Crossing Panama

Chapter 13: Crossing the Gulf.

On January 4th I got a text, a DHL delivery courier had a certified envelope; I had to sign for and show ID, where could we meet? We met outside the front door of the Yacht Club, I brought my passport. I signed and was handed an express letter. When I opened it I found the settlement check for my mother's (actually it was my parent's wealth) estate, it was for $8,741,952.27. I got in my car and deposited it in the bank and took the rest of the day off. It boosted my balance up to over $15m. A recent spike in Mom's portfolio really hiked up the value of her estate, they sold her entire portfolio a week ago.

On January 10th without calling first Carlo suddenly appeared on the back deck. I was using my laptop on the dinette and felt the boat bounce, I moved quickly to the sofa and grabbed the shotgun on the way to the wooden steps that went up and out the cabin door.

It was Carlo but his lack of eye contact told me he came here to break-up with me.

"Come on in." I held the weapon behind me and quietly set it back on the sofa and covered it.

He stepped down to the cabin floor and sat across from me at the table, in our usual spots. I closed the laptop and moved my notepads off the table.

"What's up? You need a drink?"

"No thanks I'm fine. I'm need to talk to you about next week and what I'd like to do, you ready for this?" He asked with an odd look on his face.

"Sure." Carlo folded his hands together and looked at my eyes with serious eyebrows.

"If it's okay I'd like to sail to Cozumel and stay with my Uncle."

"And..." I prompted him for the rest of it.

"Forever."

The moment he said that a shock ran from my head to my feet like sudden wave of intense fear, I looked down at his hands on the table, he was shaky too.

"Oh," I was silent for a minute then it clicked in my brain. He wanted to ride along but only to Cozumel.

"That's okay."

"Cool, I figured you'd say that. I'm already packin'."

"Next week Tuesday. 3:00am is when the party bus starts to roll." I reminded him.

"I'll be here, and on-time. I gave the Equinox to Mom -- she can barely see over the steering wheel! She'll sell her car and everything else of mine, but I don't own much."

"Well that's good because we don't have much space."

We had several seconds of silence, then I asked, "Does Miguel know you're gay?"

Carlo scrunched his eyebrows and replied with a rather quiet voice, "I don't know for sure, Mom's handled that. I'd have to assume she told him something about me but I just don't know. I'm not allowed to mention that subject at home or she'll slap me and start crying."

I wanted to remind him he could change his mind and either way I wouldn't get mad at him, but I'm sure he knew that already.

He asked me what cities I'd stop overnight after Cozumel. I got out the map and pointed out every planned stop: Colon, Naos Island, Quepos (Costa Rica) then a long push to Puerto Angel, Acapulco, Cabo San Lucas, then another really long push to Los Angeles. "Acapulco huh? I heard its expensive there," he remarked.

"Yep, the Acapulco Bay Marina has all the amenities, just like here. I'll probably spend several days there, might get a room at the hotel if they have any." Then I pointed to other possible stops, like Puerto Vallarta and some other small towns along the west coast, but my plan was to avoid Guatemala and Nicaragua because of the killings.

Carlo left after an hour of superficial conversation during which he looked distracted. I was tempted to tell him to find his own ride to Cozumel because I felt somewhat betrayed but I was polite. Better to take him to Cozumel than break up here and now. I think he was somewhat expecting that to happen, but I surprised him.

That week I hired someone to install a new propeller, one of the new shallow water props that self-folded nearly shut unless it was spinning. If we were going to park in several shallow harbors I didn't want to risk damage to the prop on a trip of this magnitude. And I also paid a mechanic to install a pedestal seat at the helm, if I was going to sail this thing for seven weeks I didn't want to do it standing-up the entire time. So I got a nice padded seat on a chrome pedestal (with a foot rest and drink holder) that sort of looked like the helm platform, but not mounted too close. That cost $1750 installed. They installed two boards under the deck, then bolted it in place and sealed everything. I also had a bilge water alarm installed, it took a 9v battery and alarmed like a smoke detector if water puddled in the bilge near the engine. It had three sensors mounted at different places in the bilge, plus it was also a smoke alarm.

I purchased some nice snorkel gear in case I needed to work on Susan below the water line. I also got a hull patch kit in case we got attacked by a swordfish.

Everything of mine expired in the first half of January. The Marina wanted me out of my slip last week but I paid them cash to cover my extra fourteen days in Saint Pete. My car was already shrink wrapped and loaded onto a semi and on its way to Marina Del Rey to my assigned parking spot. I'd updated my new employer on my route and projected dates.

Starting that day Carlo and I texted more than ever, he confirmed he's never met his uncle before but they've talked on the phone several times. Miguel was looking forward to his arrival and Carlo told him we should arrive on Friday or Saturday of the third week in January.

He said he closed his bank accounts and his mother said she was going to sell their house and move in with a good friend of hers in the neighborhood. Although he never said anything I got the impression his mother was far from poor, when he described their tire store business I estimated she could easily have over half a mil in the bank for her retirement and that fact was not known by Carlo.

I had the dinghy assembled/inflated and strapped upside-down on the cabin roof. The motor was inside a fish well by the back deck along with the fuel tank ready to go. The lid for the fish well was also the floor of the shower spot on the back deck. And I already tested the dinghy and the motor in the harbor, it ran fine and started easily.

The cabin was crowded with stacks of cases of every type of food that came in cans. I had the ice chest nearly full of dry ice and the cooler full of ice cubes and beer cans. I also had the sofa loaded with supplies but not as much as cases stacked on the cabin floor.

I checked and double checked everything. The marina mechanic inspected and serviced the diesel engine and the bearings and seals in the DC motor after the new prop was installed and tested for proper balance.

All my papers for crossing Panama were submitted days ago but I would pay the fees in cash in person. I had all the ropes they specified, which was a total waste of money but it was important to them. Boatropes.com sold a Panama Canal package that included the required minimum ropes, built to their rules. That was the set I had delivered.

I also had some of the cash on board in a cabinet above the V-bunk in two large Ziploc bags. The bags stuffed inside a pillow case. About half the cash was in doubled plastic bags hidden in the bilge behind the fresh water tank, which sat under the dinette.

Tuesday January 15, 2019. Day #1.

On January 15th Carlo arrived by Uber with two suitcases (one too large to carry on an airplane). I was on deck and heard the sound of suitcase wheels rolling over joints in the sidewalk and started walking to meet him on the seawall. It was dark out but he looked excited, this was the start of a life changing day. It's not that often people sailed away from home, never to return.

We wrestled his cases down the steps and into the cabin and stored them on top of the stacks of cases of canned food around the cabin, I told him "Welcome to Floating Costco!" Carlo looked around amazed at the amount of stuff in cans and jugs of water too. We turned on the NAV lights, the headlight, unplugged the power cord, dropped the ropes, grabbed all the pier bumpers and I pushed us out into the waterway and we slowly motored towards the bay and raised the mainsail. Twenty minutes later I raised the two foresails and by the time we passed under the Skyway we were up to 9mph in a southerly wind that usually blew south along the coast.

As we sailed past the BEANPASS waypoint I told him, "463 miles, I expect we'll get there Friday sometime, we'll need to make two turns to avoid Cuban waters, I already got the entire route to LA programmed into the GPS."

He snapped to attention and rendered a proper US Navy salute but was unaware that his shirt raised and flashed his belly button at me, which was not how he was taught at Great Lakes.

I told him it was only about 1600 miles from Saint Pete to Panama but Cuba was in the way so we had to detour around, that added a few days of backtracking. But the good part was the detour took us close to Cozumel. We discussed taking turns at the helm and decided to try six hour shifts.

And speaking of canals, I thought of another good spot for a canal. Cuba should build a north-south sea level canal across the island, with the northern end near Havana. That island was nearly 900 miles east to west, that's a lot of land to sail around and I bet a lot of commercial freight sailed around it every day.

Last fall I purchased a life preserver ring in case we wanted to experiment with using it as a toilet seat or just playing on the water. It was strapped to the cabin roof too. Out at sea we could easily use the toilet but I didn't want to use up our water supply for flushing the toilet. We could carry in small amounts of sea water to flush the toilet but the risk was spilling sea water on the cabin floors could leave permanent salt stains (but not in the bathroom).

We talked about trying to poop (indoors) when the seas were less rough. I showed him how to use his heel to hold down the pedal when he felt it come out so his log fell straight into the tank instead of possibly sloshing around inside the bowl. I think Carlo's fear of being bit by his own turds was a bit overblown. Or maybe it was seeing a log moving around in the bowl like a dark brown fish. The bad part of holding it open was releasing sewer tank gas into the bathroom.

The sea was choppy (3-4ft swells) on day #1 but not too bad. We left with a heading towards Havana for the first day, and on day two we'd change course for Cozumel. This route would keep us closer to land in case of emergency, I picked safety over speed. I hadn't estimated our arrival time yet because I didn't know what the winds were going to do. When we left Florida the Gulf and the Caribbean were free of significant weather. Carlo used the satellite phone to text his uncle and his mother that we were on the way.

Later on day #1 (near Fort Myers) we sailed into some rain but it wasn't heavy. Rain usually came with wind and we made better time but the bouncing decks got tiresome. I had managed to purchase some prescription anti-nausea pills online and had them on board too.

All the food on board was in cans (some of it imported from Spain, Italy, and Australia). But I had water and fresh fruit in the cooler so we could enjoy cold Florida Navel Oranges and watermelon on the way to Cozumel. We had to eat it soon or it would spoil and get tossed to the fishies.

Our first night at sea he used the satellite phone to call his mom, she was worried about him and refused to believe he was calling her from way out on the Gulf. She was fine, everything at home was very quiet, it felt `muy tranquilo' being home alone. After he got off the phone he was quiet for awhile too.

That night we fucked on the back deck bench cushions. It was not a good spot but we needed to keep an eye on our heading. We took turns at the helm, it was nice to get some shuteye in the cabin even with the bed bouncing. After several hours you didn't notice it as much.

Wednesday January 16, 2019. Day #2.

At sunrise we were 172 miles north of Havana but our route would keep us away from their beaches by around 150 miles, we'd be safe as long as Cuban pirates weren't more than 100 miles out watching for targets. And with the radar we could see ships over the horizon. We agreed if we saw any ships between us and Cuba we'd steer away towards the northwest. This radar also had a mode that alerted us if we were being radar scanned. We'd be changing course in about two hours to start the 2nd leg of this segment.

On his own Carlo took over meal prep, and made us a beef stew with added vegetables. He spent most of the daylight hours wearing his gym shorts and stood close to me at the helm which allowed me to rub his upper body.

At 5pm on our second day we were nearly half way to Cozumel, on the second leg of our three leg route. Our third leg started tonight and was a curved line towards the northwest corner of the island. I was eager to see land again. All day I tried to touch his flesh as much as I could.

He spent time seated on the bench near me in shorts with his legs spread while he read a book he brought along. Since it was close I reached down his shorts and fingered his dick several times, he kept reading and ignored it.

Looking at the charts I saw we really could have sailed a straight line from Tampa Bay to Cozumel, but I wanted to play it safer so we stayed closer to land, then turned more west but avoided Cuban waters, then turned again more south to approach the island.

The next leg of the trip (Cozumel to Colon) had five segments, I knew I was facing a long slog into the wind sailing towards the eastern tip of Honduras. There are small islands all up and down the Caribbean coast of Central America, they started at the tip of Honduras and continued all the way to Columbia. Some islands sat so far out from land there was no way to sail around them. This would make it very complicated to navigate to Colon, which meant very poor sleep and lots of critical turns. Luckily, so far the GPS alarm worked great and my tiny alarm clock too.

The space between Yucatan, Mexico and the far western tip of Cuba was 130 miles across and Cozumel was 50 miles south of that gap. The waterway between Cozumel and Mexico was about nine miles across. The point we were sailing at on the GPS was five miles out from the northwest corner of the island. In my head I estimated we'd arrive at that waypoint overnight before sunrise.

During our trip I noticed that Carlo seemed to encourage me to touch him by standing close and not wearing anything but loose shorts. If I sat at the helm with my arm on the armrest he'd walk up and press his belly against my arm and slide it around. And a few times he reached up and fixed my hair that the wind blew up.

In my mind I still hoped he might spend a day or two visiting with his uncle then (secretly change his mind and) continue on with me to Los Angeles, he never seemed too keen on taking care of elderly relatives, and all the time I knew him he never once showed any interest in doing the things that he said awaited him on the island, he never talked about wanting to go fishing or fixing outboard boat motors. I hoped the reality of meeting his uncle and his peasant lifestyle might change his mind. Something in my mind told me he subconsciously wanted to have the kind of relationship with Miguel that he could never have with his father. His father was not the type of man that showed warm affection to his son, with hugs, kisses, hand holding, and snuggle time together watching football on Sundays.

During the part of our trip that paralleled the coast of Cuba we got into a stretch of very calm weather with little wind, our average speed dropped down to 4mph at times. We joked about the fish swimming around us. Carlo stood by the side railing and yelled, "Hey! No passing on the right! Damn fish." He'd shake his fist at the water.

Carlo got on his knees and hung over the side and used a knife to cut a hole through a bar of soap then he ran a two foot piece of poly rope through it and carefully melted the ends together over the gas stove. At our designated morning poop time we pointed the mainsail boom into the wind to slow our speed to about 2mph, tied a rope around the life saver ring, and tossed it over the side. He stood on the bench (naked) and dove into the water and (with minor difficulty) got himself seated on the ring with the soap-rope around his arm, then he drifted away from the boat and did his thing, then washed himself with the soap and cheered his success. After the event I pulled him back and we swapped positions. Carlo was right, it worked great, like sitting on a toilet with the seat up, but nobody mentioned sharks. The big problem was getting balanced on the ring without falling off, but it was also fun experimenting. I was afraid the life ring would crack because they're not designed to be used like an inner tube, but I guess it had reinforcement inside.

Thursday January 17, 2019, Day #3.

At 4am on Day #3 we saw ship's lights on the horizon and were following the route suggested on the marina web site to arrive at Puerto de Abrigo where I had a slip reserved for two nights. Our destination was slip#5, I told Carlo we'd probably arrive early tomorrow morning. I offered to let him call Tio (his uncle Miguel) with the satellite phone but he said he'd meet him at the marina, he'd probably be nearby watching for us. He said he told Tio to watch for a white 40 foot sailboat, but Tio replied that most boats on Cozumel were white sailboats.

I could tell he was excited. That afternoon before we arrived while I was seated at the helm Carlo walked out in shorts and stood by the captain's seat (he had been in the cabin packing his case to exit the boat). I reached my hand up and gently rubbed his shoulder then his smooth front side, slid my hand across his chest and his big puffy red tits that popped right back out into shape. He kind of looked down and watched me rub his chest, it turned him on quickly. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my cell and put it into video cam mode and held it out to record us, he watched but never commented.

He opened his shorts so I reached in and held his bone, then Carlo leaned into me and pressed his left tit into my lips so I licked it gently while holding his dick and rubbing the head with my thumb. He reached down my pants and grabbed mine and after a few moments we were on the bench doing our thing. I suspected it might be our last.

He was on his knees between my legs after I dropped my shorts and sat on the bench. He micro stroked me and alternated between that and licking me like a popsicle.

My orgasm was intense, it spurt all over my upper body and on my face. He licked up a few drops while I cleaned my face with one finger. With semen slowly trickling across my belly we swapped spots and I did the exact same thing to him. When he came I kept his pressed into his belly so he completely filled his belly button with semen, that way I could clean it for him one last time.

After he was clean I stopped the recording and turned off the cell.

He made lunch while I stuck my hand into the ocean and wiped the semen off my belly and chest then pulled my shorts back on.

The rest of the day Carlo seemed restless and anxious. He paced around as if he was ready to be the one to spot the first signs of land ahead of us off to the left.

Every once in a while we'd both glance at the GPS display for the first appearance of the island, but I knew we had a while to go yet.

The sun set and we sailed on, adjusting our heading and the angle of the mainsail to keep our best speed with the changing wind. The sun went down behind some clouds so there was no great sunset show. He fell asleep on the back deck bench and I steered all night. The first signs of land were distant lights ahead and to our left a little.

Friday January 18th, Day #4, Arrival in Cozumel.

At 5am I started to hear other boaters talking in Spanish on the radio. By 5:45 all along to our left were hotels and trees, but we were too far out to see any beaches. We were about five miles away when I called the harbor master and got instructions. I dropped the sails since the wind was shifting and we slowly rode in on battery power. The entire area was super crowded with pleasure and fishing boats so we had to move slowly and keep our eyes open in all directions.

The sea water was turquoise and inviting, the island looked like trees, hotels, and cell phone towers but no hills or mountains or tall buildings. The map said the water one mile from the harbor was only thirty feet deep, I could easily see the sandy bottom. In the distance I counted three cruise ships at anchor. Counting was one of the things my brain did that I could not control, by 7th grade I finally learned to do it silently.

At 6:55am we tied up to the pier, bow facing out just like in Saint Pete.

I woke Carlo before we sailed into the harbor, he was so excited he went up front and stood on the bow to watch for his uncle. We landed and tied up and plugged into power. Soon after the last rope was tied Carlo got dressed and left on foot looking for his uncle while I plugged into shore power and water.

He came back thirty minutes later with a slender wrinkled small man with great teeth (dentures), dark leathery skin, a full head of white hair under a straw cowboy hat, and an outstretched hand. It was a joyous meeting for them, I watched with envy as they hugged again and again. Carlo stood beside him with his arm over the old guy's shoulders as if he was afraid to let go. His uncle told him how much he looked like his father. Miguel looked so proud to have a relative sail across the Gulf to see him. I was truly happy to see the family reunion, I was thrilled to see Carlo's reaction. This was a major life changing event for both of them. His uncle wanted to take our photo, standing close on the back deck.

Carlo still had not noticed that I spoke fluent Spanish so he translated and while I smiled and nodded. Uncle Miguel wanted to take us out for lunch, but they argued endlessly over who would pay. We took a taxi into town, to the touristy area near the shoreline and stood in line for what he said were the best tacos on the island, and judging by the line I'd say most of the locals agreed. Everything on them came from Cozumel, even the beef was raised on the island and slaughtered yesterday. They made their own tortillas in the small kitchen but the flour came from the Mexico.

The tacos alone were actually somewhat bland but the hot sauces were beyond fantastic, loads of tomato and spice flavor with a gentle but persistent after burn. I ordered eight tacos (five for later) and drank an Orange Fanta from a returnable glass bottle.

I knew the men had stuff to talk about and I wanted to stay near the boat so we took a taxi back to the marina, Carlo left with his Uncle, they had important things to discuss. I think the two of them together would decide if he was going to stay or continue on with me to Panama, or maybe even fly back to Florida.

I knew this was very important to Carlo, he's always felt bad for ignoring his Mexican heritage and his family history. And this would give him the chance to really taste and feel rural Mexican life. In this part of Mexico there was no social safety net, you worked and paid your way or you paid the price. The only other thing he could do if gay didn't mesh well with Uncle Mike would be to leave the island. He's wasn't likely to get a work Visa or find a job without his Uncle's involvement. And I'm not sure how his uncle felt about guys having sex with guys. On a resort island I'm sure he met a lot of gay tourists from Europe, but still, it's a small third world state, just like any other island in the Caribbean. Gay was legal in Mexico and welcomed in some cities, but that social acceptance was spotty, most small towns were very hetero-traditional. Today, in small town Mexico a young gay teen had little choice but to move to the big city.

While he was gone I considered his job prospects and my gut told me his employment chances were almost zero without Miguel's help, unless he wanted to work at a Taco stand for fifty cents an hour, in that case he truly would learn the meaning of poor.

Saturday January 19th. Day #5. Cozumel, Mexico.

I didn't see Carlo again until the next morning. He arrived by taxi and said they talked things over for hours and he decided to stay. Carlo said that afternoon they were going to the island governor's office to apply for a six month work visa, which gave him time to make some big decisions about his life.

I told him I'd be here until 7am tomorrow morning, he was still welcome to sail to Los Angeles. We shook hands then he ran back to the waiting taxi. I stood there sort of in disbelief that we actually ended our relationship that way. After he left I bought four bags of ice, they had no dry ice at this marina, so I filled the cooler to the top. That would last me 4-5 days. I also got another two cases of Miller beer at sky high prices.

Back on Susan I went below and crashed on the V-bunk and wept with my face smashed into the pillow that still smelled like his hair. I pictured Carlo riding in the back seat of the taxi excitedly watching out the window, seeing his new world go by. I thought to myself that his mother would probably tell him not to live in Cozumel, she'd say they escaped Mexico for a better life in The States and if he thinks he's going to be a real Mexican, and live in Mexico while thousands are trying to escape? WTF? Like I said, this entire thing made no sense to me.

Sunday January 20, 2019. Day #6.

Sunday 6:30am I was up and shaved. I heated a small breakfast of leftovers in the microwave, sliced spam and onions and a can of peas and two cups of Joe. Then I checked the water level in the tank, it was full of city water. The batteries were fully charged and a quick check of the cells showed their levels were full and I had a full gallon of distilled water beside them. The bilge was dry and the diesel tank was still full. I was ready to sail to Panama. The next segment of the trip would be difficult because of the trade winds that blew in the opposite direction I wanted to sail.

Everything looked fine. I walked to the marina, signed the bill and used their toilet. While I walked back to Susan a taxi stopped along the street and out stepped Carlo. We waved but he stayed far enough away that we had to shout. He yelled that he wished me good luck crossing Panama, I waved and yelled back to text me on April 1st, he waved and shouted back, "Got it!"

After disconnecting water and power I dropped the lines and pushed Susan out of the slip and slowly motored towards the sea. Carlo had walked over to the end of the concrete seawall to watch me go by. I kept looking back at him and every time I turned around he raised his hand and waved. By the time I cleared the beaches and entered the passage between Cozumel and Mexico it got hard to see his face through the hazy humid air. Eventually I started my turn to the south and stood facing back towards the harbor and waved one last time and watched as he disappeared behind a grass covered sand dune and just like that he was gone.

I turned around and glanced at the GPS, I'll need another course change once I was beyond the south end of the island in about an hour. My eyes welled up with tears and I sobbed again from the pain of a broken heart as I tightly gripped the wheel. I really loved Carlo. I loved his body, his personality, the way he chewed his food, and I loved the way his skin tasted and felt against my tongue and my lips. I wiped tears for the next hour then finally shook it off and changed course for the eastern tip of Honduras. Sailing along the west coast of Cozumel I started to realize Carlo was the best friend I've had since college.

Out where I was headed if I ran into trouble there'd be no rescue, just like The Old Man and the Sea so I tried to get my mind off my own heartache and back on sailing. I turned on the radio and cranked it up loud listening to a mix CD I made of reggae dance beat tunes. I drank a couple beers and tried to make myself feel better by semi-dancing to the reggae beat, standing on the deck with one hand on the back of the captain's seat at the helm. Inside I felt hurt, rejected, and depressed.

My own private research has shown me that after six beers I can dance and I'm no longer ashamed of how stupid I look. After six beers on a bouncing deck I was able to dance rather well to the music on the stereo, as long as I kept one hand on the back of the captain's chair.

My next planned stop was a week away: Colon, Panama, time to get my head out of my ass.

The winds came from about 24 degrees to the left of straight ahead so I altered my heading which started me on a zigzag course. Stops in Honduras were optional, it all depended on the wind and weather. And today they weren't blowing from a good direction for me but it could be a lot worse. No wind and flat calm would be worse.

Memories of Carlo flashed in my mind the entire time and I felt a strong sense of sadness. I really thought Carlo and I had something that would transcend culture. But I thought the single biggest positive thing I did for Carlo was I helped set him free, I hoped he didn't waste the opportunity. His decision to stay on Cozumel didn't make any sense to me but I never said that to him. His upbringing was very different from mine. His relationship with his father was extremely different from mine.

When I was little my father worked six days a week from 8am to 8pm and I often went days not seeing him and when I did he was usually too busy to toss a football or teach me to ride a bike. At that time he earned a ton of money and we lived in a huge house and I always went to private schools, but that's not what I wanted in life. I wanted my dad to be my pal, one that knew everything and always had time for me.

After six beers I poured myself some wine and dropped in a couple ice cubes and sipped it but constantly wiped tears from the corners of my eyes after I left Cozumel for two days. My eyes did the exact same thing when the airplanes flew into the twin towers.

The reality of this leg of the trip was my speed was way down, sometimes to walking speed, and there was nothing I could do to improve that other than run the DC motor. The wind thing only caused frustration but it didn't ruin anything because I factored the speed into my cruise timeline, even at 3mph I'd still arrive at Panama on the day I told them on the form. The only difference was that I had images of Carlo in my mind the entire time as if he had died. I wondered if we'd ever see each other again and I highly doubted he'd text me in April. I even considered making a print from the video I shot of him and framing it and have it mounted beside the photo of Susan on the cabin wall.

To improve my attitude I opened a second bottle of wine and sipped it down too. I also tied a rope around my ankle and to one of the cleats in case I fell overboard. By the time I pulled the cork out of bottle #2 I was already very drunk, luckily I'm usually a happy drunk. I sang loudly to the music on the stereo and tried to cheer myself up despite the fact that it felt like we weren't moving at all.

Trying to stay focused on the task at hand was something I could control, the other thing that bothered me was knowing I sailed the wrong route on this leg.

As the sun went down I tried to wake up my dick again but I could not get hard no matter how much I played with it. I think my dick was heartbroken too, it shriveled up to a stump and declared itself off-duty (or so it appeared).

My wind rant:

The way to understand the wind problem for the western Caribbean Sea would be to look at a map. The winds here usually blew east to west, from the island of Barbados towards Honduras. Near Central America the wind split and ran up and down the coast. Now picture my route sailing from Cozumel to the tiny island of Cayos Miskitos (450 miles from Cozumel) I'm sailing into the wind the entire way which greatly slowed me down and meant I needed to be awake to change my zigzag course every two-three hours. That's a big problem when sailing alone. Instead of plowing along at 14mph I was lucky to do 3-6mph on a zigzag course. The only things that moved slower than me were the jellyfish.

Day #7 I made no sea log entries. But I cried briefly those days, especially when I took a nap by the helm and closed my eyes and all I could picture was Carlo. I had a nasty hangover too and barfed over the side. Still no boner.

Tuesday January 22, 2019. Day #8

After three days of 90 minute naps, course changes, and hour after hour of nothing but ocean, maybe an occasional jet trail in the sky, I saw my first land bird (Pelican). Six hours later I saw land, a lush green place with no signs of people, just tree covered hills, dense jungle with dark gray clouds stuck above it. The GPS showed I was nineteen miles from the eastern tip of Honduras.

My GPS route paralleled the coast and later I saw two small fishing boats. That evening I changed course to avoid the islands then after two more hours I made the big turn to south. The winds were now almost directly behind me and I had the mainsail way out to the side to catch as much wind as it could. I wanted to make up some of the time I wasted sailing into headwinds off the coasts of Belize and Honduras.

It made me wonder if I would have done better by sailing around Cuba, not stopping at Cozumel but using Grand Cayman instead, then down to Negril, Jamaica, and then to Colon, but I never considered the trade winds on the Caribbean Sea. Oops! My fault.

With nothing in front of me now but sea and a strong tail wind I strapped the wheel and closed my eyes on the bench cushions as the sun slowly set to my right and the GPS was stuck to my arm with two wide rubber bands. I was very tired and not in the best mood and I still had a headache.

The route I programmed into the GPS took me within eight miles of the islands near the eastern tip of Honduras. There were other islands off the coast of Nicaragua and Costa Rica, some of them were 130 miles out, my route took me between them on a course with a couple minor turns on the way to Panama. This part of the Caribbean was potentially dangerous which was why I paid a lot of money for that detailed map of the Central American coast. There was a commercial waterway between the islands and no charted shoals but it would be scary to nap in this area. I'd surely keep the radar running the entire time.

I think I actually napped for six hours and woke up (2am) terrified that I might be way off course or worse, seconds away from sailing into a container ship or crashing onto a rocky outcrop in the sea. I jumped up like a soldier and looked all around me, but I was only slightly off course, I'd moved about four miles further from land but really lost no time. Let me tell you, it is almost impossible to sail a straight line, I didn't know that was the case until I first sailed long distance. When I looked at my route on the GPS screen it amazed me how much Susan drifted side to side. With no references around you to watch, it's impossible to tell (except with the GPS).

Next, I checked the radar but it was clear. I suspected the radar was broken after three days of blank screens. I connected the tablet computer over wifi to the radar and set it to record. Then I went below and dug a rotted orange out of the trash and went up front on the bow deck and threw it as hard as I could straight up in the air. Back down below I pressed stop and replayed the radar video and sure enough, it showed up as a tiny blip on the screen, so I knew the radar was working.

So I took another nap and this time slept for four hours and woke up when the sky started to turn dark blue off to the east. Out here at sea you really had to push yourself. It made me wonder how people sailed these waters at night in the 1500s.

I think I figured out something on this leg about the wind and the weather. Winds push warm humid air across the Pacific towards Central America, they approach land from the south-west. Out on the Caribbean cooler less humid air blows in from the north-east and they collide over Central America and produce feet of annual rainfall. I think their climate may have more to do with the prevailing winds than the trees around Gatun Lake. At least, that's my theory of the day.

Wednesday January 23, 2019. Day #9.

Every time I checked my heading I turned on my cell and connected to the radar and checked for images on the screen but it showed nothing except maybe a small patch of rain in the distance. I assumed I'd start to see other ships when I got closer to the main route they used after leaving Panama heading towards the US and Jamaica.

Since I was alone I stood near the helm and acted out a courtroom scene where I had Carlo on trial for making a poor choice and stabbing me in the soul. I questioned him relentlessly and loudly too! I even shouted across the courtroom at him and demanded he tell the jury if he had taken Stupid Pills, but Carlo sat on the witness stand and wept with his hands over his face. The jury convicted him of felony heart breaking. The judge sentenced him to be my sex toy for three hundred days. After the trial I laughed at myself and that was the first time I smiled since leaving Cozumel, but still no boner.

This was just another day alone on the ocean. Clouds, sky, wind, and waves in every direction, I got tired of scanning the horizon for the slightest evidence of human life or land.

By Wednesday evening I was thirty nine miles further along than I originally calculated, because of the strong winds blowing on my ass. I ran the engine and heated canned sausages and green beans (nuked in a paper bowl) and a huge glass of ice cold water and tossed the empty cans over the side. The bottom of the ocean was over 800 feet here. This morning I saw land again, the island of San Andres was Colombian according to my map. I stayed about twelve miles away then changed course a little more to the east to make my final dash to Colon. According to my map there were no more islands to navigate around the rest of the way to Colon.

Currently, its 8:05pm on Wednesday on Day #9, my best guess was I'd drop anchor in (Colon) Limon Bay on Friday (Day #11) afternoon. Until then I took short naps, ate canned food, talked to myself, listened to music, and watched the endless sea in every direction. I felt fine, it was boring (as hell) being out here all alone but it gave me time to think about stuff, about my life and my decisions, and I'm talking out loud to myself all the time now. Early this morning I acted out sitting at a bar and ordering a half pound burger, a tall order of salty fries and a fresh bottle of catsup to drown the fries and dip the burger when it got small enough to hold in one hand. I was actually practicing my Spanish but it was fun to imagine eating good greasy hot food, the kind where juices ran down to your wrist. I even practiced flirting with a guy my age at the bar, in Spanish. I've never flirted in Spanish, I think I'd sound to stuffy and nerdy because my Spanish is too proper.

When I wasn't thinking about food my brain kept repeating doubts about moving to California, it was a nearly bankrupt state that had significant crime and infrastructure problems, but a guy like me could really thrive there in the right environment. I hoped it didn't turn out to be a just another messed up place, like Miami. Florida was doing better with money, the roads got fixed and I saw on TV that some potholes on city streets in California were there for years until some local residents paid to have them patched out of their own wallets, that's taxes on taxes, and taxation without representation.

I also noticed I trusted the GPS alarm more than day #1. I spent hours lounging in the sunlight on the back deck cushions soaking up the warmth and enjoying the cool ocean breezes and an occasional spray of cool water off the bow. Today I slid my shorts down and finally got hard but couldn't come, but the sun felt nice on my bare flesh. Out here you could be naked all you wanted. I also started to see other ships on the radar, all heading north. That was a sign I was getting closer to the canal. It looked like I was sailing parallel to a commercial shipping lane.

On Thursday (Day #10) I got out the crank-up shortwave radio but all I could find was stations with Asian sounding languages, I had no idea where they came from but it was still interesting to listen to briefly. On the AM band I heard stations from Central America and one big signal from Louisiana that played pop music oldies.

During the morning the wind died down and so did my speed so I took the opportunity to haul a bucket of water into the bathroom so I could flush it without tank water. I just didn't want to get ocean water on the floor because it left a white salt stain that was hard to clean-up. During `the slows' I cleaned the bathroom from floor to ceiling. It amazed me how spots constantly appeared on the mirror, maybe it was the ghost of that dead teenager (Susan) popping her zits on my mirror. I also dumped the sewage tank out the side.

The sky clouded up and we got some sprinkles but barely enough to wet the windshield. The radar showed the rain appeared to be stuck in one spot, so I sailed around it. While I was at the desk looking at the radar settings I realized we'd been sailing with the running lights on all the time since I left Cozumel! Oh well, with the solar and wind chargers they had way more than enough to power them all the time. I decided to leave the LED mast light on all the time since the drain was nearly too small to measure. Maybe that was the other thing the ghost of Susan did, after popping her zits on the mirror she turned the NAV lights on then left.

Sitting in the chair at the helm, staring out the windshield day after day with nothing around me but waves and sky gave me time to think.

I got upset at myself almost every day. Even though my parents raised me and paid my tuition at UCLA I don't think they knew me either. I'm not sure anyone really knew me, but Carlo came close. The loss of him hurt me badly. I've always had a hard time making friends because autism kept most people away. Two thirds of people that I told about autism turned and walked away.

Being autistic was sort of like being born with one arm but no sense of disability. The primary difference between my world and that of someone sitting beside me was mine was very literal: everything was exactly as it appeared. Neuro-typical people saw nuance and metaphor, along with pastels and harmony. All I saw was the facts of the situation. My understanding of the world was concrete and deliberate but their world had multiple definitions.

Carlo was the first guy I got to know that wasn't bothered by me living in a parallel concrete world, he just accepted me and kept moving forward. Carlo lived very much in the moment, he said life was too short to dwell in the past or the future. I think that was why he was so good in bed and so much fun to take into new situations, that's why I was sure he'd end up in California with me. A guy like that was rare and I was willing to risk everything to keep him with me, but I guess I miscalculated his cultural bond.

People often misunderstand what I said because I spoke bluntly. To me conversation was as dangerous as an email exchange, all the subtlety and emotion were gone. The good part about me being a lawyer was most people seemed to expect the tall slender guy with the black two piece suit and tie was going to be blunt, but at home in bed was another world with another set of rules.

Maybe that's why I was constantly trying to talk about autism with people close to me because I expected that evil spirit would eventually reach out and stab all my friends, but if I pre-warned them it might not be noticed.

Maybe that's why rocks were by best friends in grade school because they were all tough as stone and I never hurt their feelings, they never hurt mine.

Social media also made things worse because few people now actually read and considered the written word. I got lots of replies to my Grindr listing where it was obvious they never read the entire thing. I clearly said: Don't send me photos, but most guys did. Carlo never did, that's why I kept talking to him and he kept replying. That and I think he wanted to taste my seven inches.

The question comes down sometimes to if someone made a pill that would reverse autism, would I take it? I can honestly say that as a child I would say yes, but now at age 33, maybe not. Autism does come with a few unique super powers.

Friday January 25, 2019. Day #11 at sea.

At 10:28am five days after leaving Cozumel I saw Pelicans then lush green jungle and a hilly strip of land straight south of me. The GPS confirmed I had arrived at Panama! Finally, it felt like I accomplished something big. Job #2 after sighting land and celebrating loudly was to put clothes (jeans and a t-shirt) on!

At 12:10pm I was close enough to call the canal authority on radio channel 12 to get directions where to anchor and how to call for a ride to shore. He said to sail towards the city waterfront park, watch for the cluster of sailboats, drop anchor there.

The next task was locating the entrance to the bay. They built a seawall around the bay with two openings. The seawall went rather far out and it had one primary opening that aligned with the canal. When I got close enough to see the barrier I had to drop sails and crawl along because the wind was behind me and Susan had no brakes. I had to float for a while for other boat traffic to clear then I slowly motored onto Limon Bay and headed towards where they told me to park.

There was a private water taxi that ran all day and night for mariners waiting to cross. I was amazed by the number and variety of boats at anchor around the bay. I saw in videos that it was a huge operation that never stopped, every boat, every hour was closely managed to maximize the traffic crossing the canal. I dropped front and rear anchors in twenty foot deep water and called for a ride to shore. I had no idea how much crime there was out on the bay but I was at their mercy. Of all the stories and articles I read I never saw reports of crime on the water, only on land. From under one of the seats I got out four pier bumpers and hung them on the sides of the back deck since that was the best place to exit the boat at sea.

The taxi was a small (colorfully painted, partially covered) aluminum boat with an outboard motor (but no life jackets), it came up against the side and I carefully stepped down and sat down with two other passengers, then we sped straight to their pier. The 1,000 foot ride to their pier cost me five US dollars. I confirmed while we were crossing the bay that the taxi service ran 24 hours a day, he said, "Si, veinticuatro horas al dia, Senior. Lame al canal doce." I said `okay' and he smiled back. I think almost every adult on the planet knew the word Okay.

On arrival I walked across the park to the waterfront road then two miles along the waterfront road to the Panama Canal Admeasurement Office which was two buildings and a lighthouse at the end of a very long strip of (manmade) land that stuck out into Limon Bay. When I first stepped off the boat onto solid ground it felt weird and I fell down twice as I got my land legs back.

In the office I submitted (another copy of) the form and paid the fee in cash. I faxed them the form before I left Florida so they had me in their computer already. He asked me the same questions I already submitted on the form, basically the size of my sailboat, ropes, deck hands, and he wanted to know if I carried any explosives or weapons. It was tempting to kid with him but I managed to stay focused on his questions and not get sarcastic after his stupid sounding questions. Honestly, if I had weapons or explosives does he think I'd tell him? I'd estimate that 98% of all private boats that crossed the canal had weapons onboard, you'd be negligent not to. And I bet all of them answered that question no.

We had a discussion about deckhands and he said I had to hire two people, which could be done at the locks before we entered there were always a group of rope handlers (ropers) for hire. He also said the canal inspector might not actually board my boat, but watch for him to sail close to my vessel between now and Sunday morning.

We looked at Susan through their large observation windows, I helped him identify her, he used a telescope on a tripod near the large window and stared at it briefly then went back to his desk to type more notes into the computer and mumbled that my NAV lights were on. I rolled my eyes at myself. ("She's the white forty foot single masted sailboat." "Sir, that describes half the boats out there!") I think next time I have the waterline painted I'm going to specify hot pink instead of burgundy.

Then he stamped my passport and my form and told me to listen for the steam whistle, three short loud blasts, three times. I'd go with a group that crossed on Sunday morning around 8am. He handed me a paper to tape to my windshield so it could be seen from the port side of the boat. The canal officer also said they had someone on a jet ski motor out to organize the boats for the seven mile trip down the canal to the Gatun Locks. He seemed like a pleasant and very experienced man and his English was top notch.

As I was getting ready to leave I noticed a chain that hung down from the ceiling, on the bottom was a round wooden handle. I guessed that worked the valve that honked the steam whistle up on the roof.

Back out on the sidewalk I got a better look at the canal side waterfront business district. It looked busy, lots of old vehicles, lots of scooters, lots of pedestrians, donkeys pulled old wooden carts, and kids ran around everywhere. I saw trash blowing around on the brick streets. The place looked very old, very Spanish colonial, very wet and moldy, very worn out. The streets were narrow, most of them were stone or brick. There was no hint of zoning in Colon, hotels sat beside warehouses and repair shops. And it was obvious this was the ugly side of town, which was odd considering the canal income kept their country running.

When I looked back at the office I noticed the weird metal thing on the roof of the observation tower was probably the steam horn they used to signal the start of the crossing. It made me smile when I considered how old all these places were, many built before the canal and dated back to the 1800s. Walking in Colon was like walking back in time. You had to ignore the ugly power lines and utility poles but this was exactly how the world looked when Abe Lincoln was in law school. One nice thing about it was their city was free of American brand fast food joints. It pained me to see them overseas, that people might eat at one of those and think that is what we craved in the States. Ain't so for most of us.

Colon sat on a small peninsula, sort of like a miniature version of San Francisco. The canal side was like the arm pit, there were no beaches or fancy hotels. It was pretty ugly except all the roofs were the same reddish color. I think the nicer looking area was on the other side of the peninsula with the beaches, the water front boulevard and the hotels. Even though there was a small hotel near the taxi boat pier I didn't feel entirely safe leaving Susan alone all night, so I told myself it was best to sleep onboard. I was sort of beyond tired after five days of little to no sleep, I'm surprised I was able to have a coherent conversation with the money changers at the canal office. Thank God for coffee!

Out on the peninsula beside the Admeasurement Office was their big container port, with cranes, trucks, train cars, and longshoremen walking around. Not only did that office manage their half of the canal they also managed their cargo port which handled freight for lots of Central America, but not South America.

Due to the amount of cash they handled every day the canal office looked like a blend of a 1920s gangster era bank, 1890 immigration office, coast guard inspection office, and an airport control tower. There was an armed guard in a bullet proof booth holding an AK-style rifle, watching everyone that walked in the door.

I walked at a brisk pace towards the water taxi pier. All the people I saw along Avenue del Frente had dark brown skin and black (or gray) hair. Most of the men wore straw cowboy hats, I never saw a single Panama hat or suit.

The men all wore short sleeve button down shirts and blue jeans with cowboy boots and everyone wore a belt. The women dressed nicely, almost the same here as they did in Miami. While the town looked dirty and badly worn, their clothing was all super clean and bright.

The shops near the waterfront looked nice, lots of handmade clothing and souvenirs, hats, belts, boots, and blue jeans. Prices were high but I wanted hot food and an ice cold glass of water, it didn't even have to be a burger and fries. As I walked back towards the water taxi pier I looked in store windows and slowed to smile and nod at the locals. I don't think I saw any locals around here near my age, everyone here looked like they were over fifty.

I replayed in my mind what the money guy (that stood behind the bullet proof window) said about a boat inspector coming by my boat but he might not board or stop. Then I wondered why he told me that in the first place? Just in case I'd pack away my shotgun in the front bunk room closet just in case. I still had knives in the drawer I could grab if Susan was raided by a rowboat full of (sharply dressed) angry lesbian pirates.

The thing that really puzzled me about Colon was why it looked very old, dirty, and worn when 50 miles away on the other side of the country Panama City was full of modern looking shiny glass skyscrapers. I wondered why Colon appeared to be stuck in the 1930s, the era of the Great Depression.

Thousands of people crossed Panama on cruise ships every month. But the country seemed to not care about the first impression they made. Colon was not an attractive city, it looked poor, industrial, and dirty. It was one of those places where hurricane damaged buildings looked almost the same as new construction.

Up ahead by the water taxi pier I saw a restaurant across the street. I crossed the brick street after a bus loaded with locals rumbled by. I went inside to check the menu, I was Jonesin for a hot sandwich and a cold drink. As tired as I felt I hoped I didn't make an ass of myself saying stupid shit in the restaurant.

Half a block from their front door I smelled cooking food and was ready to eat anything that wasn't from a can.

Contact the author: borischenaz gmail

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