I’d raced southward down the Chesapeake, riding a series of 25-knot northerlies from the Sassafras River to Annapolis to Solomon’s Island. I then headed out to Tangier for a quick night before a run to Norfolk, riding 30-knot gusts that kicked up steep, confused chop and kept me glued to the tiller. By the time I left Norfolk, early in the morning as rain sprinkled out of the gray (not yet) dawn, I was worn thin. Between days at sea, my time had been spent either scrambling for boat parts or working on the boat. I’d ripped my main, replaced my boom, torn out the old leaking water heater, replaced coolant hoses, realigned my shaft, and on and on and on.