All Day with Mike ... sorta

I've mentioned Mike, the Asphalt Mariner, in previous posts.

This morning on the way back from my monthly medical sorty to Westminster [not West-min-is-ter] I swung through the marina, and spotted Mike's truck.

4.5 hours later I was on the way back home filled with new wisdom and a fresh optimism that boats don't intentionally short circuit, start leaking or run aground on purpose.

Mike told me about a client with a huge houseboat showing an electrical problem he'd been trying to diagnose for four weeks. This morning Mike told he'd finally found the problem: an over-crimped ring connector in an electrical bus that made the engine quit when the sun wasn't shining just right.

Or if a bird landed on the rear deck.

So that tiny 75-cent part probably ended up costing the unsuspecting boat owner a small fortune in repair charges.

Sometimes it takes undistracted attention, quiet devotion ... and a patient, gentle touch to find and figure out what's wrong and fix the problem ... before it catches fire and sinks the boat with all hands onboard.

In some ways boats are a lot like women.

Mike's also a patient listener ... at least until you've stopped talking. Then he'll look away, squint and tilt his head.

"Now, a minute ago I heard you say ..." Mike starts, meaning he's caught something you overlooked, an impression of the current problem that made sense to you as you said it, but it's a red light to him that your thinking's gone askew and that you've either ignored or overlooked the obvious.

Mike lets you finish describing how you'd fix things, then shrugs. "I wouldn't give her the time of day."

He's found the new boat's short circuit ... and you feel foolish trying to keep explaining your impression that it must be something else.