Detour

We were moaning after the boat inspection in Hilton Head.  Why the sad faces?  Frankly, it was more than the tight muscles after the eight hour drive or the warm rain that gave a gray haze to everything when we boarded about 5 PM.  We had had expectations.  The photos for this 2003 Tartan 4600 listing painted a picture of near perfection.

We were sure this was the boat -- newer than the others we had inspected, main sail in-mast furling (the kind saves old sailors' arm muscles), low engine hours, and a master cabin design that actually provides plenty of room to move around erect and sit-up in bed without bumping heads against the liner (aka ceiling) or requiring you to crawl over the other person to get to the head (aka toilet) in the middle of the night (guess that was almost TMI, wasn't it).  What we stepped into was poor maintenance, old electronics, and a deteriorating, water stained interior hidden under the cushions and in the corners.

That white hull disappointment couldn't compare to the older Tartan (2000)  with less equipment and a bit awkward master cabin design, but was  nicely maintained and lower priced. And, most importantly -- it had the navy hull I have always lusted after.  We had inspected this one the week before, right here on the Chesapeake.

We tried to cheer ourselves up.  The good news was that we had been able to visit my diehard Words with Friends buddy, Judy.  I've know Judy since the our days together at Bell Labs in the 1970's when I was a 23 year old lowly apprenticing programmer and she was a slightly older, but highly credentialed electrical engineer in the Labs sea of dominating male engineering snarks.  She stood up for me when the those guys had decided that I didn't deserve  a raise, despite my impressive performance, because my nail polish was chipped.  This woman saved my career!  She was a one woman affirmative action committee who turned them around without cutting their balls completely off. (I took Judy's lead and two years later I was teaching these guys  and their executives about their biases and their acts of discrimination.)  Don't let anyone tell you those were the good ol' days! We laughed and had an evening to catch up.  However, John and I were definitely down in the dumps the next morning at breakfast where we met Dave, our broker and leader of this expedition.  Our plan to revisit the boat was quickly abandoned so we hit the road for home before 9:30AM.

A "dumps" remedy came from Dave. We needed a diversion from this not so fun road trip. We'd been driving for four incredibly boring hours.  Our stomachs voted for a lunch break. Dave scoured the internet for suggestions and found Heidi's Two Wheel Café, a not so sleazy biker joint, about 15 minutes west of 95 on Route 70 in Smithville, NC.  I took the exit.

Heidi's is a place where bad food is just plain good.  There actually is a Heidi who not only knows how to cook, but does it well above the average bar and grill.  Much to our dismay, their boiler was broken so we couldn't have their most sought after dish -- a low country boil.  We settled for more mundane fare, but were not disappointed. Dave's Philly cheese steak Quesada was juicy without being soggy.  John's Ruben sandwich was delivered on marbled grilled bread with homemade potato chips that were not so crispy that they cut the roof of your mouth.  And my coconut shrimp and side salad (I was trying to be good), was down right Caribbean in flavor. We left with a smile on our faces and refreshed attitude.  A good, very good detour and a very good road trip.

Update:  We revisited that navy hull I lusted after, made an offer and a counter offer, but have yet to know if it is ours.  If we have to walk away, then we will keep searching for the last thing on my bucket list -- a home on the water with sheets on the outside.