Desperados Part II
Maintaining waterborne superiority (or in "young punkman's" terms....one's cool) would not come without some effort. Odd jobs, newspaper routes and Christmas wish lists all added up to our next aspiration in life, staying ahead of the legendary harbor cop, "Altieri". This would require careful planning and commitment to the all-winter boat build. Brother Steve, along with his high school buddy blazed the trail by building the compact Glen L Marine, ten-foot "Squirt", a sexy little craft with a seating arrangement that emulated the Chevrolet Corvette. What could be cooler and faster than a Corvette on water? This would surely keep Altieri on his toes and maybe attract a babe or two (that was also a priority). The boat was a huge success, and we were all very proud of Steve for his craftiness and tenacity. I followed suit the next winter by building my own four place twelve-foot "Yellow Jacket", a little larger and capable of more horsepower.
By now, the only view we had of life was through the windshield of our power boats and we were destined to become the fastest men on water. But wait....we weren't men at all. I was now 13 and Steve 16. We had progressed from building "buggies" in our garage to legitimate boat owners and now would expand our horizons to places previously unexplored in our minds.
The harbor cop cat & mouse game was kind of fun but got boring after a while. There are only so many boats you can "buzz" and most of the time, Altieri wasn't around anyway. Newer horizons to conquer would include trips to Connecticut, a challenge that would test our seamanship. Norwalk by dead-reckoning was the beginning. Our ten and twelve footers would soon become regulars on the Long Island Sound crossing, a thought that now shakes me to the core, knowing that the sound has easily swallowed up 100 footers. Soon, trips to Rye Beach's "Playland", a 23-mile sojourn became a favorite destination, allowing us to visit the amusement park for the whole day.
The Cavitators......
Soon, other friends joined into the fray who had their own boats and we formed a boat club called "The Cavitators". Our boats were all painted the same powder blue color with white topside trim and proudly displayed the "Cavitators" club emblem near the transom. The purpose of the club membership was to generally be a "hot rod" boater, making fast tight turns in and around other boats and straightening out quickly....a maneuver would cause the propeller to "cavitate" in a pocket of air, pressing the motor into an immediate RPM spike. It was the aquatic equivalent to "leaving rubber". I guess you could say that we were maritime "Torque Masters". In truth, we were "Hooligans" and very much impressed with ourselves. We must have been in Altieri's sights.
We even planned a week-long junket that would take our flotilla westbound on Long Island Sound, into the East River, north to the tip of Manhattan at the Bronx and on into the Hudson River which would take us north and up into the Hudson River Valley. We were becoming students of real-time geography. That little sabbatical never actually came about as we couldn't come up with an excuse to be away from home that long.
There were some restrictions in growing up on the harbor, but not many. We danced in defiance of the establishment, but in a misdemeanor sort of way. Our parents tried to discipline us, our teachers tried to teach us, the law tried to control us, but to condense it, we were, after all, young teenagers. We were Hell on water, but it wouldn't be too long, and we would again meet Altieri in a different arena. This time, it would be concrete and asphalt.
By now, the only view we had of life was through the windshield of our power boats and we were destined to become the fastest men on water. But wait....we weren't men at all. I was now 13 and Steve 16. We had progressed from building "buggies" in our garage to legitimate boat owners and now would expand our horizons to places previously unexplored in our minds.
The harbor cop cat & mouse game was kind of fun but got boring after a while. There are only so many boats you can "buzz" and most of the time, Altieri wasn't around anyway. Newer horizons to conquer would include trips to Connecticut, a challenge that would test our seamanship. Norwalk by dead-reckoning was the beginning. Our ten and twelve footers would soon become regulars on the Long Island Sound crossing, a thought that now shakes me to the core, knowing that the sound has easily swallowed up 100 footers. Soon, trips to Rye Beach's "Playland", a 23-mile sojourn became a favorite destination, allowing us to visit the amusement park for the whole day.
The Cavitators......
Soon, other friends joined into the fray who had their own boats and we formed a boat club called "The Cavitators". Our boats were all painted the same powder blue color with white topside trim and proudly displayed the "Cavitators" club emblem near the transom. The purpose of the club membership was to generally be a "hot rod" boater, making fast tight turns in and around other boats and straightening out quickly....a maneuver would cause the propeller to "cavitate" in a pocket of air, pressing the motor into an immediate RPM spike. It was the aquatic equivalent to "leaving rubber". I guess you could say that we were maritime "Torque Masters". In truth, we were "Hooligans" and very much impressed with ourselves. We must have been in Altieri's sights.
We even planned a week-long junket that would take our flotilla westbound on Long Island Sound, into the East River, north to the tip of Manhattan at the Bronx and on into the Hudson River which would take us north and up into the Hudson River Valley. We were becoming students of real-time geography. That little sabbatical never actually came about as we couldn't come up with an excuse to be away from home that long.
There were some restrictions in growing up on the harbor, but not many. We danced in defiance of the establishment, but in a misdemeanor sort of way. Our parents tried to discipline us, our teachers tried to teach us, the law tried to control us, but to condense it, we were, after all, young teenagers. We were Hell on water, but it wouldn't be too long, and we would again meet Altieri in a different arena. This time, it would be concrete and asphalt.
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