If retrieving us from various boat accesses up and down the eastern seaboard hadn’t made him enough of a hero, Steve’s dad came by and made us pancakes for breakfast while we did laundry and shook the last of the sand out of our gear. (Ok, fine, there will be sand in our gear forever, but we tried.)
Smelling a little better than the last time we’d been in her, we reloaded Latoya for the drive north. Despite the bummer of the trip being over, it was very reassuring to see that the frigid brown tundra we had left behind in late April was now a lush green- and to know that we won’t be getting sick of oldies sing-a-longs any time soon.
The original plan was to unload the gear, change clothes, and then reconvene at Burt’s for a welcome-home beer. We’re not good at following plans, though, so we ended up going directly there with the canoe still strapped to the car. Our fellow barflies were somewhat surprised to see us alive.
We toasted the canoe with the first round of beers. The second round was a freebie from friends in honor of surviving. By the third… well, let’s just say there’s already another bad idea in the works.