It's not like the switch from serious test drive to semi-serious fossil hunting is planned. The best things in life rarely are. They just kind of happen. One minute you're at the helm of a brand new Sea Ray, all serious and the test is really going quite well. Suddenly you see a cove with about 20 feet of freshly exposed and highly fossiliferous limestone that's just calling your name, and you conveniently happen to be friends with a charter captain who has a permanent anchor buoy right in the middle of that very same cove (and he's given you permission to use said buoy at any time), and the next thing you know you're swimming the hundred yards or so to shore in the blessedly cool water without so much as a moment's regret. Ah, sweet mystery of life.

Anyone can see that Sea Ray's new 230 Bowrider shares at least part of the blame for this kind of behavior. It's just not a serious-minded boat. That's not to say it isn't a serious boat, because it is. It just has fun on the brain.

Is it possible to be serious and fun at the same time? Absolutely. Just like it's possible to be serious about having fun. Take the 230 Bowrider's swim platform, for example. It's nice and big, with a foldaway, telescoping boarding ladder, so it practically begs you to stop the boat and cool your heels. But if you look closely, you see that there's a small bevel that runs around the outer edge of the platform so you can feel, maybe even subconsciously, when you're on the brink. At the same time, the platform extends so far out that it's nearly impossible to accidentally step on the propeller when reboarding. See? Fun, but serious.

Another example is the hull, which has been completely redesigned for 2001. Unless you see it side-by-side with a 2000 model, you might not notice the hull's new lines or the repositioned strakes and chines. The new hull takes the rough just a little bit better, with a smoother, drier, more stable ride. It's seemingly a shade or two more responsive and maybe a hair better when it comes to straight-line tracking. And while it's probably not going to be getting its wakeboard tournament certification anytime soon, the 230 Bowrider hull manages to throw a wake that's maybe a little high for anything but truly recreational skiing and a little soft for serious wakeboarding but perfectly fine if you're just looking to get behind the boat and have some fun for a while. Again, lots of pleasure, but there's some serious thought that's gone into it.

The same can be said for the interior layout. Although the helm seat in the test boat is too low for a 6-footer (even when raised), it's just fine when the flip-up bolster is brought into play, giving the driver an excellent perspective. It would be nice, though, to give the seat more adjustment range so the bolster isn't required. With the Bimini top deployed to fend off a little of the sun's midday fury, a 6-footer can stand and walk upright.

The walk-through to the bow seating area is a little narrow, but there's a reason: the enclosed head that's forward of the passenger seat. That's right, an enclosed head. Granted, it's a tight fit for anyone taller than about 5 feet 6 inches, but it'll work great for kids.

The bow seating is comfortable because of a few things. The floor is far enough from the seat bottom to give you plenty of leg room, and the seat backs are canted for more of a chaise lounge feel if you're facing forward. There's storage under the bow seats, and the seat bottoms are finished out so the boat seems just a little bit more luxurious.

Enjoying the water, by the way, is still the number-one reason most of us love boats. No matter how much we geek out over things like the 260-hp, 5.7L MerCruiser EFI Bravo III engine that powers our test boat from 0 to 30 mph in less than 6.5 seconds and tops out at 50.1 mph, when it comes right down to it, we like the lake. Or the river, the bay, the inlet, the ocean or whatever, and that's why, as the boat starts slowing down from the last speed run, and we see that cove over there without a soul in sight, we suddenly forget all about techy stuff and start pulling off our shirts and shoes. Five minutes later, we're doing the dead man's float without a care in the world, because that's what it's really all about.

It's also about raising the Bimini top to get just a little relief from the sun, then stretching out on the sunpad and finding that perfect place between conscious and not, where minutes stretch into hours and the rocking of the boat lifts you all the way to weightlessness. The slapping of the water against the hull meanders in, through and around the beats of the Led Zeppelin CD that's echoing off the limestone walls of the cove where you're almost perfectly centered. That's fun.

It's also fun to replace the Led Zeppelin with maybe some Beastie Boys so you can stand up and move a little, maybe toss a cannonball from your perch on the sunpad and soak the folks lolling around on the swim platform and get them up and moving because the days are getting shorter, and it won't be long 'til summer's gone, and you're in the middle of the lake, for Pete's sake, and it's beautiful, and you have this boat that's really pretty sweet, and what the hell, let's just stay out here all night, whattaya say?

You could stay out all night if you really had a mind to. The 230 doesn't exactly have sleeping quarters, but it does have optional filler cushions that let you turn both the bow seating area and the rear lounge seat into fairly decent-sized berths. Not quite a night at the Four Seasons hotel, but there are worse ways to spend a night under the stars, espec-ially if you've spent an afternoon swimming around and prowling the exposed limestone on the shoreline for artifacts.

In real life, though, about the only people who actually get to carry through with those kind of spur-of-the-moment plans ('if we get a keg we can stay on the boat all weekend,' 'let's take the boat to Mexico,' that sort of thing) are either still in college or using someone else's boat. The rest of us, even those who are technically using someone else's boat for a test drive that turns into a fossil hunt/swim fest, have to be a bit more responsible. And while 'responsible fun' may sound like the kind of oxymoron that boring people try to convince us really exists, it's really not out of the question. With the 230's tach sitting comfortably on 3500 rpm and cruising through the gloaming, it's something worth thinking about.

Test-drive protocol is not-so-surprisingly silent on the subject of responsible fun. It does, however, advise strongly against giving in to the urge to cut the engine back to where the boat's just barely on plane, maybe 20 mph, or even going crazy and cutting it all the way back to idle and taking your sweet time getting back to the marina, where the salesperson is now starting to seriously wonder if you're coming back. Again, though, why be a slave to protocol? As the night starts to fall, the water grows calm and the wind gets calmer and cooler. The boat seems to actually run quieter, although one might be moved to check and see that at idle the 230 BR is still scoring 71 dB-A on the sound meter. Idling past the no-wake buoys and pulling into the slip as the crickets applaud, it's tough to call it a day. It's easier ' calling it a day, that is ' if you've made arrangements (like buying the thing) to have Sea Ray's 230 at your disposal the following morning, though. That's the most important part of having the best time possible.