Joke On The Water

 

    I’ll remember that day for a while, especially how fast everything changed. It’s still hard to believe that one minute I was in nirvana, and in an instant, it became purgatory. Let me explain.   

    I was on a jet ski, cruising on a lake at 40 miles an hour without a care in the world. Nothing but me, smooth water, a life jacket, and the high-pitched drone of the motor. Million dollar homes zipped by like dollhouses. I saw cliffs and trees that belonged on The Nature Channel. My world was perfect.

    And then, in an instant, my placid, peaceful world vanished, not with a bang, but a whimper. Without so much as a warning, the jet ski suddenly stopped dead in the middle of the lake. More importantly, it refused to start again. 

    I felt betrayed because I’ve been good to that ski. I’ve changed the oil and kept it tuned. I’ve babied it on the water. It spent winters in my warm garage after I washed and waxed it. And it decided to turn on me. That’s because a jet ski is like a crazy girlfriend. You may have fun times together, and you may treat her right, but when the mood strikes her, none of that matters, she’ll do whatever she wants.  This is the reason most men name their boats after women. 

     When I looked around, the folly of my joyride stared me in the face. Since it was midweek, nobody was on the lake. I saw and heard nothing.  The world was as dead as a hammer. How could I be so stupid? I was stranded in the middle of a watery desert. What’s worse, there was no one at my lake house to rescue me because my wife wasn’t there. I’d come up alone to spend the night and do a few chores.

    Before I locked up the house and headed  home, I always started the pontoon boat and let it run for a few minutes while I checked out the pier. However, on this particular morning, I decided to also test-crank the jet ski.  

    Vroom!  It fired right up and the trap was set. Anyone who knows me knows that if  you show me a fast jet ski and a nice morning, I’ll hit that lake faster than a hungry bass hits a plastic worm.

    Within minutes, I slipped on a pair of sunglasses and a life jacket and began my late-season ride. Further and further from the safety of my pier I went, carving wide turns from one side of the lake to the other. Finally, I made a long high-speed burst into a much larger part of the water, and that’s where I was betrayed.

    At first I waited patiently, hoping the battery would somehow recover enough for one more crank to get me home. No such luck. It whirred slowly, too weak to start the motor. And after half an hour with no hope that a Good Samaritan would come by, I resigned myself to a cold reality: I would have to get in the water and push the ski to shore.

    The water hadn’t reached hypothermic temperatures yet; however, a lake in mid-October can be, shall we say, brisk. When I plunged in, it took my breath away faster than a supermodel in a bikini. No matter. I had a job to do. I gritted my teeth,  grabbed the rear of the jet ski, and begin maneuvering toward land, about 200 yards away.

    I settled into an exhausting routine of paddle, kick, rest. Even though my thighs and calves turned to jelly, I pressed on, and eventually the shore drew near. Finally, I reached a pier, tied the ski off, and collapsed in exhaustion. My silent prayer that someone in the house would see me and come to my assistance went unanswered.  Apparently God was helping someone else with a flat tire. 

    Finally I conjured the strength and climbed the stairs to the house  with my rubbery legs. Slowly, I made my way to front yard and looked around. I had no idea where I was, just on a road  lined with a few large homes. So, I decided to knock on every door that looked occupied. 

    I struck out. 

    Even if someone had been home, they would’ve probably taken one look at their Ring camera, seen a disheveled wet old man in a bathing suit, wearing a life jacket, and said,”Nope.”  I couldn’t blame them. I probably looked like “The Senior From The Black Lagoon.”

     I began walking until I came to a fork  in the road. Left or right? Unfortunately, there was no tin man in a field to point the way.  But, I still had one percent of power left on my phone, enough to take a gamble. I tapped on Google Maps and prayed.  

    The good news: God must have finished helping the guy with the flat tire.   The app booted up and showed me the route to my house just before the screen went dark. The bad news: I was five and a half miles away. 

    I trudged on, comforted by the fact  that I was at least  going in the right direction. I walked for over two miles, which was a bit much for these legs, considering what they had already been through.  Every home I passed was dark and deserted.

    That’s when I heard an engine. Not a car, but I didn’t care. I was hot, tired, and thirsty, so anything motorized was welcome. It sounded like The Hallelujah Chorus. 

    Soon a four-wheeler rounded the bend. The driver, a middle-aged man wearing jeans, a polo shirt, and a smile on his round face,  slowed down and spoke. 

    “I’m wondering why someone would be walking in the middle of the road wearing a bathing suit, sandals, and a life jacket.”

    “To get your attention, and it worked,” I answered. 

       He laughed. “I’m Ron.”

    “Hey, I’m Joe.  My jet ski broke down, and I paddled to shore, tied it to somebody’s pier and now I’m walking toward my house. I’d appreciate it if you could give me a ride the rest of the way.”

    “Sure. Hop in.”

    I thankfully sat down and slumped in the seat. I didn't know if I had enough left in the tank to walk the remaining three miles. Another hour and someone may have discovered my bleached bones on the side of a county road, still clutching an iPhone.  

    Now, I relaxed and enjoyed the wind blowing against my face while Ron talked. He was a guy who lived on the lake full time, and is apparently an excellent handyman. That’s a good contact  for me to know. I can always use a competent person to repair what I fixed.  

    When we reached  my house, I shook his hand and offered to pay him. He steadfastly refused, saying, “Just pay it forward.” It’s always good to find a new friend.  

    Unfortunately, my “adventure” wasn’t quite over. The pontoon boat that I wanted to warm up dry was certainly warm by now because it had been idling for almost three hours. I bolted to the pier and found the motor still purring smoothly. I didn’t even cut it off; instead, I removed the cover, grabbed a rope, and backed it out of the slip. It was time to go pick up the crazy girlfriend. 

    The rescue went smoothly, aside from the fact I fell in the water, and had to jump in two more times; once to tether the ski to the pontoon, and a second time to maneuver it to my trailer. It felt like I was being repeatedly punished for the same crime. 

    Finally, it was over. The ski was sitting on a trailer in my yard, looking as smug as ever.  And just to satisfy my curiosity before I slipped on the cover , I pulled the key out of my pocket, stuck it in the ignition and hit the starter. 

    Vroom!  It cranked like it had just come off the showroom floor.  I cut it off, shook my head, and yelled, “Crazy girlfriend.”

It was time to go home.