That first weekend on the boat was filled with hard work, a deep satisfaction and a bubbling happiness that was impossible to contain. The weather continued rainy and cold throughout the day on Friday. But now that we were in our slip we had power and water. Our two 1500 watt electric heaters provided enough heat to keep us warm, and with water on board we could begin the laborious process of cleaning everything and arranging our storage.
Saturday dawned bright, clear and brilliantly sunny. We were up early and almost immediately set to work. Nancy continued the cleaning detail, attacking all the surfaces, all the drawers and lockers, both heads (bathrooms), the storage areas under our bed in the aft cabin, and the large storage areas under the V-berths in the forward cabin, the refrigerator and the galley area. I attacked the rather major project of re-routing air conditioner vent hoses to give us two cold air outlets in the salon where we spent most of our time and where most of the heat was generated. When this was complete I worked on repairing several leaks that had developed in the water supply lines that ran from our water storage tanks in the aft cabin. I was reminded that hauling a boat produces a lot of stress on the structure, that the boat flexes during the process and sometimes lines crack and fittings become loose.
At 5 p.m. we took the boat out for an hour's run on the canal. Summer School ran smoothly and well. We squeezed this activity onto the end of a long day because, I think, we had to feel the sensation of moving through the water in our boat under our own power in order to fully realize all that being on our boat meant. Of course, we wanted to test the engine and running gear as well. After returning to the dock and getting hot showers, we celebrated this first full day on our boat by driving to Delaware City and consuming huge quantities of the best fried oysters we had ever tasted.
Sunday was a fitting conclusion to this magical weekend. I woke early. At 6:30 a.m. I was sitting at the settee in the salon, looking out over the surrounding marina, writing in my journal. The electric heaters were running and the cabin was comfortable. The water in the marina was dark and glass-smooth. There was a low-rising sun with yellow-gold light that was diffused by the mist rising off the water. I heard the rough rumbling of a freight train as it passed the marina after crossing the Conrail Bridge over the canal. Out the starboard window over the settee I could see a myriad of tiny bright lights on the finger pier and docks as the crystals from frozen condensation reflected the nearly horizontal early morning sunlight. The cabin around me was bright and clean and uncluttered after all our work the previous day. By the time I finished writing, Nancy had awakened and she joined me for our morning juice and coffee as we planned the work we wanted to complete before returning to Easton later in the day.
For the next several weeks, throughout April and the beginning of May, our lives were totally focused on completing everything that was necessary to make our Great Escape as soon as Nancy finished her classes early in May. About a week and a half after we launched the boat we finally sold the TransAm at a fair price. This was the last remaining task over which we had no control, and we were glad to see it completed.
Every weekend we went to the boat and I went there in the middle of the week as well. There was one time, Wednesday April 24 to Thursday April 25, that I remember clearly because this was the time I installed our desktop in the forward cabin office. This was actually the top from our dining room table that I had removed and cut to fit the shape of the hull on the sides of the V-berth. It was heavy oak about one inch thick and large enough to hold our notebook computer and printer while providing ample working surface. It was supported by the V-berth cushions in such a way that we could push it forward to get it out of the way, but pull it back on the cushions when we worked at the desk. We had a little stool that we used as a seat, which fit perfectly in the cramped floor area. Our office was now functional. The only disadvantage to this arrangement was that it made access to the storage areas below the V-berths difficult. However, if we turned the desk sideways and slid it back and to the side so that it covered only one cushion, we could access the storage areas as well as the forepeak locker at the very front of the cabin, which housed the 200 feet of primary anchor rode.
It was also during these two days that I installed nine, 50-pound bags of gravel in the bottom of the boat as ballast to improve the trim and the way the boat handled in following seas. At the very aft end of the boat, right in front of the transom, there was a large space called the lazarette. It was below deck, with access through a removable hatch cover, extending the full width of the boat and down to the bottom of the hull. Although the rudder shaft and steering mechanism were located here, they took little room and the remainder of the space was available for storage. I lined the bottom of the lazarette with the 450 pounds of gravel. Since the time I had installed the large diesel generator in the engine room toward the front of the boat, Summer School had a tendency to be bow-heavy, especially when the water tanks, located under the aft cabin, became low. After our cruise south on the ICW in 1993 we had made a number of changes that partially solved some of the problems caused by this condition, but I had become convinced that more weight added at the rear of the boat low in the hull would substantially improve the handling of the boat, tending to keep it more stable when waves lifted the aft end in a following sea. Subsequent experience with Summer School in rough water verified this theory.
Actually, the idea of adding ballast to the boat came to me as a result of my reading, which I continued throughout this busy time. The most important book I read was Voyaging Under Power by Captain Robert P. Beebe as revised by James F. Leishman. This book had become a classic in examining all the issues, technical and otherwise, relating to long-distance cruising in slow, trawler-style powerboats such as ours. From it I obtained a much better technical understanding of our boat and, as a consequence, made basic changes in my boat-handling. When we cruised I typically set the throttle to run the engine at 2000 rpm, which gave us a speed through the water of about 7.5 knots (about 8.5 mph), slightly above what was known as "hull speed" for Summer School's length at the waterline, which I calculated to be 7.2 knots. I learned from Beebe's book that if I reduced our speed to, say, 90% of "hull speed" I could expect a dramatic increase in fuel economy, perhaps by as much as a factor of two. We tried this on one weekend when we took the boat out for a run. I found that by keeping the engine running at 1500-1600 rpm, our speed through the water was about 6.3-6.5 knots. If my calculations were right, cruising at this speed would double our fuel economy and increase our range on full fuel tanks from 750 miles to 1500 miles. This would be tremendously important in minimizing our expenses while cruising, and the loss of one knot in speed seemed an insignificant price to pay. After all, the important thing to us was to be on our boat, not to get to any particular destination quickly. Once again, subsequent cruising experience verified these conclusions.
The other book that I read during these weeks that was important to me, was Daniel Spurr's Yacht Style. From this book I learned not so much about technical matters, but rather ways to express the kind of things that Nancy and I were feeling. For example, I copied into my journal the following thought, "…this is because a boat can become a self-contained, all-sustaining world unto itself, a means of escape from the harshness of life ashore." And again from page 5, I copied the following: "Any boat, power or sail, can shelter you, restore you, show you beautiful sunsets and starry nights, and cultivate the romance in your life. Any boat can be your dream yacht if it is right for you." These statements seemed to say so beautifully what Nancy and I had come to feel, and, though we felt sure we were making the right choices for us, they helped to validate our decision to move permanently onto Summer School.
The only aspect of our lives that gave us real cause for concern during the month of April, was the state of my health. Throughout this time my back still gave me pain and prevented me from working as hard as I would have liked. In addition I began to experience increasing stomach pains. I refrained from nightcaps for a four-week period but there was no improvement. My remaining hope was that my condition would improve after we moved onto the boat permanently and all the tensions caused by trying to get everything done were removed.
A potentially more serious concern surfaced in mid-April when I finally received copies of my medical records from Dr. Sadeghee's office. I had requested copies of all my medical records from the offices of the various doctors who had treated me in the recent past so that I could have this file with me on the boat should I need medical attention while traveling. Everyone cooperated except for Dr. Sadeghee. His office at first refused to send me copies of my records, claiming they were confidential. It took several telephone calls during which I stressed that these were my records and as such I had a right to them, that if they were not forthcoming I would take legal action and I demanded that Dr. Sadeghee himself speak to me about this. The doctor never telephoned but his office finally called and grudgingly told me they would mail copies of my records. When I finally received them I could understand why he may have been reluctant. The radiologist's report from the CT scan taken when I was hospitalized for kidney stones, showed that I had an abdominal aortic aneurysm 3.5 cm. in extent! I knew enough to know that this was a potentially fatal condition and I was astounded and angered that the doctor had never informed me. Henceforth I resolved to always get copies of my laboratory reports and other records from any doctor who treated me.
A final cause for worry occurred on May 6 when I saw Dr. Mason for my last visit before moving to the boat. In contrast to my January visit, blood tests taken at this time showed that my platelet levels had dropped dramatically to about 110,000. This was well below the lower limit of the normal range, which was 150,000. Dr. Mason was clearly concerned and he advised me that if the level dropped below 100,000 it would be cause to start treatment, meaning chemotherapy. He was also concerned that my blood pressure was elevated to 160/110, but I told him that Nancy and I frequently checked this at home and found it was usually in a good range. He attributed my high reading in his office, he then explained, to the "white coat syndrome." Finally we had a lengthy discussion of my ulcer problems. He told me that it had recently been found that most gastric ulcers were caused by a bacterium, Helicobacter Pylori or H. Pylori for short, and that the ulcer condition could be completely cured by antibiotics if the bacteria could be eliminated before significant damage was done. He strongly urged me to see a gastroenterologist at his hospital to have an endoscopy performed so that my specific problems could be determined. However I was very reluctant to do this both due to costs and my great (unreasonable?) fear of hospitals and especially such invasive procedures. Finally we reached a compromise whereby he agreed to give me a 14-day prescription for an antibiotic along with a recently introduced strong antacid (Prilosec). If I showed no improvement at the end of this time I was to have the 'scope performed. No matter what happened he wanted to see me again in two months. It was apparent by the end of the visit that there was some friction between us. I believe he thought I was being very foolish by moving onto a boat and planning a life of random travel with all my health problems.
However, none of these health issues made me regret our decision to leave the stable life on land in favor of living aboard our boat. Rather the reverse was true. I trusted that by moving permanently onto our boat, cruising and traveling to new places, enjoying other climates, cultures and histories, conducting our daily lives at a slower and more relaxed pace, would produce a life so fundamentally happy and fulfilling that my blood pressure would be stabilized, my ulcer condition would be relieved, and even perhaps the progress of the leukemia would be retarded.
Two days after my visit with Dr. Mason, Nancy completed her last day of employment at Lafayette. It was Wednesday, May 8. The previous weekend we had rented a truck, taken everything that we had set aside for storage to the locker we had rented near Summit North, and moved onto Summer School the remaining items we had decided to take with us. After Nancy finished her duties at the college we drove to the boat where we had a celebratory dinner and toasted Nancy's retirement. We returned to the house in Easton one last time to supervise Jim Gastony's crew as they moved everything out of the house on Monday, May 13. His crew consisted of two old men (aged about 55 and 65) and one small truck. Although they worked hard and steadily, they had to make two trips between the house and their warehouse. It was six o'clock when they finally finished. Then we drove through the traffic on the Pennsylvania Turnpike and the Blue Route bypass around Philadelphia one last time, grabbed a quick dinner at an Italian restaurant not far from Summit North, and arrived at the boat after 9 p.m. It was exactly one year plus one day since we had left Pueblo, Colorado to find new lives, little dreaming what those lives would become.
It was cold inside the boat. We turned on our little heaters and settled onto the settee over nightcaps. We were surrounded by everything we were to have in our lives in the foreseeable future, and all of it was close at hand in this little space aboard our boat, consisting of no more than about 300 square feet. I counted this day, May 13, 1996, as Day 1 in our new lives, and I vowed to keep count of the gift of each day as we lived it. We had made our leap of faith and there was no turning back.
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