Racing

Hurry Up and Relax Page 2

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Darkness was gathering, and along about then I got chilled enough to put on some fleece, which started a trend. We hung on, hoping to repeat the triumph.

There were boats that had started ahead of us, already across the line and dropping their sails. Ashore, as we knew, dinner was cranking up—a choice of serve-your-own stroganoff or grill-your-own burger. The sun dipped behind the peak of Mount Tamalpais, 2,571 feet above sea level. The temperature dropped another notch, and Thompson said, “I feel a key coming on.”

But a puff puffed up. We trimmed and sailed. The puff huffed out. We slipped backward. Thompson teased, turning the key for a pre-ignition beep without actually starting the engine. The breeze did not respond.

Time passed. The temperature dropped another notch.

Thompson beeped the ignition again. The breeze did not respond. This time Thompson announced, “I’m hungry,” and the engine rumbled to life.

We came in like a bullet. The stroganoff was great.

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