Last day of locks! Buh-bye nervous Loopers, goodbye slimey lock lines! We'll miss you, Lockmasters, most of all...
We toodle away from Rome, excited to be on some open waters soon. The locks have been beautiful and fascinating, but we're looking forward to a different routine.
Wm spends some time with Meade showing her how to operate the boat and how to call the Lockmasters. "Lock 20, this is the westbound vessel Fine Time requesting to lock through." She nails it. At this point, Mason is fairly adept at driving the boat, calling the Lockmaster, and making reservations at marinas. I hate to think of spending time on the boat without them. They both have really pitched in, especially on the daily chores: scrub down the boat, mop the floors, wipe counters, ice down cooler, hang window shades, set up beds, then take it all back down again in the morning. Most of these things happen when you are really ready to be done for the day so you have to dig deep.
We cross Oneida Lake and are very fortunate that the water is calm. It is a shallow lake that is usually quite rough, according to our books. It feels good to pick up the pace, and the crossing is over before we know it.
On the other side, we reenter the Erie Canal system for our final stretch. Time for a swim! It has warmed up and the sun is shining. We find a wide spot and take turns jumping in. Wm and Meade go first while Mason takes the helm. I ease in as I am wont to do (with much taunting from the peanut gallery). Wm hops back on the boat, and Mason dives off the flybridge. (Quick Mumsy depth check = 20 feet).
Back on the boat we go and continue on our way, nibbling a picnic lunch. As we are nearing our next lock, there are a few fishermen about. Meade is in one of her "cheekier" suits, so I ask her to put some pants on while working the lock. "But he isn't wearing pants," she responds. I look over and a bearded fellow is fishing in nothing but his black banana hammock undies. At first, I think, maybe he's going for a Euro look? But no, the Hanes logo is emblazoned on his waistband. Good point, Meade. Proceed.
We really want to make it to Oswego tonight. When we turn north at Three Rivers, we are feeling pressed for time. If everything goes smoothly, we should make it to Lock 8 on the Oswego Canal right at 5. One happy lockmaster says no problem, we're in good shape, just make it to Lock 5 by 4:00. The next lockmaster, a pensive red-headed fellow, seems quite anxious about this goal. Let's leave him behind and focus on the happy guy, shall we?
One place I wished we had stopped was a cute little town called Phoenix. There was a crepe/smoothie place advertising on the building above the lock. Mason and I are drooling at the thought of a smoothie (probably the dehydration talking), but we have to keep moving to make our locks.
We get to Lock 5 at 4:15, behind schedule. Locks 6, 7, and 8 are right on top of each other so we're still hopeful. We make it through lock 6 at 4:50 (locks close at 5). The lockmaster fusses at Meade on the VHF for leaning too far out of the boat. I am working on getting a ticket for the Welland Canal passage but drop that to help Meade. The lines on this lock are too far apart to grab one at both ends. Mason has one at the bow, but we can't reach one at the stern. Instead, we have to loop one of our lines around a cable and hold it. It's not super easy but we manage. The lockmaster starts walking our way. I ask, How are you? He responds a bit aggressively, "What??". I repeat the question, and he says, "I'm exhausted. I've been here since 5am, and I am ready to go home." I say, "I hear ya, that sounds tough." He asks how far we're headed, and I say we're shooting to make it through 8. He says, "I'll call ahead and let them know you're coming. We'll get you through," Talk about a mood shift! Thank you, sir.
We get to Oswego and tie up at the marina. Off in the distance, a band is playing. My FOMO kicks in, and I want to go hear that band. The stars are not shining on my tapping feet tonight. We realize we need to move to a different spot to get power, and we still need to fill up the water tank. Meade slips off to the showers while I'm clinging to the side of the boat with the water hose, baking in the setting sun. Wm and Mase are busy securing lines and tidying up. Wm has made a reservation at a bistro in 20min. I yell at them, can someone please take over the hose so I can freshen up. At this point, we've missed the band and there's no time for a shower. I am in full pout. On the way to dinner, fam asks what's wrong, and I say, "I look like a psycho with lipstick on." No sympathy. Time to buck up and move on.
Oswego is adorable and has blocked off streets for a festive market. We have a nice dinner, and some rose helps me find that inner camp counselor again. It doesn't hurt that I am getting some hilarious texts from friends. Thanks, Tribe.
Back to the boat and off to bed.
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