About That 'Yak

Yesterday I went on a little adventure, all by myself. I drove out to the Bass Pro Shop to git me a dang kayak.

You see, Dr P has been talking about getting one for a few weeks now, and when he wants something he eventually reaches a breaking point where he impulsively goes out and pulls the trigger. Usually the period spanning between "wanting" and "getting" is only a few days, which makes it really hard to buy him a suitable gift. But his birthday is July 3rd, and he has not yet purchased a 'yak, so I needed to snatch one up in a gol-darn hurry.

Turns out the best place to purchase one of those things, based on quality and value, is at the Bass Pro Shop. But the Bass Pro Shop is a very scary place. Not because of the sheer volume of Man Stuff that flanks every wall, aisle, nook and cranny of the gargantuan building. No. It's daunting because of the way those Men Who Love Man Stuff treat a woman like me, who just wants to buy a dang kayak.

Like a poor little birdie who fell from her nest.

Probably a little like how Dr P felt when he walked into Gus Mayer to buy me some Tory Burch flats for my birthday. Except he doesn't have pride issues like I do.

I don't like feeling like a poor little birdie. I like feeling like I know what the hell I'm doing, even when I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I've got a lot of Super Dave (my dad) in me, it seems. But when Super Dave walks into the Bass Pro Shop, no one looks at him like a little birdie. They look at him like a MAN who wants to buy some Man Stuff.

So I put on my most serious "Super Dave" face, flung my shoulders back, and waltzed through those doors like I owned the place. I was greeted by a patronizing older man who asked if I needed any help. THE NERVE! He didn't ask the man in the camouflage pants and the construction boots who had walked in just ahead of me!

I confidently replied, "No thanks!" and made a quick visual sweep of the warehouse of MAN. I pointed myself in the direction of "Boating," and confidently strode toward it.

A kayak is a boat, right?

Right????

No. According to Bass Pro Shop, it's a "Camping Equipment." Minus one point for me. Already feeling idiotic, I was escorted aaaaaaall the way across to the other side of the store, where the kayaks are kept. Right next to the tents and the cast iron skillets. Makes sense.

(NOT!)

But the rest of the transaction went fine. Thank goodness I came prepared with a rope and a razor blade to cut the rope ... I was asked those two questions immediately, and was given an approving look when I nonchalantly explained that I had both in the car. Plus two points for me!

Two young men came out to help me load the kayak after I purchased it. Our "plan A" was to fit it into the car, rather than on top, sliding it into the back hatch and up into the front passenger seat. The kayak almost fit inside the car. The glass part of the back hatch had to remain open about 1 inch to allow for the protruding stern. One of the boys helping me tied the glass window shut using the rope I brought, and I was off!

But driving with a kayak in your passenger seat is not an easy task. It covered the back window, the passenger side rearview mirror, the main rearview mirror, and every window on the passenger side of the car. So I had only the windshield and the driver-side window to utilize during the 25-mile drive home on the interstate.

But as long as I drove slowly and stayed in the right lane, all would be fine. Right?

No. Because as soon as I left the entrance ramp and gained a little speed, the back hatch flew open. Yes. Flew open.

ON THE INTERSTATE.

Let me tell you what happens when someone opens a window of a swiftly moving vehicle that I'm riding in. My left eardrum goes absolutely berserk. It turns itself into a REAL drum, and the car's uneven air pressure becomes the drumstick beating on the inside of MY HEAD. People, the PAIN, I am telling you!

So I knew I had a problem as soon as my eardrum became the Hudson High School Marching Band.

I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the open air behind me, and the kayak teetering on the edge of the gate. I knew it would be very, very bad .... possibly deadly for the person behind me, if that kayak were to somehow fly out of the open back window. So I wrapped my arm inside the cockpit of the kayak, cursed the idiot who had tied the window closed, and prayed that the next exit wasn't too far down the road.

Then it started pouring SHEETS OF RAIN.

This ain't no joke.

I put my flashers on and pulled off at the next exit very slowly. I got out and walked around to the back of the car in the pouring rain, and simply closed the hatch. Something must have shifted while driving, and suddenly the kayak fit into the car without having to re-tie the window shut. Simple as that. Hallelujah.

Then I drove home through the torrential downpour, trying to avoid switching lanes too much. I only had to move to the right lane twice, and both times I honked my "friendly honk" profusely (beep! beep! beep! beep!) as I switched lanes. Yes, I was stared at. (Look! Crazy lady with a boat as her passenger honking like a maniac at 3 o'clock!) But I got home safely, and that's all that matters.

And you guys, Dr P loves this thing. He was so happy when I showed him last night. And this morning he was running late for work, and still found time to go downstairs and stare at the thing for a few minutes.

This morning I went to Walmart and found some proper kayak straps, and tied her to the roof. We're headed to the beach for the weekend this afternoon, and we can't wait to try it out! Wish us luck ...