Well it’s the holiday Monday back in the real world so my crew are threatening mutiny if they don’t get time and a half. Not sure what to do with that, maybe that means more booze?

It poured last night as we finished off the last bottle. Rain is such a pleasant thing when you are on holidays and have no agenda.

Leslie’s first attempt at an ebook hit a road block as I somehow managed to drain the battery on the old Sony. So I gave her mine and finished my book on the iPad. It’s a bit of a conundrum; the iPad drains the battery faster but charges more reliably. The Sony is generally better on batteries but won’t seem to charge off the USB. Anyway we got it sorted and slept the night away.

I was up first so I headed into town to get baguette. By the time I got back Carmen was just emerging, but I still had to boil my own water. Butter, jam, baguette and caffeine later I hit the shower and was ready to start the day.

Eventually the same could be said for the crew (this is when the first mention of overtime came in) and we cast off, the last of our mooring to do so. The trip to Lutzelbourg is short (only 10km) but has quite a few locks. The mountains are beautiful though. We decided to cruise through town and keep going. Especially after we realized the boat in front of us was stopping. I’m not saying they were dangerous to be in a lock with, I’m just sayin’.

After Lutzelbourgh, there are 4 more locks then the Arzviller boat lift. As we approached the lift Carmen whipped up some couscous, which wasn’t as good as my Bruce-goose, but they say the jury’s still out on that one. Couscous… Pah! Anyway I had a couple of ham sandwiches and token couscous to prove I am a man.

I slugged back my beer as the lift light went green and cast off solo. By the time the crew caught up to me I was halfway in the lift. Just keeping them on their toes… The lift up was both old hat and more exciting as we were less distracted. Up we went alone and then down the canal to the first tunnel.

Du Maurier’s wife had told us we should stop and ride out bikes back down the path by the old locks. So we did.

The first 9 or 10 locks have had the lock keepers’ houses renovated. The locks and canals are filled with water in varying depths creating ponds and margins that have an incredible diversity of flowers and plants. Quite stunning. You can see how much effort has gone into it as you approach lock 12 and the abandoned house and dry canal stand in stark contrast. When we get to Trier I will come back and post some pictures.

We turned the bikes around and pedaled back up hill. Carmen with her ‘weak’ ankles and larger mountain bike zoomed past me on the hills. It’s an interesting landscape: 30 or 40 meters of flat, followed by 10 meters of hill by the lock. Repeat X 12. There are 17 locks in total in that old section of canal and after they finish the whole path it will be one of the most beautiful walks I could imagine.

Back aboard we had a green light to enter the tunnel so we cast off and went. Both Carmen and I kept imagining a boat ahead of us heading our way, but we both refused to say anything. It’s a two km tunnel and we both kept seeing this ghost boat at the far end, slowly, inexorably, getting ever closer.

Leslie took over the controls as I was trying to figure out some way to get a picture of a dark tunnel’s hole in a moving boat; I will have to wait till I get home to see if I was at all successful. Anyway, Leslie got into one of those odd feedback cycles you can get into on a boat where you over correct in increasing amounts until its almost impossible to avoid banging off the walls. That was the point I stuck my head in from outside and said something pithy like “Drive straight much?” That was quickly followed by a pretty large over correction that she blamed on me… Sigh.

Anyway, i popped inside and took over the helm and immediately slammed the boat into the wall to prove I had the biggest nuts on the boat.

I had given Carmen a set of nuts that morning in Saverne. I had found them lying in the path after the Rain and said to myself “Self. Carmen needs some nuts more than she needs baguettes.” So I brought her the nuts. She said “Wow, hazelnuts.” and ate my baguette anyway. I really don’t understand girls.

So having proved my nuts reigned supreme, I straightened out the boat and cruised through the last part of the tunnel. About 500 meters for the exit Carmen and I exhaled a sigh of relief as we simultaneously realized that there was in fact a boat in front of us, it was in fact heading the right direction and we weren’t about to die under a mountain. The Nicols hire boat was obviously going extraordinarily slowly and, a evidenced by the huge slew they made immediately upon exiting the tunnel, helmed by a m’eginner.

We caught them just outside of the tunnel and they signaled us to pass them. Into the shorter 450 meter Niderville tunnel and then once again into the sunlight. We need a few provisions (down to only 3 bottles of wine) so we pulled into the port right at the tunnel exit. I performed a perfect marina docking maneuver to the pontoon, marred only by the fact that my damn boat is about 4 feet longer than I thought it was and I smacked the stern into the wharf just feet shy of a standing ovation… Sigh.

Anyway we tied up and headed into town. As we did the Nicols boat also pulled up to a pontoon. A French family. Loud mom, loud dad at the helm. Helpful 12 year old on the bow rope. Better than a sitcom… Anyway I stood there willing to help until they yelled the bow rope around a bollard. At that point they figured the stern would come around so we said “Beau!” and I mosied on.

Over the bridge and down the lane and the road swung south away from town. A couple of hundred feet down and we decided to head back to the boat and break out the bikes. Then I remembered that there were two ports; and the other one was definitely closer to town center. We reboarded and cast off (to the confusion of all the other boats flocking to the pontoons like spiders to Carmen’s ears) and motored away.

Around the bend we came to Kuhnle Tours’ base and pulled in I adequately to the mooring. I unshipped two bikes and sent the girls into town while I fixed the boat and had a nap.

Then they came back. I expect every one of you readers to ask them about the store they visited. I have heard at least 4 versions and it still doesn’t make sense. It involves porn, plonk, stale cookies and sketch. Suffice it to say they returned with odd cookies and two bottles of plonk: one white and one red. Except they were both red. And 1 litre bottles. With nipples instead of corks. And not even reminiscent of anything local.

And they are still talking about the store…

I cast off while they were still sitting around muttering to themselves and stating at the walls in an unfocused way. 30 minutes later we cruised through Hesse and completed our round trip. And then motored on. The next leg was all new to us and some of the prettiest canal banks I think we’ve seen… One of the longest trips as well.

When we pulled into Xouaxange around 6:20 we had done over 32km. The fact that there are no locks after the Inclined Plane helps a lot. In fact unless we do something unexpected, the lock before Arvzviller was the last lock of the trip.

As I was saying, the canal leading into Xouaxange was very scenic and we passed under the arch of the last bridge in those lovely low angle light conditions that make beautiful photographs. So I took a shit ton.

The wharf was full so we tucked in I front of Le Panache, a hotel barge that is based out of here. A nice French gentleman tried to help us tie up but L ignored him. She can be so mean… Eventually she noticed him standing there and tossed him the rope and we staked in, tied up and battened down.

A bit of freshening up found us awalk, looking for a restaurant, a fortified tower and the ruins of an old chateau. The restaurant was closed, the church not-so-fortified and the ruins hidden from mortal view. We put on about 5 km in search of things the signs say were .5 km away. Uphill. Three ways. Sigh. Back to the bailey before Carmen gets us thrown in jail for grand theft fruit… Plums, pears, apples; this town was a fruit-o-maniacs worst nightmare.

Back aboard Leslie napped, Bruce blogged, and Carmen slaved in the kitchen to somehow satisfy our immense appetites. It worked. Mostly. But I have to say when she offered me sloppy seconds, I thought she was trying too hard … I mean really, I was satisfied with the measly 3 pieces of garlic toast I got. I didn’t need the slobber-covered Carmen remnants that she deigned to offer me. Even if she had devoured two whole pieces without any care of my delicately rumbling stomach…

It’s hard to be Bruce.

Pasta and tomatoes, plonk from a nipple bottle, insufficient amounts of garlic toast and dinner was done… like dinner. So we opened the next 1 litre of plonk and broke out the chocolate. Nougat, cognac, nuts, we had remnants of just about everything chocolate you can imagine.

After dinner Leslie read a brochure about Woden’s wood. Apparently we need to band together to prevent a lack of heroism in the wood of Woden. There is a serious need of English translators here. But then if they did a good job it wouldn’t be half so amusing.

Carmen just reminded m e about her bizarre hallucination first thing this morning. Apparently as she was “preparing” to go for a baguette this morning, a large tailless muskrat in a purple vest and gold accoutrements bounded (in a very distinct and complex way) up to her window and leaned its paws up on her window and peered in.

This distracted Carmen. She didn’t go for a baguette and moments later apparently heard me leave to get it anyway. For the record, I didn’t see any beaver. Or muskrat. Or otter. Or even small dog. And no waistcoats. Purple or otherwise. but she’s told the story at least 4 times and is more insistent every time. Even without the wine. But the wine helps…