Close Encounters: An Antipodal Attachment
I was but a shiftless wharf rat, recently shipwrecked, working the docks at Las Palmas de Gran Canaria in search of a ride across the Atlantic, when I first met one Geoff Hill in 1992. He was an Aussie, a prosperous young merchant banker, with a new Taswell 56 he had named Antipodes, and was happy …