[I had recently an opportunity to sit down with President Obama to discuss his first six weeks in office.]

[This Tadventure^© predates all others by a factor of “a lot” and was written before Tadventures^© was in existence (back in the old days, I simply wrote under the heading, “Traveling With Tad”).  It’s a fun little story about an experience when the lovely Rebecca (TLR) took AMTRAK home from Virginia Tech and I met her at Union Station in Washington, DC.  Ironically, TLR is, in fact, pregnant as this is posted and Captain Ron (“The Navigator”) is no longer with us.  Others may disagree but I’m glad to have finally stumbled upon this tadbit after so many, many years.]

I had recently an opportunity to renew my U.S. Coast Guard license.  Who knew how difficult it would become.  Others may disagree but this Tadventure© is eye-opening.

Others may disagree but with the possible exception of one fellow, this latest Tadventure© had all the earmarks of a thoroughly thought out and flawlessly executed plan.

Part two of the delivery from St. Augustine to Norfolk promises to downplay Captain D’s nudity and remains fecal free.  Others may disagree about the choices made in conditions of high stress at sea but this Tadventure© installment is chock-a-block with mirth (and occasional mayhem).

This tidbit, tertiary and titillating, is the triumphant termination of another Tadventure© trilogy and requires you, the astute reader, after studied consideration, to draw a conclusion.  This is your opportunity to cast your lot, with a complete understanding of the facts (upon which all Tadventures© are based), for or against, in re the judgments taken and decisions made by your remarkably good looking scribe.

The facts were provided and your opportunity to second guess your astute and adorable note taker has passed.  Join me now as I reveal what decisions were actually taken when we found ourselves without propulsion in the middle of the Gulf Stream, a storm on the horizon.  Others may disagree with our choices but this Tadventure© promises to provide you, the reader, with another chance to take to the high seas for some additional armchair quarterbacking.

This Tadventure© describes what many of you have thought would be ultimately my destiny; I was sent to prison. Others may disagree but the experience was entirely disagreeable and off-putting. I’ll say one thing: if you ever go to prison, don’t expect me to visit.

I moved my boat to Florida recently and stuck it in a slip at my brother’s place (we’ll call it “Marina Cove”) in Palm Coast. I had visited a couple times over the last year (once for lunch, once for a weekend) and was struck by the similarities of the community to the fictional “Del Boca Vista” from the show “Seinfeld.” Jerry’s parents retired there (as did, for a very brief time, George’s parents) and Jerry’s periodic visits were filled with political and personal infighting between the residents and members of the Board of Directors, oft humorous; unless, of course, one were subjected, in reality, to the same environs and factions.

This Tadventure© was intended to regale the loyal readership about everything that happened on my recent trip on Marieusz from Maryland to Florida. Upon reflection, however, it occurred to me that other than some additions to the sailing lexicon (“Follow the Dolphins,” “I know this creek like the back of my hand,” and “Whatever happens, it will be an adventure”), the tale would merely rehash most, if not all, of my trip last year on Dire Wolf. Ergo, I’ve exercised the ultimate editorial prerogative and decided not to bother boring you with more of the same. Special mention of my brother-in-law (“Phil”) is in order; in a rash moment of inebriation at 11 o’clock one evening, he dropped everything he was doing (work/responsibility/eyebrow trimming) and jumped onboard for what he thought would be a day or so and we ended up keeping him hostage for four days (and so was born, “The Driver”). Let it suffice to say, we left, we arrived, we didn’t die. Stay tuned.