I just switched the engines off as the last of Escape Velocity’s dock lines were being snugged. It’s been one hundred sixteen days, seven and a half hours, one thousand three hundred eight-two nautical miles and I’d rather not think about the number of gallons of diesel since that 3-month-old T-ball fitting snapped sending our entire sailing rig to the bottom of the Pacific Ocean and we began the odyssey that became known as the Slow Motion Rescue. We’re here in Marina Pez Vela, Quepos, waiting for the shipping container that, with any luck at all, will hold everything needed to return our beloved home back into a sailboat.
It’s raining. It’s our 24th wedding anniversary. The next one will be celebrated in the South Pacific, and that’s a promise.