Kelly Morgan, Assistant Scientist

Before four days ago I only ever knew the pleasure of rubbing somebody else’s bristly, clean-shaven head hair. Now, I am intimately familiar with the elation in sliding my hands all over my own head to feel that blissful texture. And yes, it’s what you might think - I can’t stop touching it.

In fact, I’m not alone. My sixteen other bald brothers and sisters on board can’t stop stroking their spikes either. And you know what, the other twenty-three people on board want to touch it too.

The real zinger is how great we all look. I’m sure some of you reading this have doubt of mind but trust me when I say egg heads were meant for the open ocean.

We can feel the wind on our bare noggins, tell the direction based on which bristle it’s blowing. We can sense the noon sun on our uncrowned coronas, align the celestial zenith with the nadir on intuition.

Less hair means less drag. We sail faster, higher. We’re bald eagles in flight over water.

Like a flock, our buzzes bob together, silhouetted by the blue. If we didn’t know before, we belong to each other. What happened on that blessed day we sailed across the equator bonded us as bald brethren. And I’d do it all again if it meant I could convince fifteen more people to do it with me.

For those of you wondering if your loved one will be changed  by this experience when they return home: we haven’t simply changed, we have evolved.

As they say, birds of the same feather fly together. We may not have feathers, but we’re flying above the rest. Here’s to my fellow baldies, caw caw!

Kelly Morgan, Assistant Scientist