Kath and I spent one of the zaniest Saturday afternoons we’d ever spent since landing in CoCo County almost three years ago.
The “6th Annual Discovery Bay Paddle for Fame” is a gonzo event that almost defies description. But I’ll try.
Held in the spacious lagoon just outside the moorage area of the Discovery Bay Yacht Club harbor, the Paddle for Fame invites one and all to float their nonmotorized seagoing vessel, be it paddleboat; kayak; boogie board inflatable pool lounger; canoe or inner tube, out into the briny in an effort to break the world record for “rafting up”: the formation of a contiguous mass of self-propelled watercraft.
Last year’s record, set at Disco Bay and acknowledged by the international body that governs such things, was 492 boats or boat-like flotation devices, as evidenced by aerial photographs snapped at a predetermined moment and scanned by sharp-eyed officials.
This year, the fly-over photos were to be taken at 3 p.m., and participating paddlers started gathering and hitting the lagoon at 10 a.m. Let the party begin, Gilligan!
By the time Kath and I arrived a bit after noon, the clambake was splashing with vendors on the green, motorized yachts cruising the blue, paddlers launching from the wharf, the funk band starting to unload equipment by the stage, and kids running and taking deadly aim with Super Soakers.
Now, you have to understand that Kath and I both thought that we’d spend 30 minutes tops at this thing. You know, stroll the grounds, maybe have a glass of wine, and, despite bringing our low folding chairs just in case, would no doubt bail long before the aerial flyover.
Four hours, a few drinks, and, we discovered that evening, two cases of extreme sunburn bordering on sunstroke later, we discreetly made our exit, sometime between the 10-piece “Touch of Class Band”’s covers of “Disco Inferno” and “It’s Hot in Here.”
The wine was individual varietal servings of Copa, a proprietary brand of resealable 187-ml portions featured on our new guilty television pleasure, “Shark Tank,” in which five filthy-rich entrepreneurs mercilessly grill would-be inventors seeking investment funds.
But it was the people-watching and –listening that kept us there soaking up unhealthy amounts of outdoor ultraviolet. Whether it was the slacker dude turning to his buddy to remark “Lotta plastic surgery around here, bruh,” the would-be paddler heading to the wharf and sporting a truck-size inner tube that had to have been 40% duct tape, or the inappropriate-age-for-a-bikini-clad woman (to paraphrase Raymond Chandler: “She was pushing 60 so hard she nearly broke a wrist”) with skin so tanned that she could send both Coach and Kate Spade into a bidding war, the atmosphere was outrageously festive. OK, the mortgage broker leaving her booth to offer complimentary chair-side Margaritas may have had something to do with it, too.
We ended up staying for the skydivers, the flyover photo and a booty-shakin’ dose of funky R&B. A glorious afternoon of surprising fun in Disco Bay.
BTW: Kathy found out on Monday that they broke the 2011 record, with well over 600 craft “rafting up.”
No comments:
Post a Comment