I received the following story from Rick Eggers, Mental Floss.
I can't believe the dumb thing I did!
The Trailer Sailor
The sun was unbearable as the sweat ran down my forehead into my eyes. It was only April, but southern Florida’s summer weather was well on the way. I hurried to finish the last few of my tasks at work, because I wanted to get home. My new mylar sails had arrived the previous day, and I couldn’t wait to hoist them.
Traffic was heavy as usual during tourist season, so my trip home was longer than normal. I grew impatient waiting for red lights to turn, and the little old ladies driving thirty miles per hour in the left lane didn’t help matters. I stuck a Jerry Jeff Walker CD in the player and cruised to “Let Her Go” followed by “LA Freeway”. Finally I was home.
I backed the car up to the trailer of my Mac 26S where it sat in the yard. I had to move it out into the driveway so I could raise the mast without the trees in the way. I climbed up on the boat and, first things first, I turned the Sirius radio on to “Radio Margaritaville”. A Bob Marley song was playing. Perfect! Soon I had the mast up and was working to attach the boom. The humidity must have been around the normal 98 or so, because I was drenched. It was time for a beer.
I unpacked the spanking new mylar 150 genoa and laid it on the deck. The old working jib came down from the furler easily and I packed it in a bag. Sorry I thought, but you’re second string now. Same with the main sail, this was the original main for this boat. Think of the miles and smiles, islands and sunsets, warm gulf breezes and screaming thunderstorms this sail has seen. Oh well, in the bag with you. I inserted the new sail’s leading edge in the furler track and started hoisting. She was beautiful, all shiny white with red and blue threads criss-crossing in the material, and the black border to protect it from the sun’s unforgiving rays. I tied the sheets to the clew and ran them back to the cleats. A breeze filled the sail and I just smiled. It was beautiful.
Just then my wife came out. I proudly exclaimed “Look!” She glanced up at the sail and mumbled something like “nice…I need the car.” I told her to go ahead and unhook the trailer, and put a couple two-by-fours by the trailer tires so it wouldn’t roll, which she did as I slowly put the slugs in the mast and hoisted the main. She left in the car before I was finished. No matter. I could enjoy this moment by myself. I cracked open another beer, cleated off the main and sat down in the cockpit. I looked up at the sparkling new sails, imagining myself approaching a deserted beach in the Abacos, or trying to make the windward mark in a race. Oh yeah. I couldn’t wait to actually sail the boat with these sails.
My fantasy was interrupted by a gust of wind, and I thought for a second that I felt the boat move. I know she put those wood blocks down, I saw her bring them out. Then another gust hit and the boat moved about a foot. Before I could even grab the halyard to start bringing the main down, we were moving down the driveway. I looked back at the two-by-fours lying in the driveway. She must have put them behind the tires! Now what would I do? I looked ahead and the road was clear. The first thing I had to do was get around the corner so I wouldn’t hit the curb across the street from my driveway. The wind was off the starboard side and it was a gentle turn to the left. I let the main all the way out and pulled the genny tight. The wind pushed that big sail to the left and turned the trailer. Out of habit, I grabbed the tiller and pulled it over. Geez, that was dumb. I held my breath as the trailer’s nose wheel just missed the curb. Now I was heading straight down the street with the wind off the starboard stern. The main caught the wind again and we were really moving. The little plastic wheel on the trailer tongue was just screaming. There were a couple kids skateboarding down the sidewalk as I approached from behind. They heard the noise from the wheel and turned around. They looked startled at first then started pointing and laughing. I sheepishly waved as I flew past. They tried to keep up with me as more kids in the neighborhood heard the commotion and joined the chase. Soon I had two skateboarders, three kids on bikes, two kids running and two barking dogs following me down the road. I had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. I actually was starting to enjoy it, playing with the sail trim to keep the boat going straight. I began pondering what I was going to do to stop this thing when I woman in car approach form the other direction. As she passed me, I saw she was frantically pushing buttons on her cell phone, no doubt calling the police. Before I went another block, a cruiser was behind me with his lights on and siren blaring. He must have been in the neighborhood. Just my luck. I released both sheets, opened the lazerette and pulled out the stern anchor, tossed it over onto the grass and waited as the hook grabbed hold and the boat clunked to a stop against the curb.
He walked slowing around the entire boat, pausing to look at the trailer tongue wheel, now smoking from the friction. Finally he made his way to the cockpit. After cussing me out about public safety, trailer safety, and listing all the laws, municipal ordinances, and other rules I broke that he could write me up for, he said “Not to mention speeding.”
“Speeding?” I questioned as he really had my attention now.
“I clocked you at 23 miles per hour in the school zone, which is posted at 15”
“Twenty three? No kidding?” I grinned, as he continued to scold me saying it was no laughing matter. I saw a twinkle as he was obviously trying not to laugh himself. I thought “There, Billy. Who says an S can’t keep up to an X? Twenty three! Twenty three!!! Hah!”
The cop went back to his car, and I watched as he talked on the radio, looked at his computer screen and started writing. It seemed like a lot of writing before he finally came back to the boat. He basically let me off with a lot of warnings and as he handed me my copy of the citation, I saw the date in the upper left corner, April 1st.
