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Two thermometers hung on the side of the harbormaster's shack. Each was large and round, with a big red tipped needle that rotated around like the hand of a clock as the temperature climbed. The needle of the one under the roof overhang, the one in the shade, was resting on 95. The other thermometer hung in direct sun, and it was pegged at 122. I had backed the trailer down the launch ramp, and the boat floated free. Jake fired up the motor while Dick walked down the pier holding the bowline, pulling the boat out of the way of the next launcher. I parked the truck at the end of a growing line of empty trailers in the gravel lot, and ran down to join my friends on the pier.

Hopping aboard, I took Jake's place at the wheel. I turned the boat and we idled out toward the channel between the two long piers. I was slathering on sun block like there was no tomorrow. We had the bimini top up for shade, but I knew how easy it was to cook yourself under those conditions. Just the reflection of the sun off the water would fry you. Dick and Jake were already into the beer. I had a diet pepsi. The cops would let you get away with most anything out on the lake, but they would hang you if they caught you driving drunk. And I wasn't looking to introduce myself to the cops.

There were boats everywhere. Freshly launched boats were tied to the pier in a row as people loaded ice chests and bags of food. Over at the rental dock, patio boats filled up with groups of people, and up in the channel, inexperienced boat drivers tried to figure out how not to run ...

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