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There are Lessons in all Things

In the past, if we wanted to go to a distant point we had to have information that told us about the route.  If we took the direct route, would we find our path obstructed by a swamp, wild animals or some other possible problem that wouldn’t allow us to pass that way?  If so, would we have to take the time to go around the obstacle?  We had to factor those difficulties into our lives and live with what they were.

Now, if we want to go to that same distant point we expect the path to be cleared.  All too often we seem to feel that someone else should have made sure the route was cleared of any obstacle that might slow our progress.  If there is no direct route, someone should make one.  They, whoever they are, should bulldoze and blowup mountains and if anyone else gets in our way or doesn’t believe the way we do, they should be eliminated.

At one point in my life I had a very important lesson, which took me a while to understand.  I was living in Hawaii, sailing a lot and was quite successful in my sailboat racing endeavors.  The yacht club I belonged to was kind of a ragtag organization with mostly independent minded people who only gathered in one place for one reason, to race their sailboats.  One of the other sailors in the club, Jim, and I had finished either first or second to the other all season.  The last race was a two day event.  We sailed half way around the island of Kauai the first day, stayed overnight and then sailed back the way we had come on the second.

The first day was mostly a spinnaker run, where you fly the big, multicolored sail off the front of the boat.  Spinnaker sailing can be thrilling, fast and cause white knuckles if anything goes wrong.  The tradewinds were blowing as usual and it was a following sea.  I had a good crew and we beat Jim by about one boat length in the thirty mile race.  Both of us were a mile or more ahead of the others.  The evening was spent on shore, over small fires that burned in small pits dug in the sand next to the water’s edge.  The subject was sailboat racing, at least for the crews of two boats.  Late in the evening, we all retired to our boats or slept in the warm sand on the beach.

The next morning the trades were up from their usual 15-25 and the sea, which was building early, would be from the direction we would be going. We all talked it over and decided that a race start earlier than the scheduled 9:00 am was in order.  We were tacking back and forth waiting for the starters signal by 7:30. 

Going to windward can be wet and wild and that day it was both.  Before too long, Jim and I had pulled out a considerable lead over the others.  For the next six or so hours it was tack, try to cover the other (put them in your wind shadow), trim sails, pinch into the wind to clear the points of land that jut out from the island, yell at the crew and have them yell back at you.  One of my crew that day was inexperienced but a friend of a longtime and competent crew member.  Finally, we all decided the best thing the new crewman could do was sit in the cockpit and stay out of the way, unless we needed someone to add weight on the windward side. 

By noon, the point that was a half mile from the harbor entrance was in sight.  We’d been close reaching most of the way up the west side of the island.  Once we got to the point, it would be a beat to the harbor entrance and then a fast broad reach from there to the finish line.  Broad reaching is the fastest and safest point of sail for a sailboat.  Running down wind and under a spinnaker would seem to be faster but you can’t take advantage of the venturi effect between the sails.  Close reaching is where the wind is between the beam (center of the boat length) and beating is exactly that, you’re beating your way upwind. 

When we got to the point, Jim kept going straight ahead.  I made the decision to take the shortest and straightest route.  Because of my decision to take what appeared to be the easy way, we got caught in heavy wave action that was coming directly on the bow and refraction waves that were bouncing off the cliffs and pushing us from the side.  I’ve never been in a washing machine during the wash cycle, but I imagine it’s about the same.

Jim had gone at least two miles past where we’d tacked, but once he made his tack (turn) offshore, he was on a broad reach straight into the harbor mouth.  We were creeping along, getting stopped by the waves coming straight at us and buffeted by those from the side.

When we entered the harbor we were both sailing at the same speed.  The problem was, Jim was in front.  We were close, so close that our bow sprit was hanging over his windward rail at the stern of his boat.  That’s how we finished the race.  It was the most exciting, and closest, sailboat race of my life and it taught me a valuable lesson.  The shortest route isn’t always the easiest or best.  It’s the same with life.

          

Larry Miller: I was born in Los Angeles in 1940. My father was a fighter pilot instructor during WWll and we moved from coast to coast, maybe that’s where I got the nomad in my blood. After graduating from high school in 1958 I joined the Marines. That lifestyle wasn’t for me and upon my discharge I went on with my life, and have never looked back. I worked briefly for a Caterpillar dealer in Riverside, CA before moving back to N. California where I was a welder and truck driver for a chemical company. Truck driving wasn’t my calling anymore than being in the Marines, and I went back to work for another Caterpillar dealer steam cleaning dirty tractor parts and welding. They sent me to schools, lots and lots of schools. I spent as much time going to trade schools as I did at work. I went from cleaning parts to apprentice field mechanic, to mechanic to the parts department to satellite store manager in less than two years. They wanted me to move to Sacramento and be a salesman: I moved to Oregon to learn to commune with nature. I went to work for another heavy equipment dealer and was later contacted by the World’s largest Lorraine Crane dealer and offered the position of purchasing agent and general parts manager. In 1967 I was offered a line of automotive parts and supplies and went into business for myself. My business revolved around eleven race cars that we maintained for others, driving race cars professionally and maintaining high end sports cars. I was a championship and regional champion driver. My business was the largest import parts and service, non dealer, in the state until I sold it in 1979. We went sailing in 79, first to Mexico and then Hawaii. I was an award winning Trans-Pacific sailor and sailor of the year, Hawaii, Island of Kauai. An opportunity presented itself in Hawaii during 1981 and I was back in business, importing Japanese auto body and hard parts. I also felt the pull to write and began freelancing for magazines and newspapers in 1982. My main focus in my articles is, and always has been, health, wellness and fitness. Most of us have heard the saying, “Time is all we have.” I disagree. Our health is all we have, because without our health, we have no time. I was a US Olympic team hopeful in racewalking and held all the records for the state of Hawaii. As a sponsored athlete in my forties, I finished first in nine marathons in a row in my division, qualified for the Ironman® and was the state USCF cycling champion five times in Hawaii and Oregon. Celinda and I were married in 1988 after a three year engagement. We sold our businesses and organic farm and sailed back to Oregon. After our sailboat boat was sold, we moved to Joseph, Oregon, two miles from the trailhead into the Eagle Cap Wilderness. We were caregivers for my mother the last ten years she was alive. We moved to New Mexico in 1995 because it was too cold for my mom in Oregon during the winters. Celinda designed, and I engineered and built our strawbale house. I began writing the weekly health column for a local newspaper in 1996, and still do. In 2000, I took the summer off to do a four month, 4000 mile, hike, bike and kayak odyssey. I’d been writing health, fitness and sports articles since 1982 and the journey produced a full-length, nonfiction, first person adventure book, Yol Bolsun, May There Be A Road, which can be bought from Amazon.com and others over the Internet. The summer of 2001 was spent hiking. kayaking, fishing and exploring the southwest. In 2002 Celinda and I spent the summer in Canada learning the hospitality business at a resort in preparation for doing promotion for the resort in the US. Most of 2003 was spent reestablishing the trees and landscape that had died during the stay in Canada. We had a house sitter and the house sitter had an ex-husband, and that’s a long story. In July of 2004 I did a solo kayak trip on the Snake River, taking pictures, writing articles and pencil sketching the journey. I hope to do another kayak adventure on the Snake River during the summer of 2008, on the section I missed in 2000 and 2004. In 2005, I returned to Canada to the resort where we’d spent 2002. I was supposed to be there for the month of June. I’d contacted people I’d met in 2002 and they came back to Canada to fish, hike and spend time at the resort, Echo Valley Ranch and Spa, while I was there. My one month became five and then it was off to Spain to do the El Camino de Santiago as a travel companion with one of the guests who’d returned to Canada in June. During the summer of 2006 a friend from Ireland, who I’d met in Spain the year before, came to visit in NM and we fished, hiked and explored the White Mountains of AZ. He’d never slept out in the wild in a tent before, and it was quite an experience, for both of us. My newspaper articles were put on the Internet beginning in 2002. I was asked to give public speaking engagements, photo and video presentations, on various subjects for the library in Deming, NM and continue to do so. In 2006 I videoed and produced a DVD for the Smithsonian Institute’s travel exhibit “Between Fences.” NMFILMS had a conference by invitation only, which I attended. While attending the conference, I realized that film making wasn’t what I wanted to do but I still wanted to use my sixteen years of experience and enjoyment of videoing and photography. During the winter of 2005, I discovered that no one on record had ever run from the Arizona border to the Texas border, a distance of 165 miles. During the spring and summer of 2006 I trained for the run and the run was completed in October, 2006. In late 2005, I began building and maintaining websites incorporating all the things I enjoyed about video, photography, travel and the out of doors. 2007 has been a summer of upgrading the home and property which resulted in a downgrading of my enthusiasm for being located in one place. If we don’t like what’s happening in our life, we need to change what we’re doing. Celinda and I are ready to pull up roots and move on. I guess I’ve come full circle. I’m ready to revert back to my childhood, and a nomadic lifestyle.
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