The end of the boat trip, Debbie, that Debbie, 1969 red Gibson SG, The Doors, Soft Parade, Robbie Krieger
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OUR BOATING TRIP WAS EXCELLENT but cut very short. We hit something below the surface of the Tennessee River underneath a railroad bridge in Loudon, Tennessee.
We put in shortly after 12:00 PM near the beginning of the Tennessee River and made great progress cruising for 38 miles from the river to Loudon Lake. The first big highlight, other than the beauty of the river and the lake, was the first lock where our boat was lowered c. 60 feet or so. I have gone through the locks that divide the Charles River from Boston Harbor, and under the railroad draw bridge dozens of times when my father and I would boat around Boston Harbor, land on Georges Island or many of the other amazing islands, and go out into Massachusetts Bay, i.e., the Atlantic Ocean.
And the locks at Loudon Lake are gigantic in comparison.
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But trouble was coming when we got to the railroad bridge at Loudon. From the map, it is clear that all boat traffic needs to quickly shift to the west side of the river, but from the river itself when heading downstream (north at this point), there are no red and green buoys marking this vital shift until well north of the bridge. Had there simply been another set of buoys placed south of the bridge, many accidents could be avoided. Here is a picture of the railroad bridge.
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We were going 29 miles per hour when we struck land. The propeller was severed from the engine and we were now on a 7,000 lb. boat with only the power of one oar. We saw that there looked like there could be a landing ramp south of our spot but in order to get there, we had to paddle with one oar upstream! Damn it - that was very hard and despite a lot of effort we were able to go only about 50 or 75 yards.
Fortunately for us, a very small boat with two very nice guys and one very small engine were able to pull us the rest of the way to the western edge of the river. We threw our anchor onto shore and tied ropes to a ramp sign. There was no dock so this had to do. This was our view in this tiny inlet.
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Of course there were strange warning signs, especially if one is superstitious (I am only superstitious in matters related to the Boston Red Sox), that our trip was doomed. I had my friend's wife very worried when I asker her about the software she used to write her will. I thought that I should have a will and have been making decisions about what will happen to my estate, money and assets (my CD's, DVD's books, scores, etc. collections) after I die. I was in no way pondering that our trip would be dangerous but one should not talk about wills on the day the trip begins. LOL
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Next problematic sign - just before we were to put in in Knoxville, a black cat did not cross our path, but a black steam engine driven railroad train did and it was driving backwards! Yes, a black train going backwards crossed our path. We waited for the backwards-driving black train to cross our path before we crossed the tracks to begin the adventure.
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While we waited in this little inlet anchored to bushes onland, we got to meet many of the local residents. All of them told us the horror stories of this little area on the Tennessee River and how there had been two deaths, broken ribs, broken noses, and damaged and sunken boats at this spot in the past few years. Much of this could be avoided with the addition of two buoys south of the bridge, or even graffiti on the bridge about the dangerous waters could be added.
We waited in the inlet until midnight - while we played with the ducks, the local cat, talked to the local fishermen, cooked our food and ate well, grateful that we were not hurt - when help from home arrived. We were able to push and pull the boat, via ropes and getting into the river, onto the trailer and then drive back to Franklin. Our day ended when we got back at 3 AM Monday. We'll have to do this trip again and complete it as neither of us takes defeat well.
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TODAY IS THE BIRTHDAY of my gorgeous 1969 red Gibson SG. In this photo, my then-favorite guitarist, Robbie Krieger of The Doors, my forever favorite band and my greatest musical inspiration when it most mattered, is playing his SG. Jerry Garcia, Carlos Santana and many others played the SG as well, but Robbie Krieger played the guitar like a musical instrument and not just a self indulging megalomaniac in the way most guitarists do. (Despite how conservative this statement will sound, Krieger could play beautiful melodies with form, expression and space, the space given by musical silence. Like George Harrison, Jimi Hendrix and a few others, there was space - musical "rests" - form and thought in is his playing, and the best thing - his playing enhanced and supported the music.) I just put SOFT PARADE on (of course it is The Doors' most derided album, but what do critics know) and will next go play Debbie, my SG (at that point, "Debbies" were great. The only thing better in those days than a "Debbie" was a "Debbie" driving a VW Bug pulling over to pick you up as you were hitchhiking (thumbing, its Bostonian name). And the only way that could get better, and it did once, was when Debbie from Radcliffe gave me, a high senior thumbing near THE SQUARE a ride. We had a most excellent time and I didn't even need my guitar to get her to like me. AH..... That's another reason to pull out Debbie my SG now - to attract that gender. No, time to stop writing and get playing instead.
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August is almost here. My transition to all things New York is coming. Time to make out that will. Does anyone want anything specific I have? I'll start considering requests. To be continued....
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