I last left you in West End, an expensive, half-finished hellhole of a resort with a rocky, weedy beach, strong winds, no shade, and a hundred no-see-ums vying for a choice capillary on my left ankle. Even Pope got bit!! (Grin. Now he can be more sympathetic.)
We crossed the Atlantic Gulf Stream on Sunday. After the first two hours of agitation on the whites/cottons cycle, the waters calmed down to perma press.
We were able to sail for a while, and by the time we neared Florida, switched entirely to the gentle cycle. Entering Palm Beach inlet and anchorage, we passed a dozen or so boats who had left Wesr End with us and passed us by, leaving us in their wake. Only one 32-foot, whose crew we met in Green Turtle, arrived at the same time.
I settled down for a relaxing return to the USA and leisurely journey home.
Alas, twas not to be. We were tentatively headed for a storage facility in North Florida, a week away, near Jacksonville. Instead, our second night out, at a marina in Ft. Pierce, we realized that lots of boat sales were taking place right there! Revelation! Not ones to be left behind, we got with the program quickly and begged a boat broker: Me, too! Sell ours!
The drill: in a mere 24 hours, we made decisions, rented a van and a storage locker, negotiated a broker contract, cleaned out 7 holds, 9 shelves, 1 closet, and the whole quarter-berth, cramming our 4,700 pounds of stuff--or so it seemed; the boat lifted 4 inches out of the water!!--either into the storage locker or in the van to take home; visited with our old friends on Pearl (remember them?) who are living here; and still managed to gobble down a meal or two. Whew. A marathon.
More work is in store tomorrow: cleaning the boat, pumping out the holding tank, moving to a new slip for the long term, and then, if we have any energy left at all, starting for home with the van--due back to Budget in DC on Sunday at 2:00 pm. A long drive with a full car and tired limbs; one we are not exactly looking forward to!