSyAKpYhIt1l8p2jaV2YxEt8ArhCBb1mAliN4kIZnNTXQOBx3TjFLJt5mepBjS40ksy3zHjBS_cmXSM/s640/blogger-image--1207533660.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFPCl_ZBgkqCgsCuW3ZJHklPGtzaRCmW3MhhlwEpuhw80wX53j_oQFP2tLVYYuLSyAKpYhIt1l8p2jaV2YxEt8ArhCBb1mAliN4kIZnNTXQOBx3TjFLJt5mepBjS40ksy3zHjBS_cmXSM/s640/blogger-image--1207533660.jpg"></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div></span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">WILL THE CREW OF CAT SASS EXTRACT THEMSELVES FROM THIS CAT-SASSTROPHE? Find out tomorrow. </span></div></div></div>Pierbennicklement Gelltinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00417768668578943790noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6948721825681809961.post-32572045454957169922015-06-06T08:58:00.001-07:002015-06-06T11:34:30.322-07:00Day 11: Burlington to Quincy + Tour of Cat-Sass<div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We started the day at the Bluff Harbor Marina, paying the docking fee for the first time (also the first time we could even find someone to pay). The payment went to a friendly man named Jerry, who offered us positions as regional sales reps for his burgeoning home improvement company "Gutter Smart" (see GutterSmart.com). We told him we'd get back to him, and in the meantime he showed us his old rabbit "Chocolate," left in his possession by two daughters that had grown up. We hung out for a little on his boat "The GutterSmart.com Boat," which he planned to pilot to the Caribbean (though he did not know specifically where) once his 90 year old mother "kicked the bucket. But I'm in no hurry for that to happen." </div></span></div><div><br></div><div>Jerry had to get to work, and we had to get to Quincy, IL, so we filled up on gas, said goodbye and continued South. We left Burlington never having visited "the crookedest street in the world," which I think we're all a little saddened by.</div><div><br></div><div>We stopped briefly in Fort Madison for some supplies and an American flag, and ended the day at the Art Keller Marina on Bay Island of Quincy, IL (NB: not R. Kelly Marina). Bennett, Nick, and Clement snuck past the Park Ranger of Bay Island and slept in hammocks facing the water and the beautiful Quincy bridge. Piers was a bit of a nancy and slept on the boat.</div><div><br></div><div>Due to the relative uneventfulness of the day, we have decided it is a good time to give a brief photo-tour of the lovely Cat-Sass:</div><div><br></div><div>The tour will proceed clockwise starting at the middle of the port side (nautical speak for left).</div><div><br></div><div>The bow:</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs0W9J4zZex2zq2oDZLnF8mchcqsLYkDcNI04-8iTMyAsEJlty9n0by_g9USDC2dfkiQyVeHXmR_pwgb3Wbss7iCaAwf9oQli5zTTkJTZPzgqnM3anF5y2WmOCj5ZcJi_4Wb1uiMGbK4w/s640/blogger-image--1636171516.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs0W9J4zZex2zq2oDZLnF8mchcqsLYkDcNI04-8iTMyAsEJlty9n0by_g9USDC2dfkiQyVeHXmR_pwgb3Wbss7iCaAwf9oQli5zTTkJTZPzgqnM3anF5y2WmOCj5ZcJi_4Wb1uiMGbK4w/s640/blogger-image--1636171516.jpg"></a></div><div><br></div>On the left you can see our cooler, where we keep eggs, meats, cheeses, beers, and a bottle of Sriracha sauce. Above the cooler is where we store our waterproof duffel bags during the day. Beyond the railing is where we store our cleaning buckets, poop bucket, water coolers, anchors, and anchor line. To the right of the duffels is our table, where we eat some meals and often lay our solar phone charger. Right of the table is the long bench, used for naps and for food storage. Below the long bench is where we store our cleaning supplies, and just below that is where we store our privacy tarp (for doing poos), hand truck and trash bag.</div><div><br></div><div>Inside the cooler:</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgek7xvjYoKkrdFxyPdYcQd33aG41731WJZnovpMR51v24nZuh2IqCxanOjP9Y5DuT0dAX7hPzlwG115HRoiovgzpkD7ZQELEzd0eNUqWgn_1qUAkKKtH0jexn9XrLH8yDHNLxg2t-G8fk/s640/blogger-image-414092835.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgek7xvjYoKkrdFxyPdYcQd33aG41731WJZnovpMR51v24nZuh2IqCxanOjP9Y5DuT0dAX7hPzlwG115HRoiovgzpkD7ZQELEzd0eNUqWgn_1qUAkKKtH0jexn9XrLH8yDHNLxg2t-G8fk/s640/blogger-image-414092835.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The tip of our bow:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8q_OhKSeQRR1tCWrQ4Lc44FA2EP3HvTigKRkFGvqCbxFS0OMUkLjLG2QI8H8pmv5Witwmu5J13R-pZGGiHgg0pkGw2jT0TRIdutSA8B_en_o39s-WfSdtVKe1n5HWCs-Oo6Nqjb7rqJY/s640/blogger-image--849798295.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8q_OhKSeQRR1tCWrQ4Lc44FA2EP3HvTigKRkFGvqCbxFS0OMUkLjLG2QI8H8pmv5Witwmu5J13R-pZGGiHgg0pkGw2jT0TRIdutSA8B_en_o39s-WfSdtVKe1n5HWCs-Oo6Nqjb7rqJY/s640/blogger-image--849798295.jpg"></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">From left to right: fender used for docking, two anchors, anchor line, toilet seat, poop bucket, water coolers, boat and dish cleaning buckets.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Table:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyMksxDN28f2SMuCqouS7rcyk8DxHGX0wvby5f9zH4P8DbZIkCmhjLxaFvoYmIOqFKwfDlI0O6D3RlOXq0iCq9ID9oStpaaLcvgfN6X5239NyYn4NDjg8Ayi8VbgdWA0M5E6bi3YgSiKo/s640/blogger-image--147436468.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyMksxDN28f2SMuCqouS7rcyk8DxHGX0wvby5f9zH4P8DbZIkCmhjLxaFvoYmIOqFKwfDlI0O6D3RlOXq0iCq9ID9oStpaaLcvgfN6X5239NyYn4NDjg8Ayi8VbgdWA0M5E6bi3YgSiKo/s640/blogger-image--147436468.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>The solar phone charger is put to work.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Food storage:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxfkZ9FD1jYw6JkQvDWF8KJTe6GZvqD7y-hhgqdHvpq3G-0xy7OKGp10K8QtPR_lzKV01sM7sqE5U7f9wXE84FKXDw9xhuX1AmYWzJH1NH1JAlgHCTvT6sS_PJgkFE0My-RiLn2hUvXU0/s640/blogger-image-1897122932.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxfkZ9FD1jYw6JkQvDWF8KJTe6GZvqD7y-hhgqdHvpq3G-0xy7OKGp10K8QtPR_lzKV01sM7sqE5U7f9wXE84FKXDw9xhuX1AmYWzJH1NH1JAlgHCTvT6sS_PJgkFE0My-RiLn2hUvXU0/s640/blogger-image-1897122932.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>Cleaning supplies:</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGO2QVWnzRxVu-CIKaAWQszuyz96-vxlnXsasD795b6tIb4L5to0XE7_fFy3jGxxapKUmRRm49VDkhfqwwwXXkGgT_mx-kl7465URtiVoP_6vuoIY7q-ElGaX-xLaZzr0UK7sF0ADXmfA/s640/blogger-image-437893106.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGO2QVWnzRxVu-CIKaAWQszuyz96-vxlnXsasD795b6tIb4L5to0XE7_fFy3jGxxapKUmRRm49VDkhfqwwwXXkGgT_mx-kl7465URtiVoP_6vuoIY7q-ElGaX-xLaZzr0UK7sF0ADXmfA/s640/blogger-image-437893106.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>Privacy tarp, hand truck, and trash bag:</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw5sxB1MCXdCz7jR2TqjyADP6KCmg1CXxUlfXCi2BGkrMFqqHaJJ7znwQ3AFnuCFPjGAR-OwH5vLY_tomw-9ERViz2vCAQ-bmjJiloCyp7SwA9WR973SfoRdGLKROhEGyoiox47NkPUxU/s640/blogger-image-1393090285.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw5sxB1MCXdCz7jR2TqjyADP6KCmg1CXxUlfXCi2BGkrMFqqHaJJ7znwQ3AFnuCFPjGAR-OwH5vLY_tomw-9ERViz2vCAQ-bmjJiloCyp7SwA9WR973SfoRdGLKROhEGyoiox47NkPUxU/s640/blogger-image-1393090285.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>The stern:</div><div><br></div><div><font color="#000000" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjow-fkW598hPvmtEB89vw6AR7mk360Ld3l7W5Nxpr1Ti4xWkiHp5EywPy0JGgoHojUyvdrhOC1v-dKV0kvTbc_nwrcd1csawHscc13Pagr1KCXH7Y2zRc619ATzZMWUL-iZrbovcUhrLA/s640/blogger-image-46660748.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjow-fkW598hPvmtEB89vw6AR7mk360Ld3l7W5Nxpr1Ti4xWkiHp5EywPy0JGgoHojUyvdrhOC1v-dKV0kvTbc_nwrcd1csawHscc13Pagr1KCXH7Y2zRc619ATzZMWUL-iZrbovcUhrLA/s640/blogger-image-46660748.jpg"></a></font></div><div><br></div><div>On the bottom left is the driving console. Cat-Sass's fading decal adorns its front, and right below that is the cabinet in which we store our butane stove, butane, and toiletries. Behind the console is the captain's chair (where Bennett is seated), under which we store our toolbox. The two seats behind the captain's chair are where we store our Terry cans (jerry cans renamed for our friend Terry; see Day 8-9's posts). The seat at the back right is our Filth Hole, a seat that cannot be opened because of a poor boat design, and thus a storage space uncleanable and unusable. Below the filth hole is another long bench (where Piers is seated), the navigation area and where we store all our sleeping bags, tents and hammocks. At the very back (where Nick is napping) is where we have more fuel storage, and where our motor Clint resides (named for Clint, the man who fixed our motor; see Day 7). Above Nick, out of frame, is where we store brooms, paddles, pots, pans, dishware, life jackets, and straw hats.</div><div><br></div><div>Stove/Toiletries Cabinet:</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaWwhRmioT5TUT6OtyEb-Hen3t37KO8e-HWI4bhDOMmjn3Po-va1EGGfyYsutaR-7AjWeYc39g8JlOgY4RzlCiGXf8UIJFSJB6SUYtnp5Dxor4W5EtldcF9R5hhU5b0hlyVsh1k-siCN8/s640/blogger-image--1598620810.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaWwhRmioT5TUT6OtyEb-Hen3t37KO8e-HWI4bhDOMmjn3Po-va1EGGfyYsutaR-7AjWeYc39g8JlOgY4RzlCiGXf8UIJFSJB6SUYtnp5Dxor4W5EtldcF9R5hhU5b0hlyVsh1k-siCN8/s640/blogger-image--1598620810.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>Console:</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT84sqDGOJRFAXn8egn9T4KCu5flt3y_LLUViFdKqGthfXaRwlt2p4RJ_r4pRwG7tV5vP2wQLtx7uAdLvpE386LbPKVJlVhkYUGojQDWcjCeo44aVsZs-LKBnN0-1jFjRb48_XkHwtWIw/s640/blogger-image-291980824.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT84sqDGOJRFAXn8egn9T4KCu5flt3y_LLUViFdKqGthfXaRwlt2p4RJ_r4pRwG7tV5vP2wQLtx7uAdLvpE386LbPKVJlVhkYUGojQDWcjCeo44aVsZs-LKBnN0-1jFjRb48_XkHwtWIw/s640/blogger-image-291980824.jpg"></a></div><div><br></div>Clockwise from top right: Compass, waterproof speakers gifted by the Gelly brothers' Uncle John (thanks Uncle John!), throttle, marine radio (you can see the antenna covering Bennett's knuckles), wheel, thermometer.</div><div><br></div><div>Under the captain's chair:</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvPoSrazvlW7cloMKrWuUCntTmUUwPYXRnhyphenhyphenb_0wRBnvo72Emoc6pDHyj5tBfpCxlbKLcO__mYsMzLRAgXA-Burb5spV7Cg2TRRNvz1iFHx7hoUCSAZOQLqvquvJP2Q-Lnw3P6PGKgTv0/s640/blogger-image--1903366401.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvPoSrazvlW7cloMKrWuUCntTmUUwPYXRnhyphenhyphenb_0wRBnvo72Emoc6pDHyj5tBfpCxlbKLcO__mYsMzLRAgXA-Burb5spV7Cg2TRRNvz1iFHx7hoUCSAZOQLqvquvJP2Q-Lnw3P6PGKgTv0/s640/blogger-image--1903366401.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>Terry Can Storage:</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzh-Q20NzgmryP2ckyis3rkBMh45kBtdd3vHzo50NnT2QcqCiMIUuqVKQzdUMHDBj9cZyZtJdnQU_ztKQtz6rhY8t1XNDR-vxKRAd5CaJfF-aDn5JNHIwYSb3F3dkQFcE7yq3d9AaiMYA/s640/blogger-image-177129897.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzh-Q20NzgmryP2ckyis3rkBMh45kBtdd3vHzo50NnT2QcqCiMIUuqVKQzdUMHDBj9cZyZtJdnQU_ztKQtz6rhY8t1XNDR-vxKRAd5CaJfF-aDn5JNHIwYSb3F3dkQFcE7yq3d9AaiMYA/s640/blogger-image-177129897.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_vXnmcqYmVXaIHnQfiV_UoXVdREnvDhtKvB0F4Qt7O0xe26H2jHDcRM-JU2WIMAiDyCe_KUx7KPXj3FcXXlSTb47PbUAqBFV5XlEyh0EPRcBTiRZs5v25iDAzVBCI9H0Q-7-OhWErBCA/s640/blogger-image-817834675.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_vXnmcqYmVXaIHnQfiV_UoXVdREnvDhtKvB0F4Qt7O0xe26H2jHDcRM-JU2WIMAiDyCe_KUx7KPXj3FcXXlSTb47PbUAqBFV5XlEyh0EPRcBTiRZs5v25iDAzVBCI9H0Q-7-OhWErBCA/s640/blogger-image-817834675.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>Filth Hole:</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinAJKwuIBq-HiAmMbY9q3JVvEap3qsJt7sm0vf9Il8ZKcWCZciPeaD2cG7V8rb5okbfKvjXUe5TZ36BswJ1i14ACJs-uPbbGRpLUBzAeptO6ivGac0ORNX43RCH5tyMQMWSai1fzwz5ZM/s640/blogger-image-1077500985.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinAJKwuIBq-HiAmMbY9q3JVvEap3qsJt7sm0vf9Il8ZKcWCZciPeaD2cG7V8rb5okbfKvjXUe5TZ36BswJ1i14ACJs-uPbbGRpLUBzAeptO6ivGac0ORNX43RCH5tyMQMWSai1fzwz5ZM/s640/blogger-image-1077500985.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>The tip of our stern:</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDGCMCpFQkqChZuR8kFr-X2rwl4DRSnzPd0cIduRjEpGABVQOX4F_udc0r8VjsbNjeWWGVdPL43TCzZOmMsYgKBbHqJ_BiyDMeexSxThLJgSnEtsV5hEd4Lo_gZGY-fvQgwdoTAB33Nks/s640/blogger-image-1618933210.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDGCMCpFQkqChZuR8kFr-X2rwl4DRSnzPd0cIduRjEpGABVQOX4F_udc0r8VjsbNjeWWGVdPL43TCzZOmMsYgKBbHqJ_BiyDMeexSxThLJgSnEtsV5hEd4Lo_gZGY-fvQgwdoTAB33Nks/s640/blogger-image-1618933210.jpg"></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Fuel tank, oil, more Terry cans:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJbQvrXzIl_yVe34WV3VouRCex0JSa-knWwx-PRcN2aKSefMrl2PedWofxHh8kNvJqj3E8A4Y9ZBpw1Oi-khrffTZvPvNjQUs3ZA9imasiIV_YaJHwCamwSnEbwIbKH6NpoZhhi-696Us/s640/blogger-image-1799438387.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJbQvrXzIl_yVe34WV3VouRCex0JSa-knWwx-PRcN2aKSefMrl2PedWofxHh8kNvJqj3E8A4Y9ZBpw1Oi-khrffTZvPvNjQUs3ZA9imasiIV_YaJHwCamwSnEbwIbKH6NpoZhhi-696Us/s640/blogger-image-1799438387.jpg"></a></div><div><br></div></div><div>Clint:</div><div><br></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnN38eH7oS5b9Bb1-PjYx5wpn0joj2fBvTa4bHBGeffcLtuKJfXgVMYzgDF-ZAgWlKxnihdKLQK68R2_8hWO5IffIKd6XQTip7rUXbSAKfT2hCgmxEisaTLAY0SMexV5fjVgSAOFGGEbw/s640/blogger-image-548740508.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnN38eH7oS5b9Bb1-PjYx5wpn0joj2fBvTa4bHBGeffcLtuKJfXgVMYzgDF-ZAgWlKxnihdKLQK68R2_8hWO5IffIKd6XQTip7rUXbSAKfT2hCgmxEisaTLAY0SMexV5fjVgSAOFGGEbw/s640/blogger-image-548740508.jpg"></a></div><div><br></div><div>Storage space above the stern:</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglQ9N0JcHDh3Oo2ieD4sJxQNz_d7NmMrspiIcfIfXL4bBGA3STFBA9XE83U91Ma8xZXTcKZ3M9MuZgZB2PHXjdSgPeSgsSWmJkw1eBFmE6fp3DI2p4OY1EHicKL6MHbWIf39Z-kVyIboQ/s640/blogger-image-535142694.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglQ9N0JcHDh3Oo2ieD4sJxQNz_d7NmMrspiIcfIfXL4bBGA3STFBA9XE83U91Ma8xZXTcKZ3M9MuZgZB2PHXjdSgPeSgsSWmJkw1eBFmE6fp3DI2p4OY1EHicKL6MHbWIf39Z-kVyIboQ/s640/blogger-image-535142694.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1O7G98mh4ncOq9JAKifSnrS5cYwJFhbkDfS8gSj83jwg5AMi26FQb6IT9YyW4Hg_-T1OLAxoErjRF4e3m81rQLk5UaZ2ejBG6-AEG6OsDNJs35GI-TeZIiu_F8K_4p_hKUe9pk1t1olU/s640/blogger-image--1321468080.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1O7G98mh4ncOq9JAKifSnrS5cYwJFhbkDfS8gSj83jwg5AMi26FQb6IT9YyW4Hg_-T1OLAxoErjRF4e3m81rQLk5UaZ2ejBG6-AEG6OsDNJs35GI-TeZIiu_F8K_4p_hKUe9pk1t1olU/s640/blogger-image--1321468080.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsAW6cKZdXsB1EVRKVMCqEspulD2cpWCnWKx0SRQGRbZrti9K1NDlb2_9drbCPAz_CIeiX1FXq2OamXkyx7-MsoRexbunmIq50jnE374bEUUGZDU7R-uCDGxVgr9Mee0pViF9e-I1NgVQ/s640/blogger-image-77697029.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsAW6cKZdXsB1EVRKVMCqEspulD2cpWCnWKx0SRQGRbZrti9K1NDlb2_9drbCPAz_CIeiX1FXq2OamXkyx7-MsoRexbunmIq50jnE374bEUUGZDU7R-uCDGxVgr9Mee0pViF9e-I1NgVQ/s640/blogger-image-77697029.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Hanging from the back of the Bimini top:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0rtpRDUiF6gePOaQBOfrkxpPRnEn12wYoiTTugznBZsv6iCQ8utKJYHIUMb-PAoYZ4CppALxvx_hySoLBEzntalRC3TOtQ2z1oytWLak66oBr_uc8rCkHhx04ZudFoTVlnPY-RpWwaDU/s640/blogger-image-1664292979.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0rtpRDUiF6gePOaQBOfrkxpPRnEn12wYoiTTugznBZsv6iCQ8utKJYHIUMb-PAoYZ4CppALxvx_hySoLBEzntalRC3TOtQ2z1oytWLak66oBr_uc8rCkHhx04ZudFoTVlnPY-RpWwaDU/s640/blogger-image-1664292979.jpg"></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Sleeping bags, tents and hammocks storage:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdhfM0oZcZ17f51WuYKeQ-5HT1SQi59CddHZqdZTr6mD182p1lhmsuSvhXi_DsTWDDY-USeeXU-_uPpTlEW2aetrnAR0o8x9yAzc3-4nhe0Irgg6Ao6hbpCD89ameaZdF6lMqcYjLaPC4/s640/blogger-image-640057978.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdhfM0oZcZ17f51WuYKeQ-5HT1SQi59CddHZqdZTr6mD182p1lhmsuSvhXi_DsTWDDY-USeeXU-_uPpTlEW2aetrnAR0o8x9yAzc3-4nhe0Irgg6Ao6hbpCD89ameaZdF6lMqcYjLaPC4/s640/blogger-image-640057978.jpg"></a></div><br></div>TO INFINITY & BEYOND</div>Pierbennicklement Gelltinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00417768668578943790noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6948721825681809961.post-24956874010331115342015-06-06T08:45:00.001-07:002015-06-06T15:30:54.573-07:00Day 11 recipe: P-Daddy's Mississippi River Shakshuka<span style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">For dinner on Friday, June 5, I (Piers) cooked up a pot of P-Daddy's Mississippi River Shakshuka. Shoutout to my dear friend Amy Block for introducing me to the Tunisian breakfast dish from which I drew my inspiration, and to Casey's General Store in Lagrange, IL, whose limited supplies imposed constraints that--as anyone who watches Chopped knows well--are ever the mother of invention. </span><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">1 bottle Prego tomato sauce</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">1 bottle meat-flavored Prego tomato sauce, because Casey's only had one non-meat-flavored sauce </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">1 onion, chopped</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">3 cloves garlic</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">2 cans black beans (for extra protein; not ordinarily part of this dish)</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">8 eggs</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">1/2 brick of American cheese, chopped</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">curry, chili powder, garam masala, salt, and pepper to taste</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">1. Sauté onion and garlic.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">2. Transfer OG to pot with tomato sauces, beans, and spices. Cook until a little bubbly.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">3. Crack eggs into pot. Stir until egg whites turn white, resembling poached eggs.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">4. Decant, and sprinkle each serving with chopped cheese.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">5. Enjoi</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"It burnt my tongue a little bit but I liked it"--Clement</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"It hurt Clement, so it hurt me, but it was also good"--Bennett</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"Shak-super"--Nick</div>Pierbennicklement Gelltinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00417768668578943790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6948721825681809961.post-6589789299697676902015-06-06T08:16:00.001-07:002015-06-06T08:16:30.844-07:00Day 10 recipes: Chef Bennett is in it to win it<div><p class="p-block a-ok" style="margin-left: 16px; margin-right: 16px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">This last Thursday I (Bennett) was responsible for feeding the boat as chef of the day. I whipped up the perfect lunch for a hot and sweaty summer day, beef ravioli, bringing out an unsuspected kinship between tomato and meat sauce.</span></p><p class="p-block a-ok" style="margin-left: 16px; margin-right: 16px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">For dinner, chili was a star protein, warmed in freshly cooked egg noodles. Its garnishes — textured vegetable protein, hydrolyzed soy and chili power— worked as foils to emphasize its seriousness and depth. Then in the second dinner course, I took a step back. I served canned corn, enriched with Sriracha sauce, eaten straight from the can. </span></p><p class="p-block a-ok" style="margin-left: 16px; margin-right: 16px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The three dishes could have been a monotonous episode in self-indulgence. Instead they were a memorable demonstration of the skill, inventiveness and discipline that permit me to make my ingredients do what I want while still tasting like themselves.</span></p><p class="p-block a-ok" style="margin-left: 16px; margin-right: 16px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"a pleasure and something of a discovery" - Nick Martino</span></p><p class="p-block a-ok" style="margin-left: 16px; margin-right: 16px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"It [Sriracha corn] was definitely greater than the sum of its parts" - Piers Gelly</span></p><p class="p-block a-ok" style="margin-left: 16px; margin-right: 16px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"I liked the way it [Sriracha corn] was served still in the can" - Clement Gelly</span></p><div style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div></div>Pierbennicklement Gelltinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00417768668578943790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6948721825681809961.post-24718474816141705902015-06-05T11:15:00.001-07:002015-06-05T11:15:32.306-07:00Day 10: Pearls and murder<div><span style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik8KUQ1IGRl5fNsJDn8KMAcwW_oiSKoN3v7y-LM9oXPheXIIUhaAc9A7KBXq4JkWx25hQtEFfDcRIe-Dzq1PjnUG06HHfKfG2HfFIpob5mZ6hkpi9UstYmB3QI-sGyXAYRCLQpijrdXsM/s640/blogger-image-272130612.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik8KUQ1IGRl5fNsJDn8KMAcwW_oiSKoN3v7y-LM9oXPheXIIUhaAc9A7KBXq4JkWx25hQtEFfDcRIe-Dzq1PjnUG06HHfKfG2HfFIpob5mZ6hkpi9UstYmB3QI-sGyXAYRCLQpijrdXsM/s640/blogger-image-272130612.jpg"></a></div></span></div><span style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div><span style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></span></div><div>After a sleep troubled only by a midnight hello from a passing train, we awoke hungry for the sights, sounds, and tastes of Muscatine, Iowa, "Pearl of the Mississippi." Upon arriving in town we'd smelled the delicious, musky odor of malt on the breeze, and after some research we determined that Muscatine boasted a small brewery: Contrary Brewing Co. The night before, we'd shot a quick email to Mark Mitchell, owner, asking if we could have a morning tour, and we woke to an affirmative reply. Thrilled, we rushed through breakfast and made ready to visit Mark. </div></span><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">One incident worth noting: while Nick and I (Piers) coffeed the coffee, Bennett and Clement searched for a bathroom, which they found thanks to the nice folks at the Mississippi Brew bar. When they returned, I retraced their steps, also interested in availing myself of the facilities. When I arrived at the bar, the place was empty, but I saw a sign for the bathroom, so I helped myself. As I was washing my hands, a man holding a mop stuck his head around the doorframe and gave me a suspicious look. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"You must have met my brothers," I said, my tone cheery. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">He shook his head.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">I launched into a detailed explanation of myself and my aims, and in no time the man was telling me about two young men who'd crashed in his apartment while canoeing from the headwaters of the Mississippi to the Gulf. Apparently these guys hadn't told their mothers of the plan until they hit the water, principally because one mom had a paralyzing fear of water. "When she found out," the man said, "she had a real freakout."</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Caffeinated and embageled, the four of us walked the three blocks to Contrary Brewing, a nanobrewery that represents former Muscatine postman Mark Mitchell's attempt to turn his twenty-two year homebrewing hobby into a living. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXj_osy1oX_U49kFQODrvn_XSWUfnFYzzXd_u_xAhqJ_0dZuvFfdpwuknMYjpZxS6K5Rhf_TZp9fgu9GpYR5mFgacrqmIo1YNSl6ZHxVE5I1uenlazqz1GbAC59E3fuLax92noeOJbGnc/s640/blogger-image--1975324889.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXj_osy1oX_U49kFQODrvn_XSWUfnFYzzXd_u_xAhqJ_0dZuvFfdpwuknMYjpZxS6K5Rhf_TZp9fgu9GpYR5mFgacrqmIo1YNSl6ZHxVE5I1uenlazqz1GbAC59E3fuLax92noeOJbGnc/s640/blogger-image--1975324889.jpg"></a></div></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">He gave us a tour of his gleaming equipment and let us sip a sup of his beer. Particularly delicious, we all agreed, was his Fools Gold, a mellow IPA that is his most popular beverage. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi20y5acj3Gp3_uYCMsPm2jcXJjjegY_1tw0LpgUIdLt_V6EzKsgC7a6Cam1Hrb7OB2QS6MzwkyAnmnI8MpUeArsHgxzJZnL_XpqLE_6L5Ijf953um_9hDpvJJwQUbyFmJH6yLgJgFYz_8/s640/blogger-image-147032126.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi20y5acj3Gp3_uYCMsPm2jcXJjjegY_1tw0LpgUIdLt_V6EzKsgC7a6Cam1Hrb7OB2QS6MzwkyAnmnI8MpUeArsHgxzJZnL_XpqLE_6L5Ijf953um_9hDpvJJwQUbyFmJH6yLgJgFYz_8/s640/blogger-image-147032126.jpg"></a></div></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Mark's brewery boasts 12 original beers on tap, with more to come. Contrary Brewing opened a few months ago. Though the startup brewer's life is nerve-wracking, Mark is optimistic, and justifiably so: his beers are delicious, his logo is attractive, and his bar/restaurant is a very pleasant place to while away some time. We bought two growlers of the Fools Gold and one Boston Round of his Contrary IPA, and felt very pleased with ourselves. He wish the very best for Mark, and respectfully suggest that if you, fair reader, should find yourself in Muscatine, you should consider dropping by Mark's place. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We made our way toward Muscatine's Button Museum, which Mark had recommended highly, but we stopped in our tracks when we noticed the sign for Candle Shed Effect, an antiques store. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSOIHabJZs394vAssxnGNIrTFLzoDDQP_N3dzYll4qX-rJZGDyjm5g1BZz5qGTeQj3CyBREj7NQozayRbTLv1Xqi0xDi3yfnrlElDwfsEoMo-zZ_iemkw0mFcaIkdTm0mcTSJLeJTmq38/s640/blogger-image--786531563.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSOIHabJZs394vAssxnGNIrTFLzoDDQP_N3dzYll4qX-rJZGDyjm5g1BZz5qGTeQj3CyBREj7NQozayRbTLv1Xqi0xDi3yfnrlElDwfsEoMo-zZ_iemkw0mFcaIkdTm0mcTSJLeJTmq38/s640/blogger-image--786531563.jpg"></a></div></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We had a long conversation with the owner about her gleefully morbid aesthetic. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHB2r6GoLADAkjsFOZUtgIpFmFU1ErOyF9lKFEFKJoFInKJSGBu48AgZw8SXoFNyTDQiP_5vLpg7VNPmv8FX-Np4UpZSnXMSLY_WhqoDZfqiIgXvDxy97zfdX3R2282F0DRcsy1JsYGlw/s640/blogger-image--112537130.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHB2r6GoLADAkjsFOZUtgIpFmFU1ErOyF9lKFEFKJoFInKJSGBu48AgZw8SXoFNyTDQiP_5vLpg7VNPmv8FX-Np4UpZSnXMSLY_WhqoDZfqiIgXvDxy97zfdX3R2282F0DRcsy1JsYGlw/s640/blogger-image--112537130.jpg"></a></div></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"Last year I decided to make this place more me," she told us. "There are so many antiques stores out there doing the same thing, so I'm trying to set myself apart." She says that some people find her skulls disturbing, but that these skull-haters just don't get it. "Everybody's got one," she said. "You do, I do. You live once and you die once, so you might as well be yourself."</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpOxkkmpwZeirSmbEqJi5hZqNkxzn7COzliuHt6nhPyYtVUoZeuvHhGbDpdv7DZNH3U3HKstD7OkyheQssXbFPjNLdFhzPHf26_vu5n7BZ-8mxITXucJdy6MYbXOw-kTMlraUrb1su-YM/s640/blogger-image-86515596.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpOxkkmpwZeirSmbEqJi5hZqNkxzn7COzliuHt6nhPyYtVUoZeuvHhGbDpdv7DZNH3U3HKstD7OkyheQssXbFPjNLdFhzPHf26_vu5n7BZ-8mxITXucJdy6MYbXOw-kTMlraUrb1su-YM/s640/blogger-image-86515596.jpg"></a></div></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">At the Muscatine Button Museum we solved a mystery even as we discovered greater, deeper questions about this great river. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDIK-4eOYIgPBFeQ3yUykJHfQuC1R8nn8EwAwcVkU8EiuUPT9F92Opv4XqmJXecP3N_zY65fDIC8uDSstXmdMmTVjYK7PubGPs9ZDUtd7rfq3ymlp4tBHHkMgK7vwBySa-TL8HZVYNi4U/s640/blogger-image-320213727.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDIK-4eOYIgPBFeQ3yUykJHfQuC1R8nn8EwAwcVkU8EiuUPT9F92Opv4XqmJXecP3N_zY65fDIC8uDSstXmdMmTVjYK7PubGPs9ZDUtd7rfq3ymlp4tBHHkMgK7vwBySa-TL8HZVYNi4U/s640/blogger-image-320213727.jpg"></a></div></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkydlXrAccg1DNX6f1XmjZP_1hecOKJZZ5nMkDi4l0l1ksuuoTazPtuFgA0efVA0GaigE25EFZFVtGzbmVE1kbGjxTND8HzvccFHGagr-sqNJYaQEVc3NZmX2NnMKjsOdDXBKPblav1-4/s640/blogger-image-588123290.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkydlXrAccg1DNX6f1XmjZP_1hecOKJZZ5nMkDi4l0l1ksuuoTazPtuFgA0efVA0GaigE25EFZFVtGzbmVE1kbGjxTND8HzvccFHGagr-sqNJYaQEVc3NZmX2NnMKjsOdDXBKPblav1-4/s640/blogger-image-588123290.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">For Muscatine, "Pearl of the Mississippi" is no empty superlative. From the late 1800s to the 1940s, Muscatine was the pearl button capital of the world, producing billions of buttons yearly from the pearlescent shells of the freshwater mussels that used to line the riverbeds. Overfishing (overmusseling?) and damming decimated the mussel population by the Second World War, when zippers and petroleum also began muscling in (an expression that began with the deadly competition between rival Muscatine clammers, who were known to mount cannons on their boats) on the pearl button market, so Muscatine switched to a plastic button town, but even today mussel shells with telltale Swiss cheese puncturings wash ashore. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnrxzwS1l-Es57US_ytcywbb7E9X4gUvFt5yVas9rPYQpF7AIO1YT8eBYJrw0T38UG_acOSQ6VnPs92XPS16vfI0q9WPhsOcUKGdrXe1V-MtQmfqKcr4iWUpLCzk8GJoVIyyUTi6IDuE0/s640/blogger-image-919635486.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnrxzwS1l-Es57US_ytcywbb7E9X4gUvFt5yVas9rPYQpF7AIO1YT8eBYJrw0T38UG_acOSQ6VnPs92XPS16vfI0q9WPhsOcUKGdrXe1V-MtQmfqKcr4iWUpLCzk8GJoVIyyUTi6IDuE0/s640/blogger-image-919635486.jpg"></a></div></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Terry Eagle, assistant director and a gentlemen well worthy of the first name he bears (see days 8 and 9), gave us a tour, and had many fascinating things to say about Muscatine's pearls, and one Pearl in particular. </div></div></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Pearl McGill was a young woman who hoped to pay for her education by working in a Muscatine button factory. When she arrived, she learned she was to be an industrial spy, hunting out unionists and socialists and reporting them to management. These were days of strike-breakers, Pinkertons shipped in from Chicago to rough up anyone who attempted collective bargaining. Pearl quickly discovered that she was on the wrong side of this conflict, and became a double agent and then a labor activist, speaking all over the Midwest about workers' rights. Eventually Helen Keller heard her speak and paid for much of her education. So Pearl finally did become a teacher, but she burned to return to activism, and soon announced that she would take up the lecture circuit again. That night she was shot dead in her front yard. The records will tell you that her husband pulled the trigger--he washed ashore downstream in women's clothes later that week--but according to Terry, everyone in Muscatine knows that some button factory or other had Pearl killed. We just don't know which one. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"When you hold a pearl button to your cheek you can feel the cold of the river," Terry said, and he was right: unlike dull plastic, pearl buttons chill the skin. Terry likes to quote one visitor who said that you can feel the life in a pearl button. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">After an enlightening Muscatine morning, we bid the fair city adieu and headed downriver. We stopped in New Boston (smaller than regular Boston), where a nice, shirtless, and mustached man named Rick gave me an ATV ride to a gas station. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP8dSOZ0G4riuGTrYGJ1ZJMEOXojmBcazNRxAHQ4pwqY5mVPFMikhkjfzGxnkgDDSVkLXgv-_dqaHiBP8sxrOeorCGi7LB63F99ytu0QQLnDg8dwRDw9TdrRd-ExHRwC0CPlu0U1s-M64/s640/blogger-image-2130823718.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP8dSOZ0G4riuGTrYGJ1ZJMEOXojmBcazNRxAHQ4pwqY5mVPFMikhkjfzGxnkgDDSVkLXgv-_dqaHiBP8sxrOeorCGi7LB63F99ytu0QQLnDg8dwRDw9TdrRd-ExHRwC0CPlu0U1s-M64/s640/blogger-image-2130823718.jpg"></a></div></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">While I was out, Clement finally hooked a catfish. He at first thought his line was caught on a log, but was delighted to find a quite large flathead catfish on the end of his line. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb5YydA9giRzAbbPQ5BZlvY3dyoXWK7mUD46nDDJm5i8OA3LdQypmm4eevjZJ-QgwjbVsA4sf-zwZAyj9FiRBvX0ocZQ2GmfBLQqqTUJAHUVeOfvy2tnNI3nbI4o_ovCPxKHW4R-neayw/s640/blogger-image-1363132960.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb5YydA9giRzAbbPQ5BZlvY3dyoXWK7mUD46nDDJm5i8OA3LdQypmm4eevjZJ-QgwjbVsA4sf-zwZAyj9FiRBvX0ocZQ2GmfBLQqqTUJAHUVeOfvy2tnNI3nbI4o_ovCPxKHW4R-neayw/s640/blogger-image-1363132960.jpg"></a></div></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">He asked two boys at the end of the dock what he should do, and they told him to reel it in and lay it on the dock. The larger boy took the reins and ripped the hook out of its mouth with pliers. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"They'll make noises sometimes," said the smaller boy. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">After Clement revealed that this was the first fish he'd ever caught, Daniel, the larger boy, agreed to kill and clean it for us--although, as we soon learned, not in that order. Daniel walked Clement, Bennett, and Nick to a public cleaning station, and began to peel off the skin of the live fish. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS1LoveJW5UKlkMoh9B16uS6skG5OlcKBXXwmJfuEjMvqvz3COB0NVCMIXeuHmNsp6z2g8Oke7XdCfxbVCZk7vCQguYmkaX9e3R4z0gYHIiUw8y4ZoW6nwAIZ6fIRvMfqkmlWac9kWgP4/s640/blogger-image--343118128.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS1LoveJW5UKlkMoh9B16uS6skG5OlcKBXXwmJfuEjMvqvz3COB0NVCMIXeuHmNsp6z2g8Oke7XdCfxbVCZk7vCQguYmkaX9e3R4z0gYHIiUw8y4ZoW6nwAIZ6fIRvMfqkmlWac9kWgP4/s640/blogger-image--343118128.jpg"></a></div></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"Do fish feel pain?" Clement asked. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"Oh, yeah," Daniel replied nonchalantly. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We learned that Daniel was 13 and had cleaned his first fish at age "4 or 5." Daniel proceeded to remove all of the fish's skin below its head, slice it down the belly, and rip out its guts, all while it still wriggled. Clement, Bennett, and Nick tried to block out their empathy instincts. Finally Daniel wrung its neck and the deed was done. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjDgOa5G5wYfsAVyY0L4ZFt2A-zcoKxpdEcYuO1AJsntlf1xRVJo9aAvzzbV_iFpYNHrsQINrajSEH13jLYeVW6T5l54GuxZ_mgJl__ZyDnTlSurPLfNko-_GTGWIlp3JfUqGd4Kf3piw/s640/blogger-image-987467493.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjDgOa5G5wYfsAVyY0L4ZFt2A-zcoKxpdEcYuO1AJsntlf1xRVJo9aAvzzbV_iFpYNHrsQINrajSEH13jLYeVW6T5l54GuxZ_mgJl__ZyDnTlSurPLfNko-_GTGWIlp3JfUqGd4Kf3piw/s640/blogger-image-987467493.jpg"></a></div></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Nick fried it up à la Catfish Martino, and we had a delicious afternoon snack of catfish that had been alive 15 minutes ago. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We headed downriver, supplementing our fish snack with some Chef Boyardee à la Bennett (Cat-Sass head chef for the day) and cruising comfortably until we reached the next lock. We'd planned to go as far as Fort Madison, but by the time the barge ahead of us barged off, night was falling, so we headed to the nearby Edgewater Beach Marina, marked on our map but not in our marina guide. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">As we pulled into Edgewater's little cove behind Turtle Island, the night began assuming all the qualities of a horror movie. The marina had clearly been abandoned for a while, with shaky, creaky docks through which at one place a small tree grew. We explored the area and found an office and restaurant full of junk. On one table sat a framed drawing of two houses perched in a vine structure, with the caption, "chance made us neighbors, but choice made us friends," which phrase we all agreed was susceptible to creepy inversion in the right context--say, whispered into your ear by a murderous swamp person. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"My biggest fear is someone removing Nick's face and wearing it as a mask," Bennett said as he prepared our dinner of pasta with chili (it was essentially a day of Chef Boyardee Two Ways). Perhaps he still had that catfish on his mind. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Clement and I attempted to attach the mosquito net structure he and Bennett designed, but within a few minutes we were severely overrun. We were in mosquito hell. They swarmed our headlamps in unswattable clouds, presumably overjoyed to find human flesh for the first time since the marina closed aeons ago. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We made a quick decision to gtfo and head for Burlington, a few miles downriver. Beneath a huge orange moon, with Clement crouching on the bow holding a nine-volt battery to our nav lights, Nick navigating, Bennett shining a spotlight, and me steering, we literalized the phrase "four ships passing in the night" as we deftly steered around three barges. There was some shouting, some swerving, some admonishment from Nick that shouting doesn't help anything, and some incredible night sights, not least of which were the looming lights of Burlington's bridges beckoning us in. Freed of mosquitos and feeling exhausted but lucky, we ate our dinner, polished off the penultimate chocolate bar from the cache given to us by Cordelia Gelly (mother of the Gelly bros), and hit the hay.</div>Pierbennicklement Gelltinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00417768668578943790noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6948721825681809961.post-68529291646635968072015-06-04T12:11:00.001-07:002015-06-04T12:11:03.307-07:00Day 9 recipes: and on the ninth day, God restedDay 9 was what we river folk call "Chef Boyar-Day"--named for the small arsenal of Chef Boyardee ravioli cans in our supply hole--that is, a day on which no one spearheads cooking, and anything can happen. Lunch was tuna, tomato, and garbanzo bean sandwiches, hastily eaten in the shadow of Davenport's Oscar Meyer factory. Dinner was the delightful Guadalajara Mexican restaurant in Muscadine. As we all noshed on tacos, enchiladas, burritos, and tamales, we noted that we'd never been as grateful for fresh vegetables, and neither had we spent more than five minutes indoors in quite some time. <div><br></div><div>Thank you, Guadalajara, for furnishing food and shelter. </div>Pierbennicklement Gelltinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00417768668578943790noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6948721825681809961.post-39675329919569456242015-06-04T11:52:00.001-07:002015-06-04T11:52:53.871-07:00Day 9: the maneating blackbird of Davenport, Iowa<div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb7hG7LtYU4LZiepmwaVZjjE6Ji4uw3oEDz_fC8t1zDfAOHp8dtkr5djiWii6fAd_f_dtkxv0k5A4rROEzyiaJmJAviFLKeZJ3SEn8_MVX8TD3AaXXKL64iwthaOTUkfGMQjWKOXJ_ywE/s640/blogger-image--523374230.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb7hG7LtYU4LZiepmwaVZjjE6Ji4uw3oEDz_fC8t1zDfAOHp8dtkr5djiWii6fAd_f_dtkxv0k5A4rROEzyiaJmJAviFLKeZJ3SEn8_MVX8TD3AaXXKL64iwthaOTUkfGMQjWKOXJ_ywE/s640/blogger-image--523374230.jpg"></a></div></span></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div>Hello outside world. Nick here with today's post. After waking up in Fulton, Illinois in a perfect hammock triangle (a bucket list phenomenon of mine long-coveted and rarely seen) Bennett Clement and I met up with Piers on the boat. He'd just come back with Terry (of Livin the Dream fame) who'd offered us a ride to the gas station and was kind enough to donate a jerrycan for our gasoline purposes, a jerrycan we renamed Terrycan in Terry's honor. If you're just joining us and don't know who Terry is, amend that! And check out our last post. <br><br>After a hearty handshake and well wishes from Terry we embarked from Fulton with our hearts and gas tanks full. I, Nick, took the captain's position and finally got to drive the boat, even standing up sometimes while motoring at a cool 10 knots per hour, pointing at things dramatically and looking at stuff through my binoculars, modus operandi of all the coolest boat captains I've seen on the Tube (I'm lookin at you, Hunter Quint). After gatoring down miss Mississippi for a while we turned off the main aquatic causeway in favor of a shortcut down an offshoot river called a slough that Terry recommended. This slough we fondly christened Terry's Hypotenuse for the hypotenusal short cut it allowed us. Thanks again, Terry! <br><br>Our next stop was the great town of Davenport, Iowa where we lunched in a gazebo on the water, all the while terrorized by a territorial red-winged blackbird that would menacingly hover above anyone who dared step near his bushy homestead. Piers was unlucky enough to be attacked by the creature. His account of the attack is as follows:<br><br>"I was walking back towards you guys in the gazebo feeling proud of myself for having found a bathroom when I felt a stinging pain on the back of my head. I looked up and saw two fishermen laughing at me. I turned around and saw a red-winged blackbird flapping around in the air above me. The fishermen told me the bird had been attacking everyone who walked past because its children were in a nest in the bush."</span><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju1vnlDOVA1RXRDJJhocoOBtpY1JcYwCQ1Gw5d2viGwDICwrcsmJcoc37-cq7oYpls7BQEzLYJm6JVa3W7YbLedV1vq-SWdf3O6DJLPjAxjSgHxzcG2mwfCyzKXCLazN3JQPjVr5VDoeo/s640/blogger-image-1054312106.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju1vnlDOVA1RXRDJJhocoOBtpY1JcYwCQ1Gw5d2viGwDICwrcsmJcoc37-cq7oYpls7BQEzLYJm6JVa3W7YbLedV1vq-SWdf3O6DJLPjAxjSgHxzcG2mwfCyzKXCLazN3JQPjVr5VDoeo/s640/blogger-image-1054312106.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiim5Fvj7D1zZuz0ZZ215kPazS_nTHRroIFtmOx_n52iYUlXqp2OJJK19A8L8iE8BVLvhNFzC48dZ2KZvLidv6fOXbjAi45Fl-dRdGWncSjOhop4S_G_nyW_qIUSHP99pKb53ipNa6l2ZA/s640/blogger-image-1146567521.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiim5Fvj7D1zZuz0ZZ215kPazS_nTHRroIFtmOx_n52iYUlXqp2OJJK19A8L8iE8BVLvhNFzC48dZ2KZvLidv6fOXbjAi45Fl-dRdGWncSjOhop4S_G_nyW_qIUSHP99pKb53ipNa6l2ZA/s640/blogger-image-1146567521.jpg"></a></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-J_nF2MOKEBvZpy3Xyxxsm6dRybjew4V_nX5qCrp4LaOPyByhV195IkypWpnDrylA6JAuqA2KrhOMVuPQpL7YO6gWkbbK-fuOXIOlstvt-BEI5QCyTET32HJbMcY6zU1H6mm2ubQbtzE/s640/blogger-image--584117815.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-J_nF2MOKEBvZpy3Xyxxsm6dRybjew4V_nX5qCrp4LaOPyByhV195IkypWpnDrylA6JAuqA2KrhOMVuPQpL7YO6gWkbbK-fuOXIOlstvt-BEI5QCyTET32HJbMcY6zU1H6mm2ubQbtzE/s640/blogger-image--584117815.jpg"></a></div></span></div><br>So it goes.<br><br>After their laughing fits subsided the fishermen gave Clement some kindly advice on how to catch fish with the rod that he'd picked up in Bellevue, hoping to sustain our stomachs once our Clif bars and peanut butter ran out. Thanks, kindly fishermen! <br><br>Next up on our notables of the day was the hour we waited for Lock 16 to open her gates. In the intervening interlude we practiced our fishing (to no avail) and anchored for the first time! True men of the river were we in that hour, casting hooks off the boat and spitting yarns, as one does on boats. <br><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP2O2j63CX-BvH4OIpMbFAdbqAufMv2AExKbwMBru1ybs4C2nY0_ny3nDCF6ZtK60Mw9t32hTOjKYMQkmBo8HcavHU324IoRQFEvzJkKAfntcJjOZJU4JvILrASNUreYyNkYeVzo22b8I/s640/blogger-image--212660531.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP2O2j63CX-BvH4OIpMbFAdbqAufMv2AExKbwMBru1ybs4C2nY0_ny3nDCF6ZtK60Mw9t32hTOjKYMQkmBo8HcavHU324IoRQFEvzJkKAfntcJjOZJU4JvILrASNUreYyNkYeVzo22b8I/s640/blogger-image--212660531.jpg"></a></div><br>Speaking of men of the river, it may please you to know each of us has adopted a river name. Clement is now Crimper. I, Nick, am Grommeter. Bennett is River Hair and Piers has yet to earn a name. If you have any suggestions, comment on this post!<br><br>After passing through Lock 16 we cozied up to a slip in a marina in Muscatine, Iowa, Pearl of the Mississippi and bedded down for the night. Want to know why Muscatine, Iowa is the Pearl of the Mississippi? Of course you do! Stay tuned for that and more in tomorrow's post.<br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyPrl0UOmYM1pzwYDepXp3fTCNjuHO3m0hi4iXmvEES44VdKojQ4i66j4Spmqyl8DL56eImpcTWNOoVL_-1HN_C6yVg8ftcOx2BVOptOh4uTYLCRPuEjn3T6xW5E9O5a3DTAazbXpuc1A/s640/blogger-image-548001381.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyPrl0UOmYM1pzwYDepXp3fTCNjuHO3m0hi4iXmvEES44VdKojQ4i66j4Spmqyl8DL56eImpcTWNOoVL_-1HN_C6yVg8ftcOx2BVOptOh4uTYLCRPuEjn3T6xW5E9O5a3DTAazbXpuc1A/s640/blogger-image-548001381.jpg"></a></div><br></span></div>Pierbennicklement Gelltinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00417768668578943790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6948721825681809961.post-1504200174577000992015-06-04T11:01:00.001-07:002015-06-04T11:34:59.106-07:00Day 8 Recipes: ClemtownFor brunch I fried up our freshly bought bacon, eggs and provolone:<div><br></div><div>Put three slabs of bacon on the frying pan on the butane stove on a windless part of the deck and let them cook in their own grease. Watch out for grease splashes, they will burn your fingers and legs! Once those are done, place them on a plate and fry two eggs in the bacon grease. Flip them over and place cheese on the fried side to melt while the other side cooks. Open up your bagel and put the bacon in, then lay the egg+cheese on top. Repeat 3 more times, make sure to drain the grease between sandwiches, though, or else your eggs will turn out weird and bubbly. Drain grease into any grease-holding vessel you can find in your trash bag; if it's a styrofoam cup, make sure you let the grease cool a little bit or else the grease will burn right through the side of it and onto one of your fingers. Pro tip: if you try to talk on the phone while cooking these, everyone will yell at you. After you're done, let Piers wash the dishes and get really angry and swear at them for being hard to wash.<div><br></div><div> For dinner, I whipped up a simple but elegant "Rice Martino":</div></div><div><br></div><div>Start boiling your rice, and open up the lid 3 minutes before you're done. Crack your four remaining eggs into the rice and water, and give it all a good stir. Let the rice finish, then open a huge can of chile and stir it all til it heats up.</div>Pierbennicklement Gelltinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00417768668578943790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6948721825681809961.post-25677583525698495852015-06-03T15:30:00.001-07:002015-06-03T15:30:04.929-07:00Day 7 recipes: Nick it up a notch<div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Here's what Nick cooked up for us on Monday, June 1:</span></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div>Beans Martino<br><br>Ingredients: <br><br>Two cans black beans<br>Two cans chick peas<br>One apple cut up<br>Three small potatoes hastily chunked<br>Two onions <br>Garlic to taste<br><br>1. In a small pan, add potato chunks and garlic, seasoning w salt and pepper.<br><br>2. Mix the rest of the ingredients in a bowl.<br><br>3. Realize the bowl is too small and add half of mix to another small pan, thereby solving that problem.<br><br>4. Add roasted potatoes to mix.<br><br>Voila! Beans! Martino! Beans Martino!<br><br>• • •<br><br>Pasta Martino<br><br>Ingredients:<br>Egg noodles<br>Peanut butter<br>Sriracha<br>Soy sauce<br>Tuna<br><br>1. Put pasta on to boil.<br><br>2. Mix together peanut butter, sriracha and soy sauce until desired spicyness is reached.<br><br>3. Add to cooked pasta, making a slurry.<br><br>4. Add tuna to slurry, making it slurryier.<br><br>Voila! Pasta! Martino! Pasta Martino!</span><br style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Pierbennicklement Gelltinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00417768668578943790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6948721825681809961.post-87489074332643228652015-06-03T10:11:00.001-07:002015-06-03T10:13:08.129-07:00Day 8: "I'll probably forget and call you dude anyway"<div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM1BDPjS2CMrbPahRa0ReNt_g8KAqs0lzWZnNv1cb7lhiRAkyNKEkirBhq7MA2WaRJ75CAR3W6AaD07AqGX5PSosZp5a1F_EcTxLTeTlk0wjYjGn4IiXdUxgoU-8TWUaDpBrKO-R3ycAA/s640/blogger-image-1520176765.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM1BDPjS2CMrbPahRa0ReNt_g8KAqs0lzWZnNv1cb7lhiRAkyNKEkirBhq7MA2WaRJ75CAR3W6AaD07AqGX5PSosZp5a1F_EcTxLTeTlk0wjYjGn4IiXdUxgoU-8TWUaDpBrKO-R3ycAA/s640/blogger-image-1520176765.jpg"></a></div><br></span></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We're attempting to wake up early everyday in order to get an earlier start and more daylight on the river. As this was our first full day in motion on Cat Sass, we set our alarms for 7 a.m.</span><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br>Piers and Bennett slept in a tent on the deck of Cat Sass, Clement and Nick tried out their new hammocks next to the water.</span><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br>In the morning we were happy to help ourselves to Spruce Harbor's shower facilities and try out our no rinse soap (with rinsing). It looks and feels a lot like water.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br>We left the dock and immediately locked through our first lock. We were a little worried as we didn't know exactly what to do, but it was simple and the workers were incredibly friendly. Our south bound pleasure craft was only lowered about a foot in the whole process. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br>On the other side of the lock we docked in the town of Belleview to refuel from the previous day and buy some more supplies.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br>We walked to the tourist center to ask for directions to the grocery store. The store sold post cards of a mural that depicted the War of Belleview. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgreaDbYQkxyIpDEldYNcslq2EGnMeXTo8TMXbHxGI8BpCOoi6PDxAcfIGsalP26pG3mfz5L78iRZdAcmJ69zXgUsICzHXFL1dNkaMNkmGIVrAnl0q4IJAjiVu8fpxN4ciyU2Bz7h4K-Sc/s640/blogger-image-1453032830.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgreaDbYQkxyIpDEldYNcslq2EGnMeXTo8TMXbHxGI8BpCOoi6PDxAcfIGsalP26pG3mfz5L78iRZdAcmJ69zXgUsICzHXFL1dNkaMNkmGIVrAnl0q4IJAjiVu8fpxN4ciyU2Bz7h4K-Sc/s640/blogger-image-1453032830.jpg"></a></div></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br>The woman working at the tourist center mentioned that she was excited for a reenactment of the war in August. When asked who fought in the war we were met with silence. Fortunately the question was quickly deferred to another employee who had just walked through the door. She explained that some thieves had come to Belleview who attempted to steal horses and "at that time they'd rather you steal their wives than horses." The thieves were eventually championed over by the people of Belleview, strapped to a raft and set down the river.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br>After the tourist center we headed to the super market and then hardware store (Clement and Bennett purchased a basic fishing rod and lures). On our way to the gas station we ran into Burger, who Nick had met earlier that morning with his wife at the Spruce Harbor campsite. Burger offered us a ride to and from the gas station and we eagerly accepted and sat in the lawn chairs in the back of his van. We discussed his distrust of the current global economic policies.<br><br>Meanwhile Piers was back at the pontoon watching over our belongings. He ran into a nice man named Mike who was fishing for catfish and walleye. Hoping to present himself as a man of the world, Piers suggested that he and his companions would begin fishing once they acquired a small hand reel. Mike offered Piers some Catfish. Piers, picturing two dead fish that he could proudly present to his companions once they returned, said yes. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRusdWw_A2h2jsEk1coDMkYy5jxTnm_XJu3RXIqJRxyhkBpWT_JsgbaxR5EJ3bIe7NPMOZDgkUbqySKyMyrPViquyZt-0NCBjIjKKNYktb4GPgCU8KpEdL2XNcsy6jOInOA69bQAL2Gks/s640/blogger-image-1887955722.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRusdWw_A2h2jsEk1coDMkYy5jxTnm_XJu3RXIqJRxyhkBpWT_JsgbaxR5EJ3bIe7NPMOZDgkUbqySKyMyrPViquyZt-0NCBjIjKKNYktb4GPgCU8KpEdL2XNcsy6jOInOA69bQAL2Gks/s640/blogger-image-1887955722.jpg"></a></div><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Piers watched with horror as Mike opened a small compartment in his boat and removed two very alive catfish. Mike proceeded to shove the end of our bowline through the side of each struggling fish's head and out its mouth, calling them names all the while ("get in there, you little prick"). Mike then dropped both fish into the water at the side of the boat. "Watch out," he said, "because they have sharp spines at the tips of their fins. They'll get you if they can. I think there's a little poison in there because it kind of burns." Mike wished the Cat-Sass well and motored away. Piers tried to forget the fish strung to the bottom of the boat and just read the map until the others returned, but he had trouble concentrating. <br><br>"Why am I the way that I am?" he wondered. <br><br>Excited at the news, the other boys hurried back to the boat. Nick volunteered filet the catfish because he'd "never done it before and it seemed like a challenge but it didn't seem like that much of a challenge that it turned out to be."</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrqAbBj8Uv74GvwzVC5WRdxIWyA1h20Nlimzu3WQhAf3ngbM3XIbqJfMFLyKvKTneTlbSCClGIj7CfA8uhBe3WWOV8ICSqTn0ujVn6gUQNLXPlSLMl9i1Vgr-bMKwTULTIK4Da9Eicw1w/s640/blogger-image-644011629.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrqAbBj8Uv74GvwzVC5WRdxIWyA1h20Nlimzu3WQhAf3ngbM3XIbqJfMFLyKvKTneTlbSCClGIj7CfA8uhBe3WWOV8ICSqTn0ujVn6gUQNLXPlSLMl9i1Vgr-bMKwTULTIK4Da9Eicw1w/s640/blogger-image-644011629.jpg"></a></div><br>Confession from Nick himself:<br><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">They were slimy fellows. I gripped the first wriggler by his belly. With the advice to, "start at the piss hole and cut up" from mike. I poised the tip of my knife above the fish's belly before Bennett interjected, "wait cut off the head." So I stabbed him in the throat thinking that it would come off easy, but was met by some adversarial bones. The fish was very much alive still and not very pleased. When he wriggled in my hand I kept on trying to do him in mercifully. With limited success, as guts still connected the head and body, I moved on to the belly. Before I could kill him completely he wriggled out of my hands and fell into a watery grave. Feeling grimy and defeated I moved on to catfish number two, hoping for redemption. I managed to get his head on off fairly cleanly, thank god. I proceeded to cut the fella open, scrape out his guts and split him down the middle. After removing his entrails and tail, I had two nice filets on my hands, which I promptly fried up praying that food poisoning wouldn't visit me in the night. I'm happy to report that it did not and the catfish was delicious. Thank you catfish, noble creature, for your sacrifice.<br><br>We continued boating south for a few hours from Belleview, passing other motor boats, barges, and filthy bird islands. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuKxhlF3O_LAeGURWSIbUCjUBn0KClxzIJ8flwprNZiQxAtz04AgQ8BTqc9TJwv0FqjVG2k8esgdeXuIDPRcsrjSsrXxDcMFUKaF1IIYJWVvwTSeqSg_Wr5AvsChtmglLe3wpjb3EYw5Y/s640/blogger-image--1905428109.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuKxhlF3O_LAeGURWSIbUCjUBn0KClxzIJ8flwprNZiQxAtz04AgQ8BTqc9TJwv0FqjVG2k8esgdeXuIDPRcsrjSsrXxDcMFUKaF1IIYJWVvwTSeqSg_Wr5AvsChtmglLe3wpjb3EYw5Y/s640/blogger-image--1905428109.jpg"></a></div><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">A filthy bird island is defined as an island that is covered in birds and dead trees (killed by the copious acid in the bird poop) that also has mysterious solar panels and video cameras. In one instance a barge with a large wake approached us in the center of a narrow channel. Normally we would veer outside the channel as our boat doesn't go that deep in the water, but a wingdam was coming up in front of us on the right. We turned into the wake of the barge and experienced some of the biggest waves of the trip this far. Our water cooler, and cleaning buckets containing shampoo, soap and bug spray bottles all fell into the water. Luckily we had tried down everything but the bottles to the deck. We spent the next 45 minutes maneuvering to fish bottles out of the river, recovering all but 4 bottles of biodegradable soap. </span></div><div><br></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We ended our day in Fulton Illinois, named after the inventor of the steamboat. The first steamboat was called Clermont (namesake of Clermont Gelly). </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br>We attempted to smoothly pull into the dock in Fulton but a strong current and inexperienced steering made the entry of our unwieldy boat far from smooth.<br>"What the fuck are you doing? First day on the boat?" we heard from a shirtless man barbecuing on the back of his yacht to our right. He was tanned a leathery brown, his boat was named Livin' the Dream, and he was. After responding that it was our second day, we slowly and painfully made our way into a slip. Shortly, the man, Terry we would come to learn, slowly paddle boarded his way over to our boat. We introduced ourselves but he said he'd "probably forget and call us dude anyway." We talked for a while about our trip and he told us he'd done a similar trip with his friends. Terry is a half-Korean Desert Storm veteran and now running a family welding business. He invited to take us out on his enormous yacht later that night and we excitedly accepted. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Q56kTRMQr_Af9fgBmQg1O5FrLC466Zv1j5YJ6aPna0mUYzyAKgM59_ydMIZKGktQydWcm8zOPpP0WHdPScaBsDfSaxMZuWZPcSi9zqTfv2uQJBQPNYV9s5u5CbUYWv_s3kwQITKYEso/s640/blogger-image--2065282524.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Q56kTRMQr_Af9fgBmQg1O5FrLC466Zv1j5YJ6aPna0mUYzyAKgM59_ydMIZKGktQydWcm8zOPpP0WHdPScaBsDfSaxMZuWZPcSi9zqTfv2uQJBQPNYV9s5u5CbUYWv_s3kwQITKYEso/s640/blogger-image--2065282524.jpg"></a></div><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Terry drove us around the Fulton and Clinton sides of the river, lit by a bright full moon. He pointed out bridges, windmills, docks and restaurants while describing his escapades while in the navy and on the river with his friends. The ride climaxed under a bridge that he had helped weld, where he drove in circles blasting 'Let's Go' by Matt and Kim. He got on the PA of his boat and started heckling John, the Greek foreman of the on-going bridge construction. There was no answer. We headed back into the Fulton dock and said thanks and goodbye to Terry for the night, who had offered to drive us to pick up gas in the morning. Hammocks and tents were pitched around the marina and on Cat Sass. <br><br>We don't use the word champ lightly, but Terry is a champ.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br>"We've had like a champ a day"--Clermont. <br></span></div></div>Pierbennicklement Gelltinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00417768668578943790noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6948721825681809961.post-30830262397265740132015-06-01T20:44:00.001-07:002015-06-01T20:46:57.204-07:00Day 7: we are no longer in Dubuque<div>We woke to Dan, who had no problem waking us up, saying, "You city boys are always sleepin'!" and told us he'd be leaving til tomorrow and, in the best way possible, that he hoped not to see us again. We were genuinely happy to be woken up by Dan so we could say goodbye. Dan is a real champ (if you're just joining us now, see yesterday's post). Since the marina bathrooms were locked, Dan drove me (Clement) to a public bathroom half a mile away in the bed of his pickup, and that was the last anyone saw of that gentle giant.</div><div><br></div><div>Bennett and I walked a mile up the riverbank to C.R. Boats, where Clint sold us the spark plugs and fuel line connector we were sure we needed to fix the boat. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuRTatWfhVzEib54Bth2EXxtiwR79OyVXmdmZTEte5cD7jGta-mNYjADpMehiz-kyumLOxCNVp2qRSyMtmTxc5XsUL7j4EYbx_JLskNdhlriikWBvpMQLIaDLcTocz6dwa1sFrzoC0-1M/s640/blogger-image-1263500624.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuRTatWfhVzEib54Bth2EXxtiwR79OyVXmdmZTEte5cD7jGta-mNYjADpMehiz-kyumLOxCNVp2qRSyMtmTxc5XsUL7j4EYbx_JLskNdhlriikWBvpMQLIaDLcTocz6dwa1sFrzoC0-1M/s640/blogger-image-1263500624.jpg"></a></div></div><div><br></div><div>After a good deal of socket wrenching, the new spark plugs were installed; alas, the motor still did not work. We also discovered an unconnected control wire... looking at you, Rich. In despair, we called Arvin, our motor's seller and motor's running namesake, who told us the motor was possibly totaled. This was the low point of the day. I almost kicked the door of the boat because I was so angry. Clint gave us a glimmer of hope when he told us it was possibly a blown gasket, but we would have to wait 5 hours for him to drive over.</div><div><br></div><div>Most of the rest of the morning and afternoon was spent in extreme boredom and frustration.</div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKpjfILS-F-UhYq6fyR7NfEE5KOVc0nwUXVqUOuzGWG9vlunzpo3D5g94_3Tj_98LOi2REE0m6wbyOGRDyC2ofgeTN477x7dRA-I1wh-aMrZ3QG8MAf8dCt4_J-ZRNdGmQXcqAcD6OWGg/s640/blogger-image-1591945537.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKpjfILS-F-UhYq6fyR7NfEE5KOVc0nwUXVqUOuzGWG9vlunzpo3D5g94_3Tj_98LOi2REE0m6wbyOGRDyC2ofgeTN477x7dRA-I1wh-aMrZ3QG8MAf8dCt4_J-ZRNdGmQXcqAcD6OWGg/s640/blogger-image-1591945537.jpg"></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Piers took a walk and saw "like a hundred snapping turtles," Nick "watched a bald eagle for fifteen minutes," Bennett sent a long formal email to Sufjan Stevens' record label with a pitch for a TV show called "Sous-Chef Stevens," and I repeatedly and forlornly measured the boat's dimensions. A slight bump in the time-happiness graph of our boat was when Nick made "Beans Martino" for lunch. The crews thoughts on Nick's cooking:</span></div><div><br></div><div>"There were some culinary fireworks today." - Piers</div><div><br></div><div>"I wish someone hadn't eaten all the fried potato chunks in the Beans Martino, Piers." - Clement</div><div><br></div><div>*mwah* - Nick</div><div><br></div><div>"Nick really showed off his stuff today. He was a little flashy about it, but he lived up to the hype." -Bennett</div><div><br></div><div>We attempted a "fun" paddle upriver to a park, and quickly got caught in the wind and current. While we paddled desperately, somehow only spinning in circles, a man and woman drove up in a small dingy and asked if we were ok. No one knew what to say because we really wanted the answer to be yes, but knew it was no. After a brief pause, the man began to motor away, and said, "we couldn't have towed you anyway!" We somehow reached the other side of the marina, and exclaimed to no one that we'd done it on purpose so Clint could work on the motor easier. We soon settled back into our deeply-dug rut. Bennett and I got started on the mosquito net but did not finish.</div><div><br></div><div>If you've made it this far, you're probably waiting for something to happen, and so were we. <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">And just like that, Clint arrived, found our problem and fixed it. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwAT40mQ55dfKNUAYMI0sj5bdptnLmsuNrhIrSZo8cQq8anoh2uTMs1i-PqEq31gFlBzgLCFL4L0sSfp7xviBOIYdEj57jCuFUT-q3w0pKBunkp2dWpucXraM8NTD3MSY9PojUunVJ36E/s640/blogger-image--457963525.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwAT40mQ55dfKNUAYMI0sj5bdptnLmsuNrhIrSZo8cQq8anoh2uTMs1i-PqEq31gFlBzgLCFL4L0sSfp7xviBOIYdEj57jCuFUT-q3w0pKBunkp2dWpucXraM8NTD3MSY9PojUunVJ36E/s640/blogger-image--457963525.jpg"></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"As they say, pay the man the money," Clint joked, and after a minor transaction we launched from the Dubuque Municipal Marina for the last time, and took off down the river. We changed the motor's name to Clint in Clint's honor. On the river, we saw more bald eagles, a few barges, lots of trains, and a beautiful sunset. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8aHo9rMhao5fb0laxFzhO-WT2GfF8xjjnxl8fiKo819IebuszVkzZik3asDVk3IEH52IbXJ8Byn9R5m5fyNowNtsV_8Mu3XUV4u-hg_JByRKC5wuZjCvz96pYz2QXsVzaSPvGI18qMl4/s640/blogger-image--1910550415.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8aHo9rMhao5fb0laxFzhO-WT2GfF8xjjnxl8fiKo819IebuszVkzZik3asDVk3IEH52IbXJ8Byn9R5m5fyNowNtsV_8Mu3XUV4u-hg_JByRKC5wuZjCvz96pYz2QXsVzaSPvGI18qMl4/s640/blogger-image--1910550415.jpg"></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Finally we arrived at the Spruce Harbor Marina and Nick whipped up a cheeky "Pasta Martino." </span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtMXpTOGSgGVebc2z6xNBQ3bk4xg3tV5xywXaLg1LMkFDQtNAnxQEuoJ9hj4rw57GS1SyekPX3T4G5ytRPgdonEah5BghP-zl-EyQnbUPgQOe7NV_8AL1wkvsFQ606r7Gof_gA5FZ2hqs/s640/blogger-image--1293653826.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtMXpTOGSgGVebc2z6xNBQ3bk4xg3tV5xywXaLg1LMkFDQtNAnxQEuoJ9hj4rw57GS1SyekPX3T4G5ytRPgdonEah5BghP-zl-EyQnbUPgQOe7NV_8AL1wkvsFQ606r7Gof_gA5FZ2hqs/s640/blogger-image--1293653826.jpg"></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">After some dish washing, we will hit the hay, and tomorrow we will do our first lock.</span></div>Pierbennicklement Gelltinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00417768668578943790noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6948721825681809961.post-61376339744623435332015-05-31T21:45:00.001-07:002015-05-31T21:46:05.040-07:00Also FYI we have a TwitterIt's called @pierbennicklem. In hindsight we wish we'd chosen a name that isn't unpronounceable, but so it goes. Pierbennicklement Gelltinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00417768668578943790noreply@blogger.com2