But it was hard work.
In the first place bussing it out to the marina with my kayak cart folded up and strapped onto the pack frame.
Then figuring out how to get the motherfucking heavy ass dory high enough to get the cart under it.
Then pushing said cart with said heavy ass boat aboard up the steep ass ramp to the parking lot.
I was dyin', and getting hotter and hotter by the minute.
So I hosed her down and washed out some sand but it is tenacious stuff and I never did get it all. Enough, hopefully.
Sure enough, the paint had covered a major caulking failure around the starboard garboard plank-end, so I dug in there with a razor knife and my Nan Kitchens patented Florida Awl and managed to open her up enough to get some red-lead Brown30 in there.In the end I was confident because it did seem like this seam had been intended to receive cotton-and-paste caulking which had not been renewed when whoever idiot put all that rubber bullshit in the bottom seams.
The I tried to run a little bead of Henry's Wet Patch roofing cement in a caulking tube into the insides of the bottom seams to keep out the sand in future. The stuff behaved reasonably, considering that it always goes everywhere but I did manage to make a fairly continuous job of it. Because wet-patch it has alcohol in it that dissolves any water that would otherwise interfere with the bond if you put it where there is still wetness down in there. It's great stuff you can patch a leak in an asphalt shingle roof in the pouring rain, that is if you can find the actual leak. Altogether I used about 2/3 of 1 tube.
Made a tripod out of oars and a 2x4 to hang a tackle from to lift things high enough to place the dolly and it almost worked but by this time it was 2 PM and I was burnt out luckily Jean, my new friend who owns the marina came home and she helped me place the dolly again after my apparatus finally failed and with her spotting ma and blocking the wheels for my frequent rest stops, we got the dory down to the water finally I was so tired and wanting to die from the heat and fatigue.
So to celebrate I rowed over to the other side of the channel and I shucked off down to my bikini and I got to swim around and around and cool off.
While I was at the marina somebody ran off the road up on highway 30 and creamed the bus stop sign, absolutely shredded into many pieces.
Then this painter dude gets on the bus in Linnton at 4:07, talking on his cell, pays his fare, talking on his cell, sits down across from me, talking talking, hoo hoo hoo, heh heh heh, fake phony laugh, jiggling his knees and slapping thighs and at 4:56 when I got off the bus at my house he was still talking.
Last time I went out to the boat a young jerri-curled extension-dripping bootilicious fingernail freak got on a near-empty bus, sat down behind, directly behind my seat, leaned forward to let her grease-locks hang free while she whipped out her cell and dialed in some thug-life cohort and talked at 96 db within 9 inches of my left ear until I freaked out, utterly outraged and got the fuck off the bus 6 blocks from home. Fuck it I'll walk..
Why isn't it OK to shoot these mugs?
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