Back in the Saddle
Here we go again…almost. We almost didn’t make the flight because Jack’s passport had “spots” on it. Actually, it was more speckled. To the untrained eye it might have looked like a perfectly valid US passport, but to our scrutinizing gatekeepers it was "mutilated." So began the dance with the redcoats, and finally a promise that future airport trips would bring only pristine passports won them over. Or, perhaps next time we will draw two little purple dots on Jack’s face, so he will look exactly like his passport. He will be known as the speckled traveler: good luck to all who “spot” him.
Then came security. We had two HD cams, a solar panel, boat parts, many more bags more than allowed (NINE gray bins worth), two computers, audio recording equipment, and of course cell phones, Ipods, digital cameras, etc. But no lotions, gels, or liquids. The lady behind us, however, did get busted with some mascera. The phrase “throwing the baby out with the bathwater,” came to mind.
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Honduras. We arrived around 1pm in Roatan, a tiny, one runway affair surrounded by ocean.
A taxi took us to the beach in front of the boat. The dink (Cowgirl) was beached with the backup 8 horsepower motor (as the 15 has been stolen). Jack cranked her up and took her for a test spin. The prop was stripped, which translates to the dink’s pace as that of a baby walk. We slowly ferried the luggage out there, then went to find the Captain.
Then the rain hit. And the wind, and the waves. The Cowgirl had no chance to make it back to the sailboat with the 25 knot onshore breeze. And the hotels were all closed. The night was miserable, cold and dark, and all our gear was on the boat, an impossible two-hundred yards away.
Ah, it’s good to be back.