Michelle and I decided to pull the plug on A Baker’s Dozen. Good Republicans would have kept it going to months, keeping the respirator going, petting its head, cashing the social security checks. But we are terrible Republicans. In fact, we’re such bad Republicans that we’re Democrats.
Good-bye, ABD. *sniff*
Serious rainstorms on the bay — took us all day to get the last 30 miles.
Safely home by 8:30, well showered by 8:40, and happily relaxed with BooBoo and Joel at 9:00.
But, quite frankly, we could use a good boat-soaking right now.
NC17 or PG13 warning or something.
4 men + 4 days + one overfull boat sewage tank = horrible. The cap exploded off when we went to empty the tank — a true Slumdog Millionaire moment. I was covered.
Poor Admiral Germain got it worse than I did. He had to gargle with Bay water.
We both had to throw our clothes away.
Happy Labor Day!
Heading west on the C&D canal in a very still pre-dawn.
The suspension bridge of Rte 1.
Chef Ted brought brontosaurus steaks for tonight. Commander Barrett and I disapprove of the marriage of open flames, waves, gin & tonic, and carcinogenic beef. Admiral Germain carries on.