Charleston Race Week

So, what’s a New England gaffer doing at Charleston Race Week?

Our daughter Katie and her family live in Charleston and Race Week coincided with school vacation week, so it seemed like a fortuitous coincidence, provided we could pull it off. Ponyo spends the winter on a tandem trailer, and once uncovered is ready to hit the water in a few hours, provided we don’t worry about fresh varnish and spit and polish. It seemed doable.

The people organizing the regatta could not have been nicer. “Come on down!” they encouraged, and told us all about the best people to call, the best places to launch, and the most convenient places to dock the boat. Our son Paul said he would fly in from California for two days, our son-in-law Aaron was available for all three, and he had a friend to fill in for Paul on the last day. Things were coming together.

We allowed three days for our trip and planned in advance where we could stop. A critical variable was finding a hotel that had a huge parking lot to accommodate a truck and trailer. The first night was spent in Harrisonburg, Virginia, a town we knew well because Katie went to college at James Madison.

We planned for a reasonably short drive the second day, and it was good that we did, as if we had a premonition of what would happen to us. About a hundred miles into the drive Joanne noticed in her side mirror something flapping on a right-side trailer tire. We pulled into a rest stop and found that one of the tires had exploded. Internet searches and a few calls identified a tire place a few miles off the next exit. It we could make it another ten miles or so we’d be okay.

The tire shop did not have a replacement tire, but put on our spare for us. We decided to replace the tire as soon as we reached Charleston the next day.

We never made it that far. After only about another hour or so, in a very rural part of Virginia, a car pulled alongside and motioned fanatically towards our right-side trailer tire. The second one had blown.

We limped off at the next exit and found a highway authority building. They directed us to a tire shop a few miles up the road where the fun began. The entire staff came out so see this curious thing on a trailer. You say it’s a sailboat? Going to Charleston?

When they realized our predicament, they leaped into action. You’d think they were our pit crew. One grabbed the two tires they had that matched the ones on the trailer; the woman behind the counter phoned in an order for two more. One man jumped into the van to get them. Another jacked up both sides of the trailer, removed all five tires from their rims and banged out the dents that were in one rim A good tire from the left became our new spare. In no time the van arrived with the two new tires and soon we had four new tires mounted, balanced and installed, all in less than 45 minutes. Even more surprising was the bill. $485 for everything.

Our pit crew replaced all four tires in less than 45 minutes and set up on our way

Finished with trailer adventures, we arrived in Charleston the next day. The Charleston Yacht Club welcomed us and provides facilities for rigging and launching Ponyo. We had dockage next door at Safe Harbor Charleston City. The skippers’ meeting and social events were held in the aircraft carrier USS Yorktown at Patriots Point. Here we met a friend from Newport, Peter McClellan, who was racing Gamecock – not his classic R boat, but a Melges 24 of the same name.

It was my first time racing in Charleston harbor and I had been warned that it was like sailing on a raging river. That was no joke. The tactic was to head for land, tack up along the shore, and reach to the mark at the last moment. In one light air race I saw a boat swept down by the tide after rounding the windward mark and it took 15 minutes for him to beat his way back up to the offset mark.

Pleasant sailing in Charleston

After the regatta we stayed a few more days so we could take the family out sailing in the waters between town and Fort Sumter.

Family sailing in Charleston

It was a good week. Our little classic was welcomed as the Belle of the Ball and we were treated as graciously as only southerners can do. We managed to pull off a satisfactory third in the PHRF division, and Peter took second among Melges 24s.

A successful week for the Newport people. I took third in my class. Peter took second in his.