A news clip about a new high-endc ondo project caught my eye recently. The development is buried in a former missile silo. Apparently, folks are investing big bucks to be last in line on Judgment Day. Zombies. Sharknadoes. They’ll be buried alive in style.
I debated the opportunity with my boatbuilder pal, Ed.
“Remember Bert the Turtle?” I asked, recalling the film that U.S. schoolkids were shown in the 1950s. “While we ducked and covered, smart guys peddled private civil-defense shelters.”
“It’s a luxury market these days,” Ed observed. “A dumpster buried in the backyard won’t cut it.”
“Exactly,” I replied, wondering if it might be smart to ride out the apocalypse at sea. “Why not a traditional yacht?”
Ed was skeptical. “A trawler?” he asked.
“More traditional,” I suggested.
“Good God, Coyle. Not a damn sailboat!”
“Nope. I’m thinking an ark.”
“Been done. I just saw an ark on the news,” Ed said. “Something about rain damage. I guess they don’t build ’em like they used to.”
I pointed out that the build making headlines was a replica of a somewhat dated design.
“I’m not criticizing the designer or suggesting that a sheep herder was any less capable than a boatbuilder, but we’ve learned a lot in 4,000 years,” I said. “Just imagine what we could do with modern composites and gyrostabilized, fuel-efficient hull forms.”
“And the animals: two of this and two of that. It all adds up,” Ed said.
“Pets would be up to the owners, of course,” I said. “These days, they’d likely bring nothing along they couldn’t stuff in a pocketbook: small mammals such as miniature terriers. It’s a new demographic.”
“And if they insist on elephants and giraffes?” Ed asked.
“Onboard composting,” I replied. “In one end, out the other. Biofuel.”
“You know, a fella built a large yacht for just that purpose in the 1980s,” Ed said.
I recalled a client of mine who had also built such a boat. She had three diesels and a belly full of fuel.
“Ed, I’m not simply noodling another hardened mega-yacht with panic rooms, security teams and escape pods,” I replied. “I’m proposing a new yachting lifestyle.”
Ed wasn’t convinced. “Prepper yachting?” he quipped, referring to doomsday survivalists.
I suggested that we take a page from the folks pushing the subterranean luxury lifestyle on TV.
“Tell me something,” I said. “What do you call a condo with a swimming pool, a movie theater, a health club and a video game center?”
“It’s buried underground, Coyle,” Ed replied. “It is what it is.”
“No,” I said. “It’s second home for weekend getaways on the prairie somewhere in Kansas.”
“God didn’t tell Noah to build a condo, so perhaps you’re onto something,” Ed admitted.
Exactly. The plumb bow has already made a comeback, and 300 cubits is more than enough real estate for a pool, a rock climbing wall and a helicopter pad. Why wait for the water to come to you?
