I was minding my own business having a perfectly pleasant day doing a little retail therapy (Hey! I had a store credit, okay?) when I received a text from Mike: “Call me when you get a chance.”. What to do, what to do, what to do? On the one hand, I hate talking on my phone in the store because I think it’s rude. Also, privacy. On the other hand, I had a full cart of really cute clothes that deserved a good trying-on. Abandoning a cart filled with one-of-a-kind cuteness was not an option. Sacrifices always need to be made when boats are involved. So I called him from the middle of aisle 3.
I could tell by the tone of his voice that he ‘needed to talk’ to me, which meant that our mutual dream, the one whereby this was the day when that new engine would just slide like butter into the gaping pit of the engine room, easy as pie, was now dead. As a door nail. Because if there is ever any bet you can take to the bank, it’s going to be that boat repairs never go exactly as planned. So that’s why you need to plan on there being trouble.
I could tell by Mike’s voice that he was going to tell me something I didn’t particularly want to hear. And it turns out I was right. If I remember correctly, the propeller came off fine, the cutless bearing came out fine, but getting the prop shaft off the boat turned out to be a bigger deal than Las Vegas. Andromeda does not give up her metal parts easily.
About this time in the conversation, dollar signs began swimming around in front of my eyes and my concentration began to dim. As I recall, the issue involved disintegrating metal and cutting into the perfectly good fiberglass and all sorts of other tool-involved activities that Mike will describe in glorious detail with all the correct technical language. He assures me that when we’re finished Andromeda will have not only a new heart, but new arteries and major blood vessels as well, good for another 40 years or until death do us part.
To be continued.