We spread sunblock on our faces, arms and legs. I am lounging in the cockpit of Silver Girl, our 31 foot sailboat. 80 degrees, sunny skies, fair winds. Time to throw off the lines. I can smell it, taste it, feel it on my skin. The Bahamas are only 100 miles away. 700 islands, crystal clear water, pink sandy beaches,no time-lines, no schedule or personality conflicts.
Silver Girl has air conditioning, an
So, do we trade this relative luxury for a cramped ’67 Beetle with no comforts at all? But Stewball is now in the middle of the Pacific, and I do want to see him again. And I do want to see China, Kazakhstan, Russia and Europe. And Jan, she’s intent on this new adventure and Silver Girl doesn’t go without her. So, I open my eyes, set aside this dream, check the lines because tomorrow we start for home and wait for the conference call that will tell us whether we are racing, rallying or touring for the remaining 9,000 miles.
And I will be on the road to Paris. I can’t say it better than Kyle Vanderhorn did:
I shall tell this story with no glee,
to grandchildren gathered at my knee.
Two road diverge in a wood and I,
I watch my fellow man and know
Which is the easy way to go.
But alas my ego takes control
Inflicting abuse upon my soul
I take the road where they don’t go,
And learn abruptly what they know.
(The Long Road to Paris, pg. 187)
So, I WILL leave behind beautiful blue water and fair winds and take the unknown road to Paris,