Todays word: PRECARIOUS. Firstly, I have to say a thing or two about yesterday’s post. My intended word for yesterday was really witless, but that seemed so negative. Though in retrospect, it was more fitting with the day.

Don’t get me wrong, the Bromenschenkels were amazing; I’m so fortunate to have met them. But once we left them, yesterday was a grind. Dave and I were both frustrated and we waved the white flag at the Blackberry campsite after a disappointing 14 miles. We talked over dinner: Dave recognizing he slowed me down, me not realizing I’m pushing too hard. We resolved to let me take some weight from him today and give him an earlier start, and let’s see how we go. So, we started the day each on our own, with a rough rendezvous point after 12 miles – let’s see how that goes.

We both got up around 4:40. Dave took his camp down in the dark while I made coffee. Dave passed on the coffee, was packed and loading the boat by 5:00, shoving off around 5:15.

I planned to give him a 1 hour head start. But then I heard something very big splash into the water that needed investigating; then some trumpeter swans or whooping cranes flew over noisily that I tried to film. Then it was time to be regular… next thing I knew, it was 6:15 and I wasn’t even packed. In the end I shoved off at 6:40 in the calm, cool hours with the sun just coming up through the trees.

My vessel was heavily loaded, but I was feeling great. I had a chance for a time check 2 miles down stream and I was making around 4 mph. The current felt a little stronger and there was zero wind, so I wasn’t surprised to be making good time. But, 1:35 head start was a lot of ground to make up. I started doing various calculations in my head, not knowing Dave’s speed, and I realized it may be difficult to catch him. I was putting out a good effort, but one I thought I could sustain for 20 miles, when Scotty called up from the engine room, “Yer pushing her too hard cap’n!” Dammit Scotty, I’m the captain, you just keep watching those delithium crystals.

Then came the first submerged log. I was focused so much on sustaining my effort, that I wasn’t paying enough attention to the road. I hit with a decent thump, bit afterwards the peddles still functioned fine. I abused myself mentally for the oversight and turn the pace back up.

Several minutes later, a hard stop into a sand bar. We had been traveling for miles without low water, this was unexpected. When I tried to extract the peddle mechanism, it stuck, and I noticed the left bracket holding it in was very loose. Dave was likely miles ahead of me, and I have proven that I can’t even keep pace with him if I’m paddling, I must peddle to keep pace. Scotty’s voice was in the back of my head “you bloody headstrong, overconfident chookter.”

Then, my leech senses started kicking in, I could not risk another frontal blow to the peddle assembly, but it seemed I could see the future underwater. I started a little more cautious at first, then slowly built the pace and felt I was back to 4 mph or faster.

The hours went by, and no sign of Tickboy. The 12 mile rendezvous was “planned” as Swimming Bear campsite, but as I approached it, Tickboy was nowhere in sight. My gosh – he must be going faster than expected. I did some quick calculations: I was traveling at 4 mph, to catch Tickboy at 12 miles would’ve put him around 2.75 mph; he must be going faster and I need to press on (“But there’s trouble in the engine room cap’n!”)

Now I’m getting stressed; I didn’t mind pressing onward to 12 miles, but can this bracket hold? I did a quick inspection and determined it’s getting consistently looser. But Tickboy isn’t waiting and I need to catch him. I literately yelled, “my kingdom for a small bore Phillips screwdriver!” But there was no response in the wild.

I wondered, how fast is Tickboy going? And why was he able to do so much more today. The wind, which had been silent all day, gusted and blew off my hat. I realized, like Superman has his Kryptonite, Tickboy’s power is zapped by wind. We expected 10-15 mph south winds again today, but it remained calm, and Tickboy must be flying!

The miles piled on, 13, 14, 15,16… still no sign of him. Then I thought – what if he’s in danger! I imagined a swarm of giant horseflies had swarmed him and we’re taking him too their lair. As if on cue, my daughter Sarah texted, and her text tone (Whiplash) suddenly became the soundtrack for avenging my sidekick. Like Adam West in the 1960’s Batman show, Whiplash was playing as I charged into the horseflies’ lair and struck at the villains with my paddle. POW! BOP! THWACK! Then I parry the flies’ attacks with my buns of steel. PTING! DWANG! I free Tickboy and he joins in the melee against the horde’s reinforcements. SCHMAK! KAPOW! And as the goes lie defeated, we run out side by side, capes flowing wildly behind our shiny Lycra suits to hop into our waiting kayaks.

Then mile 17, 18, 19… my goodness; where is he? Finally, around mile 20 I spied him up ahead. To my surprise, and disappointment, he didn’t seem to be surrounded by a horde of giant horseflies; he was paddling serenely along. I was glad to have spotted him, but I couldn’t pick up the pace and risk further strain on the engine room. I slowly gained ground, but then my leechy senses detected a sand bar: peddle fins up and paddle down. I knew I would lose ground and sure enough, around the next bend he was not in sight.

Peddles back in now, and one more bend and he was again spotted. He may even be close enough to hear my whistle. At the start of the trip we devised a scheme where 1 whistle meant “look, here’s something you may find interesting”, and 3 whistles meant “stop, come to me immediately!” Or, did 3 whistles mean “there’s a place that sells buy one get one free tacos and half price margaritas before 6:00”. I couldn’t recall!! No, that was 7 whistles. As we rounded another bend, another sandbar. Whistle you fool! But what if I’m wrong about the 3 whistles? Or what if Dave thinks 3 whistles is the BOGO taco signal? He’ll take off in a hurry.

After the next bend, I noticed Dave pulling off toward a boat launch near Jacobson. He would stop and I would catch him there – 22 miles in the making, but we were reunited, and it felt so good. (Don’t worry, I won’t subject you to Peaches and Herb in today’s music choice.)

We discussed the engine room troubles. I decided miles ago that I would try a move to the front engine and move my gear to the back. I figured front wheel drive would be fairly equal in efficiency and horsepower, though I was dubious about the handling. At the boat ramp/campground I borrowed a bottle opener from a guy with one end filed down like a screwdriver, or a prison shiv, to attempt a repair, but it was no use. I launched with gear to the back and me up front, but after 10 minutes of turning around in circles, I switched back.

I decided to continue to risk complete failure of the bracket and limp alongside Dave to the end of the day. We planned to go 10 more miles to a private campground. As we passed the spot on the map where the campground should have been, I started to consider plan B. Then I rounded the corner where a man and woman were in their bathing suits, exiting the beach on their property. We have a friendly hello to one another, then I asked for a screwdriver.

The next thing I knew, they were offering me a Miller High Life and asking what I liked on my wood fired pizza. Dave came around the corner several minutes later and was surprised to see my boat half unloaded on the beach and the champagne of beers in my hand.

Dave and I have dueling couches in the dining room of this amazing property. 35 miles completed today; I’m glad Tickboy had a fabulous final full day and we again happened upon the most gracious of hosts.

I won’t say much about the wildlife I saw but again was too slow on the draw to capture on film, but there was some (probably laughing at my engine room troubles).

For today’s music, I invite you to close your eyes while you listen and imagine Leechman smashing into the giant horseflies’ lair to rescue his sidekick. Tickboy has been tied to a chair with some ridiculously large ropes, much like the one that Sandy Bromenschenkel’s ninth great grandfather grabbed hold of to climb back on the Mayflower. As you imagine this scene, I hope that the Leechman fight theme music will help: … Whiplash!

Note: I have some video to add to this, but it’s too much for T-Mobile to handle here. Photos will have to do for now.