The motor boat had set a speed record in its class in the 1960s. That’s according to Dave, the boat’s Mark Twain-moustachioed owner. “Want to go for a ride?” he asked me. I couldn’t think of a good excuse not to, so I got in next to him. The boat was simple: A fiberglass hull with a bench in the front. On the left side, a steering wheel and some controls for the motor. In the back, the motor itself, without any cover on it. Dave was a trained mechanic, later teaching a shop class at the local high school, and he had maintained the motor by himself over the last two decades. It reminded me of a hot rod engine, and when I mentioned this, he told me that it was actually based on one. This had the advantage that it was easy to get spare parts. “Over the years, I’ve replaced every single part,” he told me, reminding me of the philosophical question if a ship of which every part has been replaced is still the same ship.
We cast off and took a few turns on the lake. Once Dave thought that the engine was warm enough, he shouted “Better hold on” and gunned the engine. We accelerated, and the boat jumped out of the water, flew through the air, and crashed back into the lake, only to lift off again. Each crash violently compacted my spine so that I grew concerned that it’d get injured. Only pride kept me from asking Dave to slow down. After a minute, he decelerated and we made our way back to the dock. I don’t know if it was the exhilaration of speed or having survived with my spine intact that made me feel giddy.
When I later asked Dave how fast we had gone, he estimated it had been 65 miles per hour. When the boat had set its speed record back in the 1960s, it had gone up to 117 mph. I can hardly imagine the backbone those guys must’ve had.
Nehaveigur 