Na poljih detelje sezuvam konje
23.09.2022
Uroš Kraševac
“A si kaj živčen?”
“A te je kaj strah?”
“Kaj lahko gre najbolj narobe?”
“A ti ne bo nič dolgčas?”
“Kaj boš pa delal toliko časa?”
Tole je zelo okrnjen nabor vprašanj, na katera sem odgovarjal v zadnjem času, in ki so bila vedno pogostejša z bližanjem štarta Famoznega Transata.
In redno sem puščal ljudi razočarane, ker moj odgovor ni bil: “Ej, nič ne spim, kadar le uspem, pa se zbujam iz nočnih mor, v katerih me viharji v razbiti barki nosijo v širjave oceana med tem ko blodnjav, dehidriran in shujšan haluciniram reševalne ladje in helikopterje ali pa sanjam nepoznane otoke, na katerih preživljam mesece, med tem ko jem koreninice, rake in alge in se pogovarjam z žogo.”
Moji odgovori so kratki:
“Ni pene.”
“Ni groze.”
“Sam, da končno štartamo.”
In ne, ne igram mačizma, ne tlačim čustev, sem iskren. Seveda sem kdaj nervozen, seveda imam svoje strahove – predvsem, ko pustim domišljiji malo svobode in si zamišljam vse možne črne scenarije. Ampak preprosto ga ni strahu ali nervoze, ki bi “povozila” mojo najenostavnejšo željo po jadranju in avanturi. Priprave so bile dovolj dolge in naporne, da vidim jadranje čez Atlantik kot nagrado za opravljeno delo in povsem ignoriram nevarnosti. Mini je pač majhna barka z ogromnim motorjem (jadri) in predstavlja čisti užitek, ki enkrat piči čez valove. “Pocket rocket”, to je moj stil.
“Ja, ampak kaj boš pa počel sam toliko časa?”
“Jadral bom.”
Preprosto, čim bo vsaj malo vetra, bom poskušal vse, da iz Ashike iztisnem vsak vozel. Ko se bo zgodilo, da bo tudi avtopilot vzdrževal najboljšo smer in hitrost, bom pa spal, popravljal potencialne škode, pospravljal, sušil in pral ter se igral higieno. To je to.
Res je, s seboj nosim knjigo in en precej razglašen ukulele. A oboje je izhod v sili. Glasba in branje sta namenjena ubijanju časa v brezvetrjih, ko me sitega in naspanega pretepa opletajoč bum in kuri sonce. Po brenkanju bi posegel tudi v primeru kolosalnega “fuck-upa”. Če bi zaradi ogromne napake ali kake nepopravljive škode ostal daleč od konkurence. Ko bi bilo potrebno preklopiti iz tekmovanja na kruzing in bi bil cilj le prispeti. Šele takrat bi si začel krajšati čas.
Do danes se mi to še ni zgodilo. Tukaj pa zaključujem. Čeprav nisem niti malo vraževeren, se zdajle vrtim v krogu, pljuvam sol čez ramo in trkam na les, med tem ko na poljih detelje sezuvam konje in čakam vsaj sedem ptic s prebavnimi težavami.
“Are you nervous?”
“Are you afraid of something?”
“What’s the worst that can go wrong?”
“Aren’t you going to get bored?”
“What are you going to do all this time?”
These are just the most common questions I have been answering recently, which have become increasingly frequent as the start of the Famous Transat approaches.
And I’ve regularly left people disappointed because my answer wasn’t, “Hey, I don’t sleep at all, but whenever I can, I wake up from nightmares in which storms in a wrecked boat carry me out into the open ocean while I’m delirious, dehydrated, and emaciated. I hallucinate rescue ships and helicopters or dream of unknown islands where I spend months eating roots, crabs and algae and talking to a volleyball.”
My answers are short:
“No stress.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Let’s just go already.”
And no, I’m not playing a macho, I’m not repressing my emotions, I’m honest. Of course, I’m sometimes nervous. Of course, I have my fears – especially when I let my imagination run wild and imagine all the possible dark scenarios. But no fear or nervousness would “run over” my simple desire for sailing and adventure. The preparations were long and arduous enough for me to see sailing across the Atlantic as a reward for the work done and completely ignore the dangers. The Mini is just a tiny boat with a massive engine (sails), and it represents pure pleasure once it flies over the waves. “Pocket rocket” that’s my style.
“Yes, but what will you do alone all this time?”
“I will sail.”
Simple as that. As soon as there is even a little wind, I will try to squeeze every knot out of Ashika. When it happens, the autopilot will maintain the best course and speed, but I will sleep, repair potential damage, clean, dry wash, and maintain hygiene. That’s it.
It’s true. I carry a book and one rather un-tuned ukulele. But both are emergency exits. Music and reading are meant to pass the time on windless days when I’m full and rested, beaten by the flapping boom and burned by the sun. I would also resort to plucking strings in the case of a colossal “fuck-up”. If I were to find myself far from the competition due to a colossal mistake or irreparable damage. When it would be time to switch from competition to cruising and the goal just to arrive. Only then would I start looking for things to pass the time.
To date, this has not happened to me. I conclude here. Although I’m not the least bit superstitious, I’m now spinning in circles, spitting salt over my shoulder and knocking on wood. At the same time, I am taking horseshoes from horses in clover fields and waiting for at least seven birds with indigestion.