<H1> “Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the universe.” ― Albert Einstein</H1>

I have found something else that I am no longer good at - kayaking.  I can still paddle and control the direction of the boat, it's the rest of the stuff I have lost.

This past weekend, I decided to go kayaking on my own, Thank goodness my wife came along or I would not have been able to enter or exit the boat. Readers, even PWP, are thinking, "What's so difficult about getting into and out of a boat"? Last year, I could do it easily. This year, I tried the correct entering technique and ended up falling unceremoniously back into the kayak, fortunately bum first. Equally fortunate, there was nobody around to witness what was undoubtedly an amusing amateur display.

Depending on your point of view, the story gets better,or perhaps worse, thanks to PD.

The Voyage

I told my wife, who took the car, I would meet her at Ralph Beach, a few miles away. I hadn't been to Ralph Beach in at least a decade, maybe two. I paddled fairly easily, but not smoothly due to a slight tremor and what once had been a 10 minute trip took double the time. The shoreline had changed, as nature is wont to do, and I missed the beach completely. I was getting tired and had difficulty paddling and frankly, I was lost, when a faint voice, away in the distance behind me, called over the water, "Aren't you going to turn in?" Somehow, PD had(has) left my hearing alone, while attacking the rest of my body in this skirmish, all caused by my desire, my stupid desire, to relive the past. I was able to find my wife and paddle to the shore at Ralph Beach. But then the problems arose.

How to Disembark

I paddled to a stop in a line parallel with the shore and with one leg over the side, foot in the water, I attempted to use the opposite side of the boat as leverage to sit up and exit the kayak . Instead, I was so unsteady, I toppled back and ended on my butt in the boat. Now, we all understand that for every action there is a reaction. In my case, the reaction managed to push the boat back into deeper water. Using the paddle, I "poled" back to shore and after two more unsuccessfull attempts, I bowed to my wife's pleas to help me and at last, with her help, I stood beside the kayak swaying (sort of). I had to admit to myself that PD had robbed me of my strength and agility. I was momentarily pondering this conclusion when PD attacked with ferocity. I was pulled backwards by some mysterious force. Four backward steps later, I lost all balance and collapsed into two feet of water. With a shout, my wife asked if she could help as I flashed around in the lake. I was having trouble getting upright due to my life jacket insisting on doing its job by keeping me on my back in order to keep my head above water. With my wife's assistance, I got on to drier land, soaked, head to foot, and we still had to get the kayak up a small, gravelled hill to the car.

The Samaritans

I was tired and disoriented (PWP will know the feeling), but I was determined to get the boat off the beach. A simple task you ask? No, a nearly impossible one. I took the stern of the boat; my wife took the bow and we (and by "we", I mean "she") began to go up the hill. I was shaking and stutter-stepping and not making any progress, when a man and woman started down the hill toward us. They noticed my struggles and offered help, which I gratefully accepted, explaining that I had (have) PD. The man took my place at the stern and the woman took my hand. She helped me up the hill and into the car. Her husband helped my wife load the kayak. Two strangers helping two strangers! It was almost biblical.

Denounment

The trip home was uneventful. The only conversation was me telling my wife, and her disputing, that I would never kayak again.

I won't.

Oh yes, I forgot to mention that, as she gently held my hand and took me to the car, the lady told me her father had had PD and that he had described the condition as, "Your brain tells the rest of the body to do something and the body refuses."

He got that right ma'am. He sure got that right.