The arrival

Yesterday we had bona fide proof that we had arrived as far as becoming full-time cruisers was concerned. We had a pleasant trip to visit friends on Rock Creek on the Patapsco River outside of Baltimore. We’re cruising along with me leaned back in a Sport-a-seat, auto pilot loosely at my side. Greg is looking pretty relaxed on the other side of the cockpit. A man on a jet ski came up to talk to us. “How far away did you come from?” he yelled. Interesting question. What could have given him the impression we had traveled a long way? Surely not the dingy dinghy hanging off the stern obscuring our hailing port of Annapolis. Nor could it be the dodgy, mildewed fenders askew on the transom. Uncovered barbecue pit? Maybe. Dirty canvas? Just a slight possibility. Stuff on the aft deck and fishing poles in the rod holders? Remote evidence at best. So Greg calls back, “Maine.” The man said, “Welcome to Baltimore, where the beer is cold and the crabs are hot.”

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