Stardate 11567.4

Captain's Log: Stardate 11567.4
Last night marked our final race in the 2015 EBYRA Wednesday Night Race Series and the conditions were close to perfect -- nice breeze, 70s, and our full team on board (Lt. Kurt beat the odds and returned home from the farm.)

While racing was on our mind, I would not say it was the priority. Down below was a tremendous supply of chicken, salami, cheese, potato salad, a Subway footlong (while Subway's Jared was in prison experiencing a completely different type of footlong,) cupcakes, Twizzlers, soda, wine, and more -- and everyone was hungry. In fact, I think the only reason why we did so well was because the crew was thinking that the faster we finish, the sooner we get to eat.

Kind of like why they have the rabbit ahead of the greyhound racing dogs.

Our start would have been perfect, but the jib got caught up on the mast, and all chances of going Warp 6 at the start line was lost. Nevertheless, we corrected pretty quickly and then tacked away to clear air. To windward was our first mark. To leeward, a spectacular sunset.

Didn't matter. Down below was food.

We were just a tad too below the layline getting to the first mark, resulting in what was probably the ugliest mark rounding of my racing career. Nevertheless, we held our position in the fleet and proceeded at over Warp 5 to the next mark downwind. All was well, except now, without the breeze on our nose, we could all smell the food.

And I know some of the crew wanted to drop out of the race right then. I know it. But we were going to have to wait.

Still, with the second mark just a few hundred yards from our mooring (a/k/a Starbase One,) it was a difficult decision to keep going.

And then, in what was either bad planning or an attempt to stay with the boat beyond the evening, Lt. Kurt's shoelace got caught in the genoa block, inching closer and closer as the jib came in.

Kurt then asked if we could ease the jib a bit so he could get free. And then, in true racing-captain fashion, I said, "No way. We're on the layline."

In fact, I wanted the jib in further. A few cranks and Kurt was going to get A LOT skinnier. But, instead of seeing how sausage is made, Kurt removed the shoelace from his sneaker and tied it to the deck for retrieval after the race.

We rounded the last mark in third and headed towards the finish. At the very end, purely for visual entertainment purposes only since we give him oodles of time, we blanketed and passed a C&C 37, crossing the line in second place.

We weren't back on the mooring for more than two seconds -- the table was out, the food was out, and it was a mad rush to eat things before David Jr. ate it all. He even ate the soggy cold potato wedges from KFC, all while my wife Ellen was talking about the sink-mounted garbage disposal unit in our new home. Coincidence? I think not.

Great racing season, everyone. Of course, the rest of the sailing season still has a ways to go. Plenty of great weekends ahead.