Jonathan Livingston Sea Kayak

Everyone likes feedback. We wouldn’t bowl if there were no pins, or golf if the greens lacked holes. But, there can be a dark side.

In this case, it began when I used my GPS to clock the speed of a new kayak. It was the “improved” model of one I had previously owned. I just wanted to get an idea of how much improvement the upcharge bought.

Might’ve been a mistake. Oh, it was faster, but I erred in not packing away the GPS after the test. I began to take it out when I paddled the boat alone to see how far I could push the envelope. Jonathan Livingston Sea Kayak.

I needed more benchmarking, so I surfed the web for reported kayak speeds. The web. Facts. What was I thinking?

There were reports from people claiming to push their recreational boats over 10 mph. Halfway down a waterfall? I culled out what seemed factual.

There are race paces over courses and top speed. Working on maintaining race pace is okay, but top speed held the allure. I started in the low sevens. My eyes were set on 7.5. As I got used to the boat, I cracked that and 8 bobbed up on the horizon.

I tweaked technique and adjustments, inching ever closer. But, hit the ceiling short of the goal. I tried various things but it hung just out of reach, taunting me.

I thought I had about maxed out the boat and myself. What about the paddle? A wing configuration (modern innovation) would do it, but I’m a traditionalist. The wing wouldn’t do.

Back to the web and looking for a very good paddle. Found one, but the price was dear. Worth it to break the barrier? More to the point, would that do it? My finger poised above the mouse as I vacillated about sending the order over the wire. All that stood between me and that paddle was the word “Vespa.”

In high school, my friend’s father worked for Sears and got him a motor scooter at a discount. It was private branded for them but was a Vespa 125cc. Seemed like a lot of fun for George, but riding along on the pillion seat was getting boring for me.

I worked in an auto supply store and was dropping some stuff off at the local junk yard one Saturday. A battered old Vespa was leaning up against the fence. I asked the owner about it and he said it came in with some stuff he bought and was real junk. It was tagged for the crusher. I asked him how much he wanted for it. He asked me how much I had on me. Deal.

The biggest problem was that the kick starter was shot. That meant I had to run with it, jump on and pop the clutch to get it started. Until I figured out just to park at the top of driveways or other hills.

It would take a little while to accumulate the cash to fix this. I was rebuilding a car, which was sopping up my earnings.

So, George and I started riding everywhere together. Being young males, we often turned this into a race. My junker topped out at 39 mph, his new bike at 43. That was getting old real fast.

I decided to divert some scarce bucks to getting the head milled and a more robust head gasket fashioned. Not cheap, but it would be worth it to erase the image of George leering over his shoulder.

I got the head back and eagerly torqued it down for the test drive. Clocked 37 mph. Huh? All that money and it’s slower? Maybe it was the wind. I made the run in the opposite direction. Again, 37 mph. Crap!

So, I’m thinking of that as I’m poised to order the paddle. Cracking 8 mph or money down the drain? Only one way to find out.

Oh, the Vespa? I tweaked it for a while, but just managed to get it back up to original speed. Then, one day I was back at the junk yard. There was a battered old Harley leaning up against the fence. I asked the owner how much he wanted for it. “How much do you have on you?”