The Saga of The SARD

How this all came about is something that neither of us can understand. We had never owned a boat before, in fact, neither of us had even run one. My cruising experience had been limited to an extended three hour trip up the Hudson from New York to West Point on a luxurious 60 footer, with an attentive steward constantly bringing tinkling drinks.
Helen, my wife, had traveled by steamer from Los Angeles to San Francisco, confined to her stateroom with an extreme case of sunburn. I had spent three shore-based years in the Navy, so you can see that we were a real salty couple.
It really started when we decided to build a boat. That decision was reached one miserable morning after an overdose of martinis led me to believe that the project would be a wonderful physical therapy and keep me from evil companions and idle hours. So with my throbbing head and trembling hands, I affixed my name to a paper that for a small stipend payable monthly, delivered to my garage door some three weeks later an amazing and discouraging array of boxes and packages. Our boat kit had arrived.