TOKYO--By the way, thanks all for telling me to "break
a leg" when I briefly left these premises to embark
on a little trip recently. What, there was no trip, and you
didn't extend that wish to me? Well, accommodating fellow
that I am, I went and broke it anyway. Which is why I'm
planted here in my bed, typing away on an ancient laptop,
tethered via LAN to the desktop with the modem and all,
with my right leg in a cast reaching from the toes almost
up to the hip.
The leg is propped up on cushions and the like, and I can
even move it a little, but when I lower it beneath the
height of approximately my heart (or what passes for it), it
hurts like hell and therefore I don't last too long on the
two crutches thoughtfully provided by the hospital (they
come in handy for short trips to the bathroom, though). But
fear not, this state of affairs is supposed to last for a
mere five or six weeks more, after which the fractured ankle
bone (add scientific name to taste) should have sufficiently
grown back into a single entity to allow the rehab rigmarole
to start.
And what brought about this pathetic state of affairs in
the first place, you may well ask. Well, inevitably although
indirectly it has to do with boats. As I briefly mentioned,
in June I finally acquired a sturdy 24-year old
"stinkpot" (as sailors are wont to call them),
that is a motorboat. It is somewhat over 20 foot long,
of swarthy appearance, with faded green hull, covered
wheelhouse but open to the rear, sporting a real cabin
and an equally 24-year-old-but-in-neat-condition six-cylinder
Mercruiser inboard/outboard engine and sterndrive that
should be sufficient to take me almost anywhere within
Tokyo Bay and a bit beyond.
Two-tier mooring available
What's more, I even discovered a possible mooring spot in
a sheltered harbor basin in Funabashi (about the closest
from where we are to the sea, some 30 minutes by train or
car). The only slight problem in said spot (available, believe
it or not, for free) was a half-rotten sunken old fishing
boat that emerged enough at low tide to be a nasty threat
to anything parked immediately above it. I enlisted the
help of an optimistic Japanese acquaintance who, although
not in the salvaging business, runs a small builder's outfit
and has access to a truck with a crane mounted on it. He
took a look at the situation which includes rather limited
and tricky access for cars, and said "can do!"
As it turned out, the "can" as well as the
"do" proved rather more challenging than both
he and I had bargained for. The first truck we tried
almost toppled over into the water, and it took a
succession of three ever larger vehicles as well as a
rigorous assault on the wreck itself (sawing pieces off
here and there at low tide to make it at least a bit
lighter and more amenable to be pulled from the oozing
sludge) until finally the coast or rather the slot
between two other moored boats was clear.
In the process, however, the builder acquired a nasty gash
in the foot, when he slipped on the wreck and slid into a
tangle of metal that once was an antique diesel engine. I
wasn't there at the time and only arrived on the scene after
he had already gotten medical attention and a sterilized
bandage. Thus I could only admire his grit in nevertheless
persisting with this task which he had made his own in
"never say die" fashion, although I certainly
wouldn't have blamed him if he had just thrown the towel
and uttered the Japanese equivalent of "I'm outta
here, mister".
At the time, my own foot was still absolutely fissure-free,
so when the obstacle had gone I could finally move "Ui"
into its newly cleared spot and begin the much more pleasant
task of slowly acquainting myself with the vessel and applying
the various touches here and there that would make it my
own. (Sorry, in my mind even when switched to English,
motorboats are "it"s while only yachts and larger
ships are "she"s.) From what the dealer through
whom I bought the boat told me, it had belonged to an aged
doctor who kept it in the dry dock of a marina and almost
never used it, which explains the relatively good condition
it was in (considering its age).
Outboard reassuring
Still, problems there were (and are), such as deteriorated
rubber packings of the cabin windows, allowing some
rainwater to leak through, a non-working blower in the
engine compartment, unreliable oil pressure meter,
incorrectly placed navigation lights, and so on. But
the hull, made by Yamaha of much thicker fiberglass than
boats of more recent vintage, seems utterly sound. The
gasoline-burning 165hp main engine and drive unit are
largely rust-free and highly serviceable, although at
that age, a major disaster could happen at any time,
which is why it is reassuring to have an almost new 9.9hp
outboard sitting on the transom for use in an emergency.
The cabin is small but cozy, just about big enough to sleep
two adults. The wheelhouse is fairly spacious and even has a
small galley. I had the dealer install a large clear hatch
in the roof, so I can stick out my head and feel the wind on
my face (as well as get better visibility) while at the
helm. Since I consider boating not only a fine-weather
activity, protection against the rain afforded by the
wheelhouse is a big plus in my book. On the stern, there is
a wooden swimming platform and ladder that will be great for
snorkeling when anchored in some quiet bay.
During a few test outings, Ui proved very stable, handling
even sizable waves with an aplomb worthy of considerably
larger boats. The first small trip with the family (on a
fine day with almost no waves) also was a full success. The
kids liked to climb up on the roof and watch the fish
jumping all around. Reiko expressed no regrets at having
given the go sign for this purchase. The onigiri were good.
No-one got seasick.
Unlike many outboards, the in/out drive installed in Ui
ensures that the propeller gets a solid grip of the water
even in rough weather. The four-stroke automotive-type
engine (Mercruisers are really Ford engines in disguise)
pollutes less than two-stroke motors or diesels and is
surprisingly quiet, especially at non-planing speeds, where
one can cruise comfortably (and economically) at six or
seven knots. When the boat got on plane, top speed indicated
by my portable GPS was in the range of 24 knots.
More goodies to install
However, the fairly large trim plates installed by the
dealer (an old chap who likes to tinker with boats and
is in this business largely for his own amusement) already
seem to have gone out of alignment, and during recent outings,
the boat refused to plane, churning up a large wake without
making real headway when turning up the throttle. Clearly
some more adjustment is needed, and there are any number
of West Marine purchased little goodies still to install
before I can really get out to explore Tokyo bay in my
spare pockets of time.
And there is the matter of the little pier at Funabashi
where Ui is moored. This consists mainly of a few wooden
planks jutting out from a concrete harbor wall. Some of the
planks are more rotten than others, and the entire thing
needed some attention which I provisionally gave it in the
form of two metal stakes driven into the ground to provide
some additional support.
Now, a week ago to be exact, I recruited Andreas (currently
absent from these pages for reasons of his own) to help me
do some more work on the pier. Since the weather was
amenable, we first went out for a little turn near the tidal
flats where an amazing number of sea birds can be found, in
spite of the busy port and industrial atrocities nearby.
After dusk, we returned to the pier, switched on some
flashlights and set to work with some more stakes and a
heavy hammer.
On the other side of the harbor basin wall is a kind of
walkway that is too narrow for cars but that is being used
by people, bicycles, and the occasional small motorbike.
The walkway is paved with concrete and is set about a meter
lower than the wall in which some rough stone steps lead up
to "my" pier. We had hardly started when a moped
headed our way at fairly high speed. Remembering that I had
left the hammer lying across the fairly dark path, I was
worried that the bike might hit it, and intended to quickly
descend from the wall to warn the driver.
A step--and no step
I set my foot on the first step--only there was no step,
since in the darkness I was off by about ten centimeters.
Losing my balance, I crashed onto the ground in what must
have been a rather awkward fashion even for my ungracious
self. The bike successfully avoided me (and the hammer) and
went on its way, while I pulled myself up only to realize
that my right foot wasn't quite cooperating the way it
should.
If Andreas hadn't been there, packing up my stuff, getting
back to the car and back home would have been a near
impossibility. As it was, I merely left everything up to
him and we drove home, boat moored, stakes provisionally
fastened, foot and some other scratches throbbing, but still
not in too low spirits. At first I thought I had merely
sprained my ankle, but during the night the pain turned bad
enough to warrant a visit to the hospital, where the X-ray
soon revealed a clean fracture.
So now you know the rest of the story. Unfortunately, I will
have to leave Ui to collect barnacles until some time in
September, when I hope to resume my floating activities (and
fix that pier for good).
| |