My new kayak is the
bomb.
A modular design, I split
it in half to cart it around since it fits right into my car. To put it together, I maneuver the two parts
together, feed the connecting flap through on either side, lift the back of the
kayak ever-so gently, and tighten the clamps.
The whole process takes about thirty seconds on either end of the trip.
I have only used the new
kayak twice: once when my son came with me and helped go through the motions
and test its seaworthiness on a local pond, and once when I met friends and
took the kayak out on the mighty Merrimack River.
Today, I am determined to
do this alone. After all, I have every
intention of kayaking some afternoons after work (I pass the pond with easy
access every day on my way home).
I am relieved when I
arrive in the dirt lot along the pond to find one empty car and a guy sitting
on a motorcycle. No matter if I look
like an idiot trying to do this by myself; only one or two people will witness
my shame and embarrassment.
Turns out my limited
practice has paid off. I only worry when
I see the two-foot drop I have to conquer, and I do this easily since the kayak
must be in two pieces for transport. Once
I have the pieces down to the water, they fit together quickly. I grab my sunglasses, the paddles, put on my
funky and incredibly old water shoes, zip my car key into the waterproof pouch
I have attached to my life vest, then zip myself into the life vest.
Holy crap. Within minutes I’m ready to go. I cannot believe nothing has gone wrong yet.
I don’t even make an ass
out of myself when I push off and drag my sopping wet feet into the kayak with
me. I start out keeping close to shore
and within sight of the small area where I put in, but this is not the
confidence booster for which I am searching.
I paddle on and start exploring all the coves and open areas of the
pond, which is pretty big, to be honest.
I see a lone fisherman on shore, presumably the lone car owner, and am
exhilarated to be the only paddler out on the pond today.
I truly am all alone.
It takes me forty-five minutes
to complete my exploration of the open water and around the islands, finding
places to stop and drag the kayak up if I ever decide to come out here with
others and eat lunch in the middle of the trip.
By now the parking lot is filling up with people walking the trails,
more fishermen and families, and one more kayaker. It’s unfathomable to me that more people are
not out here on such a wonderful day.
I steer into the sandy
area where I put the kayak in, reversing the entire procedure and having no
problem taking the kayak apart, which shocks me since it gave me a bit of
trouble in its maiden voyage. Three
minutes later, I am packed up and ready to leave.
This is day three of this
kayak’s grand adventures and only the fourth time I’ve ever kayaked in my life. I’m not an expert by any means, but I feel a
sense of accomplishment and independence knowing that I can do this all by
myself – I don’t dump it, I don’t break it, I don’t lose anything, I don’t get
soaked, I don’t have any trouble with the general management of the trip, and,
most importantly, I don’t look like a total asshole.
Just when I’m feeling
somewhat smug and confident, I hear a song rolling around in my head. It’s a commercial jingle for pull-up diapers
of all damn things: I’m a big girl now!
Oh, well. So the only humiliation today is internal. I can deal with that.
