What do white levi's, fried chicken and the 2002 Ensenada race have in common? Read on sailors.

Back in "78", my first crew position, on a bay area sailboat, was on a Santa Cruz 27. I worked bow and was always wet, cold and bruised. I was a transplanted Bostonian with an accent and attitude. I soon found myself adopting the mantra "Fast is Fun". It was these memories that made me take my first ride on SYCLB's, Yellow Jacket, an SC27.
My wife Debbie and I had decided not to enter our boat "Expresso" in the 2002 Ensenada race. The word got out and Frank invited me to sail with him, Foster and Tony on Yellow Jacket. I jumped at the chance. I guess memories are selective as time passes.

The morning of the race we all met at SYCLB clubhouse with gear, smiles and a great deal of anticipation of a great upcoming ride. Frank was waiting in his traditional white pants, every conceivably known snack to mankind and an extra large bucket of Fried Chicken. Was this the original or the extra crispy KFC recipe?

We stowed our gear, cast off the dock lines and left Long Beach at 7AM and headed for Newport. The forecast had promised lots of wind and intermittent showers. The rain showers began shortly after leaving LongBeach and I was wet almost immediately. We would be racing in PHRF E and our start wasn't till 12:50 PM. As we sailed around the start we were amazed at the number and size of the boats that were jockeying for position. Then, almost on cue, two of the "Stars and Stripes" America cup boats sailed through in tight formation. What a spectacular sight, cheers went up all around as these graceful beauties threaded their way through the fleet to wish us well. As they powered off into the distance we were awe struck. Then before we knew it we were in our 10-minute start cycle. We hadn't discussed crew positions, so whoever was in a position got that position. I ended up on the bow, calling the line. " 5 minutes " I yelled to the cockpit and Frank ordered the Jib up. We tacked, jibed and headed away from the line, " 1 minute", I yelled and we headed back to the line on starboard tack. The wind had picked up. We were fast and going to be early. We eased all the sails, luffed and approached the line. "10 seconds, fall off, go for speed", I yelled. The gun went off, we were a few seconds late but in clear air and going fast.

The wind continued to build, the seas got steeper. The ride was soon in the "E" ticket range. Foster was the first to fall victim to the heavy motion of the sea, he headed for the rail, got sick and went right back to trimming, and the guy didn't miss a beat. I was suddenly on the verge of Mal de Mare and we still had a hundred miles to go. As the chute went up we all held on….we were a Yellow rocket slicing through the water and waves, the Speedo screaming, 10 knots, 11 knots, 12 knots, 13 knots, 14.1 knots what a rush. As we planed off the waves we'd shudder, begin to spin out and grab on to what was near. Blow the vang, blow the main, blow the sheet, and hold on…. Tony put it best, "we'd crash and burn, then light our hair on fire and get going again". Sleeping was near impossible, we were soaked to the skin, the noise below deck was deafening and the thought of food was out of the question.

We had been on the course about 11 hours. It was just past midnight and we had already passed the Coronados. Breakfast in Ensenada was going to be a reality. About 2AM Frank came on watch and asked if anyone wanted any fried chicken…no…no…no, and don't mention chicken again, was the response. We reached Totas Santos by 5:30AM, the winds began to lighten and it would take us another 4 hours to finish the last 8 miles. We didn't trophy, it didn't matter, and we were all safe, tired, and unhurt. We still had a full extra large bucket of fried chicken and all the conceivably snacks known to man, but Frank's levi's were no longer white.

Thank for a great ride Frank, next year I'll be on "Expresso".