Date: Sun, 5 Sep 2021 22:51:05 -0700
From: Boris Chen <borischenaz@gmail.com>
Subject: Crossing Panama, chapter 1 (Revised)

Crossing Panama
Re-edited for Nifty

By: Boris B. Chen.
Copyright 2021, All rights reserved.


What's this book about?

Crossing Panama is a gay male romance story with a large helping of drama,
adventure, steamy hot sex, and tragedy. The main character/narrator was a
lawyer diagnosed during childhood with high functioning autism. What does
that mean? Read the story and you will gradually become an expert on high
functioning autism as well as sailing from Florida to California.

In this book the narrator meets a slightly younger guy, they quickly fall
in love, but the young Mexican man had some serious decisions to make about
his life and his family. On the two month sailing trip they meet some very
interesting people along the way.

The long voyage stressed everyone, not just the sails.

Note: In this book the symbol '----' meant time had passed.

Characters:

Steven Darrow: Narrator, main character. Healthy-athletic 32yo mixed race,
graduated from UCLA Law School. Photographic memory, diagnosed with high
functioning autism at age seven. Six foot two inches tall, 180 lbs, slender
with short black hair.

Tim: Private investigator and coworker of Steven Darrow, divorced white guy
in his 50s, living alone on his 1983 Bristol 35 sailboat.

Bill and Sandra Peterson: late 60s retired wealthy couple from Albany,
NY. They owned a large party boat parked beside Steve's but seldom sailed
beyond Tampa Bay.

Carlo Silva: Latino guy on Grindr, late 20s, US Navy Vet. Managed family
tire store. Carlo was American, born in Mexico and now took care of his
elderly parents, especially his father with early stage dementia. 5'10"
175lbs black hair and eyes, clean shaven.

Carly Cordova: young Caucasian female hiker, high school diploma,
born/raised near Seattle. 5'9" 170lbs. Blue eyes, brown hair. Never
actually held a job in her life, born to an extremely wealthy family near
Seattle, Washington.

David Davis: young Caucasian male hiker, high school diploma, born/raised
near Seattle. 5"9" 190lbs. Never actually held a job in his life, comes
from extremely wealthy family near Seattle, Washington.


Susan: although called 'she' Susan was not human, she was a 1985 Bristol
40' ocean-class sailboat, single mast, mono hull, full length keel, cutter
style mast and rigging with two foresails- one on a 3ft bowsprit, and one
mainsail. Propulsion came from a 20hp 2-piston diesel marine engine and DC
generator. Ten horse DC electric prop drive. 150 gallon sewage tank, 120
gallon city water tank, 6 deep cycle batteries, wind and solar chargers.
Susan was built in Rhode Island and designed for weekend (wealthy)
gentlemen's races off Long Island but was seaworthy enough to keep going
and cross over to Spain or France, then sail back. When she was built the
company was known for building elegant sailboats that displayed most of its
fine workmanship on the inside. Sleeping room for seven adults.

Susan lacked: hot water, electric flush toilets, air conditioning, cruise
control and auto pilot, dinghy, indoor shower, carpet, refrigerator, TV,
modern door locks, Most of the reason why she lacked some very common
features was to conserve weight, space, and DC power. It was designed with
understated elegance, with a basic racing hull that was faster than most in
her size, but didn't appear too opulent or showy (on the outside).


Copyright and content notice.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval
system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior
permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated without the
publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that
in which it is published and without a similar condition including this
condition being imposed on the subsequent publisher.

The rights of the author have been applied hereon.


Please note:

This story features detailed descriptions of consensual same-sex
acts. Readers that are easily offended should stop reading this story
immediately.

There are frequent references made to people, marinas, police departments,
and businesses in Florida. None of the story features about those
businesses are true, none of what you are about to read actually
happened. This story, the characters, and situations are 100% fiction.

Comments to the author: borischenaz gmail

Chapter 1: Crossing the City.

Six years ago I'd graduated from UCLA with my JD then quickly passed the
California Bar exam, ten days after passing I accepted a job offer with a
law firm in St. Petersburg, Florida. This group specialized in personal
injury and class action cases and had a great record for winning very large
settlements from the biggest names in corporate America. When I accepted
their employment offer I'd never been to Florida before but I felt
attracted to their climate and the coastal culture.

One day during my second month at the firm I was talking to a woman my age
in my early morning spinning class that mentioned she was recovering from a
total hysterectomy because of cervical cancer, she said everyone she knew
that used a particular brand of Tampon got cervical or uterine cancer. I
invited her to drop by for an interview in my windowless office. After a
week of research I presented my case to the lead attorney and was assigned
exclusively to the case, then I interviewed hundreds of women and collected
their medical histories. My research revealed probable contamination of
cotton fibers used to make tampons at one particular factory in southern
Georgia. Their cotton fields were knowingly sprayed with an herbicide
recognized as being cheap and effective (for cotton) but also carcinogenic.
That herbicide was banned in Europe, South America, and Asia four years
earlier.

Something I learned about cotton farming was that the fields were sprayed
with an herbicide to kill the cotton plants because if they were alive when
the cotton harvester drove over the plant rows they would simply fall over
instead of standing upright and pulled into the picking machine. By
spraying the plants they become stiff and stood up well when first impacted
by the picker. The 'cotton gin' we learned about in grade school was used
later to separate the cotton from the plant parts, 'gin' was short for
engine. In the 1700s when the cotton gin was invented in the USA (its
actual history was much older in Asia) there was really no such thing as an
'engine' as we know them today which was why it was never called the Cotton
Engine.

To make a long story short, we collected signatures from nearly five
hundred cancer survivors, filed our papers with the court, and negotiated
an enormous settlement for each victim. Each person received about two
hundred thousand dollars in one tax-free payment. My firm won millions, and
since it was my case I received a four million dollar bonus and promoted
from 'the odd new guy in that crappy office next to the elevator' to
Partner. After my promotion I was upgraded to an office with a window and a
view to the south. I found out later the only reason I got that particular
office was the sun turned it into an oven every afternoon around 3pm. But I
never complained because it gave me a view of beautiful blue Tampa Bay and
all the wonderful sailboats. One Sunday I drove to work (with the lady I
was dating back then) we rearranged my office furniture so the view was to
my side instead of behind me, and the hot sun shone on the carpet instead
of my back. EBay showed me a window darkening film that you could easily
see through but reduced the intensity of the sun by 70% which eliminated
the oven effect in my office for a small $19 investment. It was applied
like a giant decal with lots of soapy water and a squeegee, the hard part
was getting all the bubbles out but we turned it into a game and had fun
pushing the bubbles around the window.

At the time I dated an older woman and lived in a studio apartment
downtown, I spent time every week sitting on a lawn chair on my tiny
balcony watching the sailboats on Tampa Bay and out on the Gulf of Mexico
with my binoculars. In fact, that's how we met because she lived on a
slightly lower floor in a high rise condo across the street and we sort of
spied each other several times, then waved and shouted across the street!

One weekend while driving around looking for a small seafood restaurant I
happened to catch a glimpse of a large sailboat sitting in a wood cradle in
a parking lot. The mast was removed and the boat was shrink wrapped for
long term storage and someone had spray painted (in red) 4-SALE on the
white plastic cover with a phone number so I snapped a photo. The bright
red paint really grabbed my attention. My photographic memory told me it
was possibly a rare Bristol-40 so I stopped and took photos of it from
every angle even though it was tightly wrapped in a shiny white plastic
cover. The parking lot was fenced so I couldn't get very close to it. A
forty foot sailboat with a bowsprit was a very uncommon feature. Bristol
installed them to increase foresail size and increase their speed. Moving
the front sail support cable further forward added nearly two square yards
of additional wind catching surface.

I read about the Bristol boats in High Seas Quarterly. That boat was a
collector's item to certain wealthy old men, like a small floating
mansion. The interiors were mostly wood and resembled hand crafted restored
antique train cars that rich people travelled around the country behind
Amtrak trains. Inside they were made from hand cut hardwoods with brass,
silver, and gold trimmings. Cushions were covered in wool and silk and
often showed silver threads and the finest memory foam inserts. But under
the deck they still used PVC plumbing and plastic liquid tanks.

After several phone calls I learned the history of the boat from the
doctor's son (also a retired physician). She was a 1985 Bristol-40, single
masted sailboat. The owner was a 93 year old Florida man. I agreed to a
deposit of one thousand bucks and had the boat unwrapped and inspected by
an engineer I knew that had a master's degree in marine engineering. In
fact, I had three people (from different trades) inspect her. One of them
already knew her, it had been serviced at his marina for years and he also
worked at the Bristol Yacht Company in the 1980s and vouched for their
workmanship and the condition of that specific boat. When I read him the
numbers off the ID plate in the cabin he said, "Ah yes, the Doctor Misner
hull, I remember it well. That poor man put down a large deposit and waited
two years for delivery!" He told me not to worry about the hull, if it
never sank and didn't show any cracks it would be fine for another 150
years. He said some day after I died of old age it may end up in a nautical
museum. His comments nearly convinced me but I wanted to wait for the
results of the inspections.

Two weeks after the last certified inspection I paid Doctor Misner and his
lawyer three thousand five hundred, hundred-dollar bills and he signed the
title, they notarized it on the spot. We shook hands and I wished him
well. He just beamed with happiness that he got the boat issue resolved
while he was still alive. He had some of his family in the room and they
all cheered the sale despite that it broke his heart. Since he was recently
confined to a wheel chair he could no longer even walk on her decks. I saw
a twinkle in his eyes that told me the Doctor had some fantastic stories to
tell.

I would have offered him the mounted framed photo of his deceased daughter
but when we met his family brought the same photo, but much larger and in
color and had it sitting on the meeting room table for everyone to see, as
if they were saying their final goodbye to her memory. It was very
touching.

My biggest worry was someone in the family would ask me if I was going to
rename the boat, but nobody asked. A brass tag on the picture frame said:
Susan Misner 1961-1980. I guess I didn't realize she died a long time ago
and they still mourned her passing. She was a very good looking kid.

----

The next day I signed a six month lease at the marina (where the sailboat
sat in their overflow parking lot) and started taking licensing classes at
night at the college. Two hours a night, two nights a week for four weeks,
and they even had a full size boat helm simulator with a 360 degree
view. This school also had degree programs for people wanting to pilot
freighters or passenger ships.

I took the four week mariners course and earned my pilots certificate. Many
insurance companies would not write a policy on your boat without the
certification. It was a nice coincidence that one of the colleges that
offered the course was literally next door to the marina, the University of
South Florida at St. Petersburg. I could see their campus from my sailboat,
to the north.

It's been said that doctors and nurses made bad patients, well I freely
admit that lawyers made dreadful students too. But my instructor and I
shook hands and stayed in touch after the class was done and I got my card
in the mail. He was an excellent teacher, regardless of his grammar, he
retired from the Navy with a doctorate after twenty years of distinguished
service. This guy was one of the people that did the inspections on the
Bristol sailboat.

The class also covered sailing in and out of crowded harbors and around
Tampa Bay. We used the simulator to learn how to sail around and out of the
harbor. I dreaded the first time I'd have to sail by myself out onto Tampa
Bay on a windy day. Tampa Bay was shallow with many sandbars, and they
moved around too so you had to leave the helm to raise the sails, but not
sail out of the marked channels in the process!

I really liked their simulator but translating that into doing it myself
was rather intimidating. Even though I'm well schooled and very smart with
Autism there are always simple things I struggled to learn. What I really
wanted was for someone to get on the boat with me and literally show me how
to do stuff, then I could try it under direct supervision. Things involving
hand to eye coordination were often difficult for me, luckily law school
didn't require such skills. And because autistics tend to be blind to other
people's displays of emotion I had to hire an instructor to privately tutor
me in reading the jury or a witness.

That summer my world changed from a small life in a small apartment, and my
small Toyota Rav4 (1998 two-door with the removable top) parked in a small
indoor garage. Then my life opened wider to include a 40 foot Bristol
parked at Harborage Marina and Yacht Club. My boat parking slip came with
117vac power but no other utilities.

The marina had very nice bathrooms sort of like the high dollar truck
stops. The club had a pool, patio, and hot tub for parties and live bands,
an indoor party venue, bathrooms, 24 hour security, and a hefty monthly
price tag. Security at the marina was kind of a joke because on the land
side it was ringed by fences, cameras, and barbed wire but it was wide open
to Tampa Bay! I guess their belief was bad guys had never discovered
sneaking into the harbors at night in a small boat, which meant they never
heard of the Vikings. The good part was I didn't have to worry about having
my car stolen or being robbed walking to it.

----

My first four day weekend (as a new and very green licensed boat owner) was
Independence Day, I spent the entire holiday on the boat but never left the
harbor. In fact when the weekend arrived the boat was empty except for a
few items I already put on board, like extension cords, fans, and cleaning
supplies. The cabin had no air conditioning and we were in southern Florida
in July, you could imagine how hot it got inside with all the windows and
hatches locked shut.

This boat was well seaworthy, the former owner told me he wanted to sail
around the world but never had the time. He also warned me about people
that hung out at marinas, he suggested I keep a firearm and a healthy level
of skepticism for everyone and everything I heard. Despite his warnings I
was falling deeply in love with my classic old Bristol and all the
beautiful wood inside the cabin and around the exterior. The interior of
the boat really made me feel comfortable and safe. It represented an
unspoken confidence and wealth, and just might help me meet a lifelong
partner who wouldn't become upset by my odd autistic habits (like
inappropriate eye contact and that weird thing I still did with my fingers
and my legs).

The good doctor also advised that there were people that did not own yachts
but held yacht club memberships so they could hang out with boat owners. He
said some of those guys also wore captain hats like the Skipper on the
Gilligan show. Boat owners in Florida tended to be older and wealthy
retired folks. Many of those yacht club bar regulars were what he called
Gentlemen Con-Men. His point was that I should be on-guard all the time. It
sounded like he got taken too.

My new sailboat was forty foot long at the waterline, it was about fifty
eight feet long overall. It had a V-shaped bunkroom in the front, it slept
two adults and a dog or child. There was a sofa that converted into two 3/4
size twin bunks, the dinette collapsed down into sleeping for two more
(with room for another small dog), and in the rear corner of the cabin was
the captain's bunk, that meant it had space to sleep seven adults and two
dogs or small kids. The only bunk long enough for a tall person (like me)
was the V-bunk in the bow. She had one tiny bathroom with a foot pump for
water. There was a valve on the cabinet under the sink to direct the pumped
water to the toilet bowl or the sink. The bathroom was the same size as the
ones in jet airplanes and had a vent hatch with a fan in the ceiling.

It had a small galley with a built-in ice box, a (foot powered) small sink,
two burner (self-leveling) propane stove, and lots of small cabinets. The
ice box was big, it drained melted ice water into the bilge when you opened
the drain valve. The ice box hatch had a fourteen inch square insulated
door that closed down flat on the kitchen counter, so you reached down
inside the large ice box (with a flashlight to see the bottom). The galley
looked like it had never been used, judging by the stove.

The old owner left a dorm-size refrigerator on the floor near the sofa
bunk, he said he used dry ice in the box and set a layer of cardboard on
top of two ten pound blocks. Twenty pounds of dry ice would keep food safe
for at least four days in tropical heat. The first time I opened the ice
box there was a weird looking strap inside it, I almost threw it away but I
learned that was used to lower blocks of dry ice inside. The hatch was that
particular size so blocks would fit no matter where you bought
them. Worldwide, all dry ice blocks were the same size! I thought to myself
that I should add gloves to my shopping list if I'm going to be handling
dry ice blocks.

The boat had a newer VHF marine radio and antenna on top of the forty foot
tall aluminum mast. It had a GPS and a beautiful magnetic brass compass on
a pedestal by the pilot's wheel which was almost straight above the
rudder. There was a pole with a hook for hanging a Sun Shower to bathe on
the back deck. It had a nice rear deck with room for about seven adults to
sit on padded fiberglass benches. There was a spotlight like from an old
police car on the windshield frame, so you twisted a black handle inside
the windshield frame to steer the light.

The entire hull was white fiberglass over a solid oak skeleton, trees
harvested from the hardwood forests of Rhode Island and aged in barns. It
had a racing style full length keel and would float in only five feet, two
inches of standing water. There was a white canvas canopy above most of the
rear deck so the pilot got some shade and cover from ocean spray or
rain. The cover was open on the sides and ran up front to a windshield that
went all the way across the cabin roof but had no windshield wipers. It
also had zippers to add canvas side panels around the back deck but the
owner said they were stolen twenty five years ago and never replaced.

The boat had a car stereo in the cabin with extra speakers on the back deck
but no TV. It had a small wind generator, a few small solar panels, and six
large batteries inside a vented plastic box. The motor for the prop was a
ten horse DC electric motor with a marine grade two cylinder diesel engine
that spun the generator to charge batteries, run lights, fans, and the
propeller too. The entire boat was 13.8v DC , the deep cycle battery case
was under the captain's bunk. The generator also made 117v AC power in two
outlets, the rest were only powered when the boat was plugged into shore
power.

The sails needed to be replaced in a year or two. Lots of the outdoor wood
trim needed to be sanded and re-sealed. The Florida sun was extremely rough
on wood that sat outdoors, especially if it was also exposed to salt water
air like all the boats in the marina.

All in all she was in very good shape considering her age. It needed a few
things but with several days to work on things it was essentially ready for
a short trip on the Gulf.

Contact the author: borischenaz gmail