Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Gavin now rowed off with scrapers, wire wool, a bucket, and Murphy, the full grown ginger
tomcat leaning up in the bow, his front paws on the gunnel, head held high, sniffing the
intoxicating shoreline with regal impatience. I decided to service all the winches as I had
noticed they had become sticky and sluggish. From my tool locker below the companion-
way steps I retrieved a large star screwdriver, petroleum grease, rags, scotchbrite pad, and
paint thinners. I began with my favorite bronze Genoa sheet winches in the cockpit. These
were Gibbs, made in England, probably the finest winches they ever made. They were old
and scratched, battered and scarred, from many a rough handling out at sea in both smooth
and rough sailing. They were my jib sheet winches, two speeds, one for quick snubbing in
and one for close muscle work. I have used them in conjunction with each other to haul
Déjà vu off a reef. They would ring out like bells when you spun them with a loose sheet
wrapped around their barrels. They were honest as the day was long; they never once failed
me and were easy to maintain. When shined up with a buffing paste, they blinked like gold
in the sun.
Later in the evening we went down the street to my friend Jeri's house. She had the longest,
wildest hair I've yet to see on any woman. We had a barbecue in her back garden which
was almost on the beach.
Her laughter was infectious and she was generous to a fault. She was frighteningly intelli-
gent, and I felt intimidated from the beginning of our friendship. I was very indebted to all
the things she had done for me and the things she had given me, most of all herself. When I
eventually cruised south with Gavin, I left her with the kitchen table I had made for her and
my old acoustic guitar, hoping to even the score up a little, which I believe I never could.
While she and I explored the possibility of a relationship (we had many a great laugh and
some wonderfully romantic times), at the end of the day we realized that it wasn't meant
to be. I was a few years younger than her, which shouldn't have made much difference, but
it did. There is a psychological disadvantage men feel when their partners are older (and
wiser?) than them. How fragile some of us men are!
One weekend she drove me across the island to spend a day and a night at a very fancy
hotel. We were having the proverbial dirty weekend, although we had had many of those
on-board Déjà vu, even one which ended in the car park of the Coconut Island jetty late
one amorous night! Jeri worked hard at being trashy for me, but she was too much a blue-
blooded lady. I did love her for that.
The weekend weather at the hotel was hot and humid. There was a full moon, and the
Hawaiian night breeze that wafted through the palm trees carried heady scents of Franji
pani blossoms, night blooming jasmine, and great hotel food. Jeri had warned me before-
