The Adventures of Green Eyes, Cruising in the Time of Covid Chapter 6. Surprise!

 

Surprise!

     Green Eyes and crew are in....Tennessee! After too many days in Michigan where the weather was too stormy, or too windy, or too cold, we rented a car, gathered our truck and trailer from storage in Traverse City, arranged a hauler, and by September 1st we were making the move across five states to Tennessee and the Tennessee River, said to be one of the most beautiful side trips on the Great Loop. 

     The move did not go smoothly. The fellow who competently hauled Green Eyes from Texas to Michigan in May couldn't do it this time so he sent two of his best knuckleheads to take his place. After the third attempt to load our 12,000 pound boat onto our custom built trailer, one of the men, the one in charge, admitted it was his first time. One strap snapped, then another as they tried to crank the boat further onto the trailer. Yikes. After the sixth try, I had to walk away. The sounds the hull was making under the water, partially on the trailer were... upsetting. Three hours later, we were finally on the road. Poor Pika. She'd been in her crate in our truck since 10AM.

     It took us a day and a half to get the boat ready for transport. Talk about battening down the hatches. Every last item had to be secured. The dingy had to come off the davit and stowed on the roof. The dingy motor had to be mounted on an inside rail. Our antennae, anchor light, and flag mast all had to be lowered and lashed. Microwave was placed on the floor on non-skid fabric. Drawers were latched (so we thought), and every item on the galley shelf was placed in a container inside a lower cabinet. Plus, I had to get Pika ready for a two-day road trip; kitty litter and box, bed, food, water, treats, brush, a long pep talk... It was exhausting. That the extraction of the boat from Lake Huron at Cheboygan went so poorly was the poo encore of the poo show. The doo doo mayo on the doo doo sandwich. You get the picture. You wouldn't want to see it, or eat it.

     On the road, finally, we followed Green Eyes with shoulders up around our ears. The trailer swerved repeatedly onto the gravel verge. "Do you think she's listing to starboard?" I asked Scott. He groaned. I mean, I'm the one who gets attached to our old things (people, houses, dogs, Land Rovers...) but Scott loves our little boat too. It's so comfy cozy! It hurt to see her abused.

     About two hours into the trip, our vehicle suddenly and quietly died in a small town called Topinabee. Scott coasted to the side of the road. The haulers and Green Eyes disappeared over the horizon.

     "Try to start it," I said. The key turned but there was no sound. Nothing. Zero. Silence. I called AAA who said they could be there in two hours. Thanks, but no thanks. I googled auto repair shop with tow truck and found one, Midwest Auto Repair, with dozens of five-star reviews, only five miles away. "We'll be there in ten minutes," said the shop manager. Once the truck was loaded on a flat bed and we sat three across in the cab of the tow truck, I asked the driver, "How do you pronounce this place?" meaning the town Topinabee.

      "Midwest" he said really slowly.

    The mechanic determined that we needed a new alternator, which was delivered and installed in under an hour. Gotta love Midwest. And Topinabee. 

     It was around three hours later that the air conditioner began to function at a less than satisfactory level. Then it began blowing humid air into the car. Poor Pika. 

     We caught up to the hauler at a Pilot gas station and decided we would stop for the night at Bowling Green, Ohio, the driver and the put-a-boat-on-a-trailer virgin would stay at a Holiday Inn Express. We would stay on Green Eyes in the parking lot out front. We had to use a ladder to get up to the swim platform, then climb over the railing. Scott went first. I handed Pika up in her carrier, then her bed, litter, food, etc., then I climbed up. Inside, we found a defrosted fridge (oops), and a gouge out of one of the beautiful teak galley stairs, made by the tool drawer that must have repeatedly opened and shut, vigorously, at every turn in the road. Big oops. Other than that, all was well. The 12 volt fans kept us cool and the precooked ribs were appreciated. We slept fast, as we had to be up at 5:30AM to hit the road. 

     At one of the gas stops, the driver watched as Scott and I examined the damage on the bottom of the hull, made by repeated scraping of the boat over the channels of the trailer. It looked bad, but what did we know. The driver suggested he should take it somewhere (a full service marina) to have someone (a fiberglass repair guy) look at it. So instead of launching the boat near the headwaters of the Tennessee River as planned, we had to launch about 75 miles downstream on the Little Tennessee River at the only full service marina who would see us on short notice in the greater Knoxville area. The extremely good people at Harbortowne Marine stayed open an extra hour to accommodate us-- and the haulers who were an hour late. The reason they gave was that they had to change a tire for "a slow leak because there was gravel in the tire." Oy vey. The good news is that the damage to the hull is mostly cosmetic, not fatal. We were advised that it was okay to launch and have it repaired sometime down the road, or river. Scott gave the knuckleheads a tip because that's just the kind of guy he is.

     The launch went smoothly, mostly because Dallas, who works at Harbortowne, helped the haulers and us float the boat. We cruised around the bend to Sequoyah Landing Marina, docked, and began putting the boat back together. It was hot. And humid. The thunder and lightening held off until we were mostly done.

     We had a sundowner at the over-water restaurant across from our boat, the Lakehouse Grill. Then we pulled out the iPad and loaded Aquamaps, the GPS navigation system we use to get from A to B on the water, to find out how far off the planned course we were. "Hey! We're near Tellico Village. Where Curt and Anne, Fred and Linda (friends from college) retired." I pointed to a cove several squiggles away. "Right there! Curt's house is right there! We should surprise them. Let's cruise to their house and spin donuts in front of their dock until they notice us." And we formulated a plan. But we never got a chance to execute. Through a series of odd coincidences, both couples, with family and friends, arrived to the Lakehouse Grill by pontoon boat just a day later to have lunch. Suddenly Fred was on Green Eyes' back deck, arms flung wide exclaiming "Ahoy?!" with excitement and disbelief. Apparently Linda noticed Green Eyes at the dock as they were coming in, whereupon Fred said, "There can't possibly be two Nordic Tugs named Green Eyes in the entire world" before flying off the pontoon boat and running over to see if really, truly, Scott and Tris were magically in Tennessee. He says I flew at him like a bull to a red cape when I saw him, and I did. 

     After lunch (so fun!) we cruised to Curt's dock to continue the reunion. Did I say cruise? It was more like being in a game of dodge ball because Green Eyes found herself unwittingly and unwillingly in the middle of a Trump Rally. Our worst nightmare. The flags were big and loud. One had Trump's face superimposed over the Rambo character played by Sylvester Stallone, assault weapon and all. The boats were fast. The wake was scary. These rallies are not impressive. They are big and loud and inconsiderate and strangely cult-like. If it weren't such a joke, we would have laughed. Some captains were towing their children on inflatables behind there boats! We heard another boater call on Channel 16 (the station monitored by the coast guard and all who cruise) and say, "Hey Ass hat!" (then he named the boat.) "Thanks a lot for the ten-foot wake. You just put a boat up on the shore and everything on our boat went flying." At least one boat capsized that day. Many other Trump boat rallies were happening around the country that Labor Day weekend. Some boats sank. 

     I never get political in my posts, do I? I try to report, not editorialize, don't I? But man, that rally did me in. Opened my eyes and did me in. 

     We were relieved to tie up at Curt's dock for the night, but the wake from boats speeding by was so strong it yanked Green Eyes up and down repeatedly. We worried about the cleats on Curt's dock.

Sunday morning, after the fog cleared, we moved Green Eyes to the Tellico Yacht Club (so hospitable and welcoming and understanding) and stayed off the water for the rest of the weekend.

We drove to nearby Crossville and visited good friends Steve, Cheryl, and their son Nik. Steve grilled the best rib eye of my life. Nik told us of his plans to buy his own house. When we returned to Lake Tellico, we enjoyed some more of Anne's amazing hospitality at her home on the river.

      Tied up to Curt and Anne's dock on the Little Tennessee River in Lake Tellico Tennessee

     We gave our S'up boards to Fred, and navigated the dingy to his and Linda's house just around the cove. It was truly great to see friends in a place so out of context to our history.

     Bright and early on Tuesday, we cast off and headed up river towards Knoxville so we could start the Tennessee River trip properly, at the beginning of her 650 mile meander to the Ohio River,  y'all. We'll see how far we get. As I write this, thunder and lightening are making a scene and high winds are rocking the boat. Severe weather is the subtitle to 2020, I guess. One of the many doo doo, poo poo subtitles.

   Trump boat rallies aside, we loved cruising the Tennessee River. Pika loved it too. For the first time, she sat in her bed in the wheelhouse with us for our daily five-hour cruises.

And if you ever do the Great Loop, or just boat in Tennessee, don't miss the Little Tennessee River either. It has so many attractive coves, places to jump in the lake, or rope swings from which to launch.

     Today is Sunday. If you know me, you know I'm addicted to the Sunday New York Times crossword. One discouraging thing for me about Tennessee is that the New York Times is available at very few locations, so I never got my fix today. Scott rode his folding bike several miles to try and find one for me. I called all over town. Most said, "No ma'am, we do not carry the New York Times" with a you liberal, you tone. The one place that said they carry it told me they only receive one copy, ONE, on Sundays and that was already gone. 

     The day was far from ruined. I made pancakes then took my Best Of Sunday NY Times Crossword Puzzle Book to a chaise lounge by a pool at the private yacht club we've been at all weekend, on account of wanting to avoid politics on an otherwise beautiful, calm, and peaceful river. 

Love,

Scott and Tris and Pika too, aboard Green Eyes, Ft Loudoun Yacht Club