Well, what a delightful weekend it was for sailing! Saturday was really quite splendid as Myfanwi and I zipped lakewards with a reef in the main. The NOAA Weather Radio Robot-Man was repeatedly and unemphatically bleating his mechanically voiced storm warning for the central lake-shore counties. Robot-Man- a Dr. Spocklike creature of cold logic- is obsessed with facts that (like , for example, windspeeds) that can be expressed in numbers. Bless his transistorized heart, he fails to realize that the magic of sailing- indeed, the very point of going sailing- is to have wind, and to have wind in abundance. I don't care what the speed of the wind is, numerically, so long as the answer is "enough". No matter how monotone his voice as he bleats his warning, Robot Man would not deter us from a good sailing breeze! Out we went, until we realized how frankly ominous the purple sky looked in the north. "Well, maybe we oughta tack, stay closer to shore". The sky was turning a vivid Apocalyptic shade of ugly, and all the fishing boats which had so lately been cluttering the horizon were racing for harbour just as fast as ever they could. Even with only a reefed main and staysail, we were making better than six knots! Truly, there is no better time to be out in a small craft than when they issue a Small Craft Advisory!

Back inside the breakwall I got the sails down just minutes before the squall broke, with forty knot winds and horizontal rain... no time to leave the helm now to get my fancy new foulies.... I was getting wetter than a fish's galoshes! Obviously it would be foolish to even think of returning to my slip under such conditions.... We were turning about in the inner harbour when I saw Rich on the fuel dock shouting and waving his arms around like some deranged meth freak doing jumping jacks- we were only about thirty or so feet from him, Old Alt parallel to the dock, and so I let the wind blow us sideways down to the dock and Rich helped us tie up, and we hung out in the fuel shed until the squall blew over, all of us drenched to the bone and laughing.

Sunday was, if possible, an even better day for sailing! Steve joined us and we went out, cautious at first, with the genny half furled. It was blowing in the twenties and more, sure. About four miles out we met up with Rob, coming back from Kelleys singlehanded in his lovely Irwin 30 and Lou (who had gone out to meet Rob) in his lovely Sabre 28. "Man! Lou's boat just flies!" says Steve, but a day like this is a day that's just made for a Cape Dory. We seldom went under six, occasionally hitting the low sevens. Steve kept asking me to luff up so he could talk to Rob, but really, there'd be no excuse for such a shocking waste of such breeze. Instead, we shook the reef out the genny and simply walked away from Rob and Lou, leaving them far, far astern. "Lou's boat- that sure is one fast boat!", says Steve, squinting as Lou's boat became more and more indistinct due to its steadily increasing distance behind us.

After tacking around, all three of our boats lined up for the dead downwind run back to harbour, Rob first, then us, and then Lou, with his little speedster, bringing up the rear - all of us wing-on-wing, a glorious sight. Even dead downwind, we were doing five and a quarter knots.

After we got back, Joe and Phyllis invited Myfanwi and Steve and I around to their boat for cocktails and apps., which was an entirely satisfying conclusion to an entirely satisfying day.

Years ago I was hitch-hiking in the hinterlands of Minnesota when a van-load of teen-aged Bible enthusiasts picked me up. Perhaps they were going to a revival, or maybe off to compete in a Biblympics somewhere? I don't know, but I can tell you this: those kids, they sure loved their Bibles!

As you might imagine, it wasn't long before conversation drifted around to subjects Biblical. Sure, like any right-thinking American I'd seen my share of Cecil B. DeMille films and all, but other than that, it was kind of a wash. When I was a kid my parents possibly might once have had a bible somewhere, but if they did I'm pretty sure I never read it.

Oh, but how this excited my new-found friends! I was virgin territory, evangelically speaking! In two shakes, they were already ponying up money... taking up a collection...real honest-to-goodness dollars!... all so's I could go and buy myself a Bible! They were so thrilled! I was all like "no, seriously, you don't gotta do that" but they were all like "no, really, its no big deal! Just take it!" They were falling all over each other to give me cash! They were practically throwing the money at me! This was the exact opposite of my understanding of how Religion usually worked.

Then one of them gets the big idea that they don't got to give me money to buy a Bible-THEY GOT PLENTY OF BIBLES RIGHT THERE ON HAND! They got Bibles practically all over the place! Why, you couldn't walk three steps without tripping over a stack of 'em! In addition to their own personal Bible stashes, they had the Big Box 'O Bibles in the back, and doubtless additional bibles hidden throughout the van in case of emergencies. Gosh how their eyes lit up- surely this was the will of the Almighty! They started digging through their bibles, trying to find the edition most suitable for such a lamb as I. The King James Version? The New Standard Revised Version? I had had no idea there were so many variations of the word of God, each one GUARANTEED TRUE! I'm telling you, these guys were real connoisseurs! They knew their shit-no fooling!

In the end, they decided on a nice well-thumbed NIV bible for me. The more enlightening passages already pre-underlined for my convenience! You couldn't ask for a gospeller gospel!What with all the excitement, they even forgot to ask for their money back!

I have no idea whatever happened to the Bible they gave me.

The $12? Why, I blew it all on crystal meth and dancing girls, of course.