Newport Sail 2007

Newport RI
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It was the last weekend in September 2007 and five guys, who last worked together 10 years ago at Hyperion, head to Providence, Rhode Island for a sail to Newport.

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The first night was spent in the Providence condo/fright house where Primitive African ceremonial objects
occupy every conceivable area of this apartment.

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Shereen and Mike discuss the sleeping arrangements and joking
around who would be sleeping with Russ.

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This is Russ at six feet eight inches, he snores so loud and deep that Mike describes the sound as a tractor trailor engine down shifting on a steep grade.

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Its hard to tell late at night who is snoring among the din (aside from Russ).
It sounded to me that all snored at one point or another. All except for me.
'I snored not at all' is what I thought and was actually said by some
and greeted by many a raised eyebrow.
No one argues the nights on this vessel were not quiet.

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Slightly less scary, this African mask watched over me as I slept.
Those eyes and that jaw line. I could see this mask coming to life crazy easy.
Is that real human hair... sure looks like it. The coloring around the mouth looks so real.
Huh.?. did that eye lid just move...

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We had dinner at CAV Restaurant which is owned by Shereen's mom and is a hybrid antique shop/restaurant. The food was delicious and plentiful. She sat with us and chatted with tables all around us, a gracious hostess seeing to everyones happiness. I would dine often here if only it were closer.

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She also allowed us to crash in the apartment used for the storage of antiques. We wandered among these primitive works of art with considerable care. I can imagine her biting nails thinking of orkan sized humans roaming this collection.

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The quantity of works could easily make this a room in a museum.

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So I took the time to appreciate these masks made by hand maybe hundreds of years ago.

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There is a primitive beauty here that would certainly get you attention at that next halloween party.
Picture yourself staring at this guy from inside a pot of stew.

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Finally, on the boat and sailing to Newport with Russ at the helm. This was his first trip with us and as the new guy has sea legs to earn.

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Shereen on his normal perch watching over operations and calling out occassional instructions.
Russ tells us this is not all that dissimilar to driving with his wife in the car.
"Yes, dear" became a frequent response to coarse corrections.

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So Russ is casually informed that this new mast is slightly taller than can safely be sailed under the bridge.

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When we near the underpass, everyone has to sit over to one side and lean hard to get the tilt we will need to clear the roadway.

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From a distance the bridge story seems plausible

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The mast is 45 feet tall

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Hang on and lean hard, Russ.
We need you working here, buddy.

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The closer that you get though, it becomes pretty obvious that there is no problem with clearance

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You guys are such butt munchers
From this view,
Russ' head doesn't even fit under the bridge.

Smooth sailing and good winds after the bridge.

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Approaching port we see the Queen Mary II is moored off Newport.
This ship is over 1100 feet long and cost nearly a billion dollars (or four days in Iraq)

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Sailing in for a good view, an excellent question floats up to the deck.
How close are you allowed to get to this ship?

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This Coast Guard vessel seemed to appear from nowhere in a wake twice its size.

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We check out the machine gun turret on the rear deck as we listen to a voice barking through the PA.
"You have crossed into a secured area."

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Time to tack

This is the NCL Veendam cruise ship which we tacked near enough to slap the hull as we sailed by it.
No Coast Guard gunship around here charging like a bulldog on a chain.
Apparently, the US doesn't really care much about the Norwegian's stuff.

Pulling into Newport where the private yachts are just over the top.
If you have too much money then its time for a big boat.

We walk off the docks to Banister's Wharf where discussion turns to the evening activity and
Shereen comes up with the game. Everyone is assigned a thing a girl has to do to them, all completely clean of course.

Shereen needs his belly rubbed. I will get my forehead touched. Mike gets his palm read.
Terry a back rub. And Russ needs his bicep squeezed (this for his Mongo stories from college).

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Anxious to get the game in gear, Shereen asks the waitress at dinner to rub his belly.
It was a brutal shootdown that had the rest of us worried about spit in our food.

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Later at the bar, Shereen was the first successful with a less coarse approach on a pair of chatty girls that seemed more interested in Mike. No palms read for Mike that evening though. He grew to feel his task to be the hardest of the five.

Shereen threw one over the plate for me when he told the bar waitress I had a special power. So I said I can guess her home town with a touch to my forehead.

I failed miserably the first time I tried this same tactic on a Polish girl that a couple of us had doubts she even qualified as a girl. Overall, a fun game in that it gets you chatting with strangers. And I think this was easier than the prior years task of getting a girl to say your secret word in a sentence.
I mean, how do you even pronounce scatological?

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Here we are docked in Newport. There is talk of upgrading to a larger boat.
Personally, I hope it doesn't happen. I would miss this beautiful baby.

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The sailboat is called the Panache but when we pulled up to the dock
for fuel the attendant called it out as the Panicky.

Yea, that's right kid... but only when the Coast Guards around.