Since my website has been making the rounds — landing in places I never would’ve imagined; being forwarded onward and outward by all of you — several people have made some very useful suggestions as far as my sailing future is concerned. One of those suggestions has been an organization called BAADS (Bay Area Association of Disable Sailors) right here in San Francisco. Not so surprisingly, this was one of the first websites that popped up when I was googling for information on disabled sailing way back when this whole voyage first came to me.

Since that time I’ve sailed with the organization twice and it’s been an enriching and valuable experience both times. The folks who are involved — both running it and participating in it — are some pretty dynamic and passionate people. As I’ve said before, sailors remind me of surfers and since I love being around surfers I’m pretty damn comfortable. Anyway, my hope is to be sailing with them on a near weekly basis and by the beginning of summer at the latest sailing solo in one of their adapted boats with a sure sense of my abilities out on the water.

Thinking outside the boat

The more I sail the more ideas that come to me about how to make the sport more comfortable for somebody with my level of disability. As I mentioned in the last post on sailing, one of the most important things I’ll need is some sort of chair that has the ability to be adjusted when the boat tacks and is in a steep heel.

For smaller boats I’ve seen this done, but it’s a permanent fixture. What I’m thinking of is something that wouldn’t be permanent but yet secure and that could be moved around rather easily as the situation on the water dictated. If there are any engineers or creative types out there who want to help me design this by all means contact me. This is an immensely important part of the trip.

My relationship with eggplant over the years has not been one of gastronomic appreciation. The purplest member of the nightshade family, despite technically being a berry, is not — in my opinion — a very tasty treat. Still, people have attempted to persuade me to see it otherwise. What it is about the eggplant specifically that inspires such evangelical behavior I’m not sure, but it seems everybody has that killer recipe that’ll win me over, and the opinion that nobody else knows how to cook it.

Historical context: suffer the children

Growing up in the Schmiesing household one thing was abundantly clear around mealtime, no matter how passionately you made your case for not liking what was being served (and believe me, my sisters and I had a passion that could — under most circumstances — make your average parent cave), you were going to eat what was on your plate. End of story. That’s it.

“This is not a restaurant”, my mom would say, “There isn’t any ordering”.

Most of the time we would accept our collective fate — albeit with some persuasive words from our parents — and get through the said distasteful item with as little chewing and tongue contact with it as possible. But there were those times when something was served often enough that it almost began to feel as though we were the butt of some sadistic joke. My mom’s battered eggplant with maple syrup was one of those suspicious dishes.

After years of being served this impressively horrible dish almost monthly the seeds of revolution began to sprout and rebellion became eminent. Our sheer numbers (4 to 2) gave us the confidence to stand tall, except the likely blowback and to say, “Enough is enough. We are but children, why must you torture us so?”

Of course, we had no idea what would come of our insolence, but what did was so absurdly funny, heartwarming, and like O Henry’s The Gift of the Magi in its irony that to this day I am forever grateful for the eggplant.

“I make it because your father likes it”, my mom said.

In unison we turned to stare down the apparent source of our eternal suffering… my pop. Sure, my mom may have been making the dish, but it was at the request of my father — the responsibility was his.

“No I don’t”, my father replied, looking a little confused and quite clearly feeling the heat from his four children’s eyes bearing up on him.

“Yes you do”, my mom said. An embarrassed smile starting to slide over her face. “Why else would make it so often?”

“I don’t know, I thought you liked it.”

“No, I make it because you like it”, my mom answered, laughing.

Baffled, my sisters and I couldn’t believe our ears. Could it really be possible that all our suffering was over our parent’s lack of communication?

Hello. Mom meet dad, dad meet mom.

“Why didn’t you say something?”, I asked my dad. “We all would’ve been spared”.

At this point the whole table erupted in laughter; a seachange had occurred and us kids were feeling pretty optimistic about our future.

“So does this mean we don’t have to finish our eggplant? “, we asked. Certain the establishment of this particular dish as a “no go” with my father meant the punishment would at last stop.

“It most certainly does not”, my mom answered. “There are starving children in China who’d give anything to eat what’s on your plate. Finish your dinner.”

Of course, we knew there weren’t children anywhere who’d eat what we had on our plates — starving or not — but it was the last night we’d ever have to, and so like a nest of preadolescent snakes we swallowed whole what was in front of us and began digesting the end of an era.

Upon further reflection

Over the years I’ve had ample time to reflect on the above event and what I’ve come to understand about my parents lack of communication in regards to said eggplant dish is this: Romantic love, at least in part, is about sacrifice. My mom, not liking the eggplant herself (though there is some controversy over this fact), but under the unfortunate misunderstanding that my dad did, served it on a regular basis just to make him happy. And my dad, not wanting to offend my mom, thinking she made it as often as she did because she liked it, said nothing so she could continue to enjoy it guilt free. These are beautiful gestures of love and sacrifice, to be sure, and as I said above, I am forever grateful to the eggplant for allowing me to witness it, but you’ve got to ask yourselves one question; with all this sacrificing going on, how is it possible none of it trickled down to the little ones?

The recipe (in case for some reason you’re thinking; eggplant; a deep fryer; maple syrup — yeah, that’s my kind of meal)

Ingredients

Eggplant (as many as you feel comfortable eating)
Milk.
Eggs.
Bisquick.
Oil.
Maple syrup.

Directions.

Heat oil to deep frying temperature in appropriate sized pan. Slice eggplant into half-inch thick rounds. Mix milk, eggs, Bisquick into batter like consistency. Dip eggplant in batter and coat thoroughly. Deep fry eggplant until golden brown. Serve with pad of butter and grotesque dousing of maple syrup. Enjoy with loved ones regularly.

I went sailing last Sunday morning with a couple of friends and the individual who I mentioned in the previous post and had, what can only be described, as a transcendent and illuminating experience. I came away from the day not only with a far clearer understanding of my vision, both in terms of what it will take physically as a quadriplegic on a boat and practically as it applies to what special equipment I’ll need to have a safe and comfortable trip, but with an added stoke that guarantees success.

The weather calls for…

I woke up that morning at 5 a.m. (meaning my attendant woke up somewhere around 4 a.m.), having to do my routine and get to the docks in Emeryville by 7:30. Because of the tide situation and the depth of the keel on the boat we had a very narrow window in which we could sail. The Emeryville Harbor entrance is shallow and so we needed to get in and out before the tide dropped out — about three hours. There’s talk of dredging the entrance, but until then — in this boat at least — we’re at the mercy of high tide.

The morning was surprisingly windy, which for this area and this early is rather unusual. When we met B at the docks his face looked a little troubled and when he told us it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to sail it was obvious why. The winds at that point were gale force at around 20 kn and the weather service was forecasting an increase up to 30 kn at Angel Island. His concern was that given the conditions (lots of whitecaps) and the cold (yes, it’s still winter here) it would likely be a wet and miserable sail, and since it would be our first time out probably not a prudent way to begin.

Now I’m not going to lie and say I wasn’t somewhat bummed out by this news. Hell, I was fired up to go out in hurricane force winds, but the weather being what it is and part of the process; there’s no need to be disappointed by something you can’t control. Besides, there were plenty of other things we could do that would be crucial for any future trips. Our plans recalibrated, we headed down the exceptionally wobbly dock to “the red dress” and started our morning.

Practice. Figure. Execute.

The first thing we needed to do was to practice getting me in and out of the boat and to determine where and how I would sit. Would I sit on one of the seats with somebody sitting beside me keeping me propped up (I don’t have any trunk or back muscles) or would I sit in my chair in the cockpit as we had previously figured? Both ways have their pros and cons, but in the end I don’t think we’re limited to these two — other solutions will certainly present themselves as we brainstorm further. For now, however, sitting in my wheelchair would certainly suffice, but it’s hardly optimal since once I’m in this particular cockpit moving around is a very difficult proposition. This might prove especially problematic if I needed to get down into the cabin or we were in some wind where the boat was heeling for a long time. Leaning forward or back in this chair for hours on end would be uncomfortable, especially if I was on the low side. To this end I think it would be advantageous to design a seat that would work in any boat and would give us the flexibility to move me around quickly when and if the situation arose. It’ll be interesting to see if any such thing already exists.

When we finished with our experimentation we sat for a moment and discussed what we’d learned and what could be improved to make this and other boats more accessible for me. It was an invaluable use of time and certainly something that needed to be done. Still, I was jonesing for a sail and when after about 15 minutes into our conversation I noticed the wind had dropped off somewhat, I asked B what the current wind speed was and sure enough it was down to 12 kn. Excited about getting out there, I asked him if tide-wise we still had time to go for sail and when he said yes, we got back on “the red dress” — me in my chair (an experiment to be sure) — and motored out into the whitecapped harbor.

That’s the way, uh-huh, uh-huh, I like it…

Just inside the harbor things were pretty crossed up and bumpy, but I was loving it. Once we were outside the breakwater and further out into the bay the cross chop dropped off, but swells remained; still bumpy, but now from a consistent direction. The wind also remained somewhat significant and since it was our first time out, the decision was made to sail on the jib alone.

Under sail power, I felt incredibly at home; in my element and like being in a surf lineup. The more the bump and the faster we went, the more this feeling washed over me. An overwhelming sense of knowing raced through my bloodstream, bringing with it an understanding that this dream of mine was the right thing to do and would indeed happen.

As for my friends, well, they were feeling various degrees of seasickness — T more than D — but they seemed to be having a good time anyway and I know they were happy to share this experience with me. Fortunately for myself I’m not afflicted with this particular problem. Maybe it’s all those years of surfing or being out on the boat with my grandfather, but whatever it is I’m grateful. Of course, get in any weather extreme enough and any stomach is bound to flip and cry foul.

Experience. Experience. Experience.

So, yeah, this was a valuable learning experience for myself as well as T and it was a great first run. As I said above, I have a far greater understanding of what this trip will entail, both in terms of demands on myself and as a team with my attendant. But it also gave me a new set of items I can put on a list to check off as they are accomplished. Like goals successfully achieved, they’ll represent forward progress… and I like that.

Bottom line: sailing is sick (meaning awesome) and I’ve been indeed bitten by the bug. No matter where this incredible voyage takes me, I’ve found a sport I’d like to pursue for life and that’s mighty fine.