We departed Pete's Harbor in Redwood City mid-morning, and set sail as soon as were clear of the marina markers. It's a wonderful feeling, going from the thrub-thrub of a diesel engine to the gentle lapping and swaying of wind-powered ocean travel. Jeff got me started on the basics: terminology, the physics of the hull and sails, how hard it is to actually flip a boat over, and so on.

I never understood how a ship can sail into the wind. It seems contrary to the simple physics of "push things to make them go". It turns out there is a whole world of science going on, behind all that "Heave to!" and "Arrrrr!" and "Oh my God, it's coming right for us!"

As wind crosses a sail in the wrong direction (admittedly, a certain angle of wrong direction) the areas of high and low pressure create lift on the sail. This is essentially the Bernoulli Principle, the same phenomenon that allows planes to fly. The low pressure area created in front of the sail actually pulls the boat along.

The water also does strange things. As the boat moves through the water, a wave is created under the hull. The wavelength of this wave, related to the length of the boat, coorelates to a speed limit that the boat can't exceed without large amounts of energy. This is called the "hull speed".

Desdemona has a hull speed of roughly seven knots. This is average for a sailboat, but slow for those of us accustomed to anything faster than a skateboard. You get used to this; it's part of the fun. It's also an excellent excuse to sit back, drink, and listen to Jimmy Buffet. Life is just too slow for Nine Inch Nails out here.

Wind in San Francisco Bay tends to travel in southerly directions. When you want to go north, like we did, you "tack", a process of zigzagging toward your goal by catching the wind at just the right angle to inflate your sails. This tends to "heel over" the boat, leaning it on it's side as it catches the wind.

It took us over six hours of tacking back and forth across the bay to travel the 15 miles to Oyster Point Yacht Club. Jeff, either friendly, helpful, or insane, put me behind the wheel most of the time. My personal favorite moment: heading straight for a center-span pylon of the San Mateo bridge and switching to starboard tack thirty feet from impact. There is nothing like seeing the underside of a 100-foot-tall bridge from the helmsman's chair of a 35-foot sloop heeled over at 40 degrees.

Richard took all this with the calm interest that comes from years at sea. Phil wasn't as accustomed. By the time we started hitting serious late afternoon winds and rough spray, he was pretty shaken. But he pulled the right lines at the right time, didn't panic, and kept his lunch down. Richard says we probably scared the hell out of him, but "he's gotten much better in the past two years".

Oh, and Jeff gets the "most hardcore cook" award for lunch that day. Did you know bungee cords are an essential kitchen utensil? They do when your cooking surface doesn't really care if it stays horizontal.

Once docked at Oyster Point, we put on our best Hawaiian shirts and settled in for the Parrothead party. Parrotheads are fans of Jimmy Buffet. You may have heard his music sung by drunk middle-aged women in bars, or perhaps even professionally performed. I just wanted to hear "Margaritaville". I heard it. No less than three times. Some of the performers were even coherent!

Oh, the Margaritas! Cold, delicious alcohol, how I love you!

The next morning, I had my sea legs. The boat was stable, but the ground was rocking.

Phil had opted for a local hotel the night before, and found a ride home by car that morning. Oh well. More propane-grill pancakes for us!

The return trip was much faster. The wind was with us, the crew had found their rythym, and the sweet sounds of pre-recorded, acoustically-perfect Jimmy was erasing the memory of the previous night's karaoke.

Back at the dock, Richard paid me the best compliment I've had in a long time. "You did really well out there. You're a natural."

And no, I didn't get sick.