I stared long and hard at my desktop photo. I looked up the date on it: Dec 7 of last year. That lovely late afternoon when Lloyd and I checked ice on Unity pond. Thank heaven last season started on time. Then I mosy-ed over to the calendar: October 22. This can't be: time is not moving!
I remember falling in love at a dance and making a date with her for two days later. Then, my life absolutely stopped. Couldn't get the clock to move for two days. This feels just as bad, maybe worse.
How can I possibly free up this gelled calendar? Out in the garage is the same old gear, ready to go. "It worked great last year, so it'll work this year". But no, there are some important chores getting lost: I'll take those nordic skates down for sharpening, whether they need it or not. I'll head for Lloyd's belt sander with the iceboat runners. I'll sign up for skating lessons at the ice rink. And.....and.....I'll---it'll cost money, but---yes, I will: buy a great new, safe, appropriate, light-weight HELMET.
That old 3/4 motorcycle helmet came into my life in 1998 with a motorcycle purchase. It's stamped 1985. Now we all know helmets fossilize in 7 years or so and should be replaced. Yet the very thought of pulling that day-glow orange, sweat-stained bucket over my noggin and lowering those scratchy amber goggles fills me with utter, utter delight: A new adventure is beginning.
Yet I had an OBE (out of boat experience) last season that took the whole blasted summer to heal. It was during those magical (dare I say orgasmic?) 4 days on Damariscotta and Cleary that closed last season with a blurr of excitement. A snippet from the second day:

" Let's face it, in late March we'll sail on cow manure.....but our dreams are always haunted by smoothness. and this ice, especially after the clatter and bash of the corn, was perfectly quiet to sail on, and with the intermittent blasts of wind, had certainly mile-a-minute potential. It was so smooth, your only sense of speed was the crazily accelerating apparent wind. And flashing beneath your runners, were the patchwork shades of color........Lloyd and I worked further south, wanting to know the extent of this amazing gold mine. ........We got into a rythum of tacks between two hazard buoys and as I rounded one end, I saw with horror, Buchholz's "Indigo", which virtually NEVER hikes, hike up almost to 60 degrees in a mighty gust and poise there. With his long plank, he was way. way up above the ice. He dumped the sheet, threw the helm down, and rode that sweetie down to safety!
I was just, stupidly, wishing I had a digital camera when, daaa....the same rogue gust hit me. The sheet shot out of my hand and ran to the knot. Runners screeching, the boat hiked, and balanced sickeningly, as I leaned out on the runner plank to wrestle it down. But as it banged down, I found myself thrown out, my helmet hitting the ice, my body spinning end-to-end, endlessly on the smooth smooth ice, laying on my boat-cushioned spine (I had stuffed a boat cushion in my boiler suit), with the most delighful dervish-like sensation.
when I finally stopped spinning. opened my eyes, and sat up, there was no time to lose: I might be run over by my riderless horse, or it might self-destruct on some shore. But I saw that the tiller was hard-over and it was sailing in tight circles nearby. So I timed my approach and grabbed it just as it began a new tack."

Soooo, here I am on October 22, and my clavicle no longer talks back to me as it did all summer. What can I do to preserve this old carcuss? Discretion? Wisdom? Caution? Noooooooo! Never! But I'll call Bunting as soon as it's a socially-acceptable time of day and see where he got that great downhill skiier's helmet. then, I'll... I'll----you have this in writing, now---protect my few remaining brain cells.

the ex-treas.

PS: $5 dues in cash to Lloyd Roberts' mattress, 140 Porter St. Rockport, ME 04856. No hotline this year. just icespam and websites.
Iceboat gathering: at Dave Fortier's in Biddeford, ME Sunday Nov 9. Sublimate with food! Mapquest: 12 Chretien Rd.