Hello, So, over the winter while contemplating the breaking strength of my wire rigging and figuring out how to divide the inner stay loading amount by two, and the proper angle they should have against the cap shrouds, while at the same time securing my porta-head, and while calculating the the microbial reproduction rates of the scata in my bilge, while at the same time pondering whether I should hook up some reverse diode protection 'schism' to my SUV solar panel mounted inboard on the the port forward window, while at the same time wondering whether I could lead 7/16 rope through a 1/2 inch block to the jib swivel, and at the same time hoping I could just head down to the 'Rez' and pick up a spanking 12V CD player, while at the same time contemplating the gapping on on my spark plugs and the condition of the oil in my lower gearcase, and of course, the weather helm induced by my aft raking mast, I got out of my sweat soaked, permantly ass cheeked, and same impressioned chair and went bloody sailing, bloody... And inevitably we got caught out in a gail while tacking home with no hope of reefing, but this only after a bloody grand run where we figured out how to use the boat hook as a bumpkin pole to hold the working jib out while running, and while securing a 'farmers loop' to an outhaul cleat on the boom to a carabiner to the mid cleats I mounted, to act as a preventer, all so I could dry the ass sweat and wrinkles out from under my bankers chair buttocks, needless to say, the same which then became wrinkled from the salt spray bashing back from under the weather bow... We got soaked, we drank brown Ale, we smoked Cuban pinko' cigars, and domestic cigarettes, we ate fatty steaks from the BBQ, spoke our minds, cat-called an obvious accountant in a Sparks' and Stevens 55 footer, who passed us by - or who we passed by - who had massive flogging sails and a very good looking woman aboard, who held her 'Barbie' smile against the potential danger she was so obviously in, and ultimately, we just felt very small and self-righteous bobbing and fighting upwind to get ourselves home... Happy trails, folks, the day after where you just feel like never gettng out of bed, as I do just now, is worth it... It is confirmation of the adventure, the adaptation, the stupidity and response, and the bloody point of waking up every morning, it is beyond our underwritten mortgages and insured debts, beyond the understanding of our peers who golf or explore the ever interesting world of expression through water colours, voice and poetry... HEH HO... SH.