Today I was helped by DUBIK Therapy...

With decades of clinical experience, way too much training and having been there before, I had not trouble realizing what was going on. The diagnosis was simple: I was in the dumper, and something needed to be done.

I used my medical knowledge, my martial arts training, some info from aerospace medical school, etc. to analyze the situation. Then, realizing I still have an active Wisconsin Medical License, I wrote myself a prescription: D.U.B.I.K.  Sig use liberally (prn). Yes, I prescribed Dumb Ur Butt Into a Kayak Rx.

But how? I didn't feel like lifting the Cetus (I am still sans Hullavator...more on this will follow) and Nigel still hasn't gotten my new seat to America. Hmmm. Well, I took my 13 year old/looks 70 years old (actually, we're the same age if you count kayak years like dog years) Romany and an old formed foam seat that I had obtained before my memory stopped recording such things and headed to the lake.

As soon as I D'd my B IK I knew something was different. I had never sat so low in that boat. It felt unusually stable. Then I paddled and realized I needed just a tad of a back rest. I pulled onto a beach and put my dry bag (was in rear hatch) behind my back and enjoyed a lovely after noon of braces, turns, draws and sculls. I even gave it a go with the big Ikeolos paddle which felt unusually tame. It did drive me nuts not to roll, but I had promised the surgeon that I wouldn't expose his expert weaving to the e. coli soup in which we paddle. Anyway, the cure worked

Paddle safe...
DS