Jo paddles down the Winooski River between Burlington and Colchester, Vermont.
We pretty much knew it was a matter of time before we found a boat that met our need to be back on the water.
Our requirements were quite particular: It had to be a canoe. It had to be built of Kevlar to keep it light, light, light. And it had to be affordable. You are in conflict when you use the words Kevlar and Affordable. Kevlar canoes, because they are so light, are at the top of the cost chain. But I kept checking, checking checking as we drove through the country.
We found a demo canoe last year in Freeport, Maine. But it was terribly expensive and we held off. As time went by, however, that canoe looked more and more appealing so we made plans to revisit the manufacturer this year to see if they had another demo.
In the meantime, I would browse Craigslist at every stop along the way as we rolled through Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, Arkansas, Missouri, Illinois, Indiana, Ontario, New York, Connecticut and, now, Vermont. And so it came to pass that Vermont delivered the goods. An old man with bad knees in St. Albans, VT - the most northerly town in the state - offered his seven-year-old Kevlar canoe for sale. We made contact and visited with him Thursday.
And, today, we own a canoe. It seems to be hardly used. And it comes fully equipped with two life jackets, two paddles, car-carrying pads and straps and even a woven seat back so old guys can have some comfort. And, best of all, it weighs only 42 pounds at 14 feet long.
Jo and I launched it after driving it back south to daughter Stephanie's place in Colchester, VT. We paddled through Malletts Bay, visiting the myriad sailboats moored in the bay. Delightful. We look forward to getting it back to Florida where we can explore the bays and backwaters, rivers and the Gulf of Mexico.
Meanwhile, we are homeless while the repair shop tears apart our damaged coach and rebuilds it.
Before we left Kent, Connecticut, we were invited to one of the best parties we've ever attended. Celia and Rich Pomerantz have been good friends since I employed Celia as an ad sales person back in 1984 after I took over as publisher of the weekly newspaper group in New Milford, CT.
She has the uncanny skill of collecting disparate but interesting people and throwing them together. She did it again last Sunday. We met a screen writer and her boyfriend who is a farmer, two gay guys who are in interior design, and a magazine editor. The designers were fascinating because one of them had just completed a two-year contract to decorate the interior of a - wait for it - $275 million home in Palm Beach, Florida. That's not a misprint!
He regaled us with stories of buying stupendously expensive lamps and Ian Calder mobiles. The owners of the home liked the mobile but were not sure about whether it would fit. So they had an artisan replicate the mobile in finest detail and color and hung it to confirm it was "perfect" for the space. The designer then went ahead and purchased the mobile. He asked if he could keep the replica since it was, for all purposes, a Calder mobile. But the owners insisted it be destroyed so there would be only the original. The great irony is that this $275 million home remains unoccupied because the wife doesn't really like it. We offered to drive down and move in as a house sitter so long as they'd allow us to plug in our motor home at the side!
The designers defended this excessive consumption as the epitome of the American way, saying this is how America stays economically strong. Jo and I, of course, represent the extreme other end of the consumption spectrum and so the debate was sparkling. The screen writer was moderator as she probed our belief system of "simplify, simplify, simplify". She grilled Jo on whether or not she was happy in our modest little motor home and Jo's comment that it was "okay" was seen by Celia as a Maine native's high praise without being too gushing!
The party went into the night and the two designers headed back to New York City, still convinced, I believe, we must be un-American at the very least.
Maybe if they knew we'd bought a Kevlar canoe they would perceive us as at least pulling an oar in doing our part to put the American economy back on its correct footing.
