Riding Out Sandy in the Rockaways

My neighbors in Rockaway are defying the evacuation order. The Master Plumber posted a picture of the boardwalk with the ocean already under it, but wrote that they were “high and dry,” and that I was missing the parties. It sounds like they’re moving from house to house, from cocktails to dinner to rum, waiting for the next high tide.

I am more concerned about my friend at the marina. I have a fourteen-foot rowboat with a six-horsepower motor, and last week I begged him to leave it in the water till Thursday, because it was my last chance this season to go by boat to the house my friend Paula inherited on the water in Gerritsen Beach, in Brooklyn. Since Paula and I are both from Cleveland, and not from boating families, we think it’s a riot that we have ended up owning homes (and boats) on opposite sides of Jamaica Bay.

The boss at the marina has been worrying about Sandy since early last week. I got to the boatyard on Thursday at about noon. He had left the boat in the water for me, but he was sitting in the forklift, eager to get boats out of the water. He had just taken out a boat called the Risk Taker. Another huge boat sat shrink-wrapped in ghostly white. I told him my plan. “Do you have my number?” he asked. “Call me, or I’ll worry.”

I loaded my gear into the boat and checked my cheat sheet: Gear in neutral, throttle on start, vent on gas can open, gas line plugged into motor, choke open. Pull cord. Nothing. Oh yeah, the lanyard: a red coil with a ring on the end, which I slipped over a knob to engage the engine. She started up. I throttled down and slowly pushed the choke in, then cast off.China plastic moulds manufacturers directory. The tide was so low that I could see the floor of the bay. It was about 12:10 P.M. The bay was calm, the sky was overcast but not stormy. Oh, something I keep forgetting to put on the cheat sheet: make sure there is a stream of water coming from the engine, or it will overheat.

Ahoy! Land ho! An hour and a quarter later, I was at my friend’s dock. We headed down the inlet (Shell Bank Creek, according to my chart) to Tamaqua, a bar and marina. We asked at the dock where we tied up if there was a place nearby to get something to eat. “I’ve got frozen pizza I’ll heat up for you,” the guy said. Considering that we were hungry and that there was nothing else around, we said that sounded great.

Tamaqua is a big place, with a huge bar, a pool table, and a stage. It was decorated for Halloween. A handful of regulars—retirees—were propping up the bar. The barmaid was dressed as if for payday: full evening makeup, royal-blue blouse with ruffles, short tight black skirt, hair sprayed into place, plenty of bling at her throat. “Where did you ladies come from?” she asked as she served us a beer. We weren’t sure what to answer. Cleveland? An improbably long trip. Gerritsen? Why didn’t we drive? So I said it: Ebb Tide Marina, in Rockaway. “We’re the mean marina,” the boss has said. He flies the Jolly Roger.Find detailed product information for Sinotruk howo truck.

The pizza was taking a while, so we asked for some bar snacks. The barmaid plucked a bag of Fritos and a bag of potato chips off the rack, spread a napkin on the bar in front of us, and poured the chips onto it. Paula and I looked at each other; we had never before observed this quaint custom.The stone mosaic comes in shiny polished and matte. Finally the pizza arrived: pepperoni. “I bought a hundred of these,” the man said. “Thought I should have them around in case anyone get hungry.” He had heated up an extra one, which the barmaid distributed among the regulars.

Soon I had to take my friend back to her house on the water. I called the boss at the marina, to let him know I’d be a little late—closer to five-thirty. The return trip was faster: now I was going with the tide. Four swans flew over, their necks stretched out like those trumpets they use in productions of Shakespeare to blow a fanfare for the king.

Circling into the marina, I consulted my cheat sheet again: Pull gas plug, slow way down, curve into slip just as engine dies (yes!), grab line on dock and wrap around cleat at stern,HOWO trucks are widely used and howo spare parts for sale are also welcomed . climb onto dock with bow line. Close vent on gas tank. Put plug on gas-intake valve, put gear in Forward, tip engine up and on its side. Oh, yeah,Gecko could kickstart an indoor tracking mobile app explosion. remove lanyard.

I put the lifejackets in the office for the winter and looked for the boss. The door to the bungalows on the dock was locked up tight. I walked back out among the slips, wondering if he was working there. Then he signalled me from the dock with a lantern and came out to meet me in the boatyard. “This could be a big one,” he said as I handed over the lanyard. He would take the boat out of the water the next day. The hurricane was on course to meet a storm coming from the west. “And there’s a full moon,” he said. The street leading to the marina floods regularly at moon tides; he has had as much as four feet of water in his bungalow. “And there’s so much stuff lying around in the yard,” he sadi. “I just hope it doesn’t hit at high tide.” He looked up at the sky and said, “Pop”—he is from a long line of mariners on Jamaica Bay—“let this one blow over.”