Autopilot

Its a peaceful grey morning on Lake Michigan.

A gentle wind is blowing out of the south.  The Sailing Vessel DISCO is pointed west from St. Joseph's, Michigan, headed for Chicago.  I'm sitting below in the quiet, wood-walled cabin.  Only sounds are the small waves lapping against the hull and my fingers typing at the keyboard of my macbook.  Water is boiling on the stove for coffee.

I climb the companionway steps into the cockpit, where the new Raymarine autopilot holds us on a steady course of 270° towards Wilmette Harbor.  I check the speedo,  We're making 4.7 knots.  We'll be there in about 12 hours.

The Michigan coastline is disappearing behind us.  My phone is "Searching for Signal."  The horizon is empty.  Its just us out here.

A light rain begins, so I retreat back down into the homey warmth of the cabin.  Today, cruising along indoors, seated comfortably on an upholstered bench, DISCO feels huge.

Yesterday, was different.  Skies clear and blue, 20 knot winds and 5 foot swells blew from the North as we sailed down the coast from Saugatuk.  Rather than a home at sea, DISCO felt small and dynamic as we surfed and crashed down the waves.

Rather than below, in the roomy cabin, I spent the entire passage in the cockpit, hand-steering DISCO from wave to perilous wave.  Conditions too rough for the autopilot, I got a bad sunburn.

My 1987 C&C 27 is not a big boat.  Her former owner was a racer and daysailer, who never took her out of sight of shore.  I wasn't sure how much tossing around she could handle.   DISCO performed well in the waves and wind, inspiring confidence.

Its night now.  Suddenly wispy rainclouds are appearing over Chicago's north shore. The late July sunset is dimming and the nav-lights of the Wilmette harbor-mouth are faintly blinking into view.  Red-Right-Returning.  I reach down and press the ignition firing up our small diesel engine.  DISCO chugs into a old safe-harbor familiar from my childhood.  Almost home.

ORD>Denver>LAX>Independence Day

Summer is heating up and things are happening.

Last Thursday evening, I took the subway to O'hare after work.

I flew to Denver, and drove up into the mountains to attend the wedding of my pal Greg Haberer.  I hiked Rocky Mountain National Park.  Everything in Colorado is green right now.

Sunday evening, up on the hill at Red Rocks Amphitheater, I watched a lighting storm play out over distant downtown Denver.

Monday at 6AM I flew into LAX for mexican food, and to work on some commercials, and film stuff.  I stopped into Chez Jay for a beer.

Late last night I caught a crowded and turbulent flight home.

Tonight at a restaurant downtown on the Chicago River, my Mother will have her retirement party. She's celebrating her 47 year career in advertising.

Today I'll produce some radio commercials.

This weekend I'll celebrate the 4th of July anchored off Chicago, listening to The Grateful Dead play a sold-out Soldier Field.

Happy Independence Day Chicago.  Happy Independence Day America.  Happy Independence Day Mom.

Enjoy your summer.

Preparations for Summer

Spring is here and Chicago is subtly warmer.  The wind is still blowing cold, but its sunny, and Chicagoans are making preparations.  Pools are opening on downtown rooftops.  Bars are breaking out the patio gear.  And I'm preparing to haul my boat back in the water.

DISCO has spent the winter in "dry-dock" in a boatyard in Waukegan, Illinois.

These past weekends Ross Gerber, Dan Monico, Cary Cochrane, and I have spent hours up there bottom-painting with anti-fouling paint, rebuilding the winches and working our way down a list general repairs.  Tomorrow the boatyard will haul DISCO back into their harbor.

Chicago's Harbors officially open this weekend. The first real warmth is forecast.  So, with a north wind and a following sea, We'll sail DISCO the 39 miles south to Monroe Harbor, and hook onto our mooring for the summer.

The sail back-south to Chicago is something to look forward to.  Eight hours port-to-port; It'll be choppy seas, but blue skies.  The air and the lake will be cold, but the food will be hot.  We'll fire up the stove and do ramen noodles, and pan-fried sandwiches.  Ross will bring cheese.

This past six months I've worked a dense schedule: producing commercials, taking photos, and finishing my documentary.  But, summer is almost here, and I'm glad to be prepared.  Sailboat trips, outdoor concerts and distant wedding weekends are appearing on the calendar.

I'm planning on staying in my small apartment through May, then I'll give it up to my friend Jim Ramirez.  Jim recently returned to Chicago, from Australia for his endless summer.

I'll move back aboard the sailboat beneath the skyscrapers.

Epilogue

It has been one year since I left behind my condo.
I've travelled, slept on couches, lived in five different Chicago neighborhoods, and spent the summer living aboard a sailboat.

Six months ago I sailed into Monroe Harbor.  DISCO was one of the first boats in the harbor, and will probably be the last to leave.  I've applied for a "Late Leaver" Permit, allowing me to moor downtown until November 15th, when I'll sail north for a boatyard in Waukegan, and have DISCO hauled out for the winter.
I'll move my few possessions into a small studio apartment downtown. A three-block-walk from my office at Leo Burnett.. keeps things simple.

It has been quite a summer.  I've toured the harbors of downtown Chicago,  the remote islands of northern Lake Michigan and Door County.  I've sailed through dense fog, and lightning storms,  And hosted some excellent parties at sea.

Photos of the summer here:  SV DISCO, Summer 2014

The harbors mostly empty now, I've moved DISCO from our normal mooring in Monroe Harbor, to a vacant pier in nearby Burnham Harbor.  I'll spend these last 20 days tied up to a Dock, with the luxuries of added shelter from the November gales, connected-shore power, and a small space heater.

I'm feeling a happy nostalgia for the past year.   A lot has happened.  I've done some great projects, meet some great new people, had eye-opening adventures, and woken up in some interesting places.

Today looked back, and read my first entry into this journal.  Written a year ago today, in which I
"imagined myself a year from now, maybe living aboard an old sloop of my own.  Exploring Lake Michigan as late into the autumn as I'm able.  Sleeping at anchor, enjoying the purple and yellow lights of the skyline buildings.  Alone, on my own private island in a Chicago harbor."

Dream realized.

That's all for now.

Sailboat

I bought a sailboat.

I've sailed small boats most of my life.  But, during these last six months of light-living, I've spent night-times reading every book I could about the design, construction, and maintenance of larger, fiberglass, lead-keel sailboats.

I took the money I had saved renting out my condo, and last week, with my old friends Ross Gerber, and Dan Monico, I bought a 27 foot Canadian-made boat called a C&C.  It was made 1987 and owned by a 66 year old tool & die maker who took excellent care of it.  He actually teared up a little while he was showing Ross and I how to rig the boat, and run the diesel engine.  I plan to invite him out sailing with us.

The boat is rigged with crisp, white, racing sails.  The teak-lined cabin is small, but modestly includes four bunks, a propane stove, and a private head.  We have yet to settle on a name.

A crane hauled the 4700 pound boat into the water in Winthrop Harbor, on the Wisconsin border.  On Sunday, we three climbed aboard, hoisted the sails and pointed towards Chicago.  The wind was favorable - we averaged about 6 knots.  The journey south took us nine hours.






Now home in downtown Chicago, the sailboat lives at my mooring in Monroe Harbor.  I've already spent a few nights aboard.  It is cool, but comfortable, and serene.  This morning I made a cup of tea and stood in the companionway looking at the sunrise on the city skyline.  Then, I rowed ashore and walked to work through Millenium Park.  All is well.

the view from our mooring

A special thanks to my folks for their support with this year-long project, and to my friends and co-workers for the words of encouragement.

my car was stolen

My car was stolen off the street last Thursday night.  I was asleep on the couch at my friend Jeff's.

I woke up in the morning, and walked outside to find that my red Honda, fondly named "Kyoki,"  had been abducted by car thieves, who by now, have taken her back to a shady garage and cut her into pieces.

(To some peoples confusion,) I have not been sleeping in my car.  However, Kyoki was very accommodating.  I drove a lot of miles in that little red hatchback.  Last year Kyoki and I spent 28 days traveling to California and back, driving through mountains and camping along the way.

Kyoki, is gone, and the winter weather here is a grueling tragedy of shit.
But soon it will be warmer.  Soon the carbon colored slush covering Chicago will melt, and I will launch the Sailboat -soon to be christened - "Time Ghost."

My car is dead, but my boat is about to be born.  I only hope that "Time Ghost" will be as true as its trusty predecessor.

Bon Voyage Kyoki.

Mitch, Brook, Kyoki, and I, at a Phish concert in Upstate New York.

Kyoki and campsite in the Utah High Desert

Ross and Kyoki, after we put her in ditch driving and laughing through a Wisconsin Snowstorm

Zion National Park.  Bon Voyage Kyoki

Watering Plants in Wonderful Apartments

My friends have wonderful apartments.  I feel so privileged and pretend-rich that i get to stay in them. 
My friend Nicky is earthly and she keeps her spaces adorned with plants, terrariums and greenery.
My friend Jeff is an automobile engineer.  His apartment looks out upon the steel and concrete Chicago skyline.

I would love to branch out into some weirder neighborhoods.  Spend a week on Goose Island, or maybe a weekend in the center of the loop.  Does anyone know of a spare bedroom in Chinatown?

For now, I'm writing from the jet fuel-scented, tessellated fabric of window seat 20F.  AA flight 86 is firing up its giant engines to Bernoulli me off to the California desert faster than the planet turns below.
I'm headed to Los Angeles to produce some timeless beer commercials.  Its cathartic to be purposefully engaged and occupied by dense work.  Also, viscerally, its good to be changing climates for a little while. Chicago's winter has been industrial, and it will be good to exercise outside.

I've been doing a lot of thinking about what it will be like to sleep in the harbor this summer.  While I'm in Southern California I'm going to pay a visit to my friend Webb.  He fundamentally understands the value of simplicity.  He has been living his way and writing about life since before I was on the planet.
Webb has long maintained an online journal of his own.

Duffel Bag

This is the Duffel bag that I've been carrying around Chicago these last fifty days.  It has leather straps and feels substantial.   It has been to Tom's loft, Lisa's Apartment, and Jason's condo.  I have taken it with me to work, and aboard an airplane to Utah.  It contains clean clothes, my Doppelt kit,  a small sleeping bag, and a book about sailboat-repair.

The name 'Duffel' comes from the eponymous town in Belgium.  But I don't know where my Duffel came from.  I found it in a closet when I was moving out of my house.