You would think after the odyssey of unloading a minivan crammed tighter than a sardine can, we would get to kick back and soak in the glory of our efforts. Nope. The universe had other plans—because we still had to tackle the dinghy situation.

Step one: extracting the dinghy from the minivan. This was less of a “remove item” operation and more of a Houdini-esque feat of engineering. The dinghy, bless its soul, had been squished, squashed, and contorted into unnatural positions, like it was prepping for a career in circus acrobatics.

But freedom was just the beginning. Where to launch it? Cue the internal panic. Were we about to lug this thing across the marina only to discover there was no suitable spot to send it floating into the great unknown? Visions of us awkwardly dragging it back, defeated, danced in our heads. Thankfully, we found a decent launch point—miracle number one.

Now came the moment of truth: did the dinghy still have the will to live after years of exile under a grimy, torn plastic cover in our driveway? We inflated the tubes, holding our breath as they puffed up, half expecting them to hiss and deflate like sad party balloons. But no—miracle number two! The tubes held steady, and a small cheer erupted. As for the electric motor, let’s just say that when it sputtered to life, we nearly cried tears of joy.

When it came time to get the dinghy up onto the davits, nerves were in play. We had never done this before, so we were fumbling a bit through uncharted waters—figuratively, at least. The challenge? Figuring out how to properly secure the lift slings to the dinghy and ensuring that once it was hoisted, it would not become a pendulum of chaos, swinging wildly while we sailed or motored. But here is where our preparation paid off in spades. Those countless hours spent at home, watching YouTube videos and reading sailing blogs, turned out to be worth every second. The process went shockingly smooth—so smooth, in fact, that we kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. But no hiccups, no drama. Everything worked like clockwork. That almost never happens when boats are involved, so we stood there basking in our minor miracle. Success, at last!

By the time we finally paused to take a breath, the clock had not even struck noon, and yet it felt like we had lived an entire day—or maybe even an epic saga—already. Twenty-five hours of driving from New Jersey, unloading what seemed like half the contents of our lives onto the boat, liberating the dinghy from its minivan prison, setting it afloat, and hoisting it up onto the davits like seasoned pros. Every step was a challenge, every task a mini triumph. It was exhausting, exhilarating, and oddly satisfying all at once. What a morning—productive does not even begin to cover it. The adventure had barely started, but if this was how we were kicking things off, we were in for one heck of a ride.