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Outside's Guilty Pleasures Excuse My Prop Wash The joys of jet-skiing like a slob By Bruce Barcott
Some are more true than others. TO: Bill Gates, Microsoft Corporation Seattle Public Schools Audubon Washington University of Washington crew Kirkland Parks and Community Services PLEASE ALLOW ME TO EXPRESS regret for the inexcusable behavior exhibited by me and my associate Scott earlier this week on Lake Washington. (Scott asks that I not use his last name. Frankly, I don't know what it is. To his friends, he's known simply as "Frickin' Scotty.") It has come to our attention that a number of shoreline residents and lake recreationists have expressed a desire to identify the "two clowns on jet skis" who caused such irritation and distress last Saturday. We are those clowns. We write seeking both forgiveness and avoidance of legal action. In our defense, let me say that Nate the rental-shop guy purposely put us in the water with two Polaris Freedoms, the fastest machines in his fleet. "You're gonna like these bad boys," he said, running his hand over the Freedoms' electric-blue cowling. That we did. Perhaps too much. First, to Mr. Gates: We're sorry about buzzing your lakeside mansion. Scotty and I only wanted a closer look, and once inside the security perimeter, those white buoys proved too tempting not to slalom. Regrets also to the Seattle school district for the lewd gestures exhibited by me in a moment of irrational exuberance while pacing a school bus on the Highway 520 floating bridge. I understand that school officials are concerned about the corruptive effect of my gestures, but I'm confident the students were educated in nothing more than the ability of a twin-cylinder wave rocket to "book it" across a clear stretch of glassy water. To the UW crew and the bearded dude in the kayak: I so did not see you. Nate tells me he knows a guy who does killer fiberglass work on the side. I'll hook you up. About the harassment of Canada geese: That was Scotty. He says he's sorry. Sort of. "You walk around with a hammer for a couple hours," he tells me, "you start looking for nails." As for the woman whose white-tablecloth picnic was "utterly ruined" by the "maddening whine" of our machines at Waverly Beach Park: Frickin' Scotty again. Once the wind kicked up, he got some wicked airs off that tasty chop. The funny thing is, when you're actually out there riding, you can't hear the noise, 'cause the wind is rushing so fast past your ears. Thus: not our fault. Nonetheless, as a gesture of repentance I have made an anonymous donation to the Noise Pollution Clearinghouse. Scotty pledges to cut a check to the Audubon Society as soon as he gets paid for his last roofing job. And we both promise to have absolutely no fun on the water for the next 12 months.
Contributing editor BRUCE BARCOTT wrote about the Chalillo Dam in May 2003.
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