There once was a fellow named Tim,
Who decided to stop on a whim,
And he started our van,
With some stuff from a can,
So we’re now on our way, thanks to him.
Tim refused payment for his roadside assistance, so we sent him along with one of the inflatable space aliens, Lou Wheeze, for his kids. Ros Well and A. Leeann and Gert Rude don’t seem to be suffering separation anxiety yet.
We had thought that we had a fine plan,
To go West in our big Burning van,
But we now comprehend,
Upon reaching the end,
That the reason was family, not Man.
When we scheduled our Burning Man trip, we thought we’d see a few family members along the way. Instead, we saw almost all of them! When we reached our journey’s apogee, we counted the family members we’d rendezvoused with:
All three parents, all three sisters, all three nephews, our one-and-only niece, two brothers, two aunts, and one brother-in-law. Plus one huge, welcoming family at Burning Man. We love you all!
Who would have thought?
Cabela’s in Nebraska.
Two Burning Vans meet.
This is a rare haiku from Barry (My second poem and I still haven’t written a limerick)!
Here’s a guest submission from my brilliant friend Tara:
To Arkansas went Henry’s daughter,
So she could swim nude in hot water.
But if there is a crowd
Then it won’t be allowed
‘Cause they’ll see things that they shouldn’t oughter!
Oh, there once was a fellow named Bill,
And he thought being Prez was a thrill.
So he saved every note,
That his staff ever wrote,
Which now poses a problem for Hill.
I am ten feet away from my stew,
‘Cause a wasp just came out of the blue.
He climbed into my stove,
And he stayed there, by Jove!
Now I’m wondering, what should I do?
Eventually, he climbed out of my little propane stove and flew away, but it was a nervous few minutes. This was at Red Rock Canyon State Park, where the ranger says, “It’s gonna be a baaaad season for wasps…they usually don’t even show up until May.”
At a shop that is on Sixty-Six,
They once sold guitar strings and picks,
Now they entertain gaily,
The crowds that come daily,
To hear them and get some good “kicks!”
You can get your kicks, too, at the Sandhills Curiosity Shop on old Route 66 in Erick, Oklahoma. Or, if you can’t get there, take a look at some of the videos.
Says Bonnie, “My Iggie won’t bite.”
But I’m still afraid that he might–
She says he’s in heat.
(Will he nip my feet,
Because my red toenails excite?)
Iggie is a 4-1/2 foot long iguana. He’s currently in heat and attracted to women of any species.
The room filled with much merry sound,
Three sisters who mooned as they clowned,
The game was revamped,
We laughed and we stamped,
As ping-pong was played in the round.
We discovered a fun way to play ping-pong at Highlands pub in Eugene. Four people play round-robin, each one hitting the ball once and then rushing around the table to the other side. The results were a few collisions and some hilarious video footage. Do not try this in a pub with dartboards!
While driving around, by and by,
We spotted some doors 8 feet high.
Not sure what’s the reason –
Are stairs out of season?
Or maybe these Newfies can fly!
This limerick illustrates one of my favorite travel mysteries. Why do people in Newfoundland have front doors many feet in the air? I asked a number of local residents, and they just scratched their heads. Then one fellow, who was particularly fast on his feet, said with a grin, “We call those ‘Mother-in-law doors’.”
Everything mentioned in the following rhymes is absolutely TRUE. Burning Man really is that weird, and that inspirational. At least, it inspires crazy Burning Man limericks!
Are these fellows really our males?
They’re wearing pink wigs and cat’s tails,
And crazy orange shirts,
With bright sequined skirts,
At Burning Man, weirdness prevails.
In fishnets and boots with high heels,
I jump on my spiffy pink wheels,
My seashell bikini,
Might score a martini,
Because of the skin it reveals.
A huge pterodactyl walked by,
He towered 12 feet in the sky,
And Dave’s disco ball,
Which held us in thrall,
On Barry’s bike, then caught his eye.
The dust storm came out of the blue,
I knew then just what I should do,
“There’s room here, to hide,”
I pulled him inside,
A handicapped toilet for two.
They blew up the derrick last night,
The mushroom cloud: What a cool sight!
And over the sound,
Of “techno” all ’round,
I heard, “Holy sh*t, that was bright!”
We have gotten a new reputation,
And we’re known through the train and the station.
When it gets dark, like this,
We exchange a brief kiss,
It’s our “Tunnel of Love” celebration.
We’ve just arrived in Southern California after an amazing 35-hour adventure on the train. I planned to celebrate every tunnel with a smooch, but this had slightly embarrassing consequences. The dining car only had booths for four, so we sat down for dinner directly across from an older couple from Santa Cruz. During that one meal, we went through 22 tunnels, which interrupted both the food and the conversation. When we sat down the next day for lunch, our reputation had preceded us. Two strangers from LA were seated across from us. But they knew who we were: “You’re the kissing couple!”
Well, the masts and the bulkheads all creak,
And the decks have a bit of a leak,
She’s a classic old boat,
And she keeps us a float,
But, goodness! The head sure does reek!
There are so many interesting alternative terms for toilets — “biffy” is a charming Canadian term for a pit toilet. And “head” refers to a toilet aboard a ship. This little ditty is from our crazy adventures in Florida and the Bahamas aboard Vger. The diesel tank vented into a locker in the head compartment, so that part of the boat always reeked … of diesel.
Said the famous explorer, de Gama,
To his proud but befuddled old mama,
“I’ve got spices galore,
Precious jewels, silk, and more,
But I wanted to find Grand Bahama.”
Vasco de Gama was the Portuguese sailor who discovered, in 1497, a sailing route from Lisbon to India. The goodies he brought back made him famous and made Portugal’s King Manuel wealthy.
The Bahamas had actually already been discovered by then, by a much more famous sailor, Christopher Columbus.
A very frightening landing inspired this rhyme a couple of weeks ago:
With Orlando’s airport in sight
The passengers all had a fright
The plane lurched and yawed
A man screamed, “Oh Gawd!
“Just please let me survive this flight!”
A few days later, I received this via e-mail from my sister Julie, who wrote of her experience flying home after Thanksgiving:
Atlanta can be such a bore.
When you sit there 5 hours - no, more!
Could have flown to Bombay,
In the time of travel Monday.
From Sun City to Eugene, in hours: Twenty-four.
Is it any wonder we hate to fly???
An airline in Chapter Eleven
Took me up in a seven-four-seven
With legroom to spare
We flew through the air
With peanuts like manna from Heaven
——–
Our flight from Seattle to Atlanta wasn’t very crowded. That means there were extra packs of peanuts to go around — woo hoo!
There once was a cruise ship in Hoonah
Whose passengers hated canned tuna
“If we wanted such fare,
“We’d go over there
“And sail with the folks on that schoona’!”
When I read this out loud to the folks on Indigo, it went over like a lead balloon. What, don’t schooner and tuna rhyme?
The truth is, we only ate tuna on Indigo once. And that time, I disguised it so well that Barry later asked me if my tuna salad actually had tuna in it!
He’s staring at me down his beak
Looking massive, ferocious and sleek
This huge awesome eagle
Is so goddamned regal
I feel like a featherless freak
We were paddling down the Yukon River when I wrote this. There weren’t too many eagles, about one a day. Lots more arctic terns and gulls, and a few kingfishers.
Barry and I actually call eagles “iggles” and seagulls “siggles.” It runs in the family: We recently heard that Barry’s 2-year-old nephew calls seagulls “e-gulls!”
A few feet away from our campsite
Some people are having a fistfight
It’s pretty surreal
This kind of ordeal
Is not s’posed to happen at twilight
We were in Whitehorse, Yukon Territories, the day before the summer solstice. There were a couple of hours of twilight in the woods where we were camping, but it was light all night long. The lack of darkness made people stay up late, drinking and playing frisbee and then having weird middle-of-the-night fights.
The folks from a dozen cruise ships
Paid cabbies and bus drivers tips,
To go to the glacier
And commune with nature –
And be in each others’ film clips.
After so much solitude, sailing up the Inside Passage, we found the tourists in Juneau more interesting than the scenery.
To fix all a boat’s broken gear
Requires more than one engineer
But for ID-ing schist
A geologist
Like Barbara, is great to have here
An older limerick, as yet unpublished, from our cruise up the Inside Passage. We had two engineers (Jim and Barry), one geologist and air quality expert (Barbara), and one writer of lame limericks (me).
The icebergs that clog Tracy Arm
Could do poor Complexity harm
On Sunday: No dice
Although we try twice
But Monday: The third time’s the charm!
Aboard Complexity in Juneau, Alaska:
The crew here is very well fed
We’re feasting on Barb’s homemade bread
And the bear known as Scuppers
Who joins us for suppers
Says this chow surpasses Club Med
We’ve been happy to sail on Complexity
A boat that has no animosity
No yelling or swearing
Just kindness and caring
We give thanks for the Cole’s generosity
A fellow named Scuppers, a Bear
Decided to take Barbara’s dare
So with nothing to grab
He leapt onto a crab
And rode off, looking quite debonair
Here’s a photo of Scuppers, before he disappeared over the horizon:
The crew’s fearing crab deprivation
And suffering mounting frustration
Using cat food for bait
Which the crabs seem to hate
Our skipper can’t catch a crustacean
So I came up with a different plan
Some broccoli and rice in a pan
But then Jim came back in
And was sporting a grin
With a Dungeness crab in each hand
There once was a big ding-a-ling
Who put her poor cat on a string
Said the cat, “It’s a bore,
But it lets me explore,
So I guess I’ll get used to this thing.”
We’re parked on the street in Spokane
Where wi-fi is free, on demand
But our home town is calling
(though rain there is falling)
We’ll get there as soon as we can!
There once was a lady, Loraine
Who brought us in out of the rain
She fed us some beef
And read my tea leaf
She’s Grandma, and long may she reign!
I don’t comprehend much these days,
Just one or two words from a phrase
It’s just, when I speak
I sound like a freak
My French accent’s truly “mauvaise*!”
*”Bad” in French. It rhymes, really.
The cod tongues and cheeks and french fries
Were starting to go to my thighs
Instead of a hike
We rode the Big Bike
Where thirty friends get exercise
There once was a fellow named Barry
Who sailed on the Newfoundland ferry
With me and my Dad –
What a fine trip we had –
And those cod tongues were extraordinary!
A woman who’s both wise and fair
And a beauty — is something quite rare
But the Honourable Betty
Who we met near the jetty
Is all the above, plus the Mayor
A number of fellows who flew
Crossed the Atlantic solo, it’s true
But Amelia, a girl
Thought she’d give it a whirl
She took off from here* in ‘32
*Harbour Grace, Newfoundland
This spot was the site of a Bookcrossing release.
There once was a quite lucky sod,
Who discovered a thing that was odd:
A ring made of gold,
Eighteenth century old,
In the belly of a Newfoundland cod.
The folks in their cars here are keeping
Themselves warm while listening and peeping
At their musical friends
Who know, when each song ends
Their applause will be honking and beeping!
After getting our musical fill
In North Sydney, we had time to kill
The suggestion of Mary
Was the old cemetary
Where the red candles burned on the hill
A crazy adventurous pair
Well known for their super-long hair
Decided it couth
To retire in their youth
Along with their fuzzy white bear
On top of our luggage that’s stacked
Sits the bear, who’s important, in fact
He can calm any fears
And hug away tears
He’s renowned for his wisdom and tact
So three cheers for the great Frank Lloyd Bear
Who has awesome compassion to share
If you hug him, you’ll find
He is gentle and kind
These are traits, that in humans, are rare
The laundry’s a surprising place
For meeting a friendly new face
Thought Kris, “They’re not losers,
Their notebook says, ‘Cruisers’!”
Of his Cuban rum, now, not a trace!
To Pauline and Keith: Thanks alot!
For cooking the stew in our pot
Our stove was kaput
No heat, only soot
But yours produced plenty of “Hot!”
Oh no! What’s this sign that I see?
The paint is as wet as can be
So boys, and girls, too
Must use the men’s loo
This is no time to be a lady!
New Hampshire’s a state in disgrace
Too proud of that rocky man’s face
But gravity came
And much to their shame,
The tourists now spurn the ol’ place
At the warm friendly Moose River Campground
There was plenty of roast pig to go ’round
And boys in grass skirts
And Hawaiian shirts
Did Limbo to Bud’s Karaoke sound
My Barry’s the bravest of guys
He bends backward, and he really tries
But limbo’s a sport
for those really short
His effort, though, won him a prize!
There’s a fellow named Jonathan Kling
Who’s a whiz at the sport of ski jumping
But there’s not any snow
And he still needs to go
So from Astro-Turf green he’s been flying!
Unpaved roads are made up of grime
Which thunderstorms then turn to slime
And twisty and zany
Is that ol’ Allegheny
We crossed it no less than eight times!
Now we think Columbus is great
A fine place to have your first date
Meps ‘n’ Barry are pleased,
(And each Miller agrees)
It’s the best place to find your life’s mate!
Barry’s sister is thoughtful and wise
And deserves a big birthday surprise
The party will rock
(If she’ don’t die of shock
When the blindfold’s removed from her eyes!)
I’ll be resting my road-weary head
On a comfortable, big queen-sized bed
In the van we did buy
That is long, wide, and high
(And I’m glad it is blue, and not red!)
The house is not nearly as quiet
It’s harder to stay on my diet
Dad’s back from afar
And he’ll loan us his car
So if we’d just find a van, we could buy it!
The folks in Sebastian were nice
And Lynn didn’t have to ask twice
In a kettle was born
That sweet golden Korn
Which, when popped, is my secret vice
The fireworks flew into the sky
And exploded from up on high
But the lightning and thunder
We were sitting under
Were the stars of the third of July
Two sailors who really weren’t roughin’ it
Rented a car and were stuffin’ it
With all of their junk
From Cayenne’s forward bunk
Now they’re livin’ in Florida and lovin’ it!
April is ended, May is half gone
Time for the crew of Cayenne to move on
We have been overwhelmed by your hospitality
Because being with Dad is the best place to be
You have driven us places we wanted to go
Celebrated (and treated!) at Cinco de Mayo
Fixed a nice comfy bed with a big fluffy pillow
And a view of your “neighbors,” the ducks, through the window
When our boat had a boo-boo, you gave us the keys
And we drove up to Charleston with AC and ease
We ate special Dad dishes, like pasta with pesto
We wolfed down shrimp salad and crab with great gusto
There was homemade sangria with sweet Triple Sec
Which we sipped with contentment on Janet’s front deck
Turning forty was easy, with Dad standing by
Armed with mountains of presents and coconut pie
In addition to all of the fabulous grub
There were nice long hot showers and a soak in the tub!
Then you packed up your seabag and jumped on the boat
For two sun-filled days of adventure, afloat
And we talked and we chatted and looked at the scenery
Took pix of each other and wildlife and greenery
Yes, being with Dad is the best place to be
Whether I am with him, or he is with me
And I’m not sure which role is the one I love best:
Being his host, or being his guest!
We’re tanned and our feet are like leather
We’ve seen lots of glorious weather
After 2000 miles
We’ve run out of smiles
We can sail, but we can’t live together.
So Margaret and Barry are blue
And Brian is looking for crew
When we reach our next port
Its time to abort
And figure out what else to do.
The cleanup is kind of a chore
Our kitty has barfed on the floor
Her seasickness is chronic
But it’s kind of ironic:
Her hairballs, at least, are no more!
There once was a place like no other
Much loved by my dear deceased mother
With beaches of white sand
It’s called Harbor Island
We went there with Dad and big brother
(in honor of our 2004 visit with Dad and Stevie, at Janet Hubbell’s place on the beach)
My father just happened to know
Some miracle workers in Vero
They made magic repairs
To both of our chairs
We owe HUGE thanks to Anna and Joe*!
*Of Miracle Upholstery, Vero Beach, Florida
From Roy, of Naples, Florida, in honor of Meps’ birthday celebration with her Dad:
So the boat is afloat in the IC moat
The birthday coming and you can dote
On the daughter dear who has no fear
Of waters wild or the Skipper’s beer.
So hoist one for us and sow the wild oat!
From Tom, of Olympia, Washington, in honor of our first passage:
The crew of Cayenne did compete
To complete a passage quite fleet
Downwind they flew
On a course straight and true
Arriving on time in St. Pete
Another one from Tom, about the ICW:
Tis true water shallow and murky
Makes a sailor feel just like a turkey
When the keel way down
Contacts the ground
And progress becomes really jerky
Tuesday afternoon, 3 pm:
The boat up ahead is bright yellow
And the driver is cool, calm and mellow
To our right is Key West
But our skipper is stressed
Being towed in by a Sea Tow fellow
Thursday morning, 2 am:
On a sailboat that’s lovely and red
A lady, asleep in her bed
Awoke to a thunk,
Leaped out of her bunk,
And cried, “That guy just hit us! Call Fred*!”
* Brian’s attorney and “charge d’affaires”
Out in the cockpit I laze
And nothing but blue meets my gaze
I’m wondering why
The Tortugas are dry
And will find out, in just a few days
So Barry did it first today
And Brian did too, I must say
This running aground
Is normal, we’ve found
For the Intracoastal Waterway
We drove and we drove and we drove
On towards Seattle we strove
We visited friends
With our cat, made amends
Then flew back to Cayenne’s cozy cove
There once was a Volkswagen van
That drove down to Louisian’
Now it’s going back home
Via old Oklahom’
‘Cause we can’t fit it onto Cayenne!
I’m standing in Dave’s cozy kitchen
Surrounded by chatter and bitchin’
We’re all kindred souls
Who have come from both poles
‘Cause his red beans and rice are bewitchin’!
At Simon’s birthday party uptown
The people hung upside down
We ate more than we oughta
And watched a pinata
Dashed mercilessly upon the ground
There once was a guy with a fear
That he’d never again have cold beer
The fridge went away
But it’s back now, okay
And the process took just half a year
Hal, who’s good at carpentry
Has rebuilt our uncomfortable settee
So give Brian a beer
And he’ll sit on his rear
And his glutemus maximus will be happy!
Come now, let’s not dawdle
Astronomy needs a new model
So Brianstein, in a trance
Creates the “theory of irrelevance”
Which you get when thinking out of the bottle!
Our limerick lady’s gone mute
With nary a rhyme from her snoot
So absent’s her muse
That she ought to recuse
And give this lame poem the boot!
Our next overnight destination
Was the subject of much rumination
When we asked where to go
Folks said, “Gee, we don’t know”
We don’t cruise here when we’re on vacation!
Inspiration is striking me fast and furious…SIX new limericks in two days!
To pull out the wires from the main
We hired “Mr. Stiffy,” the crane
But the wires all went SNAP!
And the crew all went, “CRAP!”
These unsteppable masts are a pain
When it was time to bring Barry back down
Margaret tried, then announced with a frown
“This thing’s gone amuck!
The halyard is stuck!”
Now we know why the wires are bound!
So we hauled down with all of our might
To bring Barry down from that height
Brian grunted and groaned
Margaret worried and moaned
Barry wondered if he’d be there all night!
There’s a reason we call him, “The Man”
If anyone can do it, Brian can
So now Barry’s on deck
Though Margaret’s a nervous wreck
And all three have a brew in their hands
I am keeping an eye on this guy
Who is perched about 60 feet high
It’s my job to make sure
He is safe and secure
And he doesn’t fall out of the sky
But you’d think he would show some more tact
In appreciation of my kind, selfless act
With a Newtonian splat
Detritus falls on my hat
With a resounding “OOPSIE!” on impact
The Tchefuncte river is pretty and fair
Its worth many a risk to sail over there
But the clams are morose
‘Cause our keel was so close
We sailed over the bar with inches to spare
On a beautiful day, not a hint of rain
We raised the mizzen and then the main
Sailed out on the lake
In order to take
Our maiden voyage on Pontchartrain
Santa Claus came yesterday
And made Brian happy and gay
For the best of all gifts
Is a transmission that shifts
And will send Cayenne sailing away!
Led by Neil and his partying friends
The Christmas parade boats do wend
With our genset to light the way
(And our dink as a sleigh)
At the fabulous N.O. West End*
* Author’s note: New Orleanean cardinal designations make little sense to us out-of-towners. The West Bank seems to be south of town, and the West End is miles away from it, on either the south side of the lake or the north side of town. Given how confused they are about “west,” I wonder where they think Seattle is???
Late at night when airtime is free
we download all our email, you see
but the second time we tried,
the battery almost died
getting the three meg picture of your Christmas tree.
(Names removed to protect both the innocent and the guilty)
Quoth the Raven, “enough already”
We had hoped to be, upon the sea,
Not on the rocks but not on blocks.
But there we are and much too far,
From a flush toilet, with our eyes set
on a shower, our eyes red, our bodies sour
In and out, up and down, the further we must go,
The boat won’t sink and we won’t drown, we’re still on blocks, although
We be at sea (or up the creek). Avast, thar she blows, no pirates, no leak,
No transmission, no go, we’re up on blocks, you know.
We’ll sail round the world, but it will take longer.
While we’re on the blocks, and the odor stronger.
But at least, I think, though we may stink, we won’t sink
We’er still on blocks, with rocks in our head, and we’re fed
Up with the sailing, and failing to go but not on rocks still on blocks
And quoth the rabbit, “cut the crap!”
Well that transmission still doesn’t run
But the crew of Cayenne’s having fun
Now we’re all of good cheer
Cause the skipper bought beer
And he’s having his tenth “‘nuther one!”
The folks at the West Marine store
Were offering discounts galore
So we did our part
And loaded a cart
And blew out the budget, and more!
The folks of the SSCA*
Held a meeting in old Floriday
And so leaving Cayenne
We piled into the van
And embarked on a short holiday
For Monday…the Big Event:
With nary a ripple to note
We launched Brian’s beautiful boat
The transmission is pretty
But powerless, what a pity!
She can’t move, but at least she can float
…and a non-original one for Fri/Sat/Sun’s activities:
They bored a hole within the hull
To let the water out
But more and more, to our dismay
The water IN did spout!
Along came the Travelift man
Who lifted us off of our stands
Now we�re doing our thing
Hanging from a sling
Like a trio of orangutans
When a barnacle comes Cayenne’s way
He’ll turn in disgust and dismay
Though he’ll try really hard
With our great Cop-r-gard
He cannot attach, come what may!
The hull was so smooth and so fair
We said, “Let’s put some copper on there!”
Though he really was keen
Now poor Brian is GREEN
From the tips of his toes to his hair
I have a cool sister named Margaret
Who never bought clothes at a Target
To the Thrift store she’d go,
In the rain, sleet or snow.
Now she’s devoid of a house or a closet!
Roses are red
Viruses suck
A Dell laptop
Makes a good hockeypuck.
Upon trying to lift out the mast
Discovered that it was held fast
By some glue on the floor
Now to free it, for sure,
Would require a nuclear blast!
In a murky canal like a moat
A pair of green eyes seem to float
Now he’s fixing the skeg
‘Fraid of losing a leg
To a gator six feet from the boat
While taking a drink in the shade
Dear Brian enjoys Gatorade
But taking a swig
Found a live roach THIS BIG
Now he’s mixing his cocktails with Raid!
The magical seventy-four
Would shake the boat down to its core
But Bill’s only sixty
So it may be tricky
But it’s not a hurricane’s roar
A momentous task faces Brian and Barry
A task that is considered exciting and scary
On the nineteenth of June
‘neath a not-quite-full moon
They’ll attempt to install the auxiliary
The crew of Cayenne’s sorely needed
But she’s gimpy from something her knee did
On a boat named Freebooter
Now she sails the computer
While waiting for it to get treated
Last week there were mosquitoes to smash
This week there are termites to bash
But the worst of the matter
Was the fall off the ladder
And the very hard landing in the trash
There once was a sailor named Brian
Fell in love with a vessel named Cayenne
From his home way up north
He boldly went forth
Now he’s bitchin’ and moanin’ and cryin’!
