For when the roads flood

 In the early days of the pandemic, so early the stores still had toilet paper in stock, I took possession of a floater.  And no, there isn't a way for that sentence to not read very wrong, so don't worry, it isn't just you.  There is a brook in my back side yard, and that quickly became my peaceful respite from a world that was busy trying to come to grips with its new reality and not entirely maintaining a firm grip on sanity during the process.  Human beings are highly adaptable, but that doesn't mean they like change, and sometimes they don't respond to it all smiles and giggles.  It was good time sit in a kayak and paddle a serene stream.

But I do like people, and one or two of them also like me for some reason, so we call each other friends.  Friends are amazing and I owe much gratitude to the surprising many who helped put me back together last year, both physically, and in large part simply with their presence, emotionally.  But wandering back to 2020, a huge impact for many was the isolation of lock downs.  I remember one friend commenting to me that my lifestyle wasn't much affected by the pandemic, I suppose because I project a high degree of emotional independence, but I'll point out that we were sitting in his backyard, a first for us, as all out prior conversations had been on the roll astride bikes, an activity deemed no longer healthy with any certainty as we learned the insides and outsides of a new novel virus.

So in an off way, Covid did affect my social life, but ironically, in a positive way.  I started to pay chatting visits to the people I liked with whom I'd always met over activities.  Bikes are great, and road rides can be a stellar opportunity to converse one's way through the miles in good company, but not shockingly, I found it even easier to develop a conversation when that was the sole task at hand aside from making sure a chair didn't float away.  The pandemic taught me to instigate visits with people just for the sake of a visit.

But kayaking, especially in a twelve foot long craft, is a naturally socially distant activity with a low enough speed to still allow for easy dialog.  In addition to a brook near my house, there are also neighbors, who also have the same brook near their house, and sensibly, kayaks.  I can testify to the many advantages of positive relations with one's neighbors versus the other option, and one of those advantages the borrowing of a kayak so I could treat a visiting friend to a paddle on the water that had become my calm in the midst of the viral storm.  

Sharing was an extra joy atop an already tremendous joy, and I realized finding a spare boat for future friendly visits would make good sense, but not shockingly, I'm more inclined to give somewhat worn equipment a new home than to give the production world a reason to mold new plastic, and if that old gear is a little tattered and could benefit from some resourceful repair, so much the better.  Non, je ne suis pas Francais, mais j'aime le chose qui a besoin quelque chose.  (Translation, not from French, but my likely incorrect memory of high school French: "No, I'm not French, but I like the things that need some things.")

Yesterday, my casual search ended in a way that could have been more perfect only if the seller had lived on the opposite side of our street, with the brook in his back yard, so I could paddle the boat home.  Instead, I had an 8 minute pull of the trailer, maybe 10 minutes laden on the way home.  And yes, of course I am equipped to pull a kayak by bike; that long trailer isn't just for ladders!  My bike riding friend Doug who used to live down the street once told me of his housemate rushing into his room, exclaiming, "Quick, you've got this. There's a guy pulling a kayak with a bike!"  After the run to the window, Doug had told her in even tones, "Oh yeah, that's Salem."  No surprise there, it just made sense to him it would be: that guy on the bike!