Early November was very warm and Uncle Rob seized the opportunity to try one more time to get his secret and experimental boat to pave the way of the future. He had failed three times over the summer to make voyage of about two miles upon our river. Each failure had required that he be towed back to the town launch. Desperation had seized him. On this warm late afternoon, he was satisfied that he had adjusted the formula of the power by adding a little more rocket fuel. He told no one but Aunt Huggie, his wife. They were actually no one’s relative but the entire town adorned them because of their kindness especially to kids.

Crusty and Buttface and I and one teenager named Jack were requested to be at uncle Ron’s garage one half hour before sunset. Done deal!

Rob is a genius and muttered to himself for weeks about the correct fuel formula. He spoke in a strange language to various top secret people. Barge pilots, deep weather people, and some bartender on the shore of Lake Michigan were all top secret inputters of vital information. We actually heard him talk in the strange language but just disregarded it as some kind of genius type prank he was putting on us. He was very hard to understand being a genius and the only one we knew.

The boat arrived at the launch site on time. A heavy fog was lying about a hundred feet above the water but Uncle Rob said, “No big deal boys, hop aboard!”  The 20 foot long fishing vessel had a large printed name on the side... Breaking Wind. Apparently, the power fuel was a mix of flatulence and rocket fuel. It was stored in a tank that looked like a water heater at the bottom of the boat. A 14 foot black stove pipe positioned at the perfect angle was the so called propeller but it never was in the water. Weird but supposedly a genius idea. We were shoved offshore by some adult guys who were chuckling for some strange reason. All four of us deck hands were seated up front of Uncle Rob. We were issued used football helmets which surprised us a little. They were all painted solid white. 

We drifted into the current and Rob turned toward us and bellowed, “Fire in the hole!” which was another unfamiliar language to us. At that point he lit a fuse and an orange flame came up out of the stovepipe and instantly we were cruising at somewhere around 200 mph. What shocked us even more was that orange flame went up in the air to exactly where the fog was hanging. The fog caught fire and there was a mix of flatulence and fog flames rolling above our helmets. A sight never seen by the general public who lived calmly along our river. Orange and blue flames and a fog bank on fire drew lots of interest and even the press showed up. We made it one mile and it all pooped out. Dead in the water and waiting for a Good Samaritan to show up in the dark was trying to say the least. 

Uncle Rob gave each of us crew a handheld Fourth of July wimpy sparkler pre-lit and silver sparkles. So, there we were looking like some float with no parade which was almost embarrassing. “Hold your head up high and stand with dignity Rob commanded, “It’s been a real success!” Jack the teenage neighbor could not take the angst. He pulled out a three foot long bottle rocket he snuck aboard. He lit the wick and yelled, “Fire in my hole... he meant Fire in the hole!”  He stuck the bottom of the bottle rocket inside his belt near his Keester and it exploded about two hundred feet above us. Lit up the sky better than the flatulence. Jack jumped in the water to chill off a little. Uncle Rob yelled, “man overboard!!!”  The folks were screaming from shore while wondering why we were holding the wimpy flares. I don’t blame them at all. How much sky fire does one need to get attention anyway?  

We got towed back again from a barge that was nearby maybe a hundred yards. The boat made the paper and so did the rest of us. My mother can’t stop talking about it. Gee mom, haven’t you ever been on a boat ride in the fog before?  Mothers sometimes overreact.

The end.

Hug your kids and love your neighbors