There’s a reason we go to Arizona every October. We time our arrival to coincide with the International Jet Sport Boat Association’s (IJSBA) World Finals because The Viking’s friend Mike Klippenstein is one of the world’s best. During the week-long event, BRP holds an Ultimate Seadoo Owner’s Ride from Lake Havasu City, through London Bridge Canal and down the river to The Pirate’s Cove where lunch is provided and prizes given away. This year there were 71 Seadoos on the ride, including The Viking and I. It’s a very nice event and BRP pulls out all the stops to appreciate their customers.
To be honest though, I am no Water Enthusiast. The Viking, having grown up in Denmark, is a Water Baby and I spend a good deal of my life trying to convince him that we shouldn’t have anything to do with water that doesn’t come out of a tap. It’s a losing battle, I’m afraid. And before we even leave home he’s already talking about the Owner’s Ride and how much fun it’s going to be. Frankly, I’m groaning on the inside while smiling on the outside. He throws water words around willy-nilly, like swimming pool and lake and river. I think he just likes to see me flinch.
Until I met him, I hadn’t even been in a boat. I’m a Mountain/Forest/Prairie Girl! I may have waded through a stream once or twice, most likely by accident, but that’s the end of my desire to flirt with bodies of water. I watch the Discovery Channel and I know what’s hiding in lakes and oceans and it’s not comforting. But, because I’m a supportive and loving partner, I endure the water. Honestly, I’m a ‘Fair Weather PWC Enthusiast’; ‘Fair Weather’ being the key words. And, I have one less spinal disc than most other people so when the water gets rough, I pay the price in agony.
Which brings me to the Seadoo Owner’s Ride this year. It was my second time showing my support and love to The Viking by participating in the Ride; there would be a lot of Seadoos, and a lot of Seadoos make a lot of waves and cross waves and water sprays and cross water sprays. The riders that go in a straight line are fine because you can ride in their wake but there’s always at least one Yahoo that likes to slalom and create nightmares for me – this year there were definitely 3 and maybe more.
In the beginning it was lovely. Except for the fact that Ron (my Seadoo) began wailing because the battery had a low charge. When I say ‘wail’, what I really mean is a piercing, brain dissolving, eye squinching beep that can be heard 13.6 miles away. And it didn’t happen when we were going at speed, only when we were idling so everyone could hear it. I was already out of my comfort zone and Ron was announcing my presence in the most annoying manner possible. Just great! The Viking was laughing and said “It’s perfect for your blog!” That doesn’t help, Viking!!
We idled, and Ron shrieked, our way through the London Bridge Channel. The organizers wanted us to make a Seadoo Chain across the channel for a photo-op but that sounded exactly like the makings of chaos to me. I have a tendency to panic and curse when I have to get my boat too close to someone else’s boat and there were children participating who shouldn’t be subjected to that. So we hovered behind the Seadoo Chain in our own brand of Anti-Social, where we weren’t doing what we were supposed to be doing but at least everyone was safe and no Seadoos were damaged in the making of the photo-ops.
Once we cleared the channel, 71 Seadoos roared to life and blistered across the lake toward the river entrance. The Viking started to go with the rest of them; the feeling of being one with the roaring, snorting, whining mass of Seadoos was music to his soul. Unfortunately, he was saddled with me. I tried to go, I really did, to be one of the crazies, to hit the throttle and soar over the waves, but I was caught in the cross waves and spray of all the other boats. I tried standing up but that only worked for a short time because my back ached even more while my ass was being spared.
So I did what any other sane person would do: I started shouting curses as I held onto the handle bar for dear life. I cursed six ducks and 3 fishing boats and threatened a goose. F-bombs were peppered throughout my sentences for a brief amount of time until I ran out of real words and just started shouting F-bombs in a never-ending loop. The harder I squeezed the throttle, the more hair-raising my curses became. Thankfully no one heard me over the sound of the Seadoos or I may have had to apologize to people and animals alike.
And then I hit a big wake and Ron’s nose drove into the wave and water drenched me from head to toe. My glasses were useless and WATER GOT IN MY MOUTH! I had to pause the cursing while I spat out the fish poo/algae/pee. I wiped it off my glasses and my face. I vowed to never go on this ride again! I bellowed at Gawd for even allowing Seadoos to be invented! I cursed The Viking and the day I met him. I cursed Ron for slapping my ass with his seat and jerking my arms out of their sockets and making my right hand numb from vibration. I cursed the guy with the drone and the driver of the Seadoo boat and I especially cursed the guy with the pimped out boat who cut me off and nearly dislodged me from Ron.
And then The Viking was close enough to yell at me “Go wide where it’s smoother!” He had a smile a mile wide and I hated him.
I said, “F-Bomb, F-Bomb, F-Bomb, weeds, F-Bomb, you’ll pay for this! F-Bomb, F-Bomb, F-Bomb! Never again! F-Bomb!” And then I realized that every time I opened my mouth more fish poo/algae/pee got in so I shut up and just endured, focused on surviving this ordeal.
The smile never left The Viking’s face. He loves this shit! I plotted a slow and painful death for him. My shoulders ached, my hand was numb and my ass was taking a beating. I just don’t understand why people love this so much and I gave everyone around me the Stink Eye. Either they didn’t notice or didn’t care, I’m sure which.
I had to admit that all these Seadoos running together down the river was probably an amazing sight and everyone, aside from me, was loving the hurricane-sized waves. It’s beautiful going through Copper Canyon and stopping for a rest at the Sand Bar. The ‘no wake’ zones protect bird habitats and riders have the time to appreciate the scenery. I can’t think of another place that could be more lovely.
Maybe if I was 25 years old again I would be more adventurous with water sports. On second thought….no. I just can’t unlearn the things in lakes, rivers and oceans.
Finally, we arrived at The Pirate’s Cove. I love this place. The food is great, the view is wonderful and there is booze. Lots and lots of booze. It took us a few minutes to find parking spaces because 71 Seadoos take up alot of beaching space. The organizers reserved an area of beaching and docking for us so it wasn’t long before we joined the rest of the riders. The staff at The Pirate’s Cove were wonderful. Despite the number of hungry people arriving all at the same time, we didn’t wait long for our food and it was as good as usual. There were really nice gifts given away to people that were not us. Unfortunately. A T-Shirt would have been nice.
We were all on our own for the ride back to Havasu, which was good because I wouldn’t have to deal with such messy water. Or at least that’s what I thought. It was still quite early in the day though, only about 2:30, so there was quite a bit of traffic on the river. At one point a deceptively small fishing boat went past, leaving a huge wake behind it. I hit that wake at about 70 kph. I stood up in anticipation but it was bigger than I thought. My feet left the foot wells, my shoulders took the full force of my upward flight and abruptly reversed my direction back down. My mouth opened involuntarily and filled with fish poo/algae/pee. My left boob hit the handle bar, my chin hit the crossbar, clacking my teeth together and my ass hit the seat. My hand was jarred off the throttle and for a moment there was a distinct possibility that I may end up in the water/fishpoo/algae/pee!
“F-BOMB! F-BOMB! F-BOMB!”
When we got back to the marina I reported my close call to The Viking but he didn’t seem to care at all! Instead he showed me the huge cut on his right leg. Apparently it happened when he was loading Ron onto the trailer. Shit.
“Are you saying your cut trumps my bruised boob? It’s not a competition, you know!”
I suppose I’ll have to let it go, though. He wins this one because it really is a big cut. But he’s not allowed to touch the left boob for at least 3 days.