Dear Friends:

September 6, 1999 - Los Gigantes

Buenos noches from Tenerife.  Before we left Louisville, many of my friends
wished for me a "boring" journey.  If the beginning of the trip is any
indication, this will indeed be an uneventful crossing.  The 18-hour plane
trip was BORING.  Our luggage arrived as expected.  Customs clearance was
not a problem. The rental car is perfect to carry five and plenty of
luggage.

Damien will haul the American Pearl from Santa Cruz to Los Gigantes
tomorrow.  We spent the day with diversions.  The last time I was here we
made two unsuccessful attempts to reach the top of Mount Tiede.  Mac,
Kathy, Joe, Noreen and I can report a successful climb via the cable car.
Joe, who has read several travel guides, keeps up to date of Canary Islands
trivia.  "Prickly pear cactus is not native to these islands."  "Tenerife
is the largest producer of wines in the Archipelago, due to its favorable
location near the trade winds."  "These wines have received the label D.O."
whatever that means.  "There are no snakes in the Canary Islands."  Mac is
acting as our driver and doing an admirable job.  Kathy is keeping us
organized and generally filling the role of cruise director.  Noreen is
providing her usual placid calm, which will be a valuable commodity as this
week unfolds.  Enjoying an unusual freedom, I exercise responsibility for
nothing.  I hold no money, no keys, no passports and certainly no important
papers. 

The good news is that Molly Bingham will soon join us.  As professional
photographer she will be able to take pictures for the folks back home.
The fringe benefit is that she will interpret for me the demands of other
photographers and generally keep me sane in the midst of the fish bowl.
She will also let other photographers and videographers know when their
demands are unreasonable.  "Ask all you want, Tori Murden will not take off
her shirt."  "She doesn't care if this means she'll never make the cover of
a major sporting magazine."   

Joe, an outstanding cook, prepared dinner for all of us.  The food was
superb and the company could not be better.

September 7, 1999 - Los Gigantes

The day began about 3:00 AM with a cat fight a few feet below our apartment
in the courtyard.  As a resident of the Butchertown section of Louisville,
I am accustomed to the nocturnal feuds of my furry friends, but this one
got carried away.  At first, it sounded like two small children having
their fingernails torn off one by one.  After about fifteen minutes of
wailing, most of the apartment complex was awake.  Noreen was shifting and
I stood up to see if I could startle the beasts out of their stand off.  No
effect.  I clapped my hands at them.  No effect.  Mac suggested I throw an
empty beverage can at them.  I went to the kitchen and retrieved two
lemons.  Firing the lemons from the patio I launched the first and took
some delight in watching the lemon bounce directly between the two
screamers.  No effect.  The cats stood inches from one another and hollered
like two cranky old men who had lost their hearing aids.  I fired the other
lemon hoping to hit the larger of the two, but it hit only the end of its
tail.  The cats didn't miss a beat.  There was a charge and then flying fur
with much hissing.  I thought, "Good, perhaps they'll get it out of their
systems."  Wrong, after a few minutes of precious silence, its caterwauling
began anew. 

This required serious action.  I not only put on my shoes, but I TIED them.
 As I went to leave the apartment, the door was locked.  Sensing my
mission, Kathy rose from her bed to hand me the keys.  Down the corridor,
around the bend, down the stairs, the courtyard was just ahead.  The noise
stopped.  When I entered the courtyard there was no sign of the cats.  I
patrolled the area.  A gentleman on the balcony three stories up whispered
down, "The cats are in those bushes," and pointed.  I retrieved the lemons
and followed the gentleman's finger.  I saw nothing.   Checking my position
against the angry finger above, I eventually found the correct bush and two
green eyes flashed at me.  The large cat and I squared off.  I figured one
stomp and the cat would retreat.  I stomped.  No effect.  I charged.  The
cat stood his ground. 

This frightened me just a little.  I wondered what odd topical disease
would give this cat the courage to stare me down at 3:00 AM.  I did not
think it would be wise to thrust my hand into the bush.  I fired a lemon
directly at the cat from short range, and hit him squarely.  He ran.  The
second cat ran in the opposite direction.  I chased the larger cat down the
street, picking up the lemon and throwing it as needed.  After this I went
to bed and silence ruled. 

Joe rose early.  He was the only one of us who managed to sleep through the
mayhem.  I am beginning to think Joe could sleep through a train wreck.
This morning we all twiddled our thumbs waiting for Damien to arrive with
the American Pearl.            

 Damien said he'd be back with the boat around 2:00 PM.  So, at 2:00 PM
Noreen began the vigil of waiting and watching for the boat.  I joined her
some time later.  Then Joe arrived.  The three of us began placing bets. The
first bet was on whether Mac or Kathy would join us next.  I bet on Mac and
Noreen and Joe bet on Kathy.  I lost.  Kathy arrived next.  Then we took
bets on when the boat would arrive.  Noreen took 4:30 PM, Joe 5:15 PM.  I
took 6:30 PM.  I don't remember the exact time the boat arrived but it must
have been a bit before 5:00 PM because Noreen won the 6-cent bet. 

The boat looked great and we spent the evening taking off the shrink wrap.

September 8

We spent the day working on the boat. 

Diana Hoff has had some trouble retrieving her boat from Santa Cruz.  It is
supposed to arrive tomorrow.  I feel very badly for her, but she seems to
be bearing up well.  I'd be tossing people from parapets if our roles were
reversed and I was the one waiting for a boat.

September 9

We spent the day working on the boat.

The cameras are here in force.  Sector has a photographer and two
videographers.  Molly Bingham arrived carrying more than her own body
weight in camera gear.  The local newspaper staged a picture with Diana
Hoff and me in the American Pearl and against Diana's wishes, the caption
of the printed article said that she was helping me prepare my boat.

I didn't read the news article.  The author asked me the night before
printing,  "After your rescue the last time, you said you wanted nothing
more to do with boats, what made you change your mind?"  I never said that.
 In fact, when the rescue plane flew over (last September the 7th) I asked
if I might be allowed to continue.  One newspaper made up that quote and
other "journalists" have fed on that garbage ever since.  But hey, that's
part of the deal.

September 10

I rose early to go to the beach with Molly and David. 

We spent the morning working on the boat and put the boat in the water for
the first time since we rebuilt it just before noon.  I was able to stand
in the boat as it was lowered into the water.  She's riding higher than she
was the last time this boat was in Los Gigantes.  (The boat's much
lighter.) 

We went out for the first sea trial in the late afternoon and the boat
performed remarkably well.  I think I have the best "pit crew" in the world
here with me.  I say I'd like to make a small change here or add a bit of
tape there and the next time I turn around it's done.  Mac and Kathy are
the list makers.  Joe and Noreen are the worker bees who do and re-do
improvements and modifications.  This is NOT to say that Mac and Kathy are
not doing their share of the actual work.  From the time they wake up to
the time they go to sleep and I suspect in their dreams they are working on
the boat and this trip.

The sea trials turned up only a few things to change.  Lower the stove
mount.  Fix the plug on the compass light and reduce the pitch on the oars.
 This is all easy stuff.  We stayed out for the sunset so the photographers
could get some good material.  Then we stayed a few hours after dark.  At
one point I had a very nice French photographer on board, Francois.  I
needed to heed nature's call so I turned off the bright running lights and
he kindly stepped into the bow of the boat.  When I went to rinse out the
bucket we set off a stream of sparkly phosphorescence.  When I said it was
safe he turned and I showed him how the water sparkled if you disturbed it.
 He was fascinated.  It was very pretty.  Then I turned the running lights
back on and the view was lost.

It was midnight before we returned to harbor.  Mac seemed a little put out
with our being gone so long without word from us.  I believe he thought
that I'd been abducted by Sector pirates.  I did not say it to him at the
time, but this is only a small taste of things to come.  I was on the ocean
enjoying myself and my friends on shore believed that I was out feeling
miserable.

September 11

I rose and joined the rest of the crew for breakfast.  The Sector folks
came looking for me around 10:30 AM.  They filmed me from 11:00 AM to 2:00
PM.  It was very hot.   Then they filmed again from 5:00 PM to 9:30 PM.
This is why I've had no time to write.  I'll be very happy to escape the
cameras. 

September 12

It was "packing and sorting" day.  Mac kept sending different people to ask
me to take spare items: an extra solar powered vent, and extra water tank,
more foil insulation for the roof, more cables.  "This doesn't weigh very
much" would be the refrain.  All these "not very much(es)" really add up.
One cannot take spares of everything and still have room to row.

The boat is ready.  It is beyond ready.  The great team of folks who came
with me are OVER building and improving things to the point where I'm
thinking, "These people don't have enough to do."  It is a great position
to be in.  Gerard d'Aboville toured the boat this afternoon and I think he
was pleased.  He was particularly interested in my sea anchors and the one
I showed him seemed to pass inspection.  I am very pleased with them.
Leaving so early, I am destined to need them.  I am told the wind beyond
the islands is really howling.  This could put Diana Hoff and me out into
some big waves.  Perhaps then, she will understand my desire to wait for a
mid-October launch.  She wants to be in Barbados for Christmas.  This may
be a good reason for her, but it does nothing for me.  Still, even if it
turns out to be a bumpy ride the boat is ready and I am ready. 

I leave in the morning and will spend this evening with my friends.  I will
miss my friends more than clean sheets, more than particular foods.  I
think William James once said that it is your friends who make your world.
I share this belief and know that my world will feel a little empty over
the next three months.  I know their thoughts will be with me and with all
of Kathy Steward's hard work I could not possibly lose communications.  So
we will exchange messages.  It's just that now on the eve of my departure I
know how difficult it will be to have a mighty ocean between me and the
people I love.

The pain of rowing I can bear.  The boredom and the solitude that make up a
trip like this are not so difficult to handle.  I know that I should wax
poetic about the challenge and the lessons of the journey.  Last summer, I
learned just how big this ocean is, and I learned a little about the
hardships that await me.  Gerard tells me that even leaving in a stormy
period this trip should be much easier than last summer.  First, there is a
tail wind.  Second, even when it is storming the sun still shines.  After
last summer, Gerard believes I will feel like this trip is a walk down the
Champs Elysee.  Despite his encouragement, I know that what lies before me
will not be easy.            
 
 As ever,
Tori