TranspacBlog II-28: Crossing tacks

A most amazing race, indeed. The race is over, and we STILL keep running into Farfar. Last night the Psyche crew (not Charlie) and friends enjoyed a luscious dinner party at the Outrigger Canoe Club, right on the Diamond Head side of Waikiki, courtesy of our captain, Steve Calhoun. His generosity overflowed. While we drank our Mai Tai's at sunset, the canoeists were racing down the waves and putting their outriggers away against the wall right next to us. A beautiful tropical sunset, not at sea, but over the hills around Pearl Harbor.

While we stood around enjoying absolutely sumptuous hors d'oeuvres, who should walk in, but the crew of Farfar and their friends. Looking smart and trim, with beautiful wives/girlfriends, we all guffawed and growled, and shook hands yet again. Vonnegut talks about people in your Karass, and how you can't control it. That's the Psyche and Farfar crew. I wonder how many years we will continue to cross tacks.

Then we sat at a long table in the sand, and ate the best meal I've eaten in a very long time.

I am STILL rocking, 30 hours after the race. My muscles are sore all over from the winch grinding and just holding on, in that rocky rolly sea. The callouses are starting to peel off my hands.

I can't help wondering how I would feel about this race if we had sailed 10 minutes slower across 2+ weeks, and lost to the Farfar crew. It is hard to imagine. But I THINK by this long afterward, I'd be getting a sense of perspective.

Bird (my love who came to greet me) and I are sitting in our room in the Bamboo right off Waikiki, considering that we have NO plans, no watch system, no must do, no nothing. It is a real vacation. My colleagues at Chapman call the race a "sailing vacation". Our college president runs in marathons. I'm doubting that his colleagues call it a "running vacation", but maybe they do.

My dad's death memory comes in waves now, not often, but often enough. An emptiness hole feeling that comes to a peak and then dies down over the course of a few minutes. We will be having a memorial service on the 4 August. There will be a gazillion people there; my parents are incredibly social animals, and they've had a pile of years to accumulate close friends. My mom chose the yacht club to honor the primary avocation of my dad, i.e., sailing. I am truly looking forward to hearing from all these old friends, whose stories and humor will help me transform this hole to a fabric of shared memories.

So, that is the last transpac blog. I guess we'll let this series of blogs stand for a while to accumulate your comments. Also, please feel free to comment or email me at wwright at chapman dot edu. Like two years ago, I feel a sense of gratitude to those of you who have told me what fun you had reading the blog. Knowing that you were reading it made it very, very fulfilling to write.