We really should be off we thought, and while those around the port have seen our getting off "first thing" performance before, by the time three in the afternoon arrived, few of them thought we were serious.
We were. Deadly so. The cloud cleared just briefly enough to snap a photograph of the first lock through the windshield to mark the occasion and we were off, into what was in the blink of an eye to become a bleak, windy cold apparently atypical spring day.
It felt terrific to be on the move, just as terrific as it had staying in one place in fact or maybe just ever so slightly more. We hadn't left ourselves enough time to go terribly far, but we spent the night a respectable thirteen kilometres away in the quiet of the Moselle countryside.
Quiet except for one miserable cat, which, if thoughts could kill would have expended all nine of its lives as it tromped around our decks because it could wearing what we took to be some sort of feline version of working boots. But it was bitterly unpleasant out, with a wind and single digit temperatures, so we stayed snug inside content to let it do whatever it wished, taking consolation that it was not as warm as we.
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