Rowboat in a Hurricane Read Online Free PDF Page A

(while it lasted). Our planned dinners offered the most variety; each meal contained a carbohydrate (noodles, rice, mashed potatoes, and couscous), a protein (tuna, canned meat, beans), and, every other day, a can of vegetables. For snacks we decided on daily rations of half a pound of cookies, a handful of dried fruit, and five candies. Our goal was to bring foods that were easy to prepare, lightweight, dense, nutritious, and calorie-loaded. We each needed to eat about five thousand calories a day, about twice as much as we’d consume normally.
    Colin pushed the cart through the aisles while I read off our shopping list. “We need 130 cans of tuna, 60 cans of beans, 35 kilograms of rice . . . Is 100 litres of powdered milk enough, or should I get two sacks? . . . These vegetables are too expensive; do we really need that many cans? . . . I think we should get extra candy instead of canned fruit, it’s cheaper . . . Should we get ten flats of Oreo cookies, or do you want some oatmeal crisps too?”
    We spent hours wandering the supermarket aisles and were finally ready to check out with an obscene amount of food. Imagine a week’s total groceries for a typical person and multiply that by eighty (we were shopping for two for twenty weeks at double the caloric intake). The clerk’s eyes opened wide as we dragged one heavy cart after another up to the till. After almost an hour of scanning, the clerk finally gestured to the shocking figure displayed on the screen.
    “I’ll pay by credit card,” I said, handing over my MasterCard.
    A long queue had formed behind us, and the clerk’s expression transformed from shock to dismay. “We don’t accept credit cards. It’s cash only.”
    We had become the centre of attention. Members of management had gathered around the perimeter of our shopping carts to see what was going on. Passing shoppers would momentarily pause, wearing the same guilty expressions as those going out of their way to view a gruesome car accident. I felt these nightmarish situations were becoming all too familiar.
    “Uh . . . we didn’t know that . . . I guess we’ll go to the bank machine and come back in few minutes,” Colin said.
    We walked hurriedly out the door, leaving the staff scratching their heads.
    “Let’s just leave. We can’t get that kind of money from the ATM ,” Colin said.
    “We can’t just go. We spent the entire day collecting that food. We’ve got to get the money somehow,” I said, shocked at the prospect of just walking away.
    “Well, the banks will be closed until Monday. What else can we do?” Colin argued.
    “My bank at home is open on Saturday. Maybe I can call them and see if they can temporarily increase my ATM limit and place some money in my account from my credit card,” I said doubtfully.
    It seemed a very unlikely possibility, but it was our only chance. I went to a public phone and made the call. Ten minutes later I received the news that they would do it. After a quick trip to the ATM , we returned to the cashier, our pockets bulging with euros. The patient, kind manager then offered to deliver our food to the marina to save us from having to hire a fleet of taxis.
    Finally, on September 21 , just over two weeks after our arrival in Lisbon, we had our boat shipshape and packed with everything needed for the long journey across the ocean. The last two weeks we’d worked nonstop, from 5 : 30 AM to 11 : 30 PM , but somehow we had managed to transform an empty secondhand rowboat into one that was completely seaworthy and equipped with all the essential gear required to row across an ocean. We triple-tested all our equipment and had backups for all the critical gear, such as the desalinator and Iridium satellite phone, not to mention repair materials to deal with practically every emergency scenario. We had stocks of wholesome food, and even some fishing gear, just in case we wanted to fish en route. More than a few times, I had thought we might not be able