Evanston: time standing still and moving on
Evanston: time standing still and moving on
I landed at O’Hare at 6:45 p.m. on Friday, November 9, twenty minutes before I took off from Auckland. Unfortunately not teleportation--19 hours had elapsed--but the International Dateline.
The flights were relatively painless. That on Air New Zealand from Auckland to Los Angeles was only half full and I had a three-seat row to myself. Watched a couple of movies. Got some sleep. I was awake at the moment when we crossed the Equator north of the Marquesas Islands. I have crossed the Equator eleven times under sail. Twice almost directly under where the airplane then was. I don’t know how many times I’ve crossed in the air.
In Los Angeles I trundled my overweight carryon bag, which is my only luggage on the flights from the boat, through Customs and walked from the Air New Zealand terminal to that of United Airlines. A huge and increasing crowd was standing outside because it had been cleared due to a perceived security threat. After twenty minutes they let us in and various government employees shouted at us as we shuffled through inspection points as though we were draftees in the army, as I suppose we are.
I made my next flight easily and unexpectedly slept some during the four hours to Chicago, where Carol, looking extraordinarily pretty, met me. It took another hour to cover the fourteen miles from O’Hare to our condo in Evanston and a bottle of champagne.
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I didn’t go ashore my last day on the boat. I did wrestle the mainsail from its bag onto the boom. Rolled it would have fit in the cabin, but very much been in the way, so better to do it then than when I return and am tired.
The day was mostly sunny. I pumped a little water out of the bilge and from the engine compartment, cleaned, read, listened to music, had an abbreviated final drink on deck before being driven below by a cool south wind, watched a movie, was up at 6:00 a.m. and rowed ashore on the last of the rising tide at 7:30.
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66. A sexual position for the mathematically challenged. A fabled American highway that inspired a song and a television series. My age today.
It is 6:00 a.m. Still dark before dawn. I was on the boat on my birthday last year. I’ll have Carol take a photo of me later; and although I don’t usually resume my exercises this soon after flying, I will today. Four more years before doing my age in push-ups becomes problematical.
It was a pleasant if not particularly memorable year. I wrote a couple of articles and this journal. Sailed a few hundred miles along the New Zealand coast. Flew three times from the warmer to the cooler side of the world. Took some photographs. Lost an inch of skin to surgeons. Worked on the boat. Painted most of the condo.
Next year will be different. I’ll set off to sail around something. Perhaps just Australia; perhaps the world again. That colors everything.
Sunday, November 11, 2007