November 21, 2013

Morning:
           6:30 AM. That’s early. Unless you have a dead-end job, that is the earliest that civilized people will get up. (Knock it off, Hector. I specifically said “civilized”.) Besides, what are you doing reading this blog when there is a re-run of the 1992 World Series on Channel 4? Now, take the 6:00 AM crowd, just 30 minutes earlier. That’s different, that’s the arshole hour. That is the time arsholes wake up—but only a few times per year each. You only think it is every day because there are so many of them.

           Now, when arsholes get up early, it is an auditory event. Dry, hacking cough, spitting, grumbling, stomping around like an ape. Slamming door, dropping metallic objects. No, I’m not talking a Miami movie theater or my ancestral home, but the Walmart parking lot in Ocala, FL, this morning. This photo of the motorcycle wire is from New Mexico, where a similar problem occurred, but it shows the exposed wiring from the previous owner's workmanship.
           At 270 miles from home, there was another electrical problem. The alternator juice isn’t getting where it needs to be. I’m 13 miles north of Leesburg at 8:00 AM, so I pulled into another Walmart to tackle the problem. But first, if you are early enough, that is the best time to hit the Walmart restrooms.
           Hint: find a handicap stall. Many of them are spotless because they are so rarely used. Particularly at travel centers, the contingent of long-distance truck drivers in wheelchairs being what it is. These rooms often have real taps instead of the infrared sensors, coat hoots, and sometimes a baby ironing board for your suitcase. Plus, so many people have weird guilt complexes about the handicapped, they don’t question someone shaving or brushing in there for 20 minutes.
           Ah, I hear the bleeding heart contingent. What if a real handicapped person comes along while I’m in there? Let him wait his turn, that’s what. Go back and read what I just said about guilt complexes. If anyone still wants to push the issue, they need to be reminded that I, too, am handicapped. Bad heart.
           Why am I cranky? First, the broken wire. Next, the sheer number of people that will come over and start a conversation while I am obviously busy and in a rush to get back on the road.

Daytime:
           I doubled back to I-75 to make up for lost time. There is no convenient route through mid-Florida, north to south. The little towns like to expand along the major arteries and put up traffic lights on the highway. All they manage to do is kill their remaining downtown businesses.
           Then I get hauled over by the cops. Turns out they were just curious, but that cost me another twenty minutes. In Florida, all delays are dangerous as the system is designed so that if anything goes wrong, you and not they get stuck with the problem. Don’t believe me? Open a bank account in Florida. Like here. The Internet went out again shortly after the office closed on Friday, so you waiting until Monday to see the updates.

           This means I headed south via Tampa to my old State Road 70, then cut inland to the Arcadia turnoff and the four-lane into town, the only congestion is Clewiston, aptly known as Cluelesstown. I look toward Miami and see the clouds gathering. I speed up. I only stopped for a corn dog since breakfast. This is looking grim enough, remember, the camper pod is only waterproof when it is standing still.
           Here’s a photo of the rig at Ft. Drum. Although this photo was taken outbound, it is typical of the tiny shops in Florida that just manage to eke by due to lack of a freeway. This lone outpost had expensive gas and axle-crushing cracks in the pavement. At Clewiston, I cranked up to full speed and raced a storm front the last fifty miles to Allligator Alley (Highway 585). I can’t say it’s good to be home. I’ve been completely out of touch. Don’t even know if my place burned down.

Evening:
           I’m back safe and sound. Well, mostly safe. One wrong turn led me into a Florida rainstorm near Flamingo road, around nine miles away. This was the only time on the trip, including the snowstorm at Provo, where I was forced to stop and wait for six hours. This is the scene that greeted me at 5:12PM and it did not let up for three and a half hours. I finally waited for a lull and drove through it.
           Sadly, my camper interior got soaked. I tried to pull off the freeway as soon as the sprinkling began but a fat lady in an SUV cut me off. Third world people do not understand you are not supposed to pass people on the right hand side. I’ll probably cry about this later, as I lost some valuable articles to water damage.

           I tried to take a shortcut off Davie Road, but 500 other cars had the same idea and discovered, as I did, that the road floods. I was able to wheel my rig up on to the sidewalk and drive it that way a half mile to the Sonoco. On the way, I stalled, but met Detroit, a most typical neighborhood guy. He’d been hold a yard sale and had to get everything covered. We stood under his tarp and waited out the worst of the weather.
           After a couple more stalls—remind me find out why the Honda does that the moment it gets splashed—I pulled into the old club (Jimbos), and it was a deserted as when I left. At one of the places I pulled over, a small group were stranded in an overhang near the Publix [market]. The cat lady went inside and bought us all cheese and crackers. We were there and hour and a half. Can you see the focal point in this next photo?

           No? I’ll help out. You will not believe how cheap some people are. That potted plant is an indoor variety. But water is metered in Florida so here is a citizen saving 0.00005 cents by setting the plant outside where it gets a more natural soaking. From the fume-laden air and roofing materials the rain hits before it gets to ground.
           And that concludes my epic trip to the west coast and back. Diagonally across the USA southeast to northwest, and back again along the Pacific coast and across the south. Estimated road distance: 8,080 miles.