After months of nights at the George where our English friend, Michael, repeatedly attempted to persuade us, we relented and decided to rent a boat on the Leeds to Liverpool canal in North Yorkshire. There would be six of us—three couples—Michael and Linda, David and Kris, and Allison and myself. During one of our last beer and planning sessions a few days before the trip we thought a hashtag would be necessary to easily mark photos and posts and such on social media so we brainstormed. There was #SHIPFACED2018, #titanic2 (which briefly became #tit_antics), #bloatedonaboat, #eurodrunk (No, you’re a drunk!), #aboutaboat, #wutheringboats, #middlesboat (Michael is from Middlesbrough), and #themusicboat. Finally though, we settled on David’s idea, #leedstolivedamage. We were set then. Let the trip begin.
We spent a night thus in Middlesbrough and then one in Whitby on the north east coast before heading inland for the canal trip on Monday September 17 to pick up the boat in Silsden where two cases of champagne were supposed to be waiting for us. They were not. Michael had to return the rental car to Burnley though so perhaps the champagne would be delivered by the time he returned. We waited for two hours in anxious silence thus before Michael came back. The champagne, however, was still missing. Calls we made to the delivery company, identification given, and after being put on hold for a while, the customer service agent told us the champagne was in the lorry but couldn’t give us an estimate on time. It might thus arrive after we left. We had only to do the boat safety video and instruction course–thirty minutes–and then we’d be off, probably without champagne.
So we watched the safety video where old ladies easily opened the swing bridges and then listened to the safety presentation where we were told to be sure not to pump water into the sewage tank and were just about to leave when the champagne arrived. There was a ray of sunshine and possibly a few angels singing, or devils. It can be hard to tell the difference. We carried the bottles on, refrigerated as many as we could, and then pushed off. The wheels were really off the bus then. It was just straight water with a bend or bridge or lock between us and a string of pubs. Michael took the tiller first and steered the boat well. David then gave it a go and he steered the boat well. I put the captains hat on then, took the tiller and as the front veered left I went with it and ran us straight into the left bank. Damn.
Michael and David took charge then and got us unstuck and got the debris cleared from the propeller and then as we got going again, they handed the tiller back to me and Michael said, “Try not to screw it up again, Dave.” I took the tiller. The sun shined down. A picture was taken of me guiding the boat, and then suddenly the boat started to veer left and then we were again stuck on the left bank. Damn.
Michael and David then again did their thing and I took off the captain’s hat in shame. I figured maybe I’d take up the point on handling the swing bridges and let them handle the driving of the boat. And I was OK with that. It can be a little tricky to maneuver a vehicle that goes 4 miles per hour, and so after a few minutes we came upon a bridge and Michael and David steered the boat gently to the left shore where it was tied up and I hopped off to take care of the bridge. I took the bridge key with me and unlocked the lock and pushed on the handle to swing the bridge open.
It didn’t budge.
I pushed again.
Nothing.
I pushed again with ALL MY MIGHT.
NOTHING.
It wouldn’t move. People from the boat suggested pushing the other way. Nothing. Pulling. Nothing. Looking at the other side of the bridge. Nothing. David came from the boat and we pushed together. Nothing. We pushed again. Nothing. And again. Nothing. Two kids approached along the tow path. They must have been no more than fifteen years old, but they were local so we thought maybe they could help so we asked them how to open the bridge.
“You just have to unlock it and push.”
“We tried that.”
“You need a hand then? You can’t move it?”
“Uh, yeah, well maybe could you come over and take a look?”
“Sure.”
So they came over and as I was looking at the lock one of the kids, a skinny lad, started to push and the bridge started to move and David joined in and the bridge easily swung open as I stood there helplessly holding the bridge key knowning that my only success so far on the boat was simply unlocking the bridge.
Michael drove the boat through and we swung the bridge closed and locked it and after many thanks and cheers–“Cheers, mates”–the skinny young kids walked off feeling much more manly than I, and in the moment they were right. Good on them. I supposed that meant they’ll make it into the book. I’ll name them Ian and Nigel. And perhaps I’ll leave out the bit about not being able to push the bridge open alone. Maybe I’ll pin that on David.