Jet Skis!

Where to begin this tale of death-defying feats?
At the beginning. We've raised three healthy and reasonably happy kids. Each has a certain tolerance for adventure, some more than others. And don't forget about mom and dad; each of us has a built-in acceptance of risk.
When we called to reserve the jet skis, we learned that you have to be 18 or over to operate the jet skis, and each ski can hold up to three people. We decided that Mark would take the big kids, Hannah and Polly, and I would take Patrick, 6 1/2. As I mentioned, we all have an innate desire or lack thereof to push the envelope in terms of risking our lives for the sake of adventure. This match-up seemed ideal; the big kids would go with dad, a former motocross competitor who relished the idea of testing the jet ski's capabilities out on the open water. Patrick, a mite terrified of jet skis and other things, would ride with me, someone with great respect for the power of machinery and the risks involved.
Processing the paperwork was easy. Sign your life away.
Follow the dock to the end where "Full Throttle Bob" will orient you to the rules and regs of jet-skiing. They issued life jackets and pointed us to the jet skis. Mark and the girls saddled up. I prepared to get on my ski with Pat, when he gently but firmly said he wasn't interested. It took a bit of coaxing and a guarantee that I would follow his command to stop or slow down to get him seated cozily behind me on the ski. He was holding on for dear life and we weren't moving yet.
FT Bob navigated us through a wide-bed shallow area in which we were not to generate a wake. We were crusing single file at about 5 mph. It was a perfect way to acquaint Patrick with the ski and make him more comfortable with how he'd spend the next 60 minutes of his young life.
When we reached the open sound, FT Bob pointed out our boundaries and encouraged us to let loose. As he dashed off, laying backward on his ski, powering it up to full speed, jumping the bumpy, choppy waves, I felt my own fear.
I took a deep breath and assured Patrick that we would be okay, and slowly moved along at 8 mph.
Mark, on the other hand, couldn't wait to see how fast his baby would travel. The girls squeeled with delight and fear as they literally skipped away from us at full speed.
Pat and I spent the next 30-40 minutes enjoying a leisurely pace, seeing the sites and avoiding the loss of our lives, like responsible humans should. We viewed the expansive mansions and their long, high docks, leading to nice, big boats. We looked at the beach and imagined the fun we'd have should we stop and swim for a bit. (Only the possibility of sharks and other sea life stopped us from doing that.)
We periodically spotted Mark and the girls...and at this point mark now has control of the keyboard.

It is true, the memories of dirt tracks and whoop de doos and flying through the air with the greatest of two wheeled eaze resurfaced and challenged my manlihood. Did I still have it in me? Oh, the power of the throttle and rubber grip, like a trigger set to explode at an instant's touch was nearly overwhelming. I was quietly pleased that Bonnie had chosen to take Pat, on to the safe harbour of the kiddie pool while Polly, Hannah and I raced to the deep end. When the gate dropped I hit it hard, knowing the other riders and their rpms were bottled and ready for unleashing.

One thing I forgot was that girls scream like girls.

We leveled off fast and the speedometer rather quickly showed 43mph. The girls surely thought their dad had lost it and we would all soon evaporate. Every acceleration was accompanied by a cacauphony of screams and a finger digging into my sunburned shoulders.

Once I felt I knew the capabilities of the machine I challenged its 4 stroke scope. When I first saw 52 on the speedometer I thought, interesting. Doesn't feel like 52. What would 60 feel like? We hit 60 and decided to stretch it out. In the end we registered 65 and I thought that was enough for a first timer.

Polly asked if we could jump in and swim for a second, as Full Throttle Rob had suggested at the outset. We headed for the beach area, not too close, and I shut down the engine. It's funny how a good idea in concept can become a dumb idea when you're strapped in and the countdown begins. Something about sharks and dolphins and other moving, gill-rich things that can only be felt and not seen made Polly say she'd only jump in if I did. so I did. Polly soon followed with a look that was somewhat similar to the one she had when she opened her phone present for her birthday, combined with a bit of terror and adrenaline that was a cross between Disturbia and bungee jumping from the Bay Bridge.

Tonight it's back to Guiseppe's at hannah's request to see if we get in this time. Then, another round of golf with the family, fast greens, undulating fairways and a limit of 5 shots per hole.

Mark, Bonnie