No Huli! --or How I Learned to Paddle an Outrigger Canoe

Paddles up! 

"Hut!" "Ho!" signal you it's time to switch sides of the outrigger canoe, when paddling. This transition was the second-hardest part of learning to paddle. I splashed everyone, I smacked the paddle against the boat, and I had to be extremely careful not to bash the paddler in front of me, during the switch. More difficult was overcoming my deep-seated fear of boats/being out on open water. It's an irrational fear, making far less sense than my fear of clowns (especially since I happen to be an excellent swimmer), but it's nonetheless a powerful fear.

Superfly is an experienced paddler and a photographer, the official unofficial one for the paddling community. I've tagged along with him to races and other events, met his friends in the community, and eventually decided to give it a try. No one pushed or forced me, because, well, no one can make me do anything. Heh.

In any case, Superfly and I went to the Hamptons and spent a glorious weekend with his friends at their place in East Hampton. I watched as he and another paddler rigged the canoe (tying the canoe to its outrigger, or amah, with strong rope) and listened as the hosts talked about their association with Tony Duke (yes, those Dukes, who founded that University---go Blue Devils!) and the Boys and Girls Harbor program there.

Superfly gave extremely helpful hints along the way, and another paddler, in his one-man canoe, monitored our forward progress and told me I was doing great and that I was a natural. *preen* It's exhilirating and a tough workout. Fun! File this under "Trouble Highly Recommends"

Leaving the Hamptons totally sucks! Now I want to become a billionaire solely to afford a house I can escape to in the Hamptons.

Living the good life (albeit as a tourist) didn't end there: next stop was a photo opportunity at a charity golf tournament in Westchester, at a chi-chi country club with a goofy name: Wykagyl It was hotter than the 6th Circle of Hell, but I very sensibly stayed inside and sipped iced tea, while poor Superfly and his camera melted at the 9th hole, taking pictures of the foursomes, also melting. I could sure get used to this Country Club lifestyle, I tell you what. The food was excellent, the service impeccable, and the stuff being sold at auction blew my mind: a hockey class with a NY Ranger player for your kid? Lance Armstrong's autographed, winning jersey?

Don't you think for one second that I don't know how lucky I am--I'm so lucky, I should go stand by the corner store and have people rub my arm before they buy their Lotto tickets.

And now back to reality, with a minor sunburn and a major attitude problem.