If I were in a hurry, I wouldn’t sail. Or maybe it is because I am always in a hurry, I sail. Either way, as airport paperback hackneyed as it sounds, it is the journey that counts. And 150 miles from home driveway to marina provides plenty of journey. Enough time to talk to a son who can be hard to catch on the phone. Enough time for a conversation to unfold, rather than trying to iron out the wrinkles. Enough time to let the silences be unhurried.
The sky over Lake Pleasant was undramatically gray with a low cloud cover that seemed to stifle the wind. The air was in the 50’s but when the wind eventually filled in from the north and we started sailing upwind, the temperature dropped. We carved a left shift on port tack past the one other sailboat on the lake and headed north until the wind slowed and we turned the boat back to the marina, slowly, and prepared to go back again.