all the jet skis this morning—even all the WaveRunners are gone—but I was thinking we could take—”
I didn’t finish my sentence before Lexie spotted the kayak I’d dragged to the shore and exclaimed,
“Bob!
Wow, it’s been so long! I mean, I don’t think we’ve taken him out since, what, the summer we got our jet-ski licenses? Do you think we will both still fit?”
“I don’t really know,” I teased. “It can only carry 350 pounds, and I hit around 145 last week, so it might be a little close.”
“Hey, I’m not the one who ate two hamburgers, a hotdog, half a bag of Doritos, and four cookies last night, Mr. Carb-a- load!” Lexie had stayed for dinner the previous night since her mom had worked the late shift.
“I was hungry! And no more junk food starting on Monday, anyhow—I gotta get ready for cross-country.”
“Yeah, from here on out it’s just quinoa and kale for both of us. You better enjoy those cookies while you can get them.” Lexie laughed.
“I know.’ I sighed. “And you know I wouldn’t break the cardinal guy rule and tease you about your weight unless you could afford to eat two dozen cookies.” She flushed a little and I continued, “Come on, we will totally still fit.”
Bob
technically only had one seat, but Lexie and I took turns perching on the hull of the kayak while the other person paddled. “It’s weird, but I’m so excited!” she gushed. “Just seeing
Bob
brings back so many memories.”
“No kidding,” I agreed. My family bought the Hobie kayak when I was about eleven, and at the time I thought
Bob
was the coolest boat on the planet. To two eleven-year old kids, the kayak represented absolute freedom.
Unlike a typical kayak that only moves when you paddle,
Bob
was equipped with a mast and a sail. “I think we’re going to get some sailing in today,” I said to Lexie, “’cause do you feel that breeze? It’s perfect.”
“And hey, ‘I sail; I sail. I mean, the boat does most of the work, but I sail,’” she quoted.
“Oh, you beat me to it!” I complained with a laugh. Whenever we sailed, we shared an ongoing joke about who would be the first to quote the crazy character from the old movie
What About
Bob?
I know that boats are always supposed to be female, but this kayak was definitely
Bob
in honor of Bill Murray.
Lexie and I clipped into our life jackets, slid
Bob
out into the water, and waded in after him. “Why don’t you take the first shift in the captain’s seat?” she said.
“Sounds good, but with this wind, I doubt we’ll have to do much paddling.” I steadied the kayak so she could sit on the hull.
It turned out I was right about not having to paddle, since the wind really did all the work. It must have been blowing between ten and fifteen miles an hour, and before we knew it we’d zipped across the lake and into the northern inlet behind Kettle Rock. The water levels had dropped that summer, revealing a good-sized cave we’d never explored on the rocky shore of a protected little cove. Lexie and I dragged the kayak onto the rugged coastline where we ate lunch and polished off the cookies from the night before. We spent about an hour climbing the rocks in and around the cave, then swam in the shallow water nearby.
When we finally put
Bob
back in the water and set the sail to return to the marina, I saw clouds passing over the sun, and felt a light rain. I didn’t think much of it and was glad at first for the relief from the heat. But as we paddled into the open, I noticed the large banks of dark clouds edging over three sides of the lake. Not just ordinary dark clouds, but fat, angry clouds that billowed and grew.
The wind that made such great sailing suddenly stilled, and the light rain stopped. We debated about whether this was the calm before the storm.
“What do you think?” She looked into the blackening sky. “I say we’re not even going to make it back to shore, let alone to the marina, before this storm
I didn’t finish my sentence before Lexie spotted the kayak I’d dragged to the shore and exclaimed,
“Bob!
Wow, it’s been so long! I mean, I don’t think we’ve taken him out since, what, the summer we got our jet-ski licenses? Do you think we will both still fit?”
“I don’t really know,” I teased. “It can only carry 350 pounds, and I hit around 145 last week, so it might be a little close.”
“Hey, I’m not the one who ate two hamburgers, a hotdog, half a bag of Doritos, and four cookies last night, Mr. Carb-a- load!” Lexie had stayed for dinner the previous night since her mom had worked the late shift.
“I was hungry! And no more junk food starting on Monday, anyhow—I gotta get ready for cross-country.”
“Yeah, from here on out it’s just quinoa and kale for both of us. You better enjoy those cookies while you can get them.” Lexie laughed.
“I know.’ I sighed. “And you know I wouldn’t break the cardinal guy rule and tease you about your weight unless you could afford to eat two dozen cookies.” She flushed a little and I continued, “Come on, we will totally still fit.”
Bob
technically only had one seat, but Lexie and I took turns perching on the hull of the kayak while the other person paddled. “It’s weird, but I’m so excited!” she gushed. “Just seeing
Bob
brings back so many memories.”
“No kidding,” I agreed. My family bought the Hobie kayak when I was about eleven, and at the time I thought
Bob
was the coolest boat on the planet. To two eleven-year old kids, the kayak represented absolute freedom.
Unlike a typical kayak that only moves when you paddle,
Bob
was equipped with a mast and a sail. “I think we’re going to get some sailing in today,” I said to Lexie, “’cause do you feel that breeze? It’s perfect.”
“And hey, ‘I sail; I sail. I mean, the boat does most of the work, but I sail,’” she quoted.
“Oh, you beat me to it!” I complained with a laugh. Whenever we sailed, we shared an ongoing joke about who would be the first to quote the crazy character from the old movie
What About
Bob?
I know that boats are always supposed to be female, but this kayak was definitely
Bob
in honor of Bill Murray.
Lexie and I clipped into our life jackets, slid
Bob
out into the water, and waded in after him. “Why don’t you take the first shift in the captain’s seat?” she said.
“Sounds good, but with this wind, I doubt we’ll have to do much paddling.” I steadied the kayak so she could sit on the hull.
It turned out I was right about not having to paddle, since the wind really did all the work. It must have been blowing between ten and fifteen miles an hour, and before we knew it we’d zipped across the lake and into the northern inlet behind Kettle Rock. The water levels had dropped that summer, revealing a good-sized cave we’d never explored on the rocky shore of a protected little cove. Lexie and I dragged the kayak onto the rugged coastline where we ate lunch and polished off the cookies from the night before. We spent about an hour climbing the rocks in and around the cave, then swam in the shallow water nearby.
When we finally put
Bob
back in the water and set the sail to return to the marina, I saw clouds passing over the sun, and felt a light rain. I didn’t think much of it and was glad at first for the relief from the heat. But as we paddled into the open, I noticed the large banks of dark clouds edging over three sides of the lake. Not just ordinary dark clouds, but fat, angry clouds that billowed and grew.
The wind that made such great sailing suddenly stilled, and the light rain stopped. We debated about whether this was the calm before the storm.
“What do you think?” She looked into the blackening sky. “I say we’re not even going to make it back to shore, let alone to the marina, before this storm
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