The gang signs aren't mine. Or are they?

Miami, Florida. I'm in route to Mobile, Alabama. Once there, I'll be spending some time helping Gil, a friend of mine, to put the finishing touches on his boat before cruising to Key West and eventually further south.

The bus ride to Mobile is some twenty-nine hours, six of which will be spent here in the Miami Greyhound station on layover. I'm beginning to get very familiar with this station. I believe I've been here at least four times.

I've spent the last four days, excepting yesterday, on board Jordan's Ghost amid northerly winds of around twenty knots. Leaving the harbor under sail in north winds is fairly easy as the route is almost entirely south. Reentering -- with current and traffic -- is a different story. Without use of the motor (I've been waiting on a small part for the water exhaust system) I had little choice but to resign myself to a few days of quiet.

I read a few novels (A Tale of Two Cities, Hardboiled Wonderland and the End of the World, and The Sun Also Rises -- all rereads) and made some progress in James Collins' The Existentialists, a Critical Study. I spent hours thinking about plans for the future and reevaluating some of my personal goals. I had some vivid, compelling dreams. I also submitted to an overwhelming urge to cut my hair.

The trip to the barber was made via kayak then foot, in inclement, choppy conditions. I walked into Supercuts in a wet bathing suit, my hair plastered to my face with prickly, drying seawater. I walked out a new man.

The Sun Also Rises is really very excellent. It is worth reading several times.