It’s All Coming Together

The Great Hudson River Trip 2010 is quickly coming together. I’ve mentioned a few things we need to do to Sabine to make this trip a reality. We have a list, we’re already checking things off of it and we’ve barely scratched April’s surface.

1. We built the plywood templates for the new fuel tanks. We fit them into the space and then marked where the fittings are supposed to go for the filling hose, the feed and return lines to the engine and generator, the sender for the fuel gauge and the vents. On Saturday morning we drove the plywood templates across the bay to Bristol, RI where we met with the welder.

Going to the welder's shop was a nostalgia trip for me. I practically grew up in a machine shop much like the one we visited on Saturday morning. The smell of the machine oil, the sound of metal chips crunching under my feet as I walked, and the sight of the grease streaked walls were entirely comforting and familiar. I inhaled deeply and was instantly brought home. Normal people are brought home by the smell of baking bread, or cookies, or whatever Mom’s specialty was. Not me. It’s eau d’machine oil for me, my friends.

We’ll have brand new aluminum tanks in about two weeks. Better still, my boat will carry more fuel than the jeep for the first time in seven years.

2. Last weekend we installed a brand new alternator, pulley system and belt to Sabine’s Yanmar diesel engine. Last season the diesel, less than 10 years old, chewed through fan belts at an alarming rate. The smell of burning rubber singed our nostrils when under power, and a fine layer of shredded rubber coated every inch of the engine. A normal engine wears out a belt every few years. We were burning 3-5 belts a season, more of them as the years wore on.

When we pulled the pulleys off the engine, we noticed that they were precariously rusted to the point where the jagged edges caused Sabine’s increased appetite for fan belts. The rust was caused by an elaborate system of leaks remedied by the Great Paint Job of 2009.  We cleaned the layer of grimy rubber powder off the engine, installed a higher output alternator, pretty blue pulleys and a wider belt that is less likely to slip. The alternator will power our house bank of batteries so we can do things like turn on the lights indoors when we’re at anchor, and we’ll be able to do that for longer periods of time without fear of running down the batteries.

3. “But I thought you had radar aboard,” is something we hear from our boating friends. They point to the radar dome perched on the mizzen mast. I reply, cheekily, “Yeah, our radar dome is decorative. Sure is purty, eh?” But the lack of radar is becoming more and more of a problem. There have been many times where we’ve been stuck somewhere due to foggy conditions. A functional radar is a necessity that we’ve never had.

We’ve tried to make the radar functional, without success. Last week I spent an obnoxious amount of time on the phone with Raymarine tech support to determine what we need to get the radar functioning. We are currently waiting for just one more cable, and then we’ll be able to wire up the radar properly and hopefully check it off the list.

4. On Easter we cleaned out the gear room in our house in preparation of the Beej and Todd adventure season. In the ungodly mess that the gear room had become, we found bits and parts that we’ll need to work our way through the list for the remainder of April and May.

5. I’ve gotten ALL of my vacation time off approved. It’s marked on my Outlook calendar, and I keep staring at it longingly. We’ll be on the water for 2 weeks in July and then another week in August. I have the signed PTO forms in my desk at work, and I feel like jumping up and down every time I look at those as well. Just today, Todd emailed me and told me he was having a bad day. I took screen shots of my Outlook calendar and emailed them to him and said “Yeah, today you might be having a bad day. But look at this, we have a possible 25 days on the water coming up. Keep your eye on the prize!”

Now we just need to plan the trip… find amenities along the Hudson to make sure we can get things like fuel and fresh water. We’ve been reading guides and researching on the Internet on our spare time. More importantly, we also need to find a place where Todd and I will maintain one of our favorite vacation traditions: the buying of my vacation bling.

I Love it When That Happens

Restoring a sailboat is a financial mirage. Things that you thought would be a very cheap and easy fix often end up being very expensive. This is usually due to ripping a system out to find something like rotted wood behind it or another broken system that also needs replacing adjacent to the one you just ripped out. Or it’s due to a crappy former boat owner who did something stupid like splice wires together with masking tape, so then we have to replace the broken thing, or the rotted thing, or the masking taped thing as well.

Todd and I are in the midst of replacing or 7 year old temporary fuel tank. We have a space for the tank that’s 45” by 39” and 13” deep. The companion way (door) that is about 29” inches, thus making it impossible to get a 39” tank through the door.

Imagine buying a gigantic couch that will fit beautifully in the room, but it’s so gigantic you can’t get it though the door. So, instead you buy a sectional so you can get the pieces of your gigantic couch through the door. That’s how we’re handing the fuel tank/door issue. We decided that we’d have two tanks constructed that we’ll link together, so that we can fill as much of that space with fuel as possible and still get the tanks through the door.

We constructed plywood templates of the tanks that we’ll dry fit into the space first, and then we’ll have aluminum tanks made. We need to find a vendor to make these tanks, and we're fairly certain it won't be cheap.  Just today Todd and I had this conversation about it over email:

Todd: I just got a quote back on the larger of the two tanks. (Insert a number that is easily 1/3 of what we expected to spend.)

Beej: Was that quote from a welder or an origamist?

Todd: A welder.

Beej: But will the tanks be made out of, you know, actual metal?

You never really know until you get the finished product, I guess.

Accomplishments

We've now owned this boat for seven years. In those years we've restored every single system in the boat. We've put in a new steering system because the prior owner neglected to tell us that the hydraulic steering system was leaking in to the pantry. (When the outside of an unopened jar of peanut butter is oily, you've got a problem.) There was a massive leak where the propeller shaft enters the boat, which we fixed last season. We ripped out the water tanks and installed new ones, along with new hot and cold water lines and an electric hot water heater. (Our diesel engine also doubles as a hot water heater.) We take our hot showers in a newly tiled shower as well.

This season, so far, has been riddled with big boat accomplishments. I've shown you the paint job already. And we've also installed new canvas around the cockpit, so it'll stay nice and dry in the rain. The cockpit often doubles as the living room when aboard, and it's nice that the rain doesn't get on our couch or easy chair. We fixed the auto pilot, and now we can have a mini computer keeping a course for us. We can also steer the auto pilot from a Gameboy sized remote control as well.

There have been two nagging projects that we checked off the big list this year, and we crossed them off over the long weekend. One of them was installation of brand new dinghy davits. The davits are these poles that stick out the back of the boat, and we can now hook up our dinghy to them and hoist the dinghy out of the water. Like so:


Extra special thanks to my brother Kaz and his mad machining skillz. My brother MADE these davits (the curved poles in the picture). He made them. With his own bare hands.


Now that we've painted the boat with the black accent, you can see the dragons near the bow of the boat. For some reason, I crave Chinese food every time I am aboard now. I can't quite put my finger on the reason why.

The next nagging project was putting the correct name on the boat. The prior owner had named the boat "Tara Vana" which, allegedly, means "Crazy Man" in Tahitian. I am usually very suspicious of names and characters in languages that I cannot understand. For seven years, the name plates read what might possibly be "American Asshole" in Tahitian. Not anymore. I present to you you, Sabine, with her given and proper name emblazoned on her:

But wait, there's more!

In this one you can see the full enclosure over the cockpit. The panels are rolled open here, but when they are all rolled down the cockpit is completely enclosed.

And now all I want to do is spend every single waking moment aboard my dry, shiny boat

D’oh!

On Sunday we installed a brand new hydraulic steering pump. The pump sits behind the steering wheel, and has hoses connected to it. When the wheel is turned, the pump squirts hydraulic steering fluid into the appropriate hose. The fluid runs down the hose and applies pressure to the hydraulic steering ram, which then directs the rudder to point in the appropriate direction.

We installed brand new hoses on Sunday as well. The hoses start at the pump, and run down the steering column through the floor of the cockpit and into the pantry below. We secured the hoses to the ceiling of the pantry, and then ran them down the aft wall into the engine room. The hoses were secured to that wall, and then were run beneath it, just above the propeller shaft, and then curved upward under our bed in the master stateroom. Just aft of our bed is the hydraulic ram which controls the rudder on the outside of the boat.

We handled the hoses as if they were constructed out of radioactive material. Over the course of pulling them though all those twists and turns they could chafe on any sharp edges and eventually rupture and leak—just like the old ones had. We hooked them up to the autopilot mechanism, which is located under Todd’s side of the bed, where his torso lies when he’s sleeping. We secured the hoses into place, attached them to the pump, the ram and the autopilot.

Then we attached the steering wheel to the pump. The hub of the steering wheel does not fit the new pump. The wheel now too loosely hangs on the pump, and the wheel jiggles as if to say “If you try to steer with me I am going to fall off and you’ll be left holding a steering wheel attached to nothing. And then you’ll hit something.”

In my experience, with boat restoration, when we solve one problem we’re often faced with another. But this time the problem is a bit larger. How the heck are we going to steer this boat?

If You Have To Ask, You Can't Afford It

Sabine's still in the shed getting the finishing touches put on and she'll hit the water next week. We've been working on various boat projects every night after work and on the weekends to get her ready. The paint's done, the varnish is done, and now we have to do things like repair the leaking hydraulic steering, you know, so it doesn't leak anymore.

Today we were working, when our friend Tonya came by. While Todd took off with her for a few minutes I sat in the truck resting. Some people came into the shed, and I automatically ducked out of view so I could watch them. There are tools strewn all over the place in the shed, along with other way more expensive boats. When Todd and I are working in the shed over the weekends we are always very careful about not leaving the doors unlocked because we are paranoid about something expensive that does not belong to us getting stolen. So, I ducked down and watched these people as they walked through the shed to check out our boat, and the two other boats in there with us. I figured that if their fingers got sticky I could jump out and let them know that they were not alone.

"Wow, this boat is gorgeous," one of the men said as they walked around my boat.

"I wonder if it's for sale. I wonder how much it would cost," the other replied.

"Yeah, probably couldn't afford it," the first man laughed. They left the shed, thankfully without stealing anything. But it was gratifying to hear that someone thought our boat looked so good that it was entirely unaffordable. What a nice change from hearing "Wow, you've got yourself a project, eh?" from other strangers who saw our boat.

Until now, I called Sabine a "90 mile boat" because "She looks good from 90 miles away." Not anymore.

Now, the unveiling.

First let me show you the rebuilding of the companionway hatch. This hatch is kind of like the front door to a house. It's the hatch you go through from the cockpit into the interior of the boat. You slide it open and walk down the companionway into the inside of the boat. The wood on the underside had rotted so badly that it eventually sagged and the hatch became increasingly difficult to open. Eventually I had to brace my legs against the seat in the cockpit and shove at the hatch with all of my might, summoning all the strength of my "sailor mouth" and grunting various phrases starting with "mother."

We completely disassembled the hatch, but managed to salvage the teak on the top. We fiberglassed a piece of marine plywood underneath it, then we fiberglassed the teak on top of it.

Here we're fiberglassing the trim pieces on the edges. We put down some fiberglass resin and clamped it into place so it would dry in place overnight.

Like this.

Here you can see how it would look with the teak on top.

Now you can see the paint job. Put your bibs on, because you're going to drool.

The black parts just below the dragons are our name plates. I haven't gotten a pic of it yet, but now it says "Sabine" on those name plates. We've owned the boat for seven years now, and hadn't bothered to correct the name plates.
*swoon*

Perfection!

It’s Just Not Right

Every year it happens, just like clockwork. The weather warms up. May becomes June. Sailboats in the distance dot the bay. Todd and I make a list of boat projects we’d like to accomplish. We scramble to complete them because we know that once Sabine’s tied to her mooring we will lose all motivation to work on any of those projects. We’re too busy having fun instead. We complete maybe half of the list and say “We’ll finish next year.”

This year the list is longer than most because of the complete refit. We haven’t had access to the interior of the boat all winter, due to the boat yard painting and varnishing the interior. We lazed around all winter, until recent weeks. Now the boat’s painted, but the leaking hydraulic steering system has been ripped out. Replacement parts have been purchased but not installed yet. All of the “stuff” that was on the deck of the boat was moved below so that the yard guys could paint. Now that “stuff” is all over the place in the interior of the boat. A fine layer of dust covers everything. There’s more junk in the cabinets from past completed or abandoned projects. It’s everywhere, spilling out of cabinets that won’t close anymore. Books with moldy pages, Christmas lights, 12,784 miles of extension cords, a broken clock… why are we keeping this crap?

The list is swelling as we think of more projects that we need to complete, faster than it could ever hope to shrink. The installation of solar panels has been pushed down toward the bottom, while installing the anchor windlass has been pushed toward the top.

We spent all day Saturday and all day Sunday working on the boat. On Saturday we painted the boot stripe (the stripe that falls right at the water line). On Sunday we cleaned out most of the cabinets in the interior, and threw out much of the crap that was in there. I scrubbed every inch of the "living room," but still have the forward stateroom, our stateroom, the bathroom, shower and galley to scrub. I took all the cushions outside, drenched them with Febreze, and let them dry in the sun. We nearly finished constructing the lid for the hatch that’s way in the back of the boat. I finished sanding the nameplates, and then we will fill them in with fiberglass and paint them black. The sign company will stick letters on them that say “Sabine” and “East Greenwich, RI” on them in a font that we will deliberate over for far too long.

The weekends are not enough anymore. Wanting to restore a great old boat and get to actually use it takes a lot of time. Work, though necessary to finance the restoration and use of a sailboat, has become inconvenient. I feel myself growing disgruntled at the concept of having to show up to work every day at 8:00 AM, and having to stay there staring at a computer screen until 5:00 PM. In my mind the list remains, with items uncrossed. The clock in the corner of the computer screen mockingly ticks away valuable minutes that could have been spent elsewhere.

Every spring something else happens too. The walls of the cubicle close in on me. I stare up at them and wonder if it is my imagination, or if they are actually slanting inward. Though I like the job, I resent that it keeps me from living the life I want to lead. I resent having to ask permission to take time off. I resent the stressful moments while I wait to be granted permission to take vacation time. I resent giving “the man” the best years of my life.

I grow irritable. I become a nightmare to live with and to work with. I plot. I ponder. I grumble. I leave the office at 5 on the dot with a trace of fire in my footprints. I clench my jaw at the surprise project dropped into my lap on a Friday afternoon. I shake my fist at the sky and say “It’s just not right!”

Yet, for some reason I’ve never bought a Powerball ticket.

By Land and By Sea

I always experience mixed emotions on Sunday nights. I am usually winding down from a weekend filled with activity. I spend the evening being mellow so I can get to sleep at a reasonable hour and get some sleep so I can get up the next morning and go to work. I reflect on the fun from the weekend and dread going to work on Monday. I like my job, but I like weekends better than having to be in a cubicle at 8 AM on a Monday morning.

The weather is getting warmer, and Todd and I have been unsticking our butts from the couch. On Saturday morning we explored our town by canoe. There are loads of little ponds, rivers and lakes in Podunk just waiting for us to paddle through them.

We put the canoe in the water at Zeke’s Bridge, a boat launch where we often take to dogs for a swim. We ducked under the bridge and headed south. Eventually we paddled under I-95 and the lake thinned to a snake of a river. It’s times like these that I wish I had a crappy little digital camera I could just slip into my pocket. I have a very nice digital camera that I care a great deal about and would be extremely upset if I capsized in a canoe with it. So I will have to describe the scene for you.

The tunnel under the highway is a long creepy tunnel. It was about 8 or so feet wide and at least 30 feet high from the water and runs under the entire width of the highway--2 lanes and a breakdown lane on each side, and a large grassy median in the middle. As we canoed through it, the surface of the water was perfectly still, and the ceiling of the tunnel was perfectly reflected on the water’s surface. The reflection was so perfect that it appeared that the water was clear, and the ceiling of the tunnel was the bottom of the river beneath my canoe. I blinked several times at the optical illusion, trying to consciously convince myself of what I was seeing. The next time we go back there, I will bring my camera to show you. It was one of the cooler things I’ve seen in recent weeks.

Sunday found us playing with fiberglass resin in the workshop. We have some boat parts that we need to fix for the Big Restoration of 2009. I donned my safety glasses and mask, and sanded hardened fiberglass. Then I mixed batch after batch of fiberglass resin for another part we are fixing. While the fiberglass cured, we donned our bike shorts and put the bikes in the back of the truck.

Another great feature of Podunk is the bike paths. We discovered a map of a complex system of bike paths that extend all over the state, and all over New England. We’ve been exploring the parts in our town bit by bit; just 6 miles at a time until we get into better shape and can go for longer.

Today we parked the truck at the ice cream shop near the trail, and headed west. After a mile or two the paved bike path gave way to a dirt one. The trail follows the former railroad line, and crosses over old train bridges. I need to consult the book I just bought about the history of Podunk to see what the area looked like with a rail line going through it, because my imagination just isn’t cutting it. We stopped the ride at a defunct bridge with no surface on it then turned back. A friend has told me that the trail extends into Connecticut, and I would love to ride the whole thing one day soon.

But until then, I am watching the clock approach 9:00 PM, and am letting my eyes grow heavy. I wish I had one more Sunday, because Monday is a lousy way to spend one seventh of my life.