CALL ME SHTEVE

Call me Shteve.  It happens to most men in the course of commuting to work
each day.  The long drawn impatience for something new.  The labor of going to
work the same way for too long can force the desire for freedom and adventure.
These are poisons to the commuter if left to build up in the soul.  A soul
already frozen over with a million unwelcome sighs....

It is with this poison slowly gaining in toxicity like a fart in an elevator
that I accepted the invitation by Mike the Law Dog.  His idea was to get up at
an hour before summer's dawn and drop ourselves into his ship (a 10-foot
salvaged heap from the mid-1960s) and set course for the Ballard locks and on
through the canal where HQ perched on the banks.  All told it would be a three
hour tour.  Yes, a three hour tour.

The night before the voyage was akin to childhood's greatest night-befores;
The jamboree!  Santa is coming!  Last day of school!  The only trouble with
this amazing high was without sleep, how would the anticipated day look?

By 5:00am I was at the docks waiting at the gate for the Law Dog.  He was
ready and so was our vessel.  She looked ready for anything.  We were too -
snacks, soda pop, and sandwiches.  Too hell with fate!  Too hell with fear!
Today's commute would be legend!

In addition to our food stuffs, we had a spare tank of gas and some flares.
We took off from Quartermaster Marina - the innermost point of the Salish Sea
inside Vashon.  We followed the spiral around and through to the south,
passing Dockton and Inspiration Point without incident.  Only from years of
wakeful attention were we able to predict where our sun would rise - but lo! -
there is a crack in the darkness to the east....  It would be a fine day for
adventure.  Red sky in morning, sailors take warning.

We were silent for most of the ride up the east coast of Vashon island.  We
didn't speak of the real fear that waited ahead.  It was like the final fate
we all avoid speaking.  The big sleep.  Today, we'd be traveling through the
Hiram M. Chittenden Locks, the center point to Washington state's Lake
Washington Ship Canal system.  We'd be locked between man-made walls and
raised by natural water pressure over 20 feet in a matter of minutes!
Odysseus, Ariel, Sigmund - we silently called on them all for safe passage or
a quick end.

Before the locks, we still had to navigate through the heart of the shipping
and commuting channel.  Huge ferry boats and even larger container ships
ripped through the Sound constantly.  A little vessel like our Missy wouldn't
even count for firewood (since she was plexiglass).  We'd be left for squid
toys and bottom feeder toothpicks if we got in their way.

As luck would have it we made it to the mouth of Salmon Bay with only a few
spears and arrows mistakenly fired at us from soldiers in the Free Ballard
Movement.  They mistook us for McGinn supporters since we were using
alternative means of commuting to work.  No harm done - Law Dog made quick
repairs to the one arrow head that found its way into the prow of our Missy.
Let freedom ring for the secessionists!

With the locks fast approaching, we had to face the fear.  I verified with Law
Dog that he knew what to do and to get my orders.  His look said it all.  He
had never been through the locks!  We were going to have to figure it out and
try not to die in the process.

The silver-blue light of dawn was turning an angry orange, light of day born
once more, and we are left never knowing which is our last.  We waited a few
minutes in line with other ships for our turn.  Once we were in, we copied the
others and tried to look smart by acting spry.  The spillway was off our port
side - we could smell it like it was fate itself.  From the earth and back is
all we have.  Ashes to ashes, smelt to smelt.

The lower gates closed behind us.  Our bumpers hung and lines were tight.
Water rushed in under us.  We rose like the sword Excalibur from the Lake.
Handed to the Goddess.  We rose until we looked upon lake Washington as
equals.  And, in some ways, we were.

After a short scuffle between Law Dog and a brute of a locksman over our right
to free ourselves when we pleased, we took off for calmer waters along the
canal.  Passing into the wilds of Fremont we knew we were home.  Headquarters
was already awake of course - never sleeping - ready for our contribution to
the sapiens economic engine.

Make the commute, don't let the commute make you.