July 22, 2014

Yesteryear
One year ago today: July 22, 2013, see
important link to Sando Spam.
Five years ago today: July 22, 2009, casino robbery?
Ten years ago today: July 22, 2004, Ocean Reef.

           First roll-out, new pod. It was not quite ready, as a rainstorm in two days will show. But ready enough for now. Then, the Honda would not start. Over time, the gas completely evaporates from the carbs. I overdrained the battery using starter fluid. Agt. M was over and we determined a bad grounding wire. Fixed with a #6 set screw, and I was underway by 2:00 PM. I took the freeway for two hours to clear rush hour traffic.

           I was soon in Jupiter, Florida. That’s the lighthouse place Wallace and I visited many moons ago. Now, I’m on A1A, the seacoast road from where you can’t see the ocean. It is still the scenic route as I putt-putt north at 55 mph. I got faked out again by the Stuart road system, that’s thrice. In a row. It has the bridge, the signs, and an Indian River Blvd that emulates the south of Vero Beach. Except Stuart is the wrong way.
           When you get out of downtown by trial and error (Stuart does not believe in road signs), you hit the north end of town. Twelve miles of red lights every quarter mile. Timed so you hit every one. Cost me an hour. But I did see parts of Indian River that I would not normally bother with. Mile upon mile of millionaire properties with nobody in sight. I did not see even one person along the way.

           Other than a few sprinkles along the coast, the high 70s temp is perfect for motorcycling. Stopping only for gas and hydration, I passed huge banks of dark, ugly clouds without rain. At the end of five hours, including the lost hour in Stuart, I arrived in Cocoa Beach, Florida, around 7:00PM. First stop was Zachary’s for pie and coffee. ‘Cept, they don’t have pie, so it was cheesecake. Sliced like pie. The staff, including a lady who looks like my old Portuguese girlfriend, gave me directions to the Walmart Inn.
           By now, the Honda is slightly misfiring on one cylinder. That was my decision, this was only a 420 mile trip and I didn’t want to spend that many dollars setting up the needles on four carburetors. The increased weight of the pod is over the threshold, I can now tell it is there, but only slightly. I keep my distance anyway as all wagons will jackknife if you get careless.

           I’ve heard there are a few places in America where the town councils have overridden the right of private property owners to allow overnight parking. Such is the Walmart lots in Cocoa Beach and Kissimmee. In particular, the bylaw specifically prohibits overnight parking of RVs. There you have it folks, to visit that area and be in compliance with the law, you MUST spend your money on what they want. Which is an expensive hotel room. I have no doubt if they could, those people would prohibit the very type of travel that I do.

           For any who have not figured out I am at Cape Canaveral to see a satellite launch, here’s the sidecar at the post office. I’ve waited a lot of years to see this and there are still a ton of things that can go wrong, but I’m at Cocoa Beach, the closest you can reasonably get to both amenities and a view.
           Cape Canaveral itself is anti-tourist in the extreme. Forget those maps that show public viewing of the launch itself. The city has sealed off all the viewing areas with no parking signs and allowed trees to grow blocking any direct view of the launch pads. All the locals will tell you they can see the launch, but they can’t. All they see is the plume after the rock is already high in the sky. Big difference, I hate to tell them. Anyway, I’m 23 hours early so I will take time tomorrow to find the best view on my own—which is what I should have done in the first place.
           Because I can tell you for sure, before you ask directions from anybody who works at Burger King, you may not know it, but you already have a far better idea of where you are and what is five miles down the road. People don’t go into food service for the reasons your mom told you. And as for the space program, you pay taxes to enable the launch, but if you want to watch it, you have to pay again. Tell me again this country isn’t corrupt. At least in Osceola county, you know who is doing who.

EVENING
           I finally found a little country Karaoke pub and crashed in the far south corner of their parking lot. This gave me a few hours to scout around and I found the old historic district of Cocoa Beach. Um, don’t bother with Canaveral, it is a nothing town for entertainment, go a few miles south to Cocoa. Or across the causeway to Merritt Island. It’s less than ten miles.

           The area is quaintly fixed up, Florida style, with lots of overpriced single-proprietor shops. Here is a mural for a sign-painting business saying don’t get shafted by a phony sign. The humor escapes me. I stopped for a Blue Mountain coffee at a Jamaican place. This stuff sells for $60 a pound, so treat yourself. It is a smooth slightly dark brew that takes well to cream. Take your wallet.
A           gain, you cannot park overnight at Walmart and the old hag in customer service, who knows what you want, will not help or suggest any alternatives to an expensive hotel. And looking down her nose at you if you state that is what you set out to avoid. Like, you don’t belong here attitude. America, making sleep the most expensive thing you do on vacation.
           That’s why I found Karaoke at Spanky’s. It was country, but my act didn’t light any fires. Lots of women who do justice to tight jeans but somehow it was not a single’s atmosphere. Plus, the crowd came and left in large groups. When one leaves, the room is almost empty. Music-wise, the room is a generation newer than myself. Most other singers did the groaners.
           So far, including everything, this trip has cost me just $47.87. I’m on the lookout for a rich widow with a balcony. I think all the women in Coca Beach are rich, but not widows. But otherwise, it was my kind of bar. When the one gal on before me does a full hand-stand somersault to the stage I think, “Damn!” Even my ultra-athletic (relatively speaking) ex-wife couldn’t do that.

           I did meet the local cat lady. Skinny, 57, homosexual, and living in a house full of similarly-disposed people. Some would say no problem, I said no thanks. She did buy me a Budweiser, which was awful nice of her. Here's a McDonald's with a grand piano (this is in Winter Haven). It plays via a wifi connection. Wifi? Yes, I guess that is, um, because everybody who works there is too busy making customers happy that they have no time to play it themselves. Why, did you come up with a different explanation?

           The cPod camper is an instant hit. Nobody complains that I take two parking spots. Most popular feature is the comfortable interior—but only once they clue in that it is only sleeping compartment. It is easy to spot the only heated or cooled part of the caboose, a design that warms or cools only your head and upper torso. I learned this ergonomic short-cut the hard way, via head-slapping stupidity. Why try to cool the whole room?
           On this trip, I spent a good $30 on coffee, but I’m worth it. Return tomorrow and I’ll tell the disappointing tale of the oil tanks shown in this blog back on the 19th. Canaveral is camper-unfriendly as they enact laws with the sole purpose of squeezing you for the maximum dollar. My system was designed to camp in Walmarts, so I’ll adapt. I was even used to shaving in the Walmart restrooms. Overall, I say, there are no free spots to watch the actual lift-off. So pick the coffee shop with the free refills and hope for the best. Don’t ask directions, America is on the decline and people who live at a spaceport don’t often really understand your question.
           As for the cPod, the added 50 pounds does not like rough tracts, like a bad railroad crossing. It still shakes like an old Ford after the first time you bend the box, as RofR, my old partner, used to say. It stays solid, but likes to shimmy a bit on the ripples. In all, a great trip so far.

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