The Whole Nine Yards

By Jessica Zevalkink

My nighttime anx iety has thickened. Never been one to be anx ious, but Katie’s prescription of X anax i s starting to look like a jar of cookies. I haven’t slept through the night in weeks. Not because I have been deprived of the opportunity; merely because in three days we will sail back into Northport, Michigan and cross our wake from two years ago, completing America’s Great L oop ex actly two years to the day. Katie and I have been traveling non-stop for 1 27 d ays from Key West, Florida.

� �ish � could record �ith a chi��er attitude a�out this �rand finale� �ut if � am going to be honest with myself (which I have gotten much better at), I am the opposite of chi��er. � am �uiet. And for the first time ever � �atie is �uiet. �hen anythin� comes out of either of our mouths it’s rather crass, and the only thing that really gets a grin on either of our faces is when we bitch about something that does not, at all, req uire bitching.

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Nine Yards

� have yet to sort out �hy it is so difficult to �in� �oint my thou�ht �rocess and am �e�innin� to thin� � am sim�ly �rocessin� nothin� � �eriod. �e �ash into the �ind and �aves �er usual. �e �ush L ouis ehard and for no reason other than it is satisfactory to test not only her limits� �ut ours as �ell �ecause �e are so close to home. �hey say most accidents ha��en �ithin t�o miles of your o�n home. � currently �ear a coat of false confidence and � am fully a�are of it. �e have cruised so conservatively� so cautiously� �e have �een so timid since day one. �art of me �ishes � �re� �hateverset of rooster��e�els � carry �ith me no�� a year a�o.

��m crum�lin� li�e a stale muffin. �creamin� li�e a �oilin� tea �ot. �other nature does ��� �ant us to ma�e it home. �he is dictatin� every decision �e ma�e as incorrect. �ith �� miles to travel from �ac�inac �sland to �eaver �sland� �e left the har�or �no�in� it �asn�t �oin� to �e a �leasant ride. �t is not unusual for �atie and � to �e the only ones leavin� the har�or� �e �et a �ic� out of that. �e �no� it�s never the most �rilliant of ideas� �ut �e �no� �e �ill �e fine. At this �oint� home is around the corner. �f somethin�

�oes �ron�� � can call the �i�ard� even thou�h he �ro�a�ly �ouldn�t ans�er the �hone.

�very de�ree �e turn� the �ind follo�s. �very tac� �e ma�e is �ushin� us �ac��ards. �n ei�ht hours the �ac�inac �rid�e is the e�act same distance �ehind us. �hen �e �assed underneath the structure it �as ma�nificent. �o� � �ust �ant it to �o a�ay.

�y ��00 �.m. �e �ive u�. �ar�ness is closin� in� �eaver �sland is too far. A mushroom cloud is ta�in� over half of the s�y and it�s �een cree�in� on us all afternoon.

“The hardest thing in the world is to simplify your life, its so easy to make it complex” - Yvon Chouinard

At this �oint �e are �ein� stal�ed. �he �ind continues to increase� nearly sto��in� us in our trac�s. �e divert to ��tur�eon �ove.� �he chan�e of course lays L ouis e on her side and �e �y for�ard� movin� the same s�eed as the storm clouds. �e can�t outrun them anymore. �hy �e didn�t chan�e course hours a�o is the only �uestion to �e as�in� ourselves. �he s�y has turned �ammatus� my favorite of all clouds� althou�h they re�resent nastiness.

�e set anchor in a sandy �cove� �hich is not at all a cove� e��osed in every direction �ut one. �n the

cockpit I am stiff, perplex ed... I am done. I don’t know if I am frustrated that we are struggling to get home, or just frustrated that we are even going home. I think I am frustrated I am going home. The feeling of “the end” sinks in and it seems to be nothing but an unsurpassable road block. L ooking where the sun sinks towards the sea rests the most beautiful sunset I have ever seen, which is kind of making me angry. The sky has been raping us all day, and suddenly it wants to cuddle? Come on, that’s contradicting.

Two days later we round Northport Point (my attempt to make this sound like an accomplishment eq uivalent to rounding Cape Horn) on a cloudy day wearing nothing but smiles. Well, not really. We have clothes on. The king sheet (genoa) is unfurled to its largest and we are closehauled in 1 5 knots of wind. I have a bit of weather helm� �ut � don�t care ri�ht no�. �e sna�e around the final red buoy and adjust our course for my house on North Shore Drive. L ouis elays gracefully sideways on a beam reach and we adjust the king sheet as per her req uest. The mainsail is not up because… because that req uires work, of course.

Nothing really seems to matter today. It doesn’t matter that we have completed America’s Great L oop. It doesn’t matter how many miles we have covered. It doesn’t matter it took two years. My bank account doesn’t matter. My awful Walmart haircut and damaged skin doesn’t matter. The only thing that does matter is right in front of me: Katie, Reggie, and L ouis e. I am so proud of them. Katie and I worked through situations that, with no one else, I could have. The trust and respect I hold for her will doubtfully be trumped by another. She is still my best friend - my sister. Reggie dog, the wise and properly traveled creature, has taught me many things aside from the value of companionship. Katie took care of Reggie better than I have ever witnessed anyone take care of anything or anybody. L ouis e took us to places I never would have otherwise seen. L ouis e showed me the power of simplicity. I am at a loss for words as I recogniz e what I have had in front of me since the day I left. I don’t even notice the last few miles of bohemian blue water. All I see are people who helped Katie and I accomplish this. There are doz ens, if not hundreds, who

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The Whole Nine Yards

lifted a fin�er on our �ehalf� and it is their faces � see �hen � scan �orth�ort �ay.

�he �i�ard and his a��rentice �our dads� should �e a��earin� on the hori�on at any moment� and �e �ee� a �een eye out for �ossi�le sus�ects. �hen �atie�s �hone rin�s� it�s her dad. ��ey �irls� �e �ro�e do�n. �otta �et a to� and ho� on another �oat� �ut �ee� on comin���

�his is hysterical as �e envision L ouis e to�in� a �o�er �oat lar�er than herself �ac� to the marina for our �rand finale. � mean� �hat are the chances that the men �ho tau�ht us everythin� �e �no�� �rea� do�n on their �ay to �elcome home their dau�hters� �illy �uestion. �he chances are �ood� very �ood.

�ithin the half hour �e s�ot four �ac�asses �� say this �ith love� hootin� and hollerin� li�e

teenage boys. The wiz ard is driving full throttle per usual, making certain that everyone is uncomfortable but him. The laughing starts and won’t stop. I am laughing. I am crying. I am laughing. I am crying. They keep coming towards us and the wiz ard circles around so close to the cockpit he drenches us with gallons of L ake Michigan. We wave and they wave. We holler and they holler. We laugh. They laugh. We carry on, holding our course, and they drive around

us in circles. Katie and I look at them and they look back at us.

This goes on and on and we all want to press the pause button. It becomes more than a moment. It becomes another thing in front of me that proves nothing else matters. This is the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. The treasure at the end of the map. The toy at the bottom of Cracker J acks. We win. They are proud. We are proud. We have come full circle.

T H A N K S TO A FRIEND

This cl osing articl e is d ed icated to B il l S weeney . We m et B il l and his wif e B onnie in ou r hom eport the d ay b ef ore we l ef t f or “ the l oop” . B il l and B onnie spent y ears part- tim e l ooping and we crossed paths on the water m ore tim es than I can cou nt. B il l recentl y passed , and I d id not get the chance to thank him in person f or b eing ou r b iggest cheerl ead er, enthu siast, and reason to k eep ou r chins u p. B il l nev er stopped encou raging m e to write and I can’ t thank him enou gh f or that. We l ov e y ou B il l .