The great race . . . .

well . . . maybe not THE great race but according to the paper this morning, they were starting the next to last leg of the Tybee 500 Extreme Catamaran Race at 10:00 a.m. . . . having spent the night in town on their way from Islamorada to Tybee Island, Georgia. My eyes perked up and as soon as the 9TS awoke, I explained with great glee that I was headed out to watch. Having visions of Nautilus machines dancing in his head as he does on most Friday mornings, he was not quite as gleeful as I. But forever game, we headed for the beach together . . . a little north of all the hoopla.

As soon as we walked down the approach, you could see them in the far distance shoving off from the beach.



Since we were a good three miles above them and the day was beautiful, we started to wade down towards them. It had been so long since I had sunk my tootsies into the soft sand and surf, an audible sigh of delight escaped my lips. Now I remember why I live where I live. We meandered down almost a mile to meet them. Being the jealous soul that I am, I was picturing myself sailing up the Florida coast and into Tybee bay on my very own mythical catamaran. Another audible sigh.







As the bulk of the boats passed, we slowly wandered back to the approach, rinsed off our sandy feet and drove home along the river. I think the 9TS had caught my glee.



A good morning for a great race . . .