My Better Half did not get a flight out that night. He had to wait until the next morning, the morning of July 4.
Well, we had a spectacular launch and exactly one week in the water. Then came Arthur. Arthur, who was supposed to turn South. Arthur, who was supposed to fizzle out. Arthur, which wasn’t supposed to be anything to concern ourselves with at all.
Arthur is an Asshole.
From the safety and comfort of my office in Manhattan I began to send out e-mail after e-mail to boat captains. They went something like this:
Hi! We are super nice and super stupid and would you help us bring our boat up from North Carolina to New York? In our naivety we thought we could do it ourselves but we were incorrect. Also, there may be one or two things wrong with our boat but you don’t mind, do you? Also, also, we need it up in New York ASAP since we are going to be kicked out of our temporary housing and will be truly homeless post haste. (You read that right, The Commune is disbanding. It always had an expiration date on it, we just didn’t think we’d be there when it kicked in. More on that later.)
While we were spending our 4 days on The Primrose Path we heard rumors and vague talk of an impending tropical storm. It was basically talk that, although there was a storm out at sea, it was going to turn south down to Florida and we would only get a little rain in NC.
Dad and I left with heavy hearts for not having a productive trip but happy that my Better Half would not have to worry about a tropical storm.
That evening, after I got to The Commune, I called him up and asked how it was going. Fine, he said, except for that tropical storm that’s expected to come up the coast.
Well, it’s just a tropical storm, right? I mean, we survived Hurricane Sandy in our protected, 4th floor apartment in the center of Manhattan. How bad could it be?