I scuttled the voyage to Maine.
On Wednesday morning, Robin left the Cape May Inlet and turned into a choppy sea and a northerly wind. At first, she was flying a reefed mainsail, her staysail and the Genoa.
The Genoa was too much. Robin was making close to six knots against two to four foot seas with occasional six foot walls of water  thrown in, but she was well on her side.
The wind was about 20 knots at that point, so I rolled in the Genoa and, with but the staysail and one reef in the main, Robin's speed didn't diminish.
We weren't sailing toward Cape Cod. Rather, we were at best headed due east. That wasn't a problem, though. We needed to go east northeast. Right then, we were getting the easterly part done, and in another day, the forecast was for south westerly or southerly winds of 20 knots, enough to blow us to Cape Cod and beyond.
But I wasn't happy. The feeling could be traced back to the first two legs of the trip. On Monday, I'd left Cambridge, Maryland, at 6 a.m. as planned. There was virtually no wind all day, and for most of the day Robin motored against a healthy current. The trip took fifteen hours, a span during which I had to remain on constant watch.
It's amazing how fast a navigational aid or a tug and barge can appear out of the  vapor.
I was able to tie up to the town dock in Chesapeake City, which meant I could plug into the electrical system and have a fan blowing on me as I slept.
Tuesday morning, I was up at five and on my way at six. It took three hours to make it through the Chesapeake and Delaware Canal, as Robin fought the current the whole way. But once out onto the Delaware River, there was a strong westerly wind, and Robin began sailing on a beam reach, a first for us on that body of water. She was making up to 8.5 knots over the bottom, running with the current, and it was bliss.
Afte a couple of hours, we encountered Tom Gilmore sailing against the wind in the Bristol Channel Cutter he rescued for an obscenely small amount of money -- pocket change, in boating terms. I took a bunch of pictures, and we wished each other good sailing.
But withing an hour the wind was faltering an I was grumbling. My vision for the voyage initially was of sailing with one of my friends as crew all the way to Maine, using the engine only to charge the batteries. Motoring is a dismal business. You can make it to your destination, but it's about as rewarding as taking a bus.
In the end, no one could go with me, and now I was discovering how much that meant. I was lonely. My vision had evaporated. Although I expected to motor on this leg of the trip, I wasn't happy -- at all.
Then came Wednesday morning, and the wind blew and all was right in the world as long as that was true. After about an hour of pounding into the advancing seas, I decided to give the autopilot a break and I took over the tiller. With Robin's mass, she didn't get stopped by every wave she slammed into, and she did well holding an easterly course. I was content. I could sail like that for hours.
Then the wind slowed as Robin still dealt with those seas, and instead of sailing at 90 degrees magnetic, it was becoming 120 degrees.
The wind slowed again, and I rolled out the Genoa. But then the wind died and with it, down came th mainsail and the Genoa and Robin was left to wallow sideways to the seas, now less steep but still four to six feet high.
As I sat on the deck and Robin rolled beneath me, my torso was taking up the uneven rhythms, twisting as Robin yawed, and that part of me that is susceptible to seasickness took notice. For four hours, during which not a breath of wind stirred the red yarn telltales tied to the stainless steel shrouds, my discomfort grew until by mid afternoon, I made an attempt at relief by bowing over the starboard lifelines.
And I thought: This isn't fun. Why am I doing this.
Some time later, when I have it all sorted out, I'll answer that question. My immediate answer was to start Robin's engine and point her bow not to Maine but to Maryland.