Below is special guest contributor Dr. Diesel's take on the swim. Anyone who doesn't speak Diesel, you may find you don't understand every word of this:
"Guys, it was a good one.
The Glorious Goddess smiled, the waters parted, the skies opened to blue, and the air was full of music.
No details below.
Nothing goes outside the boat.
You missed it?
There will be more.
Shout-outs to all the Monster Pilots, kayakers, boaters, Zoders and Zodettes, and Big Power Muthas, who as a group were unyielding, tough as nails, hard as rocks, rough as raw sawpaper, gave no ground, and brought us safely home.
And to the Beautiful Cook and Cook-ettes who, as usual, made those things that melt in your mouth, stay off your waist, and make your eyes water with eternal forgiveness and gratitude.
And to the Land Support Crew, Itinerant, Wandering, and Fabulous, who sighted, vanned, advised, carried, cranked, docked, pulled, washed, saved, stored, consoled, and warmed us, firma as the terra cotta they stood upon.
And, of course, to the Great Goddess herself, who smiled upon us this day, and gave us her Glory, her little taste of Heaven.
All in all, just another day at the South End Beach.
Springing from the Bridge, cruising and blues-ing down the Great Concourse, zip-lipping the Jeremiah, slicing through our favorite Golden Arches, and sauntering, or stumbling, as the case may be, out to Mile Rock (where pigeons wear head-dresses and others stay home), and turning left to the wampum land of Seal Rock and Nirvana.
And then, would you believe it?
Out of Nowhere?
The Goddess, in a switch,
Pulled back the curtain!
(No need to describe it here, what lay behind.)
(You just have to imagine it.)
(Sort of like Dueling Banjos on Acid.)
(Or the booming, crescendo ending of a Beethoven Symphony.)
(Wagner at his mightiest.)
It went from Flat. To Rolling. To Vertical.
In an instant.
It was Wack.
Kayaks flying through the air, power boats pitching and yawing like drunken cows on morphine, one-oared boats flailing at mountains, Zods hurtling to and fro, scampering and shouting like agitated nursemaids shepherding their wayward flock, madly bailing half submerged, piled high with wounded kayaks, pulling swimmers, always dancing the fine line, the delicate balance, between chaos and sublime.
But Dance they did.
On Tippy Toes.
And Nerves of Steel prevailed.
All were accounted for.
And in the midst of it all, you realized, as did the Immortal Grampa Drew,
*It doesn*t get any better than THIS!*
Sure, some pretenders pretended they suffered. Always happens.
Rockets Julian, John, Kara, and Kathryn sailed thru to the beach, Kara feigning hypothermia for laughs, her brother Kit one-upping by skying down the front of an incoming roller in a 180 nose pin (9.9 degree of difficulty), thrashing the spin cycle, Dianna and Brenda, joined at the hip, parting when Brenda wanting immersion, went over, got up, went over, etc. until Bill blew by, picked her up, immersing the Zod under the next Big One, Brenda, submerged, bailing like Mad-Brenda, Dianna meanwhile, languidly pretending illness while she chaise-lounged with Johanna and Mary Louise on the Big Power Mutha, Jerry losing his oar collar, a shipwrecked one-winged water bird sliding down mountainsides, endlessly circling Jenna and the Jons, who had Diesel mid-ship and spun out tow lines and throw ropes like bolos, with Joel cresting high above us, and then bottoming out 10 feet below, where at one point 3 Zods, two Power Muthas, three oared boats, and some stacked kayaks held the Party of the Century at Seal Rock.
Joey B? Peyote? Pablo? Who knew? They just slide through? Or similar tales to tell with the Barry and Bobby Ms? We gave up searching (we all did Rock, Paper, Scissors for their lockers, so they*re out in the cold), and came back to find Peyote on a second serving of B-fast, and Joey and Pablo hopefully in sauna on the hill at Beloved Lady Jane's.
The rest of us? Mere Mortals, just moseying along, sniffing at flowers, doing nothing much, watching insects fly by, driving first north, then south, then north again, in a gratuitous display of navigational skills, Diesel hunkering in the Death Hole, close-up-and-personal with Mile Rock, the twins J and ML re-uniting at Seal after eons apart.
All in all, we all made it.
The skies parted, the Heavenly Choir rejoiced,
And Peace fell upon the Land.
And all was Good.
And we give thanks to Uncle Bob and Brother Jon for another nutty cracker.
And it worked.
All of them, the Zodders Bobby R, Tawny, Jon, Big Jon, Jenna, Bobby M, Susan P, Bill J, Ray S, Ed deCossio and Paul (Dolphiners), the boaters Jerry P, Joel L, Liz G, Rick W, the kayakers KB, Brenda, Kit, Dave Santos, the Big Power Muthas Barry M,, Ray Z, Lynn, etc., Cooks Robin, JP, sisters, etc., the Landers Danny M, Wendy D, Johnny da B, Molly M, Billy W, Lee B etc., all pitched in with typical South End energy, moxie, and love.
And we loved you for it.
Yeah, it don*t get no betta then this.
Sharko, Reptile, Gweed, Janey, Susan H who were coming but couldn*t, and all the rest of you who helped, hoped, lit candles, crossed-fingers, bowed to the East, or just forgot about us like the Dogs-in-the-Ditch that we are.
We missed ya. You would have loved it.
And we missed naming some of you who helped, cuz the brain don't work too good no more. So just pipe up, let us know who we missed, and we'll celebrate you!
Thanks to All!