Last weekend, in front of over a hundred family & friends, I married my best friend. Thus checking #49 off my bucket list.

Contrary to what you might expect, however, this isn’t the end of SailingBo. In fact, it’s actually the beginning of Sailing B+A, as Allison will join me in my dream to spend the next few years sailing.

We’ve sold most of her stuff and moved the rest to her sister’s basement in Ohio. Allison’s now a full-time sailboat live-aboard. We’re a week in, and neither of us had tried to drown the other yet.

So far so good.

We have a few things going on during the next couple of weeks (hello honeymoon!), but we’ll soon become active cruisers with the Florida Keys being our first destination. The tentative plan is to make it down around Florida, then up the East Coast towards North Carolina or Virginia by the end of July. We’ll park the boat for a few months to travel for work, then pick it back up in November through the Bahamas towards the Virgin Islands.

While I’ll still occasionally post thoughts & such here at SailingBo.com, there’s a new site that will be the home base for our cruising life.

Visit SailingBA.com for all the goodies relating to our cruising life. Also, Facebook.

Now that we’ll be actively traveling, we’ll also be relaunching our Junior Captains program for elementary aged kids to follow the journey around the world. It’s going to be a grand adventure…follow along!

I’m not sure when it happened, exactly, but it did.

A few months ago I arrived at the marina after being absent for several weeks. I wiped my feet on the welcome mat before hopping onto the boat, dreading the stale boat odor that would no doubt meet me when I opened the hatch.

Only, there was no foul odor. Greeting my nose was a pleasant whiff of peppermint. And since when did I have a welcome mat?

Two years earlier…

I landed in Denver and rented a car for the trek up the mountains to Beaver Creek Lodge. I had taken the week off of work to attend a conference for professional speakers. Why, I’m not sure…I was clearly not a professional speaker, nor did I have any intention on becoming one. I did, however, have an item on my bucket list…#1, actually, requiring that I speak to a group of over 500 people. So maybe I needed to hear what these professional speaker teachers were talking about.

At the time I also had made myself a pact to visit at least one conference a year where I didn’t know a soul. This fit the bill.

So the moment came for me to walk up the stairs and join the conference registration hullabaloo that I could hear from the distance. I had the distinct thought that I had no place being here. I knew no one. I didn’t even give speeches. Why, again, did I come? I could turn around and walk away right now and they probably wouldn’t even recognize that I’d bailed.

But something pushed me up the stairs and within minutes I was wearing a name tag. The first lady I met, my group leader, exclaimed “Bo! You’re the one that’s going to sail around the world! So happy to meet you. Here…you should meet our co-leader…she spent the last several years traveling around the world herself…”

“Hi Bo, I’m Allison.”

For years I avoided serious relationships. I’m sure it wouldn’t have taken an hour in a room full of leather bound books to have been diagnosed with some sort of commitment issue. I had a job that involved traveling all over the country, sometimes world. I had the freedom many people long for and I wasn’t going to let just anything get in the way.

But I came across this passage and it gave me pause…

“I had been given a precious gift called freedom, and for a while I mistook it for the purpose of my life. I thought that because I was free to sail wherever I wanted, whenever I wanted, without seeking permission from someone else, that I possessed all I would ever need. What I discovered was that if I wanted to be free, truly free, I had to choose. There were many points on the compass rose; I had to locate the few that were meant for me.” – Richard Bode, First You Have to Row a Little Boat: Reflections on Life & Living

It wasn’t much longer before I began to realize freedom without direction is ultimately purposeless.

I was walking out the door of a control room I’d been working in for a few days in Chattanooga when my producer friend said “Hey- the Sony guys are taking us out to a fancy steakhouse in Atlanta tonight & then we’re sitting in their suite for the basketball game. You should come!”

Drooling with visions of a perfectly cooked ribeye, all I could muster was “Nah…I think I gotta go see about a girl. I’ve only hung out with her once or twice and she offered to cook, so it’s probably too late to bail.”

Had I known I would be walking into a wine fueled estrogen-fest featuring vegetarian lasagne, chick flicks, and a girl/guy ratio of 8:1 I might have reconsidered.

Fortunately I was unaware.

We were fast friends, getting together any time we were in the same zip code. I knew from the moment we met that she was special. She was different from the girls I’d encountered before. Well traveled with nothing to prove. As comfortable holding a Moscow Mule in her hand as she was Communion.

In her travels, she’d seen the Jesus I wanted to believe in. Not the guy who’d make you stand yelling sweatily at a street corner with the hate signs–the guy who just loved people and wanted to be good to them.

We’d become good enough friends to talk about her latest dating disaster or my undate-ability due to the whole sailing thing.

It was inevitable, really, although it took the two of us longer to figure it out than most. I fielded more than one call from her people that went something like this…

“Bo. This is Allison’s _______. When in the hell are you going to make a move on that girl?”
“Allison? What? No…she’d never date me. Isn’t she dating that Timmy or Kammy or whatever that guy’s name is? We’re just good friends.”

I figured they were probably just calling me because it was near Christmas and they needed help getting their Christmas Tree up to the 3rd floor again.

Until one weekend last spring when Allison and a friend spent several days with me on the boat. The next call I received went more like this…

“Bo. This is Allison. I think I could do it.”
Ever the Sherlock, I reply. “Do what?”
“I think I could do the whole boat thing, dumbass.”

On a muggy night in June after watching the moon rise over Perdido Bay, we agreed to give it a chance. Less than 4 days later, swimming in the twilight waters behind Horn Island, during a seemingly premature discussion about what our wedding might be like, we looked down to see the incredible neon green trails of bio luminescence surrounding us in the water.

I knew then that I’d marry this girl. I spent the next several days telling this to anyone at the tiki bar who’d listen.

Months flew by and she began the same research I’d begun 10 years prior.

“Hey. Quick question. Do we have good…ground tackle?”
“Yes, babe…we have two very oversized anchors and all chain rode. What on earth have you been reading?”

“Me again. I was reading the Women Who Sail forum and they said we need a 3-burner stove. Is that what we have?”
“Yep…that’s exactly what we have.”

“Hey. How much does our dinghy motor weigh? The Women Who Sail say I need to be able to lift it over my head. Do you think I’ll be able to?”
“You may need to spend a few extra days at that Crossfit gym, but yea, you should be able to pick it up just fine.”

“Mr. Johnston, I want to marry your daughter, but I’d like your permission first.”
“You know she’s sort of afraid of water, right?”
“She already knows how to cuss like a sailor, I just hope to turn her into one.”
“Well Bo, I can tell you she didn’t get that from her mother. Welcome to the family.”

And so it goes. As my story here is wrapping up, our story is only beginning. We’ll wed this May in front of a small gathering of friends and family, steps from the boat that will sail us through the next few years.

“Hey. We’ll probably live in a house eventually, right?” She asked, uncharacteristically sheepishly one day.
“Of course. We won’t be weird boat people forever.”
“Ok. Do you think maybe I could register for a Roomba? I really want a Roomba.”

The story will continue. Follow our adventures as a couple living on a boat at Sailing B+A. http://www.sailingba.com

Once the generator project was finished, I was able to tackle the installation of the solar panels. Back in October we’d purchased (4) 113w semi-flexible solar panels from Aurinco at the Annapolis Boat Show. We opted for the thin flexible type so we could still use the hard-top above the cockpit as a sundeck and diving board.

The panels were backordered, so we didn’t get them in the mail until mid-January. As is typical on a boat project, there was a little bit of project creep. As I was measuring up the hard-top to figure out where to put the panels, I noticed a crack in the gelcoat that had allowed water to seep in and rot some of the wood between the layers of fiberglass.

I can’t readily explain to you how much I’ve learned in the last two months. I’ve always heard about this magical “epoxy” stuff that boats are built with, but I’ve never used it myself until December when we were building a battery box.

As goes that old saying about how a hammer sees everything as a nail, I’ve been looking all around the boat figuring out what I can fix with epoxy. This stuff is amazing, and pretty easy to use once you get the hang of it. The base of the hole thing is literally as easy as 1 pump of liquid from the can of “resin” and another pump from the can of “hardener”.

But back to the solar panels. I decided the best way to attach them to the roof would be with 6 screws per panel and a dose of the butyl tape recommended by this guy in Maine who really knows his stuff.

The roof appears to essentially be a giant piece of balsa wood with a layer of fiberglass on the top and on the bottom. So I started drilling holes in the roof where the screws would go. I over drilled the holes so I could fill them with epoxy. That way, when I installed the screws, the screws wouldn’t be touching any wood that could then get wet and rot…it would be surrounded by rot-proof epoxy.

In the gallery, you’ll also see where I drilled a bunch of holes in the area where the wood was already rotten because of that gelcoat crack I mentioned earlier. It hadn’t gotten so bad that it was a dreaded “soft spot”, but I’m sure that would have happened eventually if left unchecked. Using a syringe I filled all the holes with thickened epoxy. After the first batch of epoxy dried, I mixed in some “fairing filler” (a maroon colored powder) to a peanut butter consistency to make the cured epoxy easy to sand flush with the rest of the deck.

Then I added a touch of white paint to make the changes blend in, even though all the holes will be covered with the solar panels anyway.

On the electrical side, I drilled a 7/8″ hole for the electrical leads to go through the roof. I then wired the panels so the both port panels were wired in series, then both starboard panels were wired in series. I then wired both pairs in parallel.

The panels output somewhere around 17 volts each, so by wiring each side in series, the voltage jumps up to 35v, but the amperage stays the same. This helps because I don’t have to use giant wire. 8awg wire is the largest wire I could run from the roof into the boat, so upping the voltage to 35v helps prevent too much resistance and power loss.

That’s what I understand from the people who know these things, anyway.

On the inside of the boat, the wires run to a breaker, then a Morningstar Tristar MPPT 60 amp controller that has a fancy readout to tell me exactly what the panels are doing and how much power the batteries are receiving from them.

From the controller, there’s another breaker, then a 2awg wire run to the batteries.

Final result? 4 panels screwed into the fiberglass hard-top that should be solid and rot-free for years and years to come and a fancy controller that will satisfy my dorky desire to know how many amp hours we’re sucking in on the daily. Based on the first two semi-sunny days that I monitored, we were averaging 75ah received from the panels per day.

Want to see a video of the installation? [Click Here]

I’m a bit behind on my year-in-review post, but I’ve done them for each of the past several years, so I didn’t want to leave this year out. It’s certainly been the most pivotal yet.

The year started with incredible work opportunities; two bowl games, including the BCS National Championship in Pasadena, then the winter olympics. The. Winter. Freakin. Olympics.

I drank vodka in Russia, wine in France, Heineken in Amsterdam, Yuengling in Pennsylvania, and bourbon in Kentucky. I sat in the same room as Vladimir Putin, although he disappointingly was wearing a shirt. I was, however, flogged in a Russian sauna with birch leaves by a man who was not. And I was reminded, yet again, that despite differences in locations, cultures, and governments, people are generally awesome.

I had dinner with my friend from Virginia’s Russian penpal from 6th grade–in Moscow. I was snowed on in Red Square and rained on beside the River Seine.

The Mona Lisa watched me admire the Wedding at Cana.

I ate a cheesesteak in Philly, lobster roll in Maine, turkey leg at the Magic Kingdom, horse sausage in Sochi, fish & chips in Hyde Park, and a crepe in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower.

I rode a train through the Chunnel, kayaked the Potomac, and flew a helicopter past #29 on my bucket list.

I undertook–and completed–a massive refit on my sailboat and still managed to go sailing over 100 days last year.

I became an uncle! I’ve gotten to watch my baby sister become an incredible mother, my middle sister move into a house she calls her own, and my parents become both empty-nesters and grandparents.

And after years of talking about it, I launched the curriculum project that will help carry me, and hundreds of kids through the power of the internet, around the world by sail.

Of all these things, I’m eternally greatful. It’s no doubt been a most incredible year.

But everything listed so far pales in comparison to the greatest, most life altering event of my 2014.

I met a girl.

Previous year in review posts can be found here…2010, 2011, 2012, 2013.

After leaving the boat yard early on Wednesday, I began the 70 mile, 2 day trek back down the intracoastal waterway through the slew of bascule bridges to Charlotte Harbor. Why, I wasn’t sure, but mostly because my car was still at Burnt Store Marina and, well, I didn’t have any better ideas.

I dropped the anchor in Sarasota Wednesday afternoon and tossed around the idea of spending a month there at Marina Jack, the uber-nice marina where the boat was when I bought her 2 years ago. But I’d been there and done that, plus they’re pretty proud of their slips, so I charted out the remainder of the trip south on my Garmin Bluechart iPad app.

I left at daybreak on Thursday knowing I’d have to get lucky with timing the bridges in order to make Burnt Store before dark. The route would take me under 11 bridges, 10 of which were too short for my 55′ clearance, requiring the whole process of stopping traffic and raising the bridge just so I can pass.

Bridges are a major factor on Florida’s ICW. Some open on command…all you have to do is call the helpful bridge tender and they halt traffic and open up as soon as you’re close.

Others, however, are apparently more important. Land lubbers rule the roost, causing the bridges to only open on a certain schedule, regardless of the boat’s desires.

“Hackney Point Bridge, this is the southbound sailing vessel L’Attitude. When is your next opening?”

“L’Attitude, this is Hackney Point. You just missed it. Next opening will be in 18 minutes.”

So began the jockeying that takes into account (with varying degrees of success) a 1.5 knot current trying to push me into the bridge–18 minutes early–and the wind trying to push me into the marina on one side of the channel or the sandbar on the other.

I was only halfway through the day’s trip, so arriving to Burnt Store in daylight was still very much in flux. This being on my mind as the current forced me into an unplanned mid-channel 360 maneuver.

That’s when I noticed the marina I was trying not to crash into. It looked nice. Walking distance to downtown Venice. New floating docks. Pretty boats. A big sign that said “Slips Available” with a phone number.

“Hi. Do you have a slip for a 42′ sailboat for a month or so?”
“Yeah…I don’t think that’d be a problem.”
“How much are we talking?”
“[$50 cheaper than Burnt Store]”
“I’ll take it. Which slip can I have and can you give me a hand with the lines?”
“Wait…you’re already here?! Sure…we’ll be right out!”

“Hackney Point Bridge, sailing vessel L’Attitude”
“Go ahead L’Attitude”
“Yes sir…I um, I don’t think I’ll need the bridge opening anymore. I think I’m going to stay here for a while. Have a good day!”
“Roger that, captain. You too.”

So here I sit, giving Venice, Florida a go for the first time since my 21st birthday when I almost crashed my boat on the jetties, 10 years ago.

Having taken an epic nap the prior evening, I wasn’t surprised to be wide awake in the fours. I fired up my iPhone hotspot to do some early morning browsing of the topic that’d been on my mind the night before.

Motor Mounts.

Once I exhausted that subject and a few others, I fired up the coffee maker and opened the hatch to confirm that the boat and I were still in the same location where we fell asleep.

Hashtag sailor problems.

Indeed we were, that location being Slip 84 (aka Mosquito Central) at Snead Island Boat Works in Palmetto, Florida. Coffee in hand, I hopped off the boat and took a meander through the boat yard. The golden light of dawn illuminating the old aluminum, rust lined boat houses stood in stark contrast to yesterday’s gloominess.

It was a ripe opportunity to take in the quiet stillness of a place that would shortly become a symphony of power tools, travelifts, golf carts, and diesel engines. So many boats with so many stories, each representing someone’s dream–past, present, or future.

This boat yard is somewhere near a hundred years old. That’s a lot of stories. A lot of dreams.

They must know what they’re doing though, because only about six hours after the symphony began, the head mechanic, Roger, looked at me and said she was all finished.

The generator that had broken loose from her rusty mounts…the one that Randy and I spent days devising a strategy to fix before throwing in the towel?

He fixed had it fixed before lunch.

It took him even less time to make me feel like the amateur that I am.