Crazy Nut

Last night while every grocery and convenience store in the Upstate was jammed with shoppers frightened of being snow-bound through June without having every cupboard and cabinet space stocked full of bread n' milk, your diligent correspondent made other plans.

That's right, I fired up The Kid and headed out to Zombie. In the frigid wind and freezing rain. And it was an awesome ride.

Not a single boat in sight anywhere, no finding a pesky houseboat full of loud drunks already anchored in my favorite cove, no bassboats creating uncomfortable wakes ahead of me. When I arrived I merely switched off the engine, slipped the anchor over the side, and fired up the CD player.

Stayed out for about an hour before the cold began sinking in and decided it was time to head back.

The Kid loved it and ran like a champ.

I wondered if anybody in the cars crossing the double-bridges looked out, saw The Kid's red and green navigation lights far out on the lake and wondered, "What kind of crazy nut is out in a boat at this hour in this kind of weather?"

Well, whatever.

Hard-core bikers who live and breath to ride, the guys with leather jackets and big Harleys who're used to feeling the wind in their faces and the engine thundering beneath them, who've seen the world roll by without air bags, seat belts and metal fenders to protect them, have a special disdain for cars. They call cars "cages."

For more than a handful of good reasons, I sometimes think. Last night was one of them.