The Devil is in the Detail(s)

 

Another haul out. I only wish I got this much attention

I'd forgotten exactly how many details need to be accomplished before embarking on a cruising life.

But I'm being reminded very quickly and we've only begun to touch the tip of the iceberg.

Early in December I sent away for Wibur's pet permit to the Bahamas. We're still waiting for it but hopefully it will arrive before the end of February.

I knew my passport was due to expire in mid March (when we hope to already be in the Bahamas) and I probably should have renewed it awhile ago but of course I had to wait until it was nearly Christmas to take care of it. So, amid buying, wrapping, and shipping presents, I got a haircut and drove over to Walgreens in order to get the worst passport photo ever taken. The strange thing is, it didn't look that bad in the store and even stranger was how fast those fine people at the Passport center sent me my new book. I think when they saw how hideous that picture was they wanted it out of their office as quickly as possible.

Actually, this hideous picture is direct result of when Hans had to have his passport renewed a few years ago. Hans is a Canadian citizen and Canada's government has totally different hoops to jump through. Hans has done this several times over the years so we were both surprised when the Canadian government sent back his old book, his new picture, and a polite letter explaining that his request had been denied. Hans immediately called the number contained in the letter and asked for the polite lady who'd written it. Of course no one knew who she was (it would appear that all governments whether they be US or foreign, share the same policy; act baffled and if at all possible, do.not.help), so the buck was passed... again and again.

One young lady who really wanted to help (obviously new to the job) tried her absolute hardest and after placing Hans on hold several times informed him his best bet was to hire an attorney. In another attempt to be helpful, and right after Hans' reaction, she reeled of another phone number and hung up.

The man who answered the phone at the new number (an obviously seasoned government employee who hated his job, hated the world, and most of all hated Hans) was furious and before Hans could even explain why he was calling, shrieked "How did you get this number? Who gave you this number?" This was his stock phrase and he screamed it every time Hans tried to get a word in edgewise. "That person doesn't even exist! It's just a name they print on letters!" he yelled when Hans said he only wanted to talk to the lady who sent him the letter, and when Hans said that sounded kind of stupid, he got, "How did you get my number? No one's supposed to give out my number!" We never did figure out why he even has a phone if no one's permitted to call him but if I had money to burn I'd rent a bill-board and display his number (preferably along side a buxom beauty) for all to see.

So, the problem with Hans' passport? He smiled. And you're not supposed to smile on a Canadian passport.

A new picture of an unsmiling Hans was taken and a new passport was delivered.

 

Bearing the whole smile/don't smile issue in mind, the picture taker from Walgreen's and I decided to take no chances, so I didn't smile. I did smile on my last passport but since rules change all the time...

While we're staying in a motel while the Knotty Cat gets her bottom painted (among other costly things) we decided to get our local boater option (SVRS: small vessel reporting system) taken care of. Along with DTOPS (a $27.50 decal) we should be able to clear back into the United States quickly and efficiently, if and when, we ever leave. We had the DTOPS decal when we arrived back from the Bahamas back in 2011 but we still had to report to immigration within 24 hours. Supposedly with the added SVRS option we may only have to make a phone call. Hmmmm... I'm not holding my breath.

I won't go into the agonizing details of our trying to find the Office of Immigration via our GPS and Google maps, it's just too painful. But after many U-turns we finally called and a live person actually answered the phone and low and behold the office is located right beside the gift shop inside the airport. Within minutes the nicest lady in the world (and I mean super nice) issued us our official SVRS numbers (to be kept with our passports) and there was no charge.

Just before we left the motel for our visit to Immigration we pulled out our passports and layed them side by side. What a pair. With Hans' stern stare and my grumpy glower we make Bonnie and Clyde look like a couple of happy go lucky rascals.

Personally, I wouldn't let anyone who looks like us back into the country so I'm going to keep my fingers crossed on this one.

 

Someone looks like he enjoyed his hotel stay

 

 

 

 

 

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Let the Purging Begin

 

 

Hans and I really lucked out on our family trip to Pennsylvania for Christmas this year. We had no issues with snow (there wasn't any), we had sun shine nearly every day (unheard of when I lived there for 50 some winters, and doesn't that just figure), and our return flight (which we found to be completely topsy-turvy and had us leaving St. Louis, Missouri at 6 AM when we were indeed in Pittsburgh?) got straightened out and we enjoyed a smooth trip home.

We managed to stay awake to usher in the New Year and after spending a very lazy New Year's day watching the Twilight Zone Marathon, I decided the next day was time to start cleaning house (or rather boat).

How in hell have we managed to collect so much junk. While living on a boat.

Usually when the urge to clean out the garage (guest berth) hits me, I take one look at the mass of junk accumulated in there and calm myself by mixing a Wilbur Wow-Wow and settling down with a good book. But that just won't cut it anymore since we've decided to cast off our lines this month and start cruising again.

I'm still puzzled over why we have so many blankets, coats, gloves... for people who live in the tropics (because folks that's exactly what Florida is; the tropics), and don't get me started on all the hockey gear we have. Among some of the junk I yanked out of the garage was a massivesleeping bag. "But that's the sleeping bag I used when I lived aboard in New York City during that record breaking cold winter (a bazillion years ago)." Hans told me. It still ended up beside the dumpster (a place for great finds, I should know). Our heavy leather coats are going to get boxed up and sent north to sit in someone else's closet for our next visit as we do not need these in the Bahamas this spring. Since Hans no longer has to report to a desk job, I'm putting his huge Brooks Brothers dress shirts (they really do take up a lot of room) up for auction on eBay although we did hold onto three of them for future dressy functions. Also on eBay will be a size 3 Jessica McClintock cocktail dress (I wore it exactly one time) and a fancy schmancy propane/smoke detector because it needs to be wired electrically to the boat and we don't feel like doing that. We have battery smoke detectors and we're happy with those, and every time I cook we're reminded of how good they are.

Other than a lot more weeding, I need to make another trip up the mast to drain the water out of one of our spreader lights, take down our bimini and dodger in order to clean the mildew off of them and then treat them with 303 so hopefully they don't leak all over us when it rains. Clean, buff, and wax as many outer surfaces that I can reach, meaning not that many, but I'll bitch about it anyway.

At the age of twenty, our VHF radio has become a bit of a prima-donna and while she has no problem listening in on everyone else, she's taken a dislike to bridge tenders and refuses to speak to them. There will be no oil for that squeaky wheel, she's getting dumped like a first wife. We also need a breaker for our water pump (also acting up) since I'm pretty sure Hans wouldn't be able to live with me if that sucker failed.

Days before Christmas, divers replaced our old worn out feathering props with big new bronze props. We took the Knotty Cat out for a spin and she put on quite a show. We found ourselves zooming about at 7.1 knots under power. Our last trip (right before one of our propellors siezed up on us) had us struggling to make 5.

A very tired propellor. It did its job well for nearly 20 years.

The same week we were having fun with our propellors, we had also been wondering where the hell the water was coming from that we would sometimes find under the port engine. There are too many 'things' that could have been leaking, and during one of my stints in the engine room where I love to try out new yoga poses, I did find a very tiny drip on a fresh water hose. We thought that might be it but of course it wasn't. Finally Hans narrowed it down to the raw water impellor. Some people (very handy people) here at the marina told us how we could fix it quite easily by tapping out the wadda-you-call-it, buy a thing-a-ma-jig at the auto parts store, and jam it all back together. We called our old mechanic up north and he told us to replace it. Period. So even though our handy friends laughed at us, Hans went ahead and replaced both of them. I'm not crossing the gulf with something held together with spit and tie wraps.

Today we're getting hauled out in order to get her highness's bottom painted. Again. Of course today is windy and getting out of the slip should be interesting. We will then spend a few days at a luxury (pet friendly) motel where I sincerly hope no one gets murdered in the room behind us like the last time. They did capture the killer (the poor girl's ex-boyfriend) but not before he stole a couple of cars and killed yet one more person.

Now I've got to figure out what to do with all the stuff in our refrigerator since it will be shut off while on the hard. I hope Hans doesn't mind having chicken for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

At least Wilbur will be happy!

 

Wilbur inspects the latest interloper.

 

 

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Motel Life Continues

As I mentioned earlier, when we arrived here at our Motel away from Home we noticed (yet weren't surprised) to find a police presence in the parking lot. An unfortunate sign of our times seems to be that that wonderful safe haven for travelers, once known as Motels, has since then turned into hovels for those on the dole.

And what a shame because motels once gave me a feeling of nostalgia. I used to associate them with visions of families traveling in their huge gas guzzling cars complete with home-made ham salad sandwiches, a bunch of cranky kids, and a tired mom.

Not so much anymore.

After putting up with the screaming antics of one of the regulars here, and being awakened at midnight by slamming doors and yelling on the floor above us, I was horrified to hear on the local news that the body found in one of the rooms here the day we arrived was the result of a homicide. And I sucked in my breath when the news station zoomed in on the finger print dust smeared door, and I saw the room number. It was one off from ours. It took a bit of deduction before I finally figured out that the room in question was directly behind us. We front the courtyard and that room borders the parking lot. Anyway, the news continued to say that the young lady (24 years old) put up quite a fight and the family is distraught. She'd apparently been there with a boyfriend who has yet to be questioned and we've heard nothing further on the matter.

I guess this explains why we found the business card of a homicide detective in our door. I have to wonder if they even bothered to find out who checked out of our room right before we checked in.

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So on a lighter note.

Sitting in a motel room all day long is claustrophobic and just plain weird.

Wilbur strikes a Pit Bull Frog pose in front of the TV while we watch Turner and Hootch (I kid you not!).

I couldn't take sitting around any more and finally said, "ENOUGH!" and took Junior to Doggy Day Care for a half day while I did some running around and then we were off to the Dog Park to kill time before picking up Hans from work.

The end result of six hours of play time.

Ditto for today which also included an especially intense 15 minute tug of war with another dog.

That's a brand new Hedge Hog lying beside the little man.

He has not performed a squeakerectomy on it.

He must be tired.

Tomorrow we finally get to move back onto our Knotty Cat with her newly painted and very pretty bottom.

Honestly, I can't wait!!

 

From Live-aboard to Motel Dweller

Oh My God!!!! I want to go home!

I mentioned in a previous post that while the Knotty Cat is on the hard in order to get her bottom cleaned and painted; Hans, Wilbur, and I get to luxuriate (read sarcasm) at a motel.

And I gotta say, I don't know how people do it.

The fun started around midnight last night when I was awakened by slamming doors and yelling people. Why, oh why, do people wait until the dead of night to start fighting? Luckily this was a very short lived event and then everything was quiet.

Then while I was at the dog park this afternoon I found out that a body had been found at our particular motel the day before. I guess this explains why the police were here all day and a homicide detective left a calling card in our door.

So tonight while eating our dinner of pizza (I love pizza but I'm already longing for a home cooked meal) the yelling and door slamming started again. This time it was right across the court yard from us and as I peeked through our curtain (I'm destined to be Gladys Kravitz wherever I live) I recognized a man I'd seen earlier on my way to the ice machine and even then I could just feel the anger coming off of him. He was now storming up and down the walkway and screaming into his phone. Hans made me get back from the window and we could hear many doors slamming, and more than one voice yelling. I looked out again and Angry Man (skinny and wearing no shirt) was still pacing and I could see the glowing screen of his cell phone clutched in his hand. When he started shouting again to someone about his having three thousand dollars in the bank by Friday so leave him the 'F' alone we called the front desk. We were informed that Angry Man had just been told to shut up right now or he was going to get kicked out.

Things finally quieted down.

I have to wonder why anyone would feel the need to leave the privacy of their room in order to have a loudly nasty conversation on their cell phone.

What's sad is the fact that this really is a nice motel. It's clean, well maintained, and the staff is very friendly.

I have my own opinion about why this kind of crap happens these days but I don't intend to turn this post into a political debate so I'll stop right now.

Wilbur wants to go home too!

"Never again!"...

...is what I told Hans last night.

What I meant was, I will never move on or off this boat again without it being a final kind of thing. I've done it way too many times and it's no longer fun.

Note: my computer is on its last legs so I hope I can post this successfully.

We left Pittsburgh on a beautifully sunny day, free of humidity, and I suddenly realized that we were indeed moving.

I cried.

We stayed at a very nice (pet friendly) motel in Winston Salem, NC and for some reason I slept like total crap, I kept waking up with my heart racing, I had nightmares about people using our shower, and I swear I thought the Pittsburgh Pirates were playing a game right outside our door. This had me a bit worried because we had an eleven hour drive ahead of us the next day and I just wanted a good nights sleep. Bear in mind, Hans and I were driving in separate vehicles and I insisted on being the lead vehicle, and commandeered the GPS!

The next night we arrived in the Clearwater, FL area, pulled into our next pet friendly motel, and I knew there was no way I was going to get a good nights sleep. I swear I felt just like a big old dairy cow that had taken a wrong turn in Farmer John's pasture and somehow ended up in a jungle. All three floors of the motel were teeming with slouching, beer drinking, cigarette smoking individuals whom, not unlike vultures, watched Hans and I unload our vehicles with far more interest than was warranted.

And for the first time in my life I was glad that pit bulls have a bad reputation and I wished that Wilbur would quit wagging his tail.

Hans had no sooner exited his vehicle when some very young chick (whom I'd observed slapping her way around the perimeter of the building in her flip flops while Hans was checking us in) approached him and asked if he was alone. When he said no he wasn't alone he was with his wife, she saw me and replied, "Awesome", and then said some odd thing about having been given the wrong room key.

Anyway, it was late, we were hungry, the right rear tire on Hans' vehicle was dangerously low (something I spotted when I actually allowed Hans to lead the way for a spell), and so Hans left me and Wilbur in order to take care of both issues. While Hans was gone I felt quite safe when I traversed the very long and dimly lit hallway to the ice machine because a Florida Highway Patrol Officer had shown up at the room next to ours. By the time Hans came back I felt even safer because there were four Florida Highway Patrol Officers sitting in our parking lot, and guess who was the star?

Miss Flip Flops, that's who!

We ate our Wendy's 'to go' dinners, let Wilbur out for one last break, and the police were still hanging around.

I only wish they'd been hanging around at five o'clock AM when Miss Flip Flops got into a huge fight, right outside our door, with some guy she kept referring to as Crackhead. Hans slept through all of it (Wilbur, however, shot up out of a sound sleep and did some very quiet and tentative boof boof noises, but I shushed him), and just as I was ready to call the police, they finally shut up. That's when Hans decided to start to snore.

At least I didn't cry but I got very little sleep.

Just before we left the next morning Miss Flip Flops, who for some reason didn't get tossed in the slammer, was very offended when Hans wouldn't cough up two dollars so she could do her laundry (yeah right! Laundry!).

The sad part of this is the fact that staying at the Crack Head Resort (and most likely sleeping with bed bugs) would have been absolute heaven compared to what we've put up with the last two days.

After our boat was dumped into the water and tied up at the dock, we had to provision and pick up our air conditioner at West Marine. That's when we discovered that West Marine had stored our air conditioner on its side and it would therefor need time to 'settle'. Not something you want to hear when the temperatures are hovering at around a hundred degrees and then we came back to a very wet boat because we'd left some hatches open and of course a huge storm had blown through.

Sweat was pouring off of us as we unloaded everything and since it was now dusk, the mosquitoes hit us like bomber jets. This time I cried and we said the hell with the warning about the air conditioner and went ahead and installed it. That's when I spotted a tiny little mention in the instructions that it only needed 30 minutes to settle! We cranked that baby up full blast and actually got a good nights sleep. However it does very little to dispel the heat during the day and we had to string our red neck awnings over various parts of the boat as the sun worked its way from east to west.

We had to stay at the marina an extra day in order to get everything done and we left this morning. We already crossed under a bridge that's normally 49 feet high (our mast is 50 feet high) but with the low water levels we ghosted under it, and we've also gone through a lock. Just out of the lock the water was under three feet deep. Very scary.

We now have to work our way through Rocky Reef and with the water being this shallow there are all kinds of warnings about it.

What fun!

Hans at Motel # 1.

Wilbur never travels without his pillows. Here he is at Motel #1.

Back on the boat.

A pretty hot pitty.