Solace

Today, we did a lake paddle and I took “El Zorro,” a kayak I acquired last year. The paddlers on this trip have seen more than their share of kayaks. But several felt compelled to speak up and compliment this craft in glowing terms. They were unaware they provided some solace. One of my guidelines in negotiation as a businessman was to always be willing to walk away from a deal. And yet, when I inquired about this boat through an ad and received a photo from the owner, I knew I was doomed. I had to have it. Period. I fought valiantly and held out on some points, generating untold anxiety that I had killed the deal. But, in the end, I gave up more than I would have in other circumstances. I haven’t regretted it a bit, but there has always been that nagging irritation that I compromised my principles. Until today. I feel vindicated.

Too boring

A few years ago, a friend bought a new kayak. As we took a break near a big rapids, he offered me the opportunity to try it out. I carried it to the top and came down the crashing waves. It shrugged them off. I turned around and paddled into the teeth of the swirling waters, carving back and forth across the grain. Ho-hum. I have got to get me one of these! I saw it as a solution for those runs that I might feel a bit less than confident about. A couple years later, the opportunity presented itself in the form of a lightly used specimen I heard about through a fellow paddler. I jumped on it. The first test was last year as we headed south in quest of whitewater. I threw myself into everything the river could muster and the kayak barely took notice. So, it came as some surprise to at least one of my fellow paddlers when he saw me list it on the web for sale today. “WTF?” he emailed. A little hard to answer. The boat was practically foolproof, but therein lies the rub. I found it boring. I felt like I was riding a bike with training wheels. Not only did it cover for user error, it balked at doing some things an imprudent user might want to try. I guess I just prefer to take my medicine and live a little bit on the edge. This had been rolling around in my mind for months. But, the deal was sealed a few weeks ago when I bought a kayak that eagerly aids and abets pushing the envelope. I had a chance to really test it last weekend and came away with a smile etched in my face the lasted hours beyond the run. I suppose I could’ve kept the “safe” kayak as a backup boat, as I originally intended. But that seemed like a waste. And, the die was cast when I posted it on the web at a premium price (somewhat subconsciously hoping that would be a deterrent) and it took all of about three minutes to sell. It does pay to buy good stuff.

I need a costume

I need a superhero costume. Yesterday, I kayaked at an event that drew paddlers from all of the state and somewhat beyond. As I met them, under my actual name, I encountered a frequent question, due to my high level of activity in the sport: “You’re Captain Hank?” I wouldn’t mind that except the affirmative answer is sometimes followed up with “I thought you’d be younger.” I’ve also had “bigger” and a few other adjectives. Whatever they imagined, it always seems to be a slight disappointment in reality. Think of how I feel. I need a superhero costume. This morning, I went to a friend’s house to help her out with something. She left the door open because she was still upstairs tweaking her appearance. “While you’re waiting, would you go down the basement and scoop the cat litter?” Really. Do you recall ever hearing of anyone asking Batman to scoop cat crap? “But I’m Captain Hank,” I responded plaintively. “That’s nice. Then it shouldn’t be any problem for you.” I definitely need a superhero costume.

Lessons Learned

We’re going kayaking tomorrow on a whitewater creek that doesn’t run that often. To some, it’s rare opportunity to paddle one of the prettiest places in Ohio. To me, it’s a trip down memory lane. It was my first whitewater run, about three decades ago. I had taken a canoe course that year, my first real experience in the sport. Busy with raising a family, I didn’t get in much practice. For some reason, I let myself get talked into this November run as a way for cutting my teeth. In spite of the group’s assurances, I was ill-prepared. First of all, I had only a tandem canoe and couldn’t find the odd person to team up with. I’d be trying to horse this 17’ monster through the fast and twisting water by myself. They told me it would be a learning experience. So is touching a hot stove. They did advise me to have floatation because a swamped canoe is all but impossible to maneuver ashore. That fell short of a full explanation. A canoe with any water in it becomes unstable and difficult to maneuver. They should’ve advised me to displace all water that could enter. All I did was tie in two innertubes, enough to keep it afloat but far from enough to keep it from taking on liquids. Finally, most of them had neoprene wetsuits. I wasn’t serious enough about this to make that kind of investment. During the course I took, we were advised that wool is a good insulator, even when wet. I had gone to an Army-Navy store and found a German combat uniform. And so it began. The previous evening had blanketed the area with rain and freezing temperatures. The morning sun shone through ice-coated limbs, creating a winter wonderland. That and their pronouncements for and easy an fun run buoyed my spirits. Easy my foot. I pinballed my behemoth from rock to rock while they knifed through in their sleeker craft. I was about exhausted by the time we reached the grand finale, a long rapid that dropped over three ledges. I pondered pulling out ahead of it but they protested, saying it was half the reason to come. Just follow them and I’d be just fine. Yeah, and the check’s in the mail. It was a great theory. In practice, not so much. I hung on the stern of the leader like a tick on a hound dog. I was right behind him on the first drop and it felt okay, except the high waves saw fit to jump into my canoe, making it a bit sluggish to respond. Nonetheless, I managed to get right behind him for the second drop. Again, I split the uprights and held the correct line. Except, I had taken on much more water. He cut sharply left to find the right route down the last drop. Laden down with a few hundred pounds of water, my bow would only glance in that direction. I plunged into perilous waters which climbed the sides of my canoe, just about filling it. It kind of gave a half-hearted shrug and went into a death roll, dumping me into the rapids. The shock of the cold water came right through the wool. So much for insulation. But, I’d be on shore pretty quickly. Not so fast. The rapid swept me right by the river banks and spewed me out into the middle of a lagoon, far from land. By the time I dragged my sodden outerwear to land, I was a shivering mess. A good time was had by all. Fortunately, I’ve paddled the stream several times since. Much better prepared, thank you very much. And, I am looking forward to another rematch tomorrow to apply the lessons learned.

Perspective

We were paddling down a river last night and approached a long rapid on it. As we had some beginners in the group, Dan and I decided to go down first, in the event a rescue was required.

We got into a conversation as we entered the headwaters and casually drifted down, circling each other without too much regard for waves, which we were familiar with. Upon reaching the bottom, I signaled the others to come ahead. I noticed one of the beginners’ face was frozen with intensity and the veins stood out on his neck. I empathized, recalling a time when I would tense up on this part of the run.

I commented on perspective to Dan, and how your experience level affects that. Dan added that there was more to it than that. Sometimes he paddles killer waters but, in photos he sees later, they look more benign. Something about being in the jaws of the beast.

I hear ya. On a recent trip, I was the first to launch and paddle out onto the ocean. High waves caused me to immediately question my judgment. It didn’t help that two of the biggest dorsal fins I had ever seen were cruising around me. Getting a little bit of the cotton mouth.

I felt a lot better when some of my companions joined me. In the heaving seas, we went in and out of view of each other. I thought this would make for some great pictures and tried to slip the camera out of my pocket very quickly. I ran off a half dozen fast one-handed shots, trying to effect some bracing with the other hand. Under these conditions, I like two hands on the paddle to brace upright.

It was a bit of a risk, but I figured it would be worth it for a few shots the engendered the feeling of the high seas. Guess again. When I later viewed them, they portrayed rolling swells, at best. Only the tilted angle of some gave any hint something was going on out there.

I guess you had to be there.

US Bunk

I have bestowed recognition upon several companies that have blazed trails into new realms of incompetence. But today, I am seriously considering the first lifetime achievement award. Granted, my judgment is tinged by the anxiety of preparing tax returns.

As my lifestyle has simplified, this should be a walk in the park with the aid of TurboTax, although it is edging its way into my sights. But, that’s another story. This one pertains to an immense financial institution, which should have the resources to have its act together.

Prior to the taxable year in question, I completed consolidating all of my investing under one financial planner. While this violates the “eggs in one basket” axiom, the confidence has been earned over the long term and it does make things easier. Or, it should.

The actual securities are held by this large bank corporation and therein lies the rub. I wasn’t intimidated by receipt of a thick year-end report of transactions to report in detail, because I thought it would be a matter of just importing data from the bank to the tax software. The bank’s parent company was listed in the software menu, but I couldn’t make the connection. I called the bank, which is your typical exercise in navigating your way through the maze of phone menus to find yourself on interminable hold. When they finally decided I wouldn’t give up, a human came on the line and I explained my problem. He said that he couldn’t help me because the investment side was a different entity.

Different entity? You’re the same company. According to him, they are part of the same corporation, but it might as well be different planets for all the connectivity that exists. Well, back to the report.

I locate a phone number for use in case I have questions about the report and call it. It’s answered by a machine, announcing that I have reached the private banking investment tax office and to leave a number for them to return my call. It is absurd that a private banking department is answered by a recording since that’s supposed to be the epitome of service. But, wait.

They don’t return calls. How’s that for first-class service? Service? After a couple days pass, I call customer service where I have to run the menu gauntlet just to wind up in hold hell. In only the time it takes to get a root canal, a customer service rep comes on the line. First, she tries to find someone who can tell me how to import the information. No one thinks it’s possible, much less knows how it might be done. Surely, I’m not the first to ask, but maybe there’s a reason they don’t appear on the TurboTax menu. Why make it convenient for your private banking customers? Maybe they think they all have accountants who they’re happy to pay high fees for extensive keystroking.

Failing that, the valiant lass took a run at the same help line I had tried and achieved the identical result. She informed me that she had exhausted her arsenal of help tools.

Here’s a suggestion. Call that department or even someone in that office, or someone in that building, and tell them to answer the phone or at least return my call. Better yet, give me a number I can call. She had no such information. Let me get this straight. You work for the same company, in customer service, mind you, and you have no access to a phone number or directory that would enable you to contact a department in that same company. Correct. Wow. When they say private banking, they’re not kidding.

I don’t take lifetime achievement awards lightly. But, when you market a premium, high level service and don’t even answer the phone, I believe you merit consideration.

Wouldn't it be nice?

As I was making the long drive home from a trip with our paddling club, a song crept into my head and kept looping; “Wouldn’t it be nice?” (The Beach Boys). In case it’s not in your mental juke box, it’s adolescents rhapsodizing about being older so they could live together forever. It was a popular song when I was in high school. I suppose we all envisioned that marriage meant continuous sex. How’d that work out?

Why was the tune stuck in my mind, now? Not that I had given up the dream of non-stop trysts (assuming there would be Metamucil breaks). It took about 50 miles to trace it to its source.

After a few days of glee in the sun and sand, we had a group dinner to celebrate the fun. Someone observed that they looked forward to the day when more of us were retired and could paddle together more frequently. That linked back to an earlier discussion on another trip where we mused about reserving a club wing in a retirement home so we would be together ad infinitum.

I don’t know that I entirely buy into that but it’s always great to look forward to your future since that’s the only choice we have on the time line. Wouldn’t it be nice?