Everything in America is supersized. The phrase first came from McDonalds when they started serving soft drinks the size of small lakes and fries in portions that could have caused the Irish potato famine. For the first time since we have been in America we have witnessed the supersized populace shopping at Wal-Mart. It’s true, that in the USA, there is a species called ‘The Peoples of Wal-Mart’.

In Onset we took advantage of the free bus to get ourselves to the not so ‘local’ supermarket. The place was a real shock, for the first time we were not in rich middle class America and it really showed as the people rolled and wallowed out of their not so new cars to shop in mammoth supermarkets where they could satisfy their needs for high fat TV dinners. As we waited for the bus home the people watching was fascinating and not in a good way. America, home of the fried, land of the TV slave.

Back at Ruffian all was not happy. For a little while we’d been having problems getting the outboard to start and now it simply refused to play ball. This resulted in us having to accept lifts from strangers, long long painful upwind paddles and even going to a workshop to find out how much they’d charge to have a look at it. With Iain nearly fainting at the thought of spending $200 dollars for someone to ‘look’ at the engine TeamRUFF resolved to get to the bottom of the problem. How difficult could it be?

Having researched the problem extensively we became experts on the different petrol’s around the world and discovered that in America they add ethanol. In cars this in fine, but in boats this is the most ridiculous additive as it attracts water and gums up the engine. We’d found out what was wrong with Thugs poor engine, we just had to get brave and fix it.

With spanner, screwdriver, pliers, sockets, and Fiona’s guidance Iain got brave and took the whole thing to bits. There were an awful lot of ‘bits’ to loose and clean and we are happy to report that the engine went back together with the same number of components as it started with and then the moment of truth was upon us. With a newly cleaned carburettor and sparkly sparkplug Thug roared into life on the first pull with vitality that he hasn’t had since he’d arrived in America.

As all the engines on Ruffian were now happy it was time to once again turn her into a motorboat as we transited the Cape Cod Canal. The canal cuts off the dangers of a long trip around the cape, but replaces them with a tide that rips through the canal. We timed our entry to coincide with the maximum flow thinking that we’d be squirted through and into the bay. The Amtrak train however had other ideas.

As we entered the Canal, with 5 knots of tide under us, a police boat came up and simply asked. “Captain. The bridge is coming down. Please turn around and motor out of the canal.” That’s really easy in a big fast motorboat, but poor Ruffian could only just stem the tide and her engine screamed as she was revved like never before. To make matters worse, we then had, as seems usual in America, a thunderstorm and a warning for a severe storm hitting our piece of water in hours to come. Finally with the Amtrak bridge up and after being battered by a big but short lived thunderstorm we settled into the protected harbour of Wellfleet and sat wind bound for the first time since we were in Scotland, looking forward to being able to go hiking the next day.

With hiking done we entered the gay capitol of North America (pun intended), Provincetown. The multicoloured peace flags were in evidence on moored boats and the bars that lined the beach. Iain mused that he should have a flag that somehow states ‘I like boobies.’ as the peace flag was stating ‘I like men.’ Without sounding like bigots it’s difficult to write too much about Provincetown but once again the people watching was something to behold and never before have we spent so much time in a bar not talking and just watching a community that simply accepts people as they are.

The delights of Maine are now only a stones throw away and in the coming days we’ll be off to see whales and make more northing to the North American cruising Mecca.

Iain set to work trying to fix Thugs naughty misbehaving engine.


Lots and lots of tiny bits, complete with springs and all so easy to loose.


There be wind there. 38 knots to be exact.


Helpful Porto helps Iain with his nightly emails.


The sandy spit in Wellfleet gave miles and miles of trails to get lost in.


The local fishermen were prolific.


The sand went on forever.


All ready for the ‘car’ journey home and the usual soaking.


Wow. Sailing upwind.


Jaws. Out looking for great whites.


We managed to anchor right on the port layline going into the finish for some local club racing. Oops.


Provincetown was thronging will all creeds of people.