We headed back to Virginia for the Misty Pearl inspection. Flew into Norfolk and stayed in Williamsburg. On Thursday morning we drove the hour to Mathews, passing by the tiny hamlet of Gloucester. Nothing special about Gloucester on the way in.
The night before the survey, Zimmerman hauled out. That way the hull could be inspected dry.
The Cummins mechanical surveyor spent the day analyzing all of the mechanical systems, and the marine surveyor went through everything else. For the sea trial we went out into the bay, where the nearly ski-able glassy water provided almost nothing to tell us how she handles in what old salts apparently call “snotty weather.”
Dana’s piloting skills were not at all tested. However, Doug was able to get a good sense of how he hopes to spend a lot of time.
We won’t know for sure until the test results from the fluid samples come back, but everything looks really good.
On the way back to Williamsburg after a very tiring day, we stopped off at Oasis Used Books, the very cool store–in Gloucester–owned by the very cool guy who is selling us the boat. On the hour drive back, we were exhausted but starving so Dana searched for a place to eat. The plan was to pop in, eat, and go to the hotel to sleep. After all, we woke up at about 3 am Arizona time.
Berret’s Seafood Restaurant and Taphouse “has been voted by locals as ‘Best in Williamsburg’ for over 10 years.” When we pulled into the parking lot so we could judge Berret’s for ourselves, a fire truck, ambulance, and police car were arriving as well. We parked a few spots away and went in. The food indeed was delicious, although we barely could stay awake.
When we went outside to get the car, however, we found the parking lot crawling with police from seemingly every jurisdiction in the state. Quite rudely, we thought, they had encircled the lot with crime tape and were guarding things rather aggressively. Dana convinced a policeman to retrieve her iPad, but we couldn’t get to the suitcase that held all my clothes. (Doug’s plan to take everything so that he could change with the temperatures proved unwise.)
Dana talked to a woman who had pulled in a few spots away from where we parked, who said that as she and her daughter parked, the ground just in front of them exploded. Speculation amongst those of us without vehicle access was all over the board, but since nobody would tell us anything we concluded we should just head to the Fat Canary and wait it out. (While there we met some delightful people, including folks from New Jersey who know a girl who will be Mallory’s teammate next year.)
Periodically someone would confirm that the lot still was locked down, so we waited. And waited. About four hours in, we went out for ourselves. By now FBI and ATF agents were swarming and no end was in sight. So we called an Uber and went to bed.
Friday morning the news confirmed that in fact a bomb had exploded in the parking lot. Our rental car remained impounded.
Fortunately, Dana’s smooth talking convinced the FBI agent in this news photograph to process our car. Also fortunately, we had nothing to do with the bomb, so after collecting Dana’s information he drove it under the tape for us.
When we landed in Phoenix, we learned that a 30-year-old white guy had been charged with an act of terrorism, among other things. They arrested him at his home in Gloucester.