“Life is like a box of...bike ‘wrench’ tools.”

wrench- slang for “bicycle mechanic” in the cycling world.

The classic Forest Gump quote,“Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re going to get,” is the perfect two sentences to fall back onto when life starts happening. I’d say it kind of goes along with one of my own little mottos, about how nothing ever goes according to plan, but somehow, it always works out. It usually ends up way more interestingly than ever imagined, too. 

Case and point:  my 42-mile round-trip trek to Marshall Point Lighthouse, i.e. the Forest Gump Lighthouse. In the movie, Marshall Point Lighthouse was one of Forrest’s turnaround points on his non-ending run. Forest was traveling eastward and made it to the lighthouse, realized he couldn’t go any farther east without going off the cliff, so turned back around to continue his jaunt. 

Anyway. I’d already cleaned and studied for half my day off. I decided it was time now to do something fun and outdoorsy. I had no plans, no commitments, and no ideas yet for what to do. Then, I noticed my bike shoes in the corner of my room, starting to gather dust. It was time for a bike ride.

With no distance in mind, I asked at Sidecountry Sports, our local bike shop, for a route that would be “simple but pretty.” The guys pointed me towards Tenant’s Harbor. As I was studying the map, I saw that Marshall Point Light was in that same direction. It was a bit farther than I’d originally considered, but time was on my side. 

A paraphrase of my en route dialogue:

“Dang, they don’t make hills like this in Chesapeake...but this is so fun...ooolala, artist painting on the bridge.... eek, car...wish my Fat Frogs could see this...I wonder how Sprucehead Pizza’s pizza is...little general store to check out...rhubarb stand on the side of the road? wish I had brought a bag...cows!...Knox County Firehouse? we called them yesterday for that flare sighting....phew...and I have to go backwards?....”

Then:

“Pedal....pedal...pedal....tough hill this one....wooo!!! 34mph and not even in a draft line...keep on pedaling...is that the “Welcome to Port Clyde” sign? hell yeah! almost there...uh oh, why does my pedal feel loose?...pedal, pedal, pedal...my foot is sliding...not good...ugh.

The entire left crank arm came off of my bike, my attached foot dangling in mid-air with the pedal and crank arm hanging down. I wobbled off to the side of the road. I flipped by bike over, wearing only one shoe because I couldn’t click-out of the tight pedal without the resistance of the bike frame. I realized that the allen wrench required to reattach the arm was way larger than anything I carried in my saddle bag. BUMMER.

I took off my helmet and shades. For a good few minutes, I debated whether to call back to the station with a “biking MAYDAY” and request a pick up. It would be kind of a long drive for them. Also,  I was going to hear about this one if they got wind. The on-duty crew already thought I was crazy for an attempt.

Instead, I called a friend. She had to take her dogs to the vet, so it would have to be a quick pick-up. No lighthouse for me, and I was only a mile away.

I managed to un-clip my shoe, put it back on, and began wheeling my bummed-out bike to safer ground. I figured the side of a rural highway wasn’t the best place to be. I was dejected, not about my bike (bikes are fixable), but because my journey was cut short,

As I was trudging along, I passed a driveway where two kids were riding around on their own bikes. Their dad called out to me and asked if I needed help. I held out my bike and detached crank and said, “yeah, actually, I kind of do! Do you have any tools to fix a bike?” 

He said he probably did and went into his shed to search for them. In the mean time, my friend called to tell me, “Kerry! This has never happened to me before, but my truck broke down! The tow truck is on his way to pick me up. I’m so sorry.” What?! Now I really wanted my bike fixed.

The father came out of his shed, carrying an open pouch of tools, including a large set of allen wrenches. Hallelujah. We chatted a bit as we figured out which wrench would do the trick. He asked where I was coming from, and when I told him “Rockland,” his eyes didn’t grow wide and he didn’t give me that “crazy cyclist” shake of the head. I appreciated that.

Instead, he mentioned that he had been stationed in Rockland when he was in the service. I’d already noticed he was clean-shaven, and that his arms were strong and tattooed (an often true military stereotype, and I'm not bummed about it). Knowing the answer already, I asked if he was prior Coast Guard. He was, and he had likewise been stationed at Station Rockland, but in the late 90’s as a BM2 (Boatswain’s Mate 2nd Class). 

I love how small the world is, especially in the military.

It was funny to hear that many of the same issues, and good things, that went on at Station Rockland in the 90's still happen today, just with different characters and different boats. 

Ultimately, he’d made Rockland his twilight tour after reaching a few major crossroads. He’d enjoyed his career, but was happy with his decision to retire. Sweetly, he said that if he’d gone on to his next unit he wouldn’t have met his wife and had two kids, who were now standing next to us on their tiny bikes, curiously looking up at this stranger with her bike. It was funny to hear someone talk about the end of his Coast Guard career, especially with me being very much at the beginning of my own.

We managed to quick-fix my bike and the family sent me on my way. I rode that final mile to Marshall Point, which was well worth the long trek. It was a gorgeous destination and I enjoyed resting for a bit, sitting on the stoop steps and watching the waves crawl up the rocky slope.  A kind, older lady ran to her car to get me a Clif Bar after asking me about my trip, then wished me well on the return. I made it back to the station just as twilight began to paint the sky. 

I'm not kidding when I say I have an unusual tendency for misadventure; but, I wouldn’t laugh as much or have any good stories without the inevitable goofs. 

Sometimes the bike breaks along the way; but sometimes, you make it to the lighthouse.

 

Chaos & Stories

I write first and foremost because I love to write. It gives me some direction, it’s enjoyable, and it helps make sense of chaos. 

On one hand, I bring chaos upon myself with a willingness to dive head-first into the unknown and the uncertain. As those reading probably know, I also have an unusual proclivity towards mishap and misadventure. I often find myself in unchartered waters, where my iPhone can’t give me the answers and a guidebook has yet to be written. It keeps things entertaining, but geez louise, if you only knew how many “it’ll be funny later” moments I’ve had... 

On the other hand, a little craziness and confusion is going to happen anywhere you go, perhaps especially in that tumultuous and option-filled time of the early 20’s.

I also write because we all have stories to share. By that, I partially mean my own, but I also mean that of my fellow Coasties and the, er, unique population of where I’m living in Rockland, Maine. Each individual has a story worth hearing, or at least some new way of looking at things. Stats and logic take us only so far; without some pull, inspiration, or connection, action rarely gets taken. I’m a lousy story-teller without a pen, so this is the best way for me to relay those.

As for this blog, there’s no UVa-grad/ Coastie females out there that I know. Usually, when you “google” something about military females, articles and blogs for military spouses pop-up. If I can offer even some guidance and relation to a few female military sea-goers that follow, I’ll be content.

Finally, I have a small group of family members and friends who serve as my primary motivation and encouragement. They’re the ones who’ve stuck with me for the long haul. For whatever reason, they’ve taken a keen interest in my pursuits and ask me every once in awhile, “when my next blog will begin.” It’s always funny when they bring up past tales: “remember that time you almost lost your job in Yellowstone?” (trespassing on a trail closed for bear activity), “what was the name of that pastry-shop that housed the Lady Gaga cake statue?, or ”I ran in the Tiergarten too! Beautiful place.” 

So, here goes nothing. Or maybe it’s something. I don’t know. 

  

Bootcamp.

“It kind of feels like we’re going to meet a set of Korean nuclear warheads,” said Nate, my bootcamp bus-mate and the brother of my friend Rachel from back home. 

“Yep, I agree,” I said.

A little nervous chatter followed after that, but not too much. You’re kind of in your own head when you’re mentally preparing to get your ass kicked for the next 8 weeks. We were en route to Cape May Training Center, where we would be indoctrinated, trained, and prepared for our entrance into the Coast Guard fleet. 

Boot camp is as tough as they say. No matter how many times you’re forewarned by military personnel that the intentions of boot camp are to “break you down then build you back up,” you’re still going to be broken down...then built back up. It’s just how it works. However, it’s training. As long as the end goal is kept in mind, it’s definitely doable. 

My longtime friend, Army 2LT Shane Greaves, sat with me a few days before my departure to ask me what my bootcamp plan was going to be. It was “to be relentlessly optimistic and tough.”  

No matter what happened, it was going to be one foot in front of the other until the bitter end. The advice and insight he gave me that day, including making sure I stuck with those intentions, was the best I’d received. So much of the advice I’d heard previously, which I never could take at face value, was all over the place and contradictory:

"Welcome"

“Hide in the background and slip under the radar.”

“Kerry, don’t worry. You’ll be totally fine.”

“It pays to be a winner.”

“Pray to not have a female company commander.”

“Be loud. Be proud.”

“Eat your protein.”
“Don’t trip!” (Thank you, Kristy Kelley).

Anyway... 

When that bus stopped, it became dead quiet. We were told not to look outside the windows by our bus driver. All we could see were shadowy forms in our periphery and flashing lights.

A man with a “smokey the bear” black hat, with a wide brim hat that covered his eyes, stormed onto the bus. No greeting. Simply, “FROM THIS POINT FORWARD, THE FIRST WORD OUT OF YOUR MOUTH WILL BE SIR OR MA’AM, AND THE LAST WORD OUT OF YOUR MOUTH WILL BE SIR OR MA’AM. YOU WILL RESPOND TO COMMANDS WITH AN AYE-AYE. UNDERSTAND?”

“SIR, YES, SIR!”

“LOUDER.”

“SIR, YES, SIR!!”

“NOW, GET UP. GET YOUR STUFF, AND FIND A YELLOW TRIANGLE TO STAND ON IN FRONT OF THE BUS. DO IT NOW!”  

I stood in front of the bus, clutching my bag, not sure if my arm was shaking from the freezing air or my nerves. Part of me was stifling a laugh at the ridiculousness of it all and as a natural stress reaction. The other part of me was thinking: “Holy smokes. What did I just get myself into now?”

Soon after: 

“Kelley! Wigton! Get back here. You signed below my line! I told you too keep your filthy names inside of the box. How difficult is that?!” 

Whoops. Fail #1 of a million.

 I also managed to “eyeball” (i.e. look at) a few Company Commanders and to even crash into one while we were issued our cold weather gear. One of the greatest takeaways from boot camp was to get comfortable with goofing up.

From there, I’d say boot camp took it’s predicted progression. My heart rate was through the roof for the next day or two. We were poked and prodded through medical, then handed to our company commanders (CCs) to be beaten. For those first weeks, we were the scum of the earth, sloppily marching around grounds in our sweaty sweats and ceaselessly being barked at by our company commanders. 

From there, we slowly learned what we had to do, and what we had to endure. I was constantly sore. I got sick. My voice was unrecognizable from all of the yelling. I was treated like a non-person. I fell asleep standing up. We were rather un-hygienic. We marched on edge, always wondering what our next “mistake” would be. 

It wasn’t fun, but it made us tough. We lost a few along the way, but they often were the ones who came in with doubts beforehand or the ones who were not quite made for the military. By the end, tight bonds were formed between shipmates, some that I believe will last through my career.

One memorable evening: 

A shipmate, while we were waiting for our CCs arrival, asked where my smile was that evening. I usually kept it tucked away until the few moments to ourselves before “racking out” after showers, but I threw caution to the wind and flashed one anyway. 

“Kelley-Kilo! Why is there a shit-eating grin on your face right now. Is something funny?” 

Damn.

“Petty Officer Matthews, Seaman Recruit Kelley-Kilo, nothing is funny.”

“Then why do you have a shit-eating grin on your face?”

I never did know how to lie. With my thoughts going at a rate of a million a minute under pressure, the only thing I could muster was the truth: 

“Petty Officer Matthews, Seaman Recruit Kelley-Kilo [gulp], just trying to stay optimistic.”

Out on the quarterdeck for push-ups I went, for a long time. I never did hear the end of that one. 

I made it through boot camp by looking for the bright spots everyday, and by holding close the knowledge that whatever was happening, it would end soon enough. My bright spots could be catching a peek of the beautiful Cape May sunrise, interacting with the ladies behind the food counter, or simply making it into bed for another night.  Letters and postcards from home and friends made a huge difference.

Eventually, it really did get better. We got better as a team, started respecting ourselves more, and the CCs started respecting us more too. The CCs started revealing their personalities as our training came to a close, and they were both hilarious and fantastic leaders. Slowly, we were melded into something worthwhile.

Someone told me beforehand that I was absolutely crazy for thinking that boot camp could be fun, in a way. I still stand by that. I loved the challenge of it, especially once we made it through the miserable part. I was a part of  wonderful group of driven, strong females (seriously, many times the ladies out-shined the dudes in our company!). We swam, we sang, we ran, and we learned cool things in seamanship and marksmanship. We “jousted” with giant, padded toothpicks. I wrote as a company historian and painted on the art crew.  The ice cream and hibachi dinner shared with a few friends on our single day of liberty, before graduation, was possibly the best I ever had...or at least, it felt like it.  I left boot camp with a few awards, two athletic regimental records, a re-inspired confidence, some of the craziest memories, and a few budding friendships. 

You don’t really talk about boot camp once you’ve made it out. It shows your newness. Yet, I still recommend it. It’s certainly one of the best experiences I’ve ever had, and it’s one I certainly hope to never repeat. 

Don't Think. Just Do

Juliet-189

Company Flag

The Lobsterman, the Librarian, and the Lonely Lady

“How’s your sandwich?”

“Awesome,” I said to the gentleman with graying hair and spectacles. He sat at the table across from mine as he read his book over a bowl of clam chowder, I sat at my table by the big bay window of Camden Deli, sipping wine and enjoying a portobello panini. 

It was a simple question, but it carried us into a conversation about life in Camden, my first “underway” trip with Station Rockland, his two boys, my ambitions with the Coast Guard, and so-on-and-so-forth. I found out he was a doctor, not a librarian, overthrowing my initial speculation. His book was from the Camden Public Library, if that counts for anything.

When I mentioned taking a boat ride to Carver’s Harbor for work, another man jumped in the conversation, sporting a swooping white mustache that extended past his rosy cheeks and also heading his own table. He was a lobsterman and a classic Mainer: a little rough around the edges, speaking with a fantastic accent, and on the salty side(1).

 Traditionally, lobsterman and Coasties don’t get along; however, all three of us, even with our entirely different walks in life, hit it off splendidly. While I don’t quite remember the details, perhaps the wine was getting to me, I remember it was a lively, animated conversation. There was something wonderful in the oddity of the three of us brought together, which made for such a colorful interaction. I walked out of the deli smiling, content after a few days of wandering out on my own. 

On the topic of loneliness: surprisingly, I wasn’t actually lonely in those first couple weeks of exploration (however, I needed “lonely lady” for the alliteration). I had already anticipated the patience I would need before I began making friends in this new area. When the “newness”  of the area and my initial curiosity faded, though, the loneliness did set in a bit. 

That is, until I simply took it for what it was and decided to roll with it.

One night I told my friend Kate, from home:  “I feel like I’m dating myself! I do what I want, when I want, and go wherever I want to go.” It was kind of fun. I even bought myself flowers a few times. 

Going to a bar solo was a first for me, and it’s now kind of hilarious to think about how much effort that took. “Sarah, I need you to talk me through this,” I said on the phone, walking down Main Street to Waterworks for my first nighttime outing. I was laughing as I said it, but it definitely took me a few moments to snatch up the courage to open that door and wander in! 

All-in-all, it was a challenging, but rewarding time. I met quite a few people in this time period. I befriended bartenders and baristas, went on a date with a Ukranian (that’s a story in itself), went on a few random runs, tindered a bit (not my thing), went to breakfast with people from the YMCA pool, and scored a free album while drinking my new favorite gin drink and chatting with a musical duo, Rick Turcotte and his accompaniment, after a show at Rock Harbor.

I found that being willing to put yourself out there, even if it’s initially uncomfortable, leads you to some cool experiences and interactions. It’s even cooler when those interactions lead to something that lasts, which actually does happen. I love and miss my friends from home/school dearly, everyday, but not having that social shield for a bit was a blessing in disguise. Try it some time. 

View from Camden Deli

Seagull?

Sometimes, we even hike solo.