I drove out to the boat in the early morning along the coastal road as the blazing sun rose from the distant Montejunto mountain. After a 3 km drive to the fort and coastguard outpost perched on the cliff, I turned inland heading for the main road to Peniche.
Driving east, I squinted into the low sun glaring off the windshield and concentrated on the narrow road winding through cabbage fields for another 2 km.
This early in the morning, the streets of Peniche and the marina were nearly deserted.
At the boat, I installed the freshly-painted panels on the ceiling and cupboard.
|Shiny white panels|
Then I climbed out into the cockpit for a look around and spotted the Dutch guy hosing down his 57-foot steel cutter made in Vietnam, painted in military camouflage green. I went over and we talked for a while until his wife said something from below, after which he glanced at his watch.
"Gotta adjust my transmission before lunch," I said, excused myself and left.
Back at the boat, I readjusted the transmission gear cable, fired up the engine and shifted into forward and reverse a number of times. It always engaged but slipped and rattled at low revs in forward.
So now I'm undecided on whether to replace the old Hurth with a PRM 120 or to risk another trip to the Algarve this coming summer. Oh, the life of a boat owner.
I've made 5 euros this week after a long stretch of continuous work. Hope the stream of translations doesn't run dry. Oh, the life of a translator.