Travels With the Captain: Chapter 16. Hot Town, Summer in the City, Ocean City, that is

Early on our "to do" list each summer season is our 3.5 mile boat voyage aboard the good ship BANDIT from our home to Seacrets, Jamaica, USA. It is an indoor/outdoor bar and restaurant. This place has acres of sand and hundreds of palm trees (imported each spring), seventeen complete bars, a huge indoor dance pavilion, etc. It consistently ranks as one of the highest grossing bars in the United States. The music (often three or four competing sources) can be heard clearly by passengers aboard jetliners flying miles above the earth. The crowds are nothing short of phenomenal. (Your Captain worked there one summer 10 years ago and the paid attendance on that July 4th was over 10,000 people.) And they all drank. A lot. You do the math. This does not count the hundreds of patrons who arrive by boat and thereby avoid the cover charge to enter. (They, being boaters also drink a bit).

At Seacrets with Nina, Duck (not misspelled), Patti, and Leslie. You'll note the complete absence of footwear. My kinda place,

Seacrets, a great place to make new friends...

Seacrets, yep, they'll even serve you at a table in the water...

But enough of that nonsense...

More seriously, darling bride took an inventory of my less frequently used toys and strongly encouraged a liquidation of some of them. (Be advised that this notion will occur with increasing frequency as this saga continues). An early casualty of this efficiency campaign was none other than the BANDITO, my baby Boston Whaler.

The BANDITO

Your obedient Captain, dutifully placed his little baby up for adoption. It was immediately adopted by a boatless couple. I think the melancholy Captain will recover from this trauma one day...time heals all, I suppose.

We must endeavor to persevere.

By late June, life had normalized a bit and the Captain was called upon to pilot a severely crippled vessel from Norfolk, VA to Annapolis, MD. The boat, purchased by a wealthy young entrepreneur had sat unused for several years. When the marina tried to start it, one engine was found to be frozen, and therefore unusable. Your versatile Captain is known in the industry as the "go to" guy for these hard cases. One engine will be enough, he says.

The first thing on the agenda after arriving in Norfolk was to have the boat hauled and to inspect the hull prior going out to sea.

For those dear readers who are unfamiliar with boats, they are definitely not supposed to host any plant life, let alone this much!

Hours of power washing removed most of the barnacles and other alien growth. All other systems checked out except the Captain's quarters air conditioner. (The outside air temperatures that morning were hovering around 90 degrees. In the boat it was hotter.) Undaunted, we set about preparing the crippled vessel for a dawn departure. This done, Captain and crew settled in their respective quarters for a much needed night's rest.

EXCEPT...

The damned air conditioner was inoperative, remember?

That's 95 degrees in my bedroom!!!

Throughout the night, it actually got worse as the humidity rose to make the air nearly liquid. (So young readers, you say ye wanna be a boat captain, do ye?? Stand by, it gets better)

After several hours of attempting to sleep in old Roman steam room conditions, it was time to shove off, and we did. Directly into fierce northerly winds exceeding 20 knots. With only a single working engine, the boat would normally move at about 8 knots. These were not normal conditions! With the head wind and high seas, we actually were able to progress at about 4-5 knots according to our trusty GPS. This little journey might require two days...

To make an excruciatingly long story come to an end, we got the vessel near Deltaville, Virginia when our only engine decided to join its partner and take early retirement., thereby stranding us in high wind conditions. (Into each life a little rain must fall, as they say...). Your resourceful Captain determined that the overheating engine would restart and run for about 10 minutes after a cooling off period. Using this knowledge, we were able to coax the boat into Deltaville's docks many hours later. We rented a car and drove back to Ocean City.

Man, I miss the coach. So here's what happened next.

Putting the nautical setbacks behind him, your resilient Captain plotted a mini coach trip whereby the entire Captain's clan would venture to Lancaster, Ohio and attend the annual Lancaster Music Festival. This year, the headline act was Amy Grant (wife of country music star, Vince Gill). Note that the 25 plus year Director of this festival is none other than Maestro Gary Sheldon, brother of the lovely Commodorable. We were therefore assured the VIP treatment which we so richly deserved...

Maestro Gary Sheldon, my brother-in-law.

The Lancaster Festival at night. (We call it Gary's Place)

After the show, Gary had us meet and talk with Amy Grant. (I think she was overwhelmed by the opportunity to meet a famous ship's Captain. She asked lots of questions like, "Why are you here in my room?" and "Will you be leaving soon?" )

After a few days in Lancaster, it was time to leave. But wait, I didn't wanna go back to our house... Leslie graciously agreed that we could go to Decatur, Indiana (the birthplace of our American Heritage) to see the Coaches being built. Her enthusiasm is a bit less surprising when you consider that your Captain allowed her to think that we were going to the Coach factory. Imagine her surprise when she stood on the factory floor and realized that they weren't making Coach purses and hand bags!! Too late, love, let's go watch the painting process...

A slide out being hoisted into place.

A Coach Hand Bag. (Not remotely similar. Don't ya just love the way English words can have conveniently multiple meanings?)

The tour went well. The Captain's "misunderstanding" of a COACH factory has been forgiven. All is well.

By now it's July 20th, one day before the annual celebration of the Captain cajoling the Commodorable into marrying him. (He convinced her that he was rich, the lying scoundrel.). What to do?, What to do? I've got it, we'll dine at Decatur's finest establishment, sparing no effort or expense to make this the best of all anniversary celebrations.

Now comes the wee glitch. As you, Dear Reader may already know, Decatur, Indiana is a village of exactly 9,418 souls. (That is unless Beauregard Simpson, his wife Myrtle and the kids carried out their threat to move to a town where Myrtle's interpretative tap dancing would be more fully appreciated).

At any rate, YELP! (The "Find It" smart phone application) lists an impressive total of 30 eating establishments in the greater Decatur metroplex. Given the gravity of the upcoming celebration, clearly your conscientious Captain must scrub from this list of potential venues all pizza joints, drive throughs, chain McBurger type places, those not open for dinner, and any places which offer lap dancing as featured entertainment. A complete vetting of the YELP! list results in exactly NO restaurants suitable for the occasion.

Back to the Internet. The nearest actual city to us is Ft. Wayne,Indiana. Let's update the search and see what we can find in that city. Lots of choices. The courageous Captain selects a Steak House named EDDIE MERLOT'S.

Eddie Merlot's in Ft Wayne

The choice was a raging success and may have resuscitated the Captain's candidacy for the coveted Husband of the Year (HOTY) Award. Leslie uncharacteristicly ordered a 26 ounce rib eye steak. Champagne was chilled and served. Life is good.

Leslie's hand compared to the already tasted steak. (She took some of it home)

The next day a decision was made to delay going to Maryland until we had a detour visit to Nashville, TN. (You readers with access to a map will quickly determine that Nashville is not remotely on the way to Maryland. Not at all.)

Several days were spent in Nashville, touring the original Grand Ole Opry at the Ryman Auditorium,bar hopping and just generally loving the country music scene. Music is everywhere there.

Leaving Nashville, your confident Captain suggests Dollywood as a great next stop since neither of us had seen it. ( And this time, it really is on the way home.)

After hours of uneventful driving across Tennessee, the coach approached the exit off of I40 for Pigeon Forge, TN, HOME OF DOLLYWOOD. Note well that I said we approached said exit. Traffic was backed up several miles from the exit, indicating that an accident of titanic proportions had occurred.

As it turned out, no accidents had occurred Apparently this traffic is normal there.

A small sampling of the traffic leading into Dollywood.

It actually got worse. Your patient Captain began to think unkind thoughts about Dolly, the highway planners, and everyone in the immediate vicinity who was operating a vehicle. Hours later we made it to a KOA campground where our 45 foot coach was consigned to a space designed for a Prius. (Note to self, always carry a chain saw and earth moving equipment to compensate for the difference in 45 ACTUAL feet and what the KOA reservation folks THINK 45 feet looks like.). (Spacial relativity is definitely not their forte)

After a soothing marathon of tequila drinking, your now serene Captain plotted his escape. Early the following morning, we departed Dolly Hell, vowing to return only when Dante's Inferno had firmly frozen over.

One more detour, and thence on to Maryland. We went into the scenic Shenandoah Valley to visit Ray and Betty, the proud parents of your humble Captain. We surprised them, but happily so and a good visit ended all too soon.

On the way to Maryland, we decided to stay over in Colonial Williamsburg for a few days. (Even though your Captain was raised and educated in Virginia, he had never visited Colonial Williamsburg.).

Leslie in the Governour's Residence front lawn.

The traffic court is harsh with out of towners who exceed the posted speed limits. (In his defense, the Captain had difficulty in converting posted limit [Furlongs per Fortnight] into MPH.) Absent understandable information to the contrary, your speedy Captain settled the car into a comfy 80 MPH cruise. The local constable felt this was excessive. The presiding magistrate agreed.