Lost time is never retrieved

Heading Home

2010-05-22T00:42:00.005-04:00

Well it has been quite some time since I hit the old blogosphere; frankly I have not feeling all that creative. I do not believe that is healthy... I had my last night of work at La Pentola restaurant tonight and frankly, I'm glad to be going. Going where? We will be leaving for Maine in a few days. I'm currently watching a storm that is building around South Carolina and our destination is Charleston, a 40+ hour trip by sail. I'm always a little anxious until we get underway and there is a lot of preparation before leaving. We have been tied to a dock in St Augusine since February and I feel out of shape. Here are some photos of a great day at the beach. I have so much to tell you, but may not have the time until I return. Until then, stay true!

Computer Down

2009-12-10T12:30:00.002-05:00

When in City Island, the Bronx, my computer picked up a bad virus that has rendered it totally inoperable. I cannot use it or download any of the exciting images I have taken. I hope to get this repaired before too long and get the blog up to speed. Please visit Rebecca's blog www.familyinabottle.blogspot.com for photos and videos.

Going Single

2009-11-28T15:07:00.007-05:00

The trip from the Gulf of Maine through the Cape Cod Canal and into Long Island Sound went fairly smooth with no exceptional sailing moments, except terrific conversation with artist Eric Smith. Eric sailed from Newburyport to NYC and is a great friend and asset. He stayed with me over a week and had to get back to the farm where he works.

We had a terrifying ride through the Hell Gate. The confluence of Long Island Sound and the Atlantic Ocean with the East River and Hell Gate in the middle. The current runs at 9 knots and once you enter the narrow chokepoint, it takes control of the boat, speeds you up to where it is very hard to control your direction, then spits you into the East River where you need to quickly avoid tractor tugs pushing petroleum barges. We had a large ketch in front of us as we passed into the narrows that was caught in a back eddy and was literally moving in reverse. It looked like a collision was eminent as I lost steering trying to slow the boat down in reverse. Acid from my stomach went right to my throat as I put the Vindhler's engine into full forward and somehow edged around this guy. I did not care for the scare and decided on the spot that I did not like the other sailor.

I took a risk and sailed into the Newtown creek, a superfund site that contains one of the largest oil spill in the world. I found a wall of concrete that was recently constructed on the creek and tied up to it, only to be sitting on the bottom when the tide ran out. The best part of the anchorage beside the incredible midtown views is the other voyaging sailboat belonging to singlehander Chris Hanson, just back from the Azores. We hit it off and in a matter of 30 minutes developed a friendship that will last a life time. Chris, Eric and I shared sea stories leavened by hand rolled cigarettes and scotch. Later in the evening sailing friend Steve Morse offered hot showers for Eric and me at his nearby home. Steve is a friend who I used to see weekly and since leaving New York, spoke to him only twice in seven years. I know it is sad, but we picked up like a moment of time never passed between us. That is friendship and I love my easy friends.

I have been nostalgic about NYC since the day I arrived in Maine and still hold a candle for that city. It was where I found myself and the experiences there created the person I am today. Its streets contain the wanderings of my youth and 15 years of a soul's poetry. Unfortunately, Eric's tour on the Vindhler was to come to an end. The thought of him leaving and pushing on alone made me incredibly anxious and fearful. I just did not want to be alone on the high seas and have enough experience sailing to know that things can turn problematic very fast.

I did push off from Newtown Creek a little after noon, only to be headed by a cold wind and gray sky. I avoided ship traffic in NY Harbor and once under the Verrizzano bridge and into Raritan Bay, I was feeling better. I anchored at Sandy Hook, NJ just after dusk and was feeling much better.

The coast of New Jersey has a bad reputation for its limited number of safe harbors if the weather turns bad. Some of the harbors are not deep enough for cruising sailboats. I sailed to the Manasquan Inlet on day one and Atlantic City on day two. AC was pretty bizarre with the glitz of casinos pushing against a dingy waterfront with clam boats unloading their catch. It was a positive note that the waterfront was not over commercialized. I have a low tolerance for suburban sprawl and gross amounts of advertising. Day three put me in Cape May with a sixty degree day and nice little anchorage near the Coast Guard. Removing my two wool sweaters and wearing a t shirt put me in high spirits.

Newtown Creek, is a 3.5 mi (6 km) estuary that forms part of the border between the boroughs of Brooklyn and Queens, in New York City, New York, United States. It derives its name from New Town (Nieuwe Stad), which was the name for the Dutch and British settlement in what is now Elmhurst, Queens. It is one of the most polluted industrial sites in America,^[1]containing years of discarded toxins, an estimated 30 million gallons of spilled oil, and raw sewage from New York City’s sewer system.^[1]

Proud Flesh

2009-10-28T18:29:00.005-04:00

Chris Balzano was a man I knew in NYC. I worked with him, although we did not work together, we worked at the same place. Chris was always spouting off a colloquialism to fit the moment and was a "Badda Bing" kind of Italian guy. The kind you find in big cities. A real stereotype. The phrase he loved to say the most for almost every situation was", If the queen had balls, she'd be king...but she doesn't." This would be met with laughter from his cronies and was at times funny when it had nothing to do with the conversation at hand.

At this point in my life I was fully immersed in professional photography and was shooting magazine assignments as well as working in restaurants. Chris came to me one day and said," Hey John, you want to see a pitchure of sometin gross?" Being at a point in my life where I was particularly voyeuristic, I said", yeah, only if it is not a photo of a child or something really disturbing." "It is a pitchure of my son's back, just after an operation." Chris pull out a series of photographs where a boy about 10 years old is laying on his stomach and his back seems to filleted open. The cut was about 10 inches long by four inches wide and had the overall shape of a sword handle. Apparently the boy had a bad abscess that had to be removed and the excavation was only about two inches deep. The thing that blew my mind was that the doctor did not stitch it all back together. It was left open. The wound would heal from within. I learned later from a veterinarian that in the equine world of medical procedures this is called", Proud Flesh!" The flesh fills itself in or the flesh is proud and covers the wound. A strange phrase that has many meanings and can be associated with all types of behavior. Pride is rarely a good thing, although I was never taught that. I was taught that you had to have pride, had to have backbone.

My friend Paul, actually he is more than a friend, he is a brother, told me to stay humble", Stay humble man, stay humble out there on the seas." These are great words of advice, for one who has proud flesh on the ocean will be punished. Today I sailed in very tough conditions with a seasick mate, although I had just the right combination of sail up and the motor clicking over slowly moving toward my destination at seven knots. Ten foot following seas and thirty knot gusts of wind made the boat a carnival ride you could not get off. I think I did everything right today, except for the decision to leave the marina in Portsmouth, NH. It would have been a good idea to stay put, but I was in an area that I did not like, nothing to see except the ostentatious facade of a beautiful, yet mediocre hotel. Hotels need to have great service and food as well as nice rooms and a view. I could not afford to go to the bar and that made the place that much more undesirable. I admit I feel smug that I negotiated a dangerous bar at the entrance to the harbor. I cannot deny the proud flesh of sailing in harsh conditions and surviving. I will try to be humble. as an individual I like to believe I'm humble, although my wife does not think so at times.

Tuesday, October 27

South Port Marina, South Portland to Manchester by the Sea Marina, Portsmouth, NH

Crew: Angel Silva and Ethan Smith

Conditions: Cold with wind out of the southeast. Sailed to windward for 6 hours averaging 51/2 knots. Motorsailed for 4 hours and entered into the mooring field with no problems.

Problems: Ran aground again at South Port Marina on the ebb tide at 10pm. Boat was practically on its side when the water bottomed out at 3 to 4 feet. We all recovered, but with very little sleep.

Knowledge: I learned that when my body hits the wall and is telling me to stop, I should listen.

Wednesday, October 28

Portsmouth, NH to Newburyport, Mass

Crew: Jonathan Paff

Conditions: Small craft warning issued by the Coast guard. Heavy following seas with two medium boarding waves. Crew was seasick and vomiting, but held it together. I felt find and was not scared, the boat was great and handled the conditions well. 15 to 20 knots of wind with higher gusts. Sailed with medium genoa sail only and engine. Speed was 6 to 8 knots going southeast.

Problems: Conditions to get into the Merrimack river were highly dangerous with the ebb tide pouring into a nor'easter. If the diesel stopped for any reason, I would have lost the boat.

Once in the Merrimack river, I should have persisted in picking up a mooring, but I wanted to dispatch the crew. I ended up creaming the dock and chipping some paint off of the bow.

Knowledge: Sail with seasoned crew when possible, or go really slow with only easy conditions. Always dock against the current and be careful when taking advice from other sailors. The advice I received came from the owner of a Hunter! Huh...

Editing

2009-10-05T05:07:00.000-04:00

Dear Friends and Followers,
As I write new postings to the blog, I constantly find areas I need to edit for grammar or content. Unfortunately, every time I add a comma or change a sentence, the system will email you. If the emails seem excessive, I apologize in advance and thank you for following.

The 9th Rider

2009-09-11T18:46:00.011-04:00

I was nervous when I arrived at work to give my notice. There is always a thin layer of invisible poisonous gas floating in the air. If you are having a bad month, the lack of air is more prominent. Salesman, a most insecure lot, rarely talk about big deal closings, but always about the one that got away. They mostly get away. I had purchased a couple of books on How to Sell and How to Sell More. These self help sales books left me feeling like an inadequate loser (quitting your job would be deemed as offing yourself). I did realize that when you used the techniques it was a numbers game. If you used the technique 1000 times, it would work at least once. This absence of air kept me in a total panic even when I was making money. I felt by giving my notice I was going to disappoint my employers. They had paid me through good times and bad, and now I was leaving at their time of need. "The business is down and we need results."

My handlers heard me out as I babbled about this and that, and the economy, and so on; to finally come to the point that I was going sailing. "You scumbag, how dare you? How dare you leave us with our quest for Mercedes and Corvettes? Our new homes on Cul de Sacs with hot tubs and riding mowers. Our Lowes credit cards and vacations in Playa del Carmen. How dare you leave us in this office, where we sit on our asses under fluorescent lights, eight hours a day, every day until we die? You will pay for this, pay big time."

I also realized that I would have probably been fired in the heart of winter when surviving in Maine is the hardest. The people who came after me were let go, so the writing was on the wall. I got out of the building as soon as possible.

The anxiety that I felt did not leave me as soon as I stepped outside. Like rounding the dangerous Cape of Good Hope, even though you have sailed 300 miles past it, it can still humble you with a storm. So I quietly disappeared. On the drive home, I felt as if I was cast away into the ocean with no tether, free floating, but floating, not sinking. The sinking feeling was gone. I started to laugh and feel an honest joy, an elation. The blinders that were on my eyes fell away and the day became so colorful; I became high, as high as a kite.

I was caught up in thought while travelling back to Portland on the I-95 super highway for the worker. I noticed in the rear view mirror a pack of motorcycle riders moving toward me quickly. It was a gang, all travelling at 85 miles per hour and with no helmets. I moved to the middle lane so they could pass. Eight barbarians on Harley's. The six men were all of the barfighter variety and wore the leather uniforms of a Connecticut posse. These hard heads did not come from Mystic. I locked onto a heavyset women riding a FLH with straight pipes. When she was next to me, I sped up to stay close. Her concentration at 90 mph was significant and her beauty mystifying. As I rolled down the window I could not help thinking that all that power and speed must render her insatiable in the real world. I fell in behind the group and increased my speed so I could be a part of the gang. With the windows rolled down and the sound of their pipes bellowing, I placed my hands on the car wheel in such a fashion where it was like I was holding handle bars and not a steering wheel. I became the ninth rider. I rode my hog to the Portland exit ten miles away, where the gang flipped me the bird and went on their merry way. I went home to celebrate not having to drive to the orifice(office) anymore.

Motorcycling was the beginning of my love for sailing. At seventeen, I would go camping with friends, but would travel alone on my CB750F. A small duffel and a sleeping back was all I carried and all I needed. The feeling of freedom and independence was profound. Sailing offers freedom and independence.

Harder can be better.

2009-09-07T06:06:00.008-04:00

Many people have mentioned how they envy us and how they would like to go on a big sailing adventure. I'm not certain people realize how much work is involved. You get to sell your possessions and home which stirs up your emotions beyond belief. You have the stress of juggling a job, outfitting a boat and keeping the finances in order. The last has never been a skill of mine. No matter how much money you have, it is not enough. The same goes for time, you will not have enough of that either. Oh, you still have to be father and a husband!

We went for a little overnight this weekend to cow island. It is just a few miles from Portland, but you instantly feel like you're far from the city. Maine is like that! Great smooth sail at 3 knots with Rebecca at the helm. We had got a late start around 4pm and the wind was dying. My two year old started melting down and our 8 year old started feeling his needs were not being met around 5:30. (Dante can blow your head off with his super shrill tantrum scream. I promise I will record one for you.) With half a mile to go, we tied the inflatable onto the side of the boat and motored to the mooring field. Amazing how a four horse Evinrude can push a sailboat that has a gross weight of 15 tons. Now, I'm working on my anchoring skills and a mooring whose condition is unknown tells me",anchor over there, where it is clear," no problem. Done. Now rush to get dinner to calm the troops and get a gin and tonic.

That night, all the Bondellio's were snug in their births, when a high pressure trough funnels in creating 20 knot winds and 3 foot seas that turn our anchorage into a lee shore. A lee shore strikes fear into all sailors. Especially sailors with engineless boats and kids on board. I did not sleep the entire night. I was on deck to check the anchor 30 times, fearing that it would lose its grip or chafe through the rode. I was prepared to sail off and we had the room, but it would have been a total white knuckle situation. Thankfully, the anchor held.

The next day, after the wind abated and a leisurely breakfast... I hoisted the sails to sail off the hook. The boat heeled over and headed out of the anchorage only to stop and round up back toward the spot we just came from. Two hours of back breaking anchor hauling and sailing around in circles would not break the anchor free. Finally, I waived down a Lobsterman and and he agreed to haul up on my anchor rode to see what the problem was. Turns out there was a 3 foot by 3 foot ball of tangled lobster pot warp (trap line) surrounding the anchor. It took this man 30 minutes to set the gear free. I was indebted to him and presented cash which he would have none of. So I presented half a bottle of dark rum. He gladly accepted.

Now as I ponder the situation, I cannot believe how lucky we were or blessed. Did my anchor drag and was the Vindhler heading for the rocks, only to be saved by the lobster pots? Or did we somehow create the entanglement trying to get off in the morning? Well it does not matter now. We are safe and learned another valuable lesson. Funny how life keeps teaching us regardless of how long we have lived. That is, of course, if you are really living, taking some chances.

The sail home was fantastic. Blake and I were in the cockpit and we had the Vindhler dialed in. We were reaching into Portland Harbor and were walking away of boats that should have sailed with us. They were trying to, but we were invincible at that moment. So we had a night of incredible stress and fear, needed the help of others, and then had a euphoric high. Such is sailing. Art Dahlberg sold me the Vindhler and stated appropriately, that sailing is 90% boredom and 10% terror.

The photo is of a couple of doubler patches under the stern. My brother Matt helped me with the welding.

Refocus

2009-09-01T06:17:00.010-04:00

Refocus...That is what my boss calls it. My performance in sales has been lacking, although I have produced some results; my heart is not in it. It is very hard for me to excel in areas where there is no passion... "John, we need you to refocus your efforts." "OK, I will do that..."

Let me bring you up to speed. I'm in the process of creating lemonade from a batch of life's lemons. Maine has been hard for us, beautiful, but hard. I remember the words of a Wall street type telling me," it's horrible out there." He meant outside of NYC. Also the words of a gal who came to Maine from NYC to start her own business and failed miserably. I do not feel Maine is horrible, quite the opposite, but I definitely know now that I lived in a silly little New York City art world bubble for 15 years and had no idea of the world's reality. Really Hard! I see people struggling to make ends meet. They are distressed by trying to keep up with each other in this crazy race for status, perpetuated by the puppeteers of media and finance. I personally would be ashamed to make my living on the weaknesses of others. Think credit card late payment charges. So, now at 45, I'm barely making a living and all I see around me are people who's sole concern is their comfort. It is not all misery for us, actually the opposite. We live better than people with much higher incomes. We eat like royalty and have a comfortable home near the ocean, and we sail. I know I sound like a hypocrite, except I'm not in control of my destiny, God is. Five years ago, I started a business that was destined to fail regardless of how hard I worked or how much borrowed money I threw at it. Did God set me up to fail so I could have some painful adversity and humility that would ultimately steer me in the direction I am in now? I think so!
Here is the refocus-We have sold our house, we have sold what was left of our business, we have sold 75% of our possessions, we will be debt free in less than a month, we will have no health insurance, our only physical asset is our boat, we will sell our car, which has very little monetary value. I will quit my job and when we return we will start over. Completely.
The benefits-Being off the God forsaken treadmill of life for awhile, spending everyday with my wife and children, travelling in a slow fashion, not spending money unnecessarily, learning that possessions will not make us ultimately happy, teaching my son Blake that the poor are beautiful and valuable to God and us, and big dreams do come true.

I'm seven weeks from travelling to the Bahamas on board the Vindhler. The work involved is almost insurmountable. Right now we are looking for a used, but rebuilt diesel. I wish there was a way to keep the Vindhler engineless. She sails beautifully without the drag of a propeller. It has been excellent for our skills going everywhere without the aid of a motor. For those who have never sailed Maine, it is windy most of the time, especially in the afternoon when the Southwester fills in. (Oh, now I remember why I love it here!) My wife has no problem picking up the mooring as we come in under sail. I feel with kids on board an engine would offer a level of safety when needed. Of course they often fail to start, so we will continue to sail on and off the hook when we can. I think it was Don Street or the Pardey's who said that they had never seen a wrecked boat on a reef or rocks that did not have an engine! Makes you wonder.

I received some emails and photos from our owners group. The Vindhler was built in Holland in the early 50's and shipped to a dealer in Connecticut for distribution. I believe around 80 boats were built and about 60 came to the US. We know of about a dozen.

Spring Fever

2009-05-07T20:54:00.008-04:00

Wow, it sure can be difficult to get motivated. The entire winter has elaspsed and I have not made a single entry to this blog. I have had to concentrate on working to support my family and that has been all I could handle this winter. It was a great season, but not without it's misery. I finally feel like I'm moving in the right direction. My mental health has been better since I started excersizing again. For the first time in my life I have a gut, or as my Italian friends say", pancha." Like pancetta, bacon...or belly. I have become Johnny Pancha. I know it is because I sit on my ass at a desk, or I'm in the car driving to see clients. This is the kiss of death at 45. I could easily put a chapter in here called " How to grow your buttocks." The problem is now my body is truly bizarre. I have a hard chest and arms with a inner tube around my waist. I will have to quit my job to lose it... so that is what I will do!

I did manage to rebush my self steering gear this winter. The Aires Vane was purchased 8 years ago sight unseen from a sailor in Florida. I used it to sail to Maine and it worked reasonable well. I must confess that I have not used it since. Tearing it down and analizing it has opened up it's mechanics and I feel I truly understand it now. I did plan to have some photos of the process, but I can't find them... so here are my kids, Blake on our winter beach. A very mild day just before Spring. Dante at the Lobster Shack this summer.

500 Pounds Lighter

2008-10-17T21:24:00.003-04:00

I have a real dilema...I have removed the very heavy engine from the Vindhler and I'm reluctant to replace it. I can't wait to see how she will sit in the water without all that weight. Of course the performance will be better! When the 50 year old Gray Marine gave out on me last year, I sailed all summer with out it. Sailing on and off the mooring, anchoring...I did have to get towed by a powerboat once when the wind died and I was in the channel, afraid I would get caught crowding the ferry. On this occassion I was not towing my inflatable, so I could not use it and the outboard to get us in. I learned a valuable lesson...don't leave home without it.

Friends, Matt and Joby came by on a very rainy Sunday to help get the engine out of the boat and into the cockpit. We built up blocks on both sides of the cockpit and placed a solid steel bar across with a chain come-a-long device. This coupled with my 2 ton floor jack in the engine compartment helped us remove the motor through the cockpit floor hatch in about 90 minutes.

The engined waited in the cockpit for about two weeks before I figured how to get it off the Vindhler. I really did not want to hire a crane...financially, it was out of the question. Steven Beckett, a friend who has helped me numerous times, thought some tackles hung from the mizzen would have the power and height to raise the 400lb. engine to deck height. I agreed. As we lifted the dead wait of the motor, we placed large pieces of wood under it to take the strain. It is remarkable what you can do with rope and pulley! Once we had the motor sufficiently raised up, we attached lines from the engine to the sheet winches for a controlled descent to the pallet below. Paul Leddy, another man who has helped me many times came with his brother Chris. The four of us gently pushed the motor over the side of the boat which was protected with thick carpet. My father in law Charles lead a guy line that kept the motor away from the side of the boat and the rest of us let gravity do the work while we braked the whole affair against the winches.

Being a do it yourselfer with limited finances means that I have to ask for help. I'm blessed with talented sailors around me who frequently lend a hand. Being able to ask for help has advanced my project greatly. I run into prideful individuals all the time who insist by their stoic silence that they can do it on their own and yet accomplish nothing extraordinary. I love the biblical proverb that states," many advisers guarantee success."

Wooden Spars

2008-09-26T06:51:00.007-04:00

I gathered a small band of locals to help me get the spar off of the Vindhler's deck and onto some saw horses in the back yard. I have been hitting it with varnish and making some small repairs. I capped the bottom of the spar with a layer of fiberglass and then coated the base with epoxy. This is to prevent moisture from wicking up into the wood. The masts are beautiful even with all sorts of stains and blemishes. I wooded the mast 5 years ago (remove all the hardware and varnish), and it could probably use it again sometime in the next 2 or 3 years. I have been repairing all defects in the wood with epoxy and varnish. I have become a fan of epoxy as a base coat as long as it is a flexible penetrating variety.

The Sitka Spruce main mast and mizzen have performed well for me, but I can't help wonder if they will make it in a prolonged event of high wind and waves. I have replaced the head stay, cap shrouds and back stay. The rigging that I removed was never put under serious duress by the previous owners. Sailing on the great lakes is different than the salty ocean. It is easier to tuck into a harbor each night, and overnight passages are rare. So a Great Lake sailor rarely sees heavier weather. I suppose the same can be said for most fair weather coastal sailors. I imagine the best I can do is to keep the spars strong and well protected with varnish. I use Epifanes from Holland. I have about six coats now, but will have at least 12 before I step it on the boat again.

I cut my rudder in two!

2008-08-16T03:50:00.008-04:00

I cut my rudder into two pieces and welded a flange into the rudder stock. This gives me the ability to remove the rudder to perform maintenance on the rudder tube. The rudder tube is simply a large pipe welded into the bottom of the stern. It passes up into the cockpit. The rudderstock fits in the tube with lubricated (greased) bushings held by set screws. The tiller handle fits on top. It is incredibly strong and simple. My fear is that the rudder tube will rust out and sink the boat from lack of maintenance. Before I welded in the flange, I would have to have a marina use the big lift to raise the boat up 10 feet or so and drop the rudder out. Only then could I inspect the rudder tube. Now I can have the rudder off in 15 minutes, right in my driveway...or even better, in any marina anywhere! I try to avoid the marina when possible. The cost of using the travel lift is very high.

Vindhler Gets A New Shoe!

2008-08-03T20:30:00.005-04:00

The bottom of the keel had suffered from a lack of maintenance over the last 50 years; electrolysis and galvanic corrosion had warn the steel thin. My neighbors recommended Doug Uraneck for the welding. Doug is a master welder who works with skill usually consigned for surgeons. Doug was suffering from the beginning stages of ALS. In spite of pain and a wheelchair, his indomitable spirit kept him working until the end. Doug was a servant, and the great number of people who came to his side were a testament on how much he was loved. Thank you Doug! You are missed by many. I ordered a 4'x8' piece of hot rolled steel plate 3/8" thick. This was delivered sheared into two 2'x8' pieces. We joined them together creating a 16 foot piece. I hired John Clay and his truck that transports the boat to come by to lift the boat up. It took six men to lift and slide the steel plate under the Vindhler's keel. The next step was to trim and fasten the plate to the keel of the boat. I hired a great welder named John Doane for this work. I have been very happy with his effort. It was a great relief to get this work completed. I had always felt this was the Achilles heel of the boat.

Not the beginning...more like the middle.

2008-07-24T19:56:00.009-04:00

The Vindhler is a 37 foot yawl built in Holland in 1957. Her construction is steel with Sitka spruce spars. I have given up quite a bit to own her, but for some reason, I don't seem to care that much. There is no doubt that I have been blessed in spite of the hardships that I endure.
The Vindhler sits on land, but she represents a way to gain a degree of freedom in this unholy society of workaholic somnambulists.

I don't blame people for succumbing to the American dream. We get all doped up on TV and consumerism. I have eaten the deadly commercial nightshade, and have drank merrily the media's pernicious brew.
Morpheus calls to me..."wake up from your stupor!" I'm Neo and I'm unplugged. I have been awakened by the sea and to the sea I shall go.

Is this the middle of my life, a turning point? One of many glorious turns. I'm not scared...well maybe a little. One always wants to make the right decision when it concerns their family.
This blog is simply a journal as I prepare my boat and family for a two year cruise in the carribean. I have owned the sailboat for over a decade, but have failed to fufill the vision that I started 13 years ago.