Tags: Nostalgia, Childhood
I spent Thanksgiving over on the left coast with my father and some extended family. Good times, as always. I was fortunate enough to get one last ride in "the boat" before it was put up for sale on CraigsList.
You'll have to understand a little about its history before you can understand this craft's significance to me. This boat (or an identical twin) has been a part of the family longer than I have. I have very fond memories as a youngster zipping across the Persian Gulf while sitting on the bow with my legs hanging off. The railing made a very convenient seat.
Water sports were a bit different in the 70s and 80s (from my limited perspective) given that the beasts of burden that roamed the surface of the water seemed a lot more "robust" (for a total lack of a better word) than their counterparts of today. Today it seems to be all about the kinds of exotic composites comprising the hull and the number of ubiquitous computer processors scattered about the craft maintaining perfect precision between the engine and the control surfaces.
This particular craft is a vestige from a time when the goal was simple and the designs purposed towards simply having fun and not necessarily having to wonder how one was going to pay for it. (Have you SEEN how much boats cost today???). Streamlined hull....check. Engine....check. Rudder....check. Go!
I'm told by my mother that during our years in Saudi, my little kiddie seat would nestle neatly and nicely below the center console. There was enough space for two people at the helm and plenty of leg room to go around. It's a shame that I have absolutely no memories of that at all.
The design of the boat was such that a family of three could sleep comfortably in the bow. I'm not just saying that as a bullet point, either. We actually used to. The drill was simple...drive out from Abqaiq the night before, throw a sheet out across the bow, get some serious Zs, and then hit the water as the sun was just coming up off the horizon. I wish I could remember how to spell the name of the beach that we would park out at because I'm not going to look the fool by trying to guess. Me and Arabic...not so good together. :)
But, I digress. Dad afforded me one last jog around Whiskeytown Lake a few days ago. Although 25 years off the assembly line, the boat still shone like a dancer in her prime. I'll never, as long as I live, forget the moment that we cleared the no-wake buoy. My dad gingerly says..."Well...let's see if she'll go". Three seconds later, we're at mach 2 and my hair's on fire.
Love ya, dad.
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