Twenty years ago I couldn’t have imagined Peter Hart and I would become friends, while we knew each other, we couldn’t have been more different, not only could he write, he talked proper. But it’s hard to imagine how different the nineties would have been without my travel partner. We still disagree on everything, but somehow that’s why it works, which is fortunate seeing he’s just dropped in to see his godson.
When we’re all together I’m not sure who’s kids are the luckiest. Mine being the oldest have to hear the same old stories, at least his aren’t old enough to understand, but even they have learnt there’s two version to every story.
Take our first trip. We were heading out to the first production speed competition, at the time I’d hardly sailed outside our shores and here I was hooked up with mister travel himself.
So why were we on the wrong island, even I know Sotovento isn’t on Lanzarote, and if this was the best way to travel, the ferry had long since sailed. Until this moment I’d never been desperate enough to share a bed with another man, if only I’d know his history. Waking with Harty running his finger through my hair while snuggling up against my back still ranks in my top ten scariest moments.
We touch the north shore of Fuerteventura some twenty four hours late, and guess who forgot to book the car. I begged us a ride to the south in back of a delivery truck, laying on the kit with the headphone on soaking up the sun, it still remains as the best trip across the island, not that our arrival was anything but an embarrassment.
We were the last to arrive and to all intense and purposes we were just making up the numbers, so the last thing we needed was to make our mark on day one. As our ride backed into the rigging area it brought the main power supply down on our heads, for the next seven days it was a constant reminder as everyone dragged there kit through our newly designed entrance, a price we paid heavily for at the bar.
We all know someone that comes up smelling of roses, for me that’s Harty. While I had to beg for the loan of a sail (the airline had lost all mine) Pete was feeling a little over powered on a 4,5 so he comes in for a change. After securing his sail on the beach he takes one more look at the conditions before picking his sail and heading out.
Still over powdered, but not wanting to be on smaller than the ladies he struggles on, wouldn’t you know it, he only went and won. It was only when retrieving his kit from the beach at the end of the day when he realises he picked up the same sail he’d put down.
Admittedly I was getting a few lucky runs in during the week, but with each good run there were a dozen crashes and my borrowed sail was showing the scars. As I’d was out the back plastering stickers over the holes while Harty sat at the bar in the knowledge he had the fastest run of the week.
Actually that was the spark for our first and only real difference of opinion. In big writing the notice board was boasting that a €32,000 villa was up for grabs for the winner. Funny how two people can read the same thing but come up with a different conclusion to match there wants.
With two days to go I was in the hunt for the overall so clearly saw that as the rightful winner, Pete on the other hand had the fastest run and argued it was just about speed. In hindsight I probably agreed with him but that’s another story.
The next two days went my way, that story may have been settled as I got it which ever way you read it, so I guess you’re wondering how that makes Harty lucky. That prize looked fantastic on paper, which is just about how close I came to getting it, the company went bankrupt before handing me the key.
Sure the organisers tried to make good, so I guess it was poetic justice, or was that Harty’s luck, they paid for my hotel room instead, and who did I share with.
Believe me, that was the short version, but it’s set a precedence for what would be a fantastic decade. Pete may have stepped away from the official competition, but ours continues as always, Pete still comes up smelling of roses.
Now you might have been expecting a few pix of us back in the day, but in true Harty style, he’s only scored a few points with the wife. Netty’s gone hooping mad and is infecting all her friends with the bug. But with her new website soopahoopa.com coming soon she needed a few pictures. Once again he’s got away with me doing the work while he takes the credit.
I wouldn’t have it any other way
