Our destination, Bermuda, a beautiful Island with a long history. Since my first Bermuda race (1966) life here has changed. There are homeless, unemployment, tragedy strikes even in paradise. Still, as visitors, we are inclined to see only the beautiful.
Despite our trouble in the race, the torn mainsail, we finish in 78 hours, the fastest in four races, only the big boats are in and no one finishes the next morning as we go to breakfast. The quick passage lays to rest any concerns I had about making my flight. Leaving is always ambiguous, but my wife is at home.
The airport is one of my favorites, I like the idea of no jetway, but rather walking out on the tarmac to the plane. Somehow in my mind it qualifies as an inspection of the plane.
