In late May, Tom Gilmore agreed to help me take Robin to Newport, R.I., for the start of the 2013 Bermuda 1-2, which I had entered. It was only after we had passed through Cape May and were on the  Atlantic that I realized that I really didn't want to race this year. So that night, we docked in Atlantic City and   couple of days later, we headed back to the Chesapeake.
I'd had too much on my plate. Monica had told me as much all spring. Trying to complete the first draft of a manuscript and prepare for an ocean race were more than I was prepared to do. But I didn't like the idea of bailing out on a voyage, and with time to think about it, I had some regrets -- particularly the following Friday when the race started and Robin was 300 miles away. As it turned out, I missed one of the roughest 1-2s on record, one in which several boats did not finish and one actually sank.
By mid-July, my psyche was healed and I asked Monica if she wanted to cruise in Maine. She did. So I asked Tom if he wanted to resume our voyage. He -- surprisingly -- did.
He stayed with me through New York City and Hell Gate on the East River. When he stepped ashore in Port Washington, Long Island, I was one contented sailor, with a good cruise ahead of me.