Yesterday, in the gallery, I pointed the binoculars at a group of kayakers long enough to identify Todd, who was taking some visiting family around the nearby islands. He'd invited me, but I had to work, so I watched and waited for the end of the day.
Later, it was my turn. As I walked to our launch site, Todd drove past in his work van and asked me where I was going.
I shrugged. "Toward George's Head and take it from there."
I heard him sigh. He had a dinner, family, plans. I was on my own.
For me, kayaking has been a bit like my on and off coffee addiction. At first, it feels great just to get out there. Every time I paddled it felt like a balm to the ups and downs of daily life. But then as I paddled more frequently, I discovered that if didn't get out I'd feel a sort-of withdrawl, and feel bad because I didn't get out. Lately, watching more and more kayaks arrive in town on car tops, and seeing the occasional paddlers in the harbor, I feel a rising anxiety if I haven't been out in a couple of days.
And social events? Forget about it. What happens when you're with a group of people eating or drinking or milling about? Someone asks about kayaking, or more likely I'll mention something about it, and I think "what am I doing here?"
Last night: George's Head, Wreck, Bare & back toward the sunset. People on several islands, mostly powerboaters building huge fires. Oh, and check this out- maximum speed: 14.7 miles per hour. I must be getting fast! I'd noticed the max speed going up to 7-somthing when the waves and wind and current were pushing me, but I didn't think this was possible.