The Real Housewives of Oswego and Fire Truck Pinwheels

Newport to Oswego – 141 nautical miles.

After a blissfully calm night the winds started picking up around 5 am and by 8 they were blowing again from the north-east at 15 knots, creating large waves. Thankfully it was short lived and the winds backed down to under 7 knots making for a decent ride into Oswego, our first stop of the trip.

 

We hadn’t seen Mike since 8 last night so at 8 am I banged on his cabin door.

 

“Mike? Mike? Hey man, you okay in there?” I asked as I knocked gingerly, then less gingerly. At first, nothing. Then some grunting man noises. Finally he appeared, dazed and confused and a little grey.

 

“Thank God you’re not dead," I said looking him up and down. "That would have really complicated our trip. How are you?”

 

“Still not feeling great. That was a rough ride yesterday.”

 

“So when you turn up at the US border with a dead body, is it better or worse if the corpse is an American citizen. Just wondering.”

 

“Never tried it. Hey, why are you looking at me funny?”

 

“No reason.”

 

“Alright, well then I’m going to lay back down for a while.”

 

Mike took another Dramamine and crashed out, hopefully not for good. I went back up to the cockpit and fell asleep while Ana kept watch, but we were all alone on the lake.

 

At 1pm we arrived in Oswego after getting cleared through US immigration through their amazing and efficient CPB Roam app (listen up Canadian border services – your processes SUCK ASS, just ask the US to use their damn app and rebrand it with maple leafs or beavers or whatever).

We got docked, checked in, then Mike and I started constructing two wooden stands to support our mast which we’d need to carry on top of the boat after it was taken down. Fortunately we found a nice stack of “previously experienced” stands built, used, then discarded from other boaters. We just had to cut one down a bit and build the other up, but in the end we had two expertly built stands, and we even had some admirers. As we were measuring, cutting, screwing, and drilling, a gang of speed walkers came cruising by. Mike said they were the Real Housewives of Oswego, but I don’t know how he could possibly know that. Anyway, they all sized him up as he’s a fine looking silver haired fox and I’m still a mostly brown-haired pup so not up into that league yet, but he's not looking so he just threw them a Chicago stink eye. I don’t think those post-menopausal cougars were used to that sort of crushing disappointment, but they did their best to shrug it off then moseyed their way on down the street.

 

It was getting on in the afternoon so we rescued Ana from her Newport Yacht Club work and together removed the head sail and boom from the sailboat then went for a walk around town. We saw the most amazing fire truck. It came roaring down the street with the regular siren and lights, but on the front was a giant circus pinwheel spinning magically, throwing off joy and fun. I bet there were a bunch of giddy clowns inside laughing and sticking their fingers in each others’ eyes, but the damn truck was moving way too fast for us to see the occupants. After that excitement, Ana guided us to a thrift store she visited last time we were here (that’s when her, Stella, and our friend Angela were on Bird scooters running from the cops and Ana did an endo and flipped hers over then skidded across the pavement on her bare arms and legs and, fortunately, the hair bun on the back of her head, which saved her from a major concussion). Oswego’s aways lots of fun.

 

While Ana hunted for deals I went for a neighbourhood walk then joined Mike sitting on a park bench chilling.  We gave her about 45 minutes of thrifting then dragged her out and to a local restaurant where we ate some delicious burgers – the first thing Mike had eaten for over 24 hours and it seemed to bring him back to life. After that, it was lights out as tomorrow was going to be another big day.

The Journey Begins

The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. And the sailing journey of a lifetime begins with a single mile. From the helm of SeaLight I turned to look back at what we were leaving in our wake, one mile behind us. Our children. Friends. Stuff. Comfort. Routine.

In fact, I did not look back. I never do. As we’ve always told our kids, before leaving on a journey, look into the eyes of the ones you love, say your goodbyes, tell them you love them, then take that step forward into the unknown…and don’t look back. Never look back. That world will be there for you when you return. Lean into the unknown, embrace it, put your whole self into it, and if you feel the urge to look back, fight it. Those you leave behind will miss you, as you will miss them, and that’s okay. They are cheering you on as you push your way into your uncertain future, and they theirs. They want you to succeed.

 

Saying all that, this time for me was hard. I may not see my son Magnus for eight months. And Stella, four. The past weeks have been amazing, with both the kids at home, enjoying many meals together with us, talking, spending time together. seeing Magnus excelling in his college program and working hard as a server, and watching Stella embark on her exciting gap year, working full time and saving money for her upcoming trips. We are so insanely proud of them both. It was hard to say goodbye and there were tears. But we did it.

 

SeaLight’s diesel engine was purring like a stroked kitty as we set the autopilot due east, directly into the wind. There would be no zig zag sailing today – we had 140 miles to cover to reach Oswego and the conditions were not great, with 15 knots of sustained wind (which would have been great if is was coming from any direction other than due east) and very choppy water.

Our friend Mike had arrived yesterday, but the wild weather prevented us from leaving so we waited a day. By 3pm we were on the water, settled into the cockpit and sizing up the route. Mike is prone to seasickness so popped a tablet or two of Dramamine, which didn’t take long to knock him out and he slid into his “dead man in a coffin” routine and lay prone and utterly motionless on the port-side cockpit seat for about six hours, sadly missing out on the delicious shepard’s pie Ana heated up for dinner.

 

Three hours into the trip the winds were over 20 knots and Lake Ontario was giving us a beating. Waves were averaging 3 – 4 feet but several times we plowed the bow of the boat into rogue 6 – 8 footers, flooding the deck with rivers of water as we launched up then smashed down into the next big wave with a sickening crunch on the bow. Every time this happened it felt like the boat was about to break apart, but we knew from previous experience it certainly could take it…but could the crew?

It wasn’t until 9 at night that the winds finally weakened and the waves settled. I went down for a fitful sleep while Ana watched the helm and at 1am we switched. The waning crescent moon provided scant light so we sailed through darkness.

2022 Sailing Trip Day 12 - A Bird Tumble, Oswego Tour and Evening Sail

What a difference a day can make. We awoke to a beautiful, sunny, hot morning. The dystopian Oswego of yesterday was gone and replaced with an Oswego full of promise, life, and probably craft beer.

Tony and Angela made us all a delicious breakfast then we walked together towards downtown. Oswego is split neatly in half by the Oswego River which, if you follow it far enough, leads into the Erie Canal, which in turn will take you to New York City and from there the Caribbean or anywhere else in the world you would like to go. This is why I wanted to come to Oswego, as this is the town we will be returning to someday (inshallah) when we make our first trip to the Caribbean, unless we choose to go the very long way around through the St. Lawrence River.

We reached the bridge that crosses the river and the ladies turned east in search of consignment stores, Marshalls, and other value retail while Tony and I struck out west, across the bridge, towards the downtown area. We stopped midway across the bridge to admire the first of the seven locks on the Oswego River and the pack of kayakers who paddled into it then slowly rose as the water poured into the lock, and one 11 foot vertical rise later, the doors of the lock opened and they continued paddling upstream to the next lock.

We continued wandering into the historic downtown and came across an old armoury with a YMCA sign out front. After doing enough rounds of the famous dance to attract attention, we went inside and the manager on duty gave us a tour of the facility and filled us in on the history of the place. From here we walked up and down the streets of Oswego, seeing stately buildings, shops, restaurants, cool bars, a grocery store, and as we approached the water we came across the marinas. Along the way we noticed many electric Bird scooters propped up on street corners, lying on grassy boulevards, and leaned up against buildings. Bird is a company that rents scooters via an electronic console mounted on the scooter and a smart phone app. We both started fiddling with our phones to download the Bird app and get our credit card info entered, which took an incredible amount of time and effort, and I never did get mine working, so Tony spotted the both of us for scooter rentals. We were off!

Bird scooters are extraordinary. They are a testament to the fact that 95% of the energy used by a vehicle is used to just move the mass of the vehicle itself around; your weight is practically a rounding error. Not so with a scooter. These lightweight machines and their barely noticeable battery packs can whiz you around at up to 25 kph for something like 40 kilometres on a singe charge. Our friends Daryl and Lydia have an electric scooter on their boat which they store in a closet, and it has little hooks for hanging shopping bags and even a small trailer hitch for towing buggies or wagons!

Tony and I cruised around the marinas, down to the nautical museum, all throughout downtown, down a canal-side trail, and finally back up and over the bridge we had crossed over earlier, then a few blocks up to a second hand store where we found the girls. They handed us the bags of their purchases and we handed over the scooters then we walked back to the boat and left them for their second round of shopping.

Back at the boat we had some bbq sausages and a beer then got to work changing the primary and secondary fuel filters on the boat – something I had meant to do first thing in the spring but had somehow not made it to the top of the list and had been bothering me, as fuel issues are almost always the main culprit when your engine starts acting up and we didn’t want that. Somewhere along the way Tony had found a canvas repair person in the marina and talked her into patching up our rip.

Several hours later the ladies returned. Angela looked charming as usual. Stella was very fashionable. Ana had scrapes on her arm, legs, feet and bandages stuck all over her.

“What happened?” I asked, panicking.

“Mom fell off the scooter,” Stella said. “Flipped right over it and rolled across the concrete road.”

I was flabbergasted. She didn’t have mark on her face, her hair was neatly tied back in a bun, and she looked calm and collected.

“Are you serious?” I asked her. “What happened?”

“Well, basically we were running away from the cops. We weren’t wearing the mandatory helmets, Stella isn’t old enough to drive one, and we were riding them places we weren’t supposed to. So when we passed a cop car we hit the throttle and scooted out of there,” she said, all Daisy Duke like.

“OK, sounds good so far, but how did you fall?”

“I was turning back to make sure the cops weren’t gaining on us and all of a sudden I was in the air.”

“Did you hit your head?”

“Nope, my bun saved me,” she said as she caressed the knot of hair at the back of her head.

“I can’t believe you’re even walking right now.”

We decided that one full day in Oswego was enough to get the hang of the place, so at 7pm when the canvas repair was complete, we left the dock and started upon the 45 nautical mile sail to Rochester. We had a perfect moment along the way – the setting sun was casting a gorgeous orange glow over us as we enjoyed a glass of wine in the comfort of the heavily pillowed cockpit. We took turns answering critical life questions such as:

“If you could only drink two kinds of liquids for the rest of your life what would they be?”

“If you could only visit two more countries in your life, where would you go?”

“If you could only eat one meat, one fish, and one vegetable for the rest of your life, what would you choose?”

It's amazing what you think of when sequestered to a sailboat cockpit for hours and hours.

We made it to Rochester around 2:30am and docked with no issue. On the way through the channel, Tony had been diligently searching the shore for something.

Angela asked, “What are you looking for?”

“A canvas repair shop,” Tony said. “In case I put my arm through the other side of the cockpit!”

2022 Sailing Trip Day 11 - Six Footers, Oswego, and Tossed Pizza Salad

For the first moment of the trip, I found some time to do some writing in the morning. Normally when it’s just us I have all sorts of alone time on the boat – during the overnight runs, the early morning departures when everybody goes back to bed once we’re underway, during the afternoons in marinas when the girls go shopping. But when you have friends aboard, there’s no time for that nonsense. It is non-stop action all the way, especially during a trip like this when the weather is beautiful. But the forecast had come true and today was rainy and windy.

By 10 the thunderstorms had passed and it looked like we had a window to make the jump to our next location – Oswego. The strong winds were blowing south but we’d have good cover for the first fifteen miles of the trip as we hugged the shoreline moving westwards, but at that point we’d have to turn south and face the waves directly. Hopefully it would be manageable.

After Tony snuck into the marina office and underhandedly paid for the dockage (just like he did with the fuel back in Kingston – some people just can’t be trusted with a credit card), we launched and found ourselves alone on the water, but suitably sheltered from the wind. The worst thing in sailing is being rushed, or having to be somewhere at a certain time. We could have stayed in Sackets for another day and night, but we had to be back in Newport by Saturday morning, and there were an awful lot of miles between us and there. So I made the call to leave. But I was regretting that decision when we made the turn around the headland and headed south into the lake. Some of the waves were five to six feet with a short period which was causing the boat to slam up and down into the water, crashing menacingly, tossing us around.  The wind was blowing at 20 - 25 knots but gusting to 30 at times. After a mile or two of that I gave up, turned the boat around, and we sailed back into the cover of the headland, dropped the anchor, and had lunch, hoping the winds would lose strength. I was loathe to return to Sackets, but didn’t want to risk things by continuing on in such bad conditions.

After two hours of waiting the winds had weakened a bit so we secured everything down and powered back into the open lake. The waves were now down to four feet and manageable so we agreed to continue on to Oswego by engine and autopilot.

“What do you think about the water conditions?” asked Angela.

“It’s going to be fine, looks good, no worries,” I replied confidently.

“Then why are you the only one wearing a lifejacket?” she noted.

“Ah ha, you got me there. Yeah, we’re probably going to die, but I prefer a slow, lingering death.”

 The remaining 30 nautical miles ride wasn’t terrible, and SeaLight handled the waves well, but it was slow and took six or seven hours. We arrived in the early evening to a dull, grey, dreary Oswego. On the way into the harbour Tony took a stumble and put his hand right through the canvas, whoops! Nothing a little duct tape can’t fix.

We reversed into our slip at the Oswego Marina then made an immediate and unanimous decision to get the hell off the boat and go find something to eat in town. We halfheartedly put on rain gear and started the trek into downtown, accidentally taking the furthest route possible to the closest restaurant – The Press Box, which we discovered later we could practically see from the marina. The walk was wet and depressing. Any city looks like hell when it’s raining and cloudy, but Oswego looked particularly bad.

The Press Box was your typical American Sports Bar and the food was nothing special, but it filled the gap. They did have one interesting item on the menu called “tossed salad on pizza”. I had to ask.

“Excuse me, what is the tossed salad on pizza?” I asked the server. “Surely it’s not just a salad tossed on top of a pizza, right?”

“That’s exactly what it is. The cook just throws the salad on top of the pizza. Very popular item. Healthy choice.”

Hmmm.

On the way back to the boat we stopped to check out the marina washrooms. The door was propped open with a bucket and there was a guy inside cleaning fish at the sink. It smelled terrible. Tony pointed to the coded lock on the door and asked the guy if he knew the code.

“Sure, it’s 1436, but you don’t need to remember it,” he said, wiping his face with the part of his jacket arm not covered in fish slime.

“Why not?” asked Tony.

“Because somebody carved it into the door frame, see it there?” he said as he pointed his scaly and bloody knife towards it.

“Right, thanks man!”

Back at the boat, I pulled out a USB key Andrew had handed me back in Kingston and stuck it into the tv. A brand new horror movie “Black Phone” started to roll. I actually remained awake for the entire movie. It was excellent.