Travel Reference
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We will never know really what happened, but at the last minute the cursed thing slipped,
and I lost my balance. I let go the engine to save myself and, out of control, it fell suddenly
into the water with a sickening splash of finality and was lost from sight!
There was a stunned silence as the last ripple faded from view. We all stared at the spot
where the engine had fallen in. “Jesus Bloody Christ. You little fools, what did you do?”
screamed Bad Jack. “You fucking idiots!” He was beside himself now. His haggard, ugly
face turned red and then purple; we thought he would drop dead on the deck.
“I'm very sorry, but I slipped and lost my balance,” I said indignantly. Suddenly he went
quiet, then said in an ominous voice that raised the hair on my neck, “You will jolly well
dive that engine up now, or I will call for the marine police. I know you did that to spite me
you God damn bastards!”
The water was at least thirty feet deep out here, murky, and the bottom was black ooze; we
had recently dived in the area and knew full well that the engine was lost for good now.
“Oh no buddy! We most certainly did not drop it on purpose! You tricked us into cleaning
your engine for you, not even bloody well thanking us, not once during this whole salvage
operation. You're a mean and nasty person, and we would thank you for not swearing at
us, but as for deliberately dropping your engine in the water, you are quite wrong. As for
diving it up you can jolly well do that yourself. Good day to you too!” I said with a shaky
voice. With that, I sat down abruptly, noisily shipped the oars into their rowlocks, and
rowed smartly back to our boat.
Gavin sat in white faced silence. We felt bad. Even though the old codger deserved that, we
were shocked at the ugly drama and waste of a good engine. An air of quiet unease settled
over the boat. Later in the evening, we rowed to the club for a hot shower and a beer. We
felt a lot better and started mimicking Bad Jack. “Carrrrefullll now you blerry idjoots, mind
my deck, for Chris' sakes!”
When news of this little event hit the club, we were treated like stars. The laughter and
drinks and hilarious mileage we made from this was quite amazing; they made us tell the
story over and over again, and we ended up acquiring the guitar from Al as an added bonus.
Our attention was now turned to the serious business of crossing the much talked about
Panama Canal, the canal that took almost 40 years to dig. It was first attempted by the
French, who were plagued by thousands of yellow fever and malaria-related deaths and, fi-
nally, by bankruptcy. The Americans took over and finished it at an estimated cost of some
$640 million, moving enough earth to cover an average city block nineteen miles high.
It was estimated that over twenty-five thousand workers died during its construction. The
lock gates were an engineering marvel, taxing the most advanced technological know-how
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