One year ago today: October 1, 2015, free Ernst Zundel!
Five years ago today: October 1, 2011, a disappointing day.
Nine years ago today: October 1, 2007, on burning/ripping CDs.
Random years ago today: October 1, 2006, Dragon transcript.
(Dragon Naturally Speaking)
MORNING
I was up at dawn. I had no choice. Mrs. Cardinal was outside the window letting me know I had forgotten to fill the birdfeeder. Mitch got the insulated quiet room, so I let the guy sleep in. When I say the room is silent, I mean from exterior noises. Inside you get the drone of the A/C unit and hum of the fans—but I buy the models with the lowest sound rating. One thing that’s not changed is we both have big appetites. I’ve had to curb mine, but I still made a full hot breakfast. The only activity in this town on Saturday mornings is the library. At least we pulled up in style.
Now see this picture of Mitch taking a selfie out on Main Street. Can you spot the lawn cushion that served as a chair? I chose this photo to be representative the guy’s trip to Florida. He’ll be back. We stooped for milk shakes at the Mongolia, Mitch was either immune to or did not notice the number of times our pictures have been taken the past two days.
For big entertainment, I took him up to the library. Of course, after a big breakfast including five eggs, slabs of roast pork and all the crescent rolls I could find in the fridge. He will not be able to head back home and say he ate in a single restaurant. Not on my watch. And tea. Turns out Mitch is not a coffee drinker—only the second one I’ve met in my life. I suppose it could be argued whether or not people who go to Starbucks are coffee drinkers.
At the library we spent time on the computers and getting him introduced to the staff or around nine pretty gals. Of course, the one I got my eye on is “seeing someone”, but dear reader, after you turn 40, that is the story of your life. Mitch is still non-plussed by the ease with which I move through women half and a third of my age. True, he’s seen it many times before, but I guess he thought I lose the ability with age. No sir, and I add this is not a case of no fool like an old fool.
He also got a demo of how little time this blog really takes. Posting time itself is around ten minutes, but that is only because I have to look up two net pictures fresh daily. Like many, he presumed it took hours. Nope. Say, take a look at the picture of his house. Darn rights I’m jealous, but then, working the same job for life does have it’s advantages. I won’t tell you where the house is, but here’s a hint: pssst, the lawn is a fake.
Upside down iceberg.
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NOON
As Mitch is only here on a junket, we’ve got to get him back to Kissimmee by afternoon. Two reasons, one is I’ve learned never to shave on airline connections. Get to the hotel a day early. And two, I prefer to beat the season afternoon rainstorm back home before dark. So I gave him a mini-tour of the more impressive parts of the neighborhood, including the farm less than a few blocks away. He said the room was more than comfy but he did find a roof leak that somehow got past both JZ and I. I’ll tend to that tomorrow, but I wonder if it is that single spot JZ’s weight bowed in one of the roofing slats. (Either way, I’ll find patch it tomorrow. The one thing JZ and I thoroughly checked was that roof.)
The need to get us away early saw us on the road to Lake Wales and north on 27 by 4:00PM. The clouds were already gathering when we took an opportunity to stop in a second time at Haines City. Same place, but the server, the little blond server, knew we’d back and she was dressed to the nines. Ooh, quite the little shape to her. However, we didn’t get there till late and by then there were two of the biggest, overfed hillbillies in town leaning on the bar chatting her up. There was a Karaoke setup, but not until four hours later.
We made the mistake of asking directions on how to get to Route 192 without driving the dread John Young Parkway. Ask Gus they said, he’s a truck driver. Now, it isn’t entirely their fault since there are two roads named 17, and the locals assume you know which one they are talking about. My point is, I just drove down that parkway twice yesterday, and I know when Gus and his truck-driving friends don’t have a clue. I know taking two left turns puts you back the way you just came.
So, I said to Mitch we could do better on our own. His phone GPS was no help (the Millennial color scheme is hard to see and the resolution cuts out long before you can see the smaller roads. And it doesn’t give street names. POS. We piled into the sidecar, which has different operating characteristics with a dude his size in the bucket, and simply turned down country roads that headed in the general right direction.
And with only one small backtrack on some road called the Ronald Reagan, we found the Calypso first try. Like so many Florida roads, this Ronald Reagan starts off in one direction, then makes a ninety degree turn, and heads off in another. I’ve told you ladies before, the reason men don’t stop and ask for directions is simple. Unlike women, they recognize more than one kind of bullshit when they hear it.
AFTERNOON
Here’s Mitch grabbing a photo of the batbike and red scooter in the front yard. You know, he’s traveled further in that sidecar than anyone, he holds the record. Even the odd hitchhiker I’d give a lift in Colorado never traveled more than maybe twenty miles to the next town. And the batbike makes every trip an adventure. Just you watch, when it comes to Disneyworld, a ride on the batbike becomes the high point of a Florida holiday.
No, no, Melissa, I’ve only asked out 3 women in my life. The others asked me. What you were picking up on is not a hustle, but the ordinary vibes of a confident and accomplished man. I’ll forgive the error because, working a hotel bar, you never meet any winners except by chance. Come back and see me once you’ve learned that real men don’t all come in XL and bellowing at the overhead like a troop of stunned apes.
Mitch is headed back tomorrow, but I know he’s been bitten by the Florida bug. He’s new to retirement I don’t think anybody is ever really ready. He’s hit the age where I think he should take it far more easy. The guy is healthy as a Russian and should be hiking through the mountains. You watch, he and his brother are excellent at watching for the things other people do that pay off. I hope he does consider something in this area. I mean, he certainly knows now that where I am, that’s where the pretty women are. I only wish that myself I had never learned to look beyond pretty and long for the days when pretty was enough.
We considered me crashing on his sofa but the hotels get antsy over that. We said the goodbyes during a letup in the storm, and I headed quickly down I-4, knowing the worst was yet to come.
NIGHT
It did. Thinking it was only nine miles to the SR 27 off ramp, I headed west and got two miles. People who can’t drive in the rain wind up wrecking their cars and blocking traffic. The entire roadway on either side of the Apopka overpass was slowed to first gear while the ambulance crews scraped the tourist goop off the asphalt. This slowed it down for so long, the rain hit. I had to pull over and wait forty minutes under my poncho.
Finally, when it eased and traffic began moving, I employed low gear all the way to 27, burning a quarter tank of gas. But the machine will cut out at low revs in wet weather, remember, that motorcycle was built in a different era. By now, the second motorcycle nemesis arrived—travel after dark. And it was pitch black by the time I revved up to head south. Except for the distant horizon to horizon lightning flashes, visibility was zero.
It is always slightly quicker and safer to get home going through Lake Wales, then across on 60 to the Bartow turnoff. Heading west again, within five miles there was a major windstorm, well over the limit I would normally drive anything smaller than a car. A really tough gust can displace the motorcycle nearly a foot to one side. In this case, the wind also turned the spitting rain into pellets that make such a racket on my helmet it shuts off the outside world. This slowed me down to maybe 20 mph, that is, slower than the wind. It required an hour and ten to get the last 21 miles.
And rare for Florida, it was also cold. I walked into my house glad I had forgotten to turn the oven off this morning. It was warm and dry, the way home is supposed to be. Do not deduce that I am complaining, because I see these times as pure adventure, some of which I enjoy less than other kinds. But anything is better than boredom. My poncho allows my pant legs and feet to get wet, so I peeled those off and threw my Mexican blanket over to take away the chill. Well, buddy, I was out like a light for the next ten hours.
Last Laugh
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