After the race, when we didn't win a prize, I got . . . industrial-strength bummed out (and that's probably quite the understatement).  All that work, all that planning, all that dreaming---and we didn't even "take home a paddle."

      In retrospect, I have come to realize what I had done wrong: I had become so fixated on the prize, that I lost sight of the journey.  My dream did come true; my crew had a great time.  Feeling the way I did, though---I was only glad that it was over.  I wanted nothing more to do with the whole kit and caboodle.  I believe it was the day after the race, I threw the paddlewheels in the dumpster, and took this picture:

(Oddly enough, this was just before I took the pictures of the "thin wispy clouds." It [seeing those clouds when I did] seemed to me that God was giving me a sign of hope.

      It [the occasion of throwing these wheels in the dumpster] was the first time I felt anything even approaching normality since the regatta.

      Two and a half days after the race, I was formally diagnosed with exhaution.

      Cleanup and storage were quite the chore.  Finally, after several trips to the ******** **** storage facility, I had everything stored:

      "May she rest in peace." I thought.  I wanted nothing more to do with this bugger---ever.

      Then, not a month and a half later, I got to talkin' with a dude on the sixth floor of the GI (Geophysical Institute)--Shann, a great guy ( :) ), and also from Pennsylvania ( :) )--started talking about "armaments"---water rocket batteries, water cannon, etc.  And a sled dog powered "jet drive. . . ."

      And again, I was hooked.  I'm hopeless, I know. . . .  :P :)

      See you next year!