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Santa Maria Pirate Weekend, May 2012 - Columbus, OH

Chapter 2nd: Saturday Morning: Detailing the curious Hyatt Regency hotel room configuration; the parade of Pink People - both the supporters and the actual Koman Race for a Cure Racers; Morning and breakfast on the ship and whatever weirdness accompanied that.

Photo: Mission
I awoke at almost 8am to bright sunlight everywhere. I was amazed that I could sleep that long given how early the sun rises. (I don't know what it is, but even the hint of daylight seems to wake me up these days. You too?) The ship officially opened at 11am, so I thought I'd better get moving. While I was off going through my morning ablutions, I thought I'd share the details of my hotel room with you. Yes, this is just the kind of hard-hitting, impacting storytelling you no doubt expect from the Surgeon's Journals! Mission's hotel room! Huzzah!

My room was at the absolute end of the hallway, making me glad that Phydeux, my rollybag, had those rolly wheels. As you can see in the photo at right, it was a long haul. When I stumbled into the room on Friday night, I immediately noticed that it was oddly arranged, based on the light coming in the windows. (In fact, that was the only light, because it was so oddly arranged that I couldn't find any of the room lights.) The room was in the corner of the building - yes, that's right; Priceline scored me a corner suite! OK, you don't read these Journals to see vacation photos of hotel rooms. (Which is too bad for you, because I always seem to post them. You have to admit it is an odd configuration. It appeals to the engineer in me.)

Photo: Mission The triangular hotel room - très chic (which is French for 'three chicks')

Photo: Mission The view out of one of the window walls

Photo: Michael Colosimo
By the time I was caffinated and was ready to go, the room clock informed me that it was almost 9. I had hoped to be up earlier than this and again wondered at how it was I managed to sleep so late. Boarding the elevator, I found myself surrounded by little girls - I'd say there were a round dozen - along with someone I took to be one of their fathers. They giggled at me, as little girls will do, and one of them said, "I like your hat." Another one said, "He looks like a pilgrim!" They all giggled again. I explained that she wasn't far off and that it was a planter's hat, used to keep the sun off the wearer while he was farming, like many of the pilgrims did. I didn't explain that it was a Patrick Hand Original™ Planters Hat, because they were all 9 or 10 years old and I thought the significance of this revelation would be lost on them. Plus it probably just would have led to more giggling. Nothing undermines your sense of well-being quite like young girls giggling at you. I'd have taken a picture of this for you readers, but that seemed like it would appear a little creepy to the already frazzled dad. "Hey girlies, kin ah take yer pitchers? Now pose real purty..."

No.

Another woman and her young girl boarded the elevator. The mom said something like, "We have to hurry if you're going to make your race." I thought 9am was kind of late to start the race, so I asked her what time the race began. "7 o'clock," she replied. 7 o'clock? "What time is it now?" I asked. "Almost 7." The damned clock was set wrong in my room! Imagine all that beauty sleep I missed! (Not that it would have helped.)

Photo: Mission
This brings us to the street and the Pink People. For whatever reason, the Race for the Cure inspires everyone involved to embrace the pink color of the ribbon representing their cause. I have commented on this in the past several times, but I must say that I had been missing a whole curious facet of the pink phenomenon: the Pink Motorcyclists.

Now if you're like me, you do not usually associate motorcyclists with the color pink. A button one of them was wearing cleared this up for me, because you can easily associate motorcyclists with ta-tas. So I'm guessing that it is along this line of thought that the bikers took up arms, so to speak. There were literally hundreds of motorcycles, in many places two rows deep, lining High Street. The motorcyclists had embraced the crazy pink fashion and combined it with their own signature touch: leather. It was a bit jarring to see some of them out there sporting their pink wigs, accessories and hair die, but who among you would have the nerve to point this out?

Photo: Mission I don't know if the pink wigs really work... but who I wasn't going to point this out to them.

Photo: Mission A woman with several pink pigtails sprouting all over her head.

Photo: Mission This guy takes the Pink Extremist prize. I told him it looked nice. (Wouldn't you?)

Photo: Mission
People who are not protesting the race, actually.
When I wandered off High Street to head towards the Santa Maria, things quieted considerably. For about a block. Then I encountered something I had never left the hotel early enough to actually see: the race! Or at least one of them. From what the woman on the elevator had said, there are actually several races for the Cure. I wondered which race for the cure involved passing a mile or two of parked motorcyclists.

My first hint that I was entering race territory was a couple of people carrying signs, as if in protest. I wondered what anyone could possibly be protesting? Ta-tas? Surely people couldn't be against them. But no, that wasn't what the people with signs were doing at all - they were guides for the race, as I quickly realized when I was close enough to see the mass of humanity who were running by them. It as astounding. There was an endless flow of folks surging down the street past me. After being taken with the grandeur of it all, I realized that the ship was sitting on the other side of this river of humanity and I was going to have to swim across.

I would like to make up some story and say that I was like salmon swimming upstream, buffeted about by the waves of people, but it really wasn't all that difficult. I just waited for a slow spot and angled across, going with the current of humanity. I was a part of the Race for Cure! (For about 20 seconds.) After that I just stood there for awhile, absorbing all the positive energy. You could actually feel it flowing around you. My reverie was broken by a Pink Person who wanted a photo with the 'strangely-dressed man.' (Hah!) I explained to her that it would cost a photo in return. (Regular readers are by now fully aware of my reciprocal photo policy.) The Power of Positive Pinkness spell was then broken, so to ambled off in the direction of the Santa Maria.

Photo: Mission Mission's view from from the right side.

Photo: Mission His view of the Pink Portal from the left side.

Photo: Mission The reciprocal Pink Person photo

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Photo: Michael Colosimo
Morning dawns on the Santa Maria
Morning had also come to the Santa Maria without my presence. Things I like about hotel rooms are a) they have curtains, although usually not as room darkening as I prefer as long-time readers will recall from last year's shade episode during the Fort Taylor Pirate Invasion, and b) there are no other people in the room, especially people who wake up at the first glimmer of daylight. I am a light sleeper. A third benefit of not staying on the ship for this particular weekend can be seen in the photo below left. To say the ship was crowded was an understatement. From my understanding there were almost 40 people sleeping on the ship on Friday night and they were scattered all over, occupying every available deck. I wouldn't be the least bit surprised to have learned that someone slept in the crow's nest.

A fourth plus to a hotel room is that not everyone on the ship goes to bed at the same time. I know the festivities were still going strong when I left around 1am. (Or 3am according to my room clock.) Of course, being on the ship allows you to just get up, slurp some coffee that one of those early risers made, gobble a bit of brekkies and then stagger over to the park for a continuation of your slumber like Robert 'Red Feather' Fisher did as seen below right. (His friend Jim Brown's comment on this photo: "This was Robert's big pirating weekend!")

Photo: DB Couper Several sleepers stowed in steerage

Photo: DB Couper Dani sleeping on the stern castle

Photo: Mission Robert 'Red Feather' Fisher resting

I arrived well in time for breakfast. This is unusual for me - I usually arrive after most of the breakfast materials have been cleared away. But, with the assistance of that room alarm clock... So you can see some photos of breakfast going on. My, but people are sluggish this early in the morning!

Photo: Mission Brekkies with Nathanael & Andrea Logsdon, Kate Bagley & Daniel Robertson

Photo: Dolphin Dani Grace Thatcher and the Food Table

Photo: Mission 'Becka, Blue Jess and Diosa at a morning coffee clatch

Photo: DB Couper
Andrea sewing

Photo: Mission
Giving me "the look."
Speaking of Andrea (as I just was in the previous photos) I threatened to do a whole series of photos of nothing but Andrea, and so I am. She is usually sort of quiet and thoughtful and thus needs a star turn in the Surgeon's Journal. I started trying to snap candid photos for with this in mind until she starting giving me "the look." (It looks just like you see at right.)

Most of the time when I see her at events, she is taking care of she and Nathanael's son whom they affectionately call 'Pip.' They didn't bring Pip on this trip, which rhymes. (I just thought I'd point that out in case you missed it.) So I was able to grab some candid shots like those scattered around here.

Someone who saw the picture you see below center said it reminded them that years ago, when they saw Andrea and Nathanael sitting side by side at an event, each working on their own sewing project, they knew these two were meant to be together. Since Andrea actually isn't a boisterous self-promoters like some other pirate reenactors are, I did not really get to know her until she taught me to milk a goat. Based on that experience, I can safely state that Andrea is pretty much a no-nonsense sort of person, which is why she needs a whole section of nonsense in this Journal.

Photo: Mission Andrea fixing her hair

Photo: Michael Colosimo Andrea and husband Nathaniel

Photo: Mission Andrea and Stephen (Who sits like that?)

Taking the sewing and repair cue from the above photos,
Photo: Mission
PC Pink Flamingo breeches as
worn at PiP 2010
let's segue into wardrobe repairs. This is a common facet of reenacting and one that your surgeon usually does his best to avoid by explaining that he wants his clothes to have that "lived in" look. Many reenactors will explain to you that if you are eating, you should wipe your hands on your clothes, if you die in a battle, you should fall in the mud or some other particularly dirty area and if you cut yourself, you should be sure to wipe your blood on your garb. (Kate Bagley was just telling me this weekend that her favorite apron was one sewn by Red Jessi because 1) It was RJs first project and the stitching on the back looks like "she drank a fifth of Jack Daniels before sewing it." and 2) It contains the blood of several people, including your ship's surgeon.)

While I use the "lived in" excuse, the truth is that I can't even bring myself to smear a bit of fake blood on my surgeon's apron - which should be covered in the stuff. No I just prefer to avoid any actual sewing because I absolutely stink at it, as I learned while attempting to create a pair of pink flamingo jams for myself. Without running this Journal completely into the weeds, let me just say that the whole pink flamingo jam thing was scarring, eventually leading me to try and attain closure by having Lady Brower make me a pair of Pink Flamingo breeches (seen at left), which are explained in another Journal. (It didn't work. I am scarred for life by the Pink Flamingo jams episode.)

Where the hell was I? Oh, yes. Since everything is hand-made, there always seem to be things that need fixing, as the following series of photos below attests. The first two photos are actually a regular occurrence for women who wear stays. Stays are pretty much like corsets except you have to lace them up in the back. They have to be among the dumbest designs in female fashion. (Although female fashion is rife with examples - like cullotes. At least culottes is sort of fun to say out loud.) The problem with stays is that you always need help putting them on. If you were a 18th century woman and your house caught fire while you were in bed, you probably had to go out naked because you'd be a cinder before you got your stays laced up. At least you would based on the amount of time it took M.A. d'Dogge and Thomas to lace up Blue Jess.

The last two photos are of Michelle/Diosa trying to tighten the tie in the back of my breeches. Breeches have a tie in the back that allow you to adjust them and mine needed adjusting. Unfortunately, Diosa explained that she didn't have any fingernails, so she decided to use her teeth. This is really a rather unfortunate decision as you can see in the last photo.

Photo: DB Couper MD and Thomas lacing Blue Jess

Photo: DB Couper Jess getting exasperated

Photo: Mission Fixing Mission's breech tie

Photo: Mission The problem with short nails

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Photo: Mission
Andrew showing off his tats

Photo: Mission
Ryan sits enthralled with the ship's glass
The Thatchers had arrived Friday evening, although I didn't mention it in the previous chapter. The Thatchers this time included Silas, his sons Andrew and Ryan and my pal Grace. I chanced upon Andrew this morning, who appears to have grown three feet since I saw him last. He had decided to draw tattoos on his arm so that he could look the pirate part. (Don't even get me started about he accuracy of pirate tattoos...just so no.) Unfortunately, Andrew used blue ink, which were smeared and gloppy looking by midday. Ryan was also about, as you see at right, being abnormally quiet as he studied the ship's glass. The purpose of such a glass was used to keep time on the ship, aid in navigation, determine whose watch it was and distract young, usually noisy young boys.

Before moving on to the preparations that took place, I wanted to
Photo: Mission
The segway tour coming through the park

Photo: Mission
Beware - slow-moving pirates ahead!
bring you up to date on the Segway tours. Regular readers will instantly recognize the Segway people from many of the previous journals. Your author used to think that these were just a group of hobbyists that toured the park every Saturday and Sunday to justify spending several thousand dollars on a silly scooter. I learned last year that it is actually an organized tour of the city put together by a company called SegAway Tours of Columbus. The Santa Maria is of sufficient interest for them to stop and discuss it. It is always with glad hearts that we see these intrepid tourists, despite the fact that they are a hazard to pirate pedestrians everywhere. (Just kidding. At least I think I am just kidding.)

 

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