Thursday night my Chief Logistical Coordinator* (CLC) called me.
“Your kayak has arrived!”
As soon as I hung up, I was running the two hundred yards from the boat that I’m staying on to the marina. I looked around. I found people, but no kayak. None of the people had seen my kayak. It wasn’t there.
I called my CLC. “Has arrived where?”
“I don’t know. The address that you gave them.”
The kayak was lost. It was not at the address that I gave Nelo. It arrived somewhere, of that Nelo was certain.
I went to the yacht club next door to ask if the received a five meter kayak. No, they hadn’t. Here’s my card, if you find one, please contact me.
“Are you really kayaking across the Mediterranean?” I was talking to the head of their rowing club. He had stepped off of the treadmill to help me. His one piece skin tight exercise suit was dripping with sweat and his six and a half foot trim athletic build made me wonder if I had ever exercised at all.
“Yes.” I felt puny. “I’m kayaking from Spain to Israel. ... I’m looking for a partner, would you like to come?”
“No, but if there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know.”
That was kind, but he didn’t know where my kayak was, so I left.
My CLC didn’t either, and Nelo was looking into it. No matter how many times I checked the lot in front of the LNI, an 18 foot crate refused to materialize.
* My mom. My dad is my Logistical Support Manager.
[caption id="attachment_2282" align="alignright" width="640"] Not my kayak.[/caption]