MY FIRST - BASS BOAT THAT IS

by Dave Watts
(Who is Dave Watts & what else has he written?)

I was driving north on I-95 with a smile so big you could see the gum line on my false teeth. I had just bought my first bass boat and was taking her home to meet the family. Hopefully, she would be accepted as the new member. After all, I did intend her to be the focus of my affection for years to come.

I drove the speed limit, exactly. I wanted all the cars and 18-wheelers to pass by and take a look at this beauty, for she truly has classic curves and was well endowed with a Johnson 175. She qualified as a "pin-up" in any calendar. And, they did acknowledge her lines with air horn blasts and toots. Although beauty may be in the eye of the beholder, everyone saw the same beauty in her that I did (or was it just that I was going too slow?).

As many of you may already know, boats are referred as "she" and "her" in the English language, as if a woman. I now know why - a boat becomes the most expensive, woman in your life. I remain amazed at the day to day demands for my financial attention. And, for that reason this bundle of femininity is never fully accepted into the family by the "other" woman in your life.

The real challenge in buying a bass boat is to disguise the cost. If my wife, by marriage, knew what I had spent on the bass boat, I could be adrift, all alone without any means of financial sustenance. The alimony payments would be awesome. So, the trick is to "launder" the purchase money. I prefer the technique of using a secret account. I make systematic, but reasonable, withdrawals from the joint bank account, all in the name of "saving" enough money for the bass boat. I do this over a 12-month period - "just putting some funds aside in the boat bank account, honey." I have a better than 50- 50 chance of exceeding the previously agreed boat budget. At worse, I created enough confusion over what the real cost was that only a convicted Arthur Anderson auditor could give an opinion on total cost.

I practiced this laundering strategy for many years, particularly over Christmas expenses. The most successful technique was to personally pay the January credit card bill. Most important, however, before the spouse could ascertain these events, I promptly misplace the bill. Efforts to reconstruct what was spent on which fishing "toy" were singularly frustrated. The "smoke" created by these deceptions gave me cover and credible defenses when confronted. Of course, we have had many happy years of marriage discussing in romantic venues, what I really spent for this toy or that. The bass boat is now just another topic of conversation, albeit a passionate one.

Upon arriving at the homestead I prepared to carry her over the threshold. I aligned the trailer for backing up the driveway. As I moved in reverse the trailer brakes locked. I stopped dead. I pulled forward to try again. The same thing happened, except that I had advanced a little further up my neighbor’s driveway than when I started. If I continued, I would soon occupy all of this driveway and garage entrance. Obviously, as the sun had set, there was a problem that needed a solution. I looked over the trailer carefully, and discovered the problem. The trailer tongue had a large pin through it that would slide back when I moved in reverse, thus locking the brakes. I knew how to remedy that. I went in the house and got a large metal vice, placing it around the tongue to prevent the pin from moving. It worked. I backed the trailer up my driveway, bending the license plate irrevocably under the trailer in the process. Only in the early morning light of the next day did I discover that I had a lot more to learn about her when the lady says "no." There is in fact a plate that I can turn to stop the brakes from working when backing up, but that was in the Book of Directions. Real men don’t need direction!

Upon the arrival of morning, it was time to turn her "on." My testosterone levels were high. I was about to do a real "manly" thing - get my Johnson to work. I checked the oil level and made sure she was gassed up. I then curbed my emotions and forced myself to read the Book of Directions. There I discovered that I also had to connect the garden hose to the back of the Johnson and turn on the water in order to cool the motor. I did this, creating a small stream valley in the front yard. I then turned the key. Nothing happened. I tried again only to hear the wine of the started motor. This went on for about five minutes. I was baffled. Had I been rejected or just impotent?

Then my neighbor came over - one of these guys you call Doctor, but who doesn’t practice medicine. He looked at me and then at her. With insight he said, "ain’t there a dead man’s switch on these things?" Then I recalled the red lanyard with the black clip. Back the Book of Directions. I attached the clip to the switch and turned the key. The motor started with a roar of blue smoke. In my prior unsuccessful efforts I had flooded the engine. I then discovered that two-stroke oil stinks and is heavy. It just kind of hangs around, like a cheap perfume. Unfortunately, I had left the garage door open, and the oil smell filled the garage that was attached to the house. Of course, as the gods are want to do, the smoke entered the house, setting off the smoke detectors. The result was the other woman in my life - my wife - appeared, and was less than happy. We had a short discussion about my intelligence, human anatomy, and reputed ancestry. She then found two fans - one to clear out the garage, the other the house. Oh well, another topic of conversation in our more intimate moments.

With this modest success, I was still unclear as to why the motor would idle rough and then stall out. Was she just coy with me? I guess she needed more encouragement. So I pushed the throttle level forward, giving her the gas. My Johnson surged with power. Little did I know that the propeller was also turning at these greater speeds, until it caught the garden hose, throwing the hose into the air like a wounded snake, and then cutting it into many little sections. Water sprayed in all directions, including the picture windows in the front of the house that needed cleaning anyway. In this rain shower I ran to the Book of Directions to discovered that if you push the large button at the bottom of the accelerator lever, the prop does not engage. Oh well, better to learn from experience than books. My neighbor went home then, wet but thoroughly entertained.

Enough with testing the boat - it was time to take her out on the town. I hitched up the trailer, attached the chains and off I went. As I went down the street, I noticed that the rear of the truck was rather high in the air and the trailer made a funny, rumbling sound. Oops - the wheel on the trailer tongue was fully extended, rather than retracted. I now have the only trailer in Virginia with about 500 miles on the tongue support wheel. Thank God they are easy to replace.

As I headed out of our court, I heard another sound when I turned the corner. As I then discovered, the trailer turns a little more tightly than the truck. The trailer had gone over the curb and flattened two of my neighbor’s plastic garbage cans. I made an important scientific discovery - a 3000-pound boat trailer will compact plastic garbage cans. My neighbor now owns two international orange garbage cans - a gift from me. They are really hard to miss, even in the dark.

I arrived at the launch ramp, excited and thoughtful. I was prepared for that morning. I had finally read the Book of Directions and then eaten the breakfast of champions - Wheaties and Beer. What happened next is still under discussion with the Coast Guard and my insurance company. In my defense, I will simply say that the first time - with a bass boat as well as a woman - can be an awkward, but an arousing learning experience.