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Crew Update: At the end of last season it was decided to go with a four crew line-up to insure coverage for the whole summer. We asked Steve Mattison to join as a permanent member of the crew to fill in or fourth in the blow. Recently, Kurt Honeyager announced he would be leaving the team due to other obligations, perhaps even giving up sailing altogether. Steve will be moving up to the first string full time. Josh will be moving into Kurt's middle slot and pull chute and boards. Steve will return to the jib, a position he had during the D-76 rookie season. Kurt will be missed, but we understand how busy life can get. We continue to look for two second-stringers to fourth and sub in as necessary.

The Team Budget is now $5.38. The first payment has been mailed for the boat's refit. I made $100 in tips tonight (4/5) but doubt this will go towards the second installment as I need drinking money for Lake Eustis. As you well know, tips are generally singles, which have their unique value, especially on roadtrips... In any case, final preparations are in the works for the Midwinter's... see below.

Mull is back, like the E! True Hollywood Story, like Jordan after baseball, like the Miracle on Ice, like AC/DC with Brian Johnson or Aerosmith with Run DMC. Despite a crippling leg injury Mull will sail, making his comeback in the MIdwinter Champs. We only hope he doesn't go down like JIm McMahon, or the Chicago Black Sox...

Fear and Loathing in Lake Eustis

3/6/04

Preparations are under way for the the C-Scow Midwinter Championship in Lake Eustis, FL. The Mayor and I will be transporting the boat while our skipper and benefactor, Jean-Pierre Mull, will be flying with his family. Mull has just informed me that the license plate stickers are expired. Will this prohibit drinking while driving, or will the Mayor and I play Russian roulette with Johnny Law? Mull and I are heading to Delavan tonight to pick the boat up and make some inspections... of the Inn Between. More later...

3/7/03

Mull, was sure could make an early return trip with the boat, I laughed, knowing only to well that once he saw the Midwinter Party at the DLYC he would want to leave. He convinced Patone and George to join us on the road to chaparone us back to Chicago by midnight. No souch luck was to be had. Everyone had a great time at the party, which eventually moved on the the Inn Between. Round about bar time, George was really pressing the point to leave and rightfully so. Unfortunately the keys to the truck were missing. Mull had bad karma for making fun of me for losing my keys at his house early in the day. As it turns out, the truck keys were in the club, having circled through the guests for shotgunning beers. This was sorted out with the aid of Eddie Clair and Scott Hetzler who drove back down to the Inn at 3am to find the four of us standing around the boat. They recalled seeing the keys amidst a pile of mutilated beer cans. We woke up G.G. (Greg Gifford) to get the keys, and by 4am we were safely making our return to Chicago. I hit the sack with the pale morning sun in my eyes at 6:30 this morning.

3/9

Picked up the boat from Blair Wagner's today after work. Managed to break a tail light on the truck, and Blair's driveway gate, completely sober. I picked up The Mayor on an off-ramp downtown. The Mayor did a daring jump into the truck on the roll, and we were off...Mull had left the gas tank empty to keep us on our toes, which was remedied in Indiana, where we fueled ourselves on Arby's. In Louisvlle we stopped for our first road pops. The twelve-packs were $6.99 and gas stations sell beer until 3 am. Just past Nashville, we hung it up for the night.

3/10

The Mayor handled all the driving today. We stopped at the Stones River Civil War Battleground, where 82,000 men fought and 24,000 were killed maimed or missing. The mood was somber and reflective. We contemplated our own battle ahead. Fortunately regattas don't claim any lives, but they have put some souls in Purgatory... Traffic sucked through Atlanta, and the weather was cold. I thought going south for the winter was supposed to be a pleasant experience.

The Mayor said Georgia was famous for its BBQ, he also said he wanted the next sightseeing stop to be a strip club. We killed two birds with one stone at the Erotic Cafe. I would have tipped the girls better but was covered BBQ sauce. Had the place served beer, I'm sure The Mayor would have been ready to hang his hat at the motel conviently located next to the strip joint.

There is nothing more attractive than a nude southern belle. On the flip-side, its a bit of a turn-off trying to eat a BBQ pulled-pork sandwich with a girl's rocket-box hovering over your dinner plate. "Excuse me, waitress? I think there are crabs in my salad..."

Onward to Eustis. We spoke to JP he sounded like he was having a great time...

3/11

Mull showed up and we deposited the boat at the yacht club. After a good hour of setting up the boat and chatting up some old friends, it was decided that we shouldn't tempt fate by practicing in the race clinic. Onward to the Oyster Troff...

Upon entering the Troff, the proprietor recognized JP and the Mayor immediately. "You are the guys from last year...(story ensues)" The legend of JP and the Mayor was reborn in Eustis and was worth two drinks and a dozen oysters for each of us on the house. You could feel the love, especially after drinking the electric blue concoction set before each of us. After anothe few rounds and about 50 oysters, we decided we needed a plan for the rest of the afternoon. The barkeep (whose name escapes me after that blue cocktail) mentioned that we were just over an hour away from the coast and a little town called Daytona Beach. After all the time we had spent in the car, there was a slight wince at the thought of drivng any distance over 15 minutes. Then he said those two fateful words that have stirred many a young man's heart..."Spring Break." Into the Cadillac and away we went with visions of blossoming co-eds dancing in our heads.

An hour later we we at the beach. The Mayor and I set to donning the proper attire and JP disappeared. After being properly dressed the Mayor and set to finding our fearless leader. It seemed like a bad start to lose your skipper before even having the chance to have a beer. Just after a suffient amount of time to get worried Mull swings through the parking lot in the back of a bicycle rickshaw. To the bar. The first bar we entered was in the town proper. There was a slight chill in the air and no bouncing co-eds. We were beginning to think this was all a big mistake. After a tall cool one we wondered back into the street and partook in a slice of pizza. As it turns out, college kids tend to go out much later and do not hit the real bars until after the hotel parties with free beer start charging. Back onto the rickshaw. This bike-contraption was designed for two people, one most likely being a petite girl, as opposed to three guys with beer bellies. It was a sight to behold, especially on an incline.

We found a party alright, at a beachfront hotel sposored by Coppenhagen. Smokeless tobacco was plentifull. And so were the girls. We laid on a thick buzz. At some point I ended up on the dance floor with a couple of 19 year old hotties just long enough to be self-concious about the fact that I'm a thirty-two year old man who lacks both dancing skills and the ability to interact socially with someone born in the Reagan-Era. Mull disappeared. The Mayor and went to find him and ended up at another party for awhile. We eventually found Mull. At some point I went swimming in the ocean. Which was a bad idea on the account of sharks feeding. Fortunately, I stayed close to shore and smelled undesirable to Jaws and friends. On our way back to Eustis we got lost, much to The Mayor's chagrin. Mull slept, I navigated...poorly.
Eventually we figured out we were almost to Orlando. Having sorted that out we were able to point ourselves back towards the hotel. We made it the room somewhere between 4 and 5 am.

3/12
You'll have to ask JP and the Mayor about the sailing, I went back to the hotel and napped. As I recall there wasn't much wind, I think they abandoned the race. I met up with the guys for lunch at the club. No wind in the afternoon, so it was back to the Troff. A ton of oysters and plentifull Miller High Life were had. We went back to the hotel, the Mayor and I watched Patton while Mull caught up on som Z's. It was a fairly early night. Down at the pool, Chris Craig was spinning sailing yarns. We went back to the club house for the party. It was a good time and rather low-key. Then to the hotel fo rmuch needed rest.

3/13
Again, not enough wind for me to get a ride. I cruised the town, considering abandoning the Great White North and opening a sweatshop out of house on the lake. I chose not to spectate the races on the account of the sun's intensity. Choosing, rather to build up my tan in small doses rather than roasting. I browned rather nicely by ducking in and out of the shade, whereas the pasty-whites stuck on the lake turned beet-red. After the day's sailing was completed it was back to the Troff. That night we were to set upon ab adventure into to rural central Florida. We met up with Mull's cousins on there farm where the were having a bonfire. They had a horse that drank beer. The barn was decked out in beautiful good ol' boy fashon. Plenty of old couches and chairs, a loud stereo. An old glass soda fridge packed with beer. Cats galore and a dog on speed. Next to the barn was a dirtbike track bathed in floodlights. The track was in slight disrepair since its owner had taken a serious wipe and was still working himself up to jumping. Motorcycling was limited to tearing up and down the driveway. However, Mull's cousin did decide he could handle the jumps on the track in a golfcart. It was a sight to behold, in all his glory tooling around the track in the cart with a young lady squeeling at his side. And then came the big jump. THere wasn't enough juice to get over the top, and the cart would get stuck. Despite numerous attempts it was not to happen. Eventually the cart got stuck teetering over the top wheels spinning in vain. It would require some help getting the cart down. I wish I had avideo camera. Mull and Mayor played duelling guitars around the bonfire, freshly stoked with pallets. Chris Craig and crew joined us in the adventure. I don't know when we left, but my dreams of one day moving to Eustis were all the more vivid after that night.

3/14
Again, no sailing for me. I was only slightly bummed. I cleaned the car and truck. Prepping for the long journey back to the cruel midwestern winter. After the final race, a dose of lunch, and saying our goodbyes, we shed a tear as we passed the Troff, closed on Sundays. "My lady and I ride on Sundays" the barkeep had told us the night before.

3/15

Whenever in the south eat breakfast at the Waffle House. We ended up in the same Waffle House we ate in on the way down, and totally at random. Our waitress though we were truckers. "Round these parts they call me Granny," our waitress said. Then showered us with cute little nicknames like "Sweetheart" and "Honey Pie" Later that day we crossed into Indiana, with snow coming down. Heather picked us up at Wagner's. We left the truck and boat there for Mull.

3/16
Going through roadtrip withdrawal, I joined Mull on the return to WIsconsin to drop the boat off at Melges. One last day of life on the road. Now its history. Maybe next year I'll get to sail, maybe I'll just sit at the Troff slurping down raw oysters and High Lifes....Who knows? Life is an adventure that's for sure.