We’ve left the Chesapeake Bay, by George

Wednesday we had an absurdly easy ride up to Rock Hall, after a decent-but-not-spectacular sunrise in St. Michaels.

And yes, we chickened out of Kent Narrows yet again—thus adding two hours to the trip—but there’s no need to be in a hurry when the water is as smooth as a delicious smoothie from the Paradise Juice next to where the Albertson’s used to be across from Doug’s office on Tatum Boulevard in Phoenix.  Plus it gave us time to take an artsy photo while passing under the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, which clearly should be plural not singular.

There also were some bulk carriers waiting to pick up or drop off in Baltimore, but they weren’t in our way so we don’t need to complain about them.

We’ve been to Rock Hall a few times now, but this is the first time we’ve noticed the town motto, which is way sketchier than the St. Michaels’ motto we referenced in the last post.

If the town claimed that “Only Nice People Live Here,” that’d be saying something.  But as it stands they only need two nice people in the whole place to make the motto work.  Which makes it pretty unimpressive.  Heck, almost anywhere in America could muster up at least two nice people who live there, the obvious exceptions being Tuscaloosa, Alabama, Gainesville, Florida, and a handful of maximum security prisons.

Rock Hall is famous for being the place where we first encountered Second Wave, the Mainship 400 with which we traveled some two thousand miles on our Loop.  It’s hard to imagine better times than the times we shared with Brent and Karen.  Rock Hall ironically is not famous for being the Rock Hall of Fame, which is in Ohio.  But it’s a neat little town.  Very scooterable.

We figure our luck won’t last forever, but Thursday was another great day on the Bay.  Smooth, and we had current push us all the way to and up the Sassafras River.  Monique on Star Gazer calls that kind of day “Girls Day Out,” which probably would be sexist if it didn’t come from Monique on Star Gazer.

In the happy coincidence category, whilst enjoying the trip up the Sassafras to Georgetown we happened upon Rock N Chair, the sailboat we helped off a stump in the Pungo-Alligator Canal a couple of months ago.  Seeing them was awesome, in large part because it provided an unexpected opportunity to work in the word “Pungo” again.

After some more dock assignment funny-business, we tied up at the Georgetown Yacht Basin rather than The Granary Marina.  No biggie.

We’ve now stopped by boat in Georgetown, South Carolina, and Georgetown, Maryland.  Mallory went to Georgetown University in D.C.  The Second Wave crew lived in Georgetown, Texas.  That’s a lot of Georgetowns.  It’s not really that odd to find so many places named Georgetown, of course, because history has given us so many Georges worthy of the honor:  Costanza.  Jefferson.  Jetson.  Curious.  And most notably, The Possum.  What we do find quite inexplicable, however, is the dearth of Dougtowns.  Go figure.

This Georgetown is another town on the Chesapeake Bay that England’s forces sacked, because the people of Georgetown apparently weren’t as clever as the people in The Town that Fooled the British.  Kitty Knight’s House is one of the few places left standing after the attack, which is quite lucky for us because the barbecue shrimp and crab flatbread was unbelievable.

Tumbleweed has been due for a wash and wax job, and we picked Georgetown to do it.  Unfortunately, the Thursday and Friday “real feel”—which we understand is the millennial version of what us old-timers knew as heat index—was roughly a gazillion sweaty degrees.  Celsius.  Miserable.  We only can imagine how much worse the chore would’ve been if we hadn’t found the great guys at Sunshine Boat Detailing willing to do it for us.

This Georgetown is sandwiched between Galena and Fredericktown.  All three are so tiny that even when combined they’re not any bigger.  But the scootering was fun and the marina ferried us across the river for an early dinner on Friday, maybe to make up for failing to process our slip reservation.

We’re well behind the Looper peloton, so it’s nice when we bump into boats with the familiar burgee.  In Georgetown, we joined Our Town and Carousel for docktails.  Big fun.

This morning we exited the Sassafras River into the path of some joker pushing a barge towards the same Chesapeake and Delaware canal we needed to get through to reach Delaware City.  AIS said he was traveling about a half-knot faster than us, a mile and a half behind us.  Basic math told us he’d catch us in three hours, which is just about how long we had until we hit the Delaware River on the backside of the canal.  At least that gave us something to worry about when we weren’t worrying about the railroad bridge and the potential for rain.

Railroad bridge?  No problem.  We took a picture—it’s the background one—only because now it’s a tradition.

Shortly after we passed under it, the railroad announced that the bridge was dropping for a train.  But not in time to stop Joker, which actually was the tug’s name.  Maybe he slowed down, or maybe we don’t math well, but either way we still had him by a good quarter-mile when we hooked north up the Delaware River.

As we’ve noted before, we do love us some Delaware City.

This time through is supposed to be just a quick one-nighter, however, so as soon as we arrived—in a choreographed move every Looper immediately will recognize—Tim the Dockmaster spun us around for a quick getaway tomorrow.

In spring this dock is full of Loopers and unbridled enthusiasm.  This is our second time through during the sad off-season.  Three Dog Night was right.  One is the loneliest number.

Tim also is famous for his weather briefings for the trip down the Delaware Bay to Cape May, New Jersey.  Today Tim told us it might be fine.  Or there might be six- to eight-footers.  It all depends on a few degrees of wind direction.  So maybe we’ll go.  Maybe we’ll stay.

Your thoughts?