Thinking back, we clearly had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. I recall the first time we pushed away from the dock into the mighty thunderstorm and winds that were so blistering we couldn’t leave the harbor. Our second attempt was successful, but I think it also might have set a tone for that first voyage. We all said, had we left 10 minutes before that storm hit we could have made it to the Sky Way in an hour, but instead it took us nearly 3. The entire trip consisted of us tightening the jib and shifting the main sail to catch winds that were less than ideal. I’d be so bold as to say that not one time did we have the wind at our back. That kind of thing can be a burden on a person’s livelihood after 3 days at sea. I mean that because this was a trip we had planned and shifted and adjusted to accommodate the needs and desires of every crew member. Our plans meant very little in the end, as we made such lofty heights that we were hardly able to capture and copy the image of the trip we had instilled in our minds from the outset.
But I’d hate to sound too pessimistic. Of course if you asked anyone on that boat at the time who the most pessimistic of the bunch is, they’d all point fingers at me whilst jumping up and down throwing vulgar and harsh words my way, because I’m sure my brutal honesty of the situation grows tiresome after a while, even for myself. But I digress. I mean that not all was lost on this trip. Actually, little was lost. We didn’t act out our trip as we had so planned, but we did indeed prove to ourselves we are capable of survival on the open seas for several days, having nothing but the ocean around us and the 27 feet of fiberglass beneath our feet. Our trip was one of endurance; that of the mind and body. Being trapped on a boat 60 miles off the shore of Florida with 4 of your best mates can test anyone’s limits, as you have to share everything, be confined to on another, sacrifice privacy and give up on any form of comfortable sleep.
All those things seemed a bit too much at times. There were moments when the clarity of our darkest characters was radiant. At times, we snapped at each other like dumb beasts. Other times all we could do was sit and watch the others act in this way, only to sit on the sideline and try not to judge, because it would be unfair to judge in that situation. We had to freak out. It was necessary to not kid ourselves of the trying circumstances set before us. Yes we had food and water and vice, but in the end we completely removed ourselves from all comforts we had known prior to the trip. We each pined for others not present, all in different situations and circumstances. But that proved to be good grounds for deep conversation between us.
There were more fun memories than I’ve set forth. I’d not want to cheat you of those, as it was the intent of the trip to have a righteously good time, and we did after all. There were moments we took ourselves too seriously, as we blared Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries upon leaving and returning to port. We posed proudly after we made it to Naples, only to sneak onto a millionaires dock and crawl through his property with gas cans and a serious disposition to heat and mosquitoes. We saw the miracles that are the sunrise and sunset. We were stunned by the dozens of small and large shooting stars we saw per hour, when the heavens were clearly visible. We rehashed old memories of good times, experiences with past lovers, and spilled our fears, hopes, dreams and mistakes. We got a kick out of roughing it, which we considered to be eating soup cold out of the can, and sleeping on top of sweaty sheets, and not always your sweat. We drank almost a case of Roset straight out of the bottle, as well as champagne when the moment called for it. We had to use a bucket with a toilet seat on top of it to “go,” and we laughed each time someone had to sit on the bow and use it, especially if the sees were rough, which made it difficult to hold steady.
This trip forced us to think as well. With so much time on the open water and only so many conversations capable between 5 people, there were hours when each of us had to sit and let our minds unfold. I found myself thinking less about my career and more about my family and friends, which made me realize what I hold most dear in this world. That brought me a level of comfort I wasn’t expecting, but one I’ll gladly embrace for the beautiful epiphany it is.
We kidded ourselves to think we could do what we set out to do, but we surprised ourselves with what we did in the end and how we had to endure the conditions to get to our final destination. The foundation has been established for many more possibilities for adventure, even if it is to be once or twice a year for a week at a time. It was something to be there on that boat, in this time in our lives, with the people chosen, in a world we have yet to fully understand. This age is one of confusion, fear, frustration and uncertainty. There will not be and has not been a better time for us to have taken such a voyage among friends. And for now, all I can really do is close my eyes and ponder what it all meant to me, what it will mean to me in the future, and how I can’t wait for the next journey of its kind, which I relish the opportunity to be a part of.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Monday, August 4, 2008
Day 10 -- HOME
ALAS! I awoke to a familiar setting, as we passed the lighthouse of Egmont Key, which we saw on our way out into the Gulf. I had great sleep and a weird dream that shook me awake. I immediately leaped out of the cabin and demanded control of the helm. I was piloting Ella as the sun broke the horizon. A pod of porpoises escorted us into Tampa Bay and in the distance I could see the grand arches of the Sunshine Sky Way bridge just over the horizon. The wind was whipping hard and I was alone at the helm, pulling 5 knots and getting Ella on her side. Though it seemed close, it took nearly 2 hours to pass beneath the Sky Way. We were passed several times by large freighters that dwarfed tiny Ella and their speed was envious. Once under the bridge, it took nearly 2 hours to get home. The heat was finally at its peak and we could no longer bear it. Our fatigue and frustration sank in fully as we could almost see the dock.
We were a few hundred yards from home and it felt as though it would take us two days to get there. Our speed was little more than a trot, and the heat pounded the life out of us. But alas, we finally made it into the safe harbor and secured Ella to her slip. We cleaned and unloaded her, and attempted to contemplate what our journey truly meant to us. I'm not sure we'll ever really know what it meant, and what it has taught us, but I do know it was an important thing I experienced. I'll conclude with an epilogue, though, so I can do my best to contemplate and explain it all.
We were a few hundred yards from home and it felt as though it would take us two days to get there. Our speed was little more than a trot, and the heat pounded the life out of us. But alas, we finally made it into the safe harbor and secured Ella to her slip. We cleaned and unloaded her, and attempted to contemplate what our journey truly meant to us. I'm not sure we'll ever really know what it meant, and what it has taught us, but I do know it was an important thing I experienced. I'll conclude with an epilogue, though, so I can do my best to contemplate and explain it all.
Day 9 -- The Longest Day
After my fairest bit of sleep on the boat, I awoke and offered a hand at the helm. Apparently the wind had been dead all night and we'd only made about 10 miles of progress from Port Charlotte. It became very hot, very fast and the realization that we would not be making it home by the end of the evening became very real. We started to make some good ground, eventually passing Venice and reaching Sarasota, but the winds and the current played with us and we were tossed in several directions, losing precious hours from our journey.
There was an annoying bit of optimism floating around on the boat that perhaps we'd make it back in time for last call, and that we'd be able to celebrate that night. I wanted no part in that mentality, though, because if the sea had taught us anything from this journey, it was to not hold tight to your plans when you're willing the wind to get you there.
Our ability to cope with the intense heat was being shredded with every drop of sweat that now covered our suncrisped bodies. Applying sun tan lotion three or four times a day and not having the luxury of fresh water to hose down with made for an interesting and hardly bearable aroma in the cabin. That night we all discovered the joys of sleeping on the deck. Space was at a premium on deck, however, so I had to bear the funky dankness that was the cabin's sleeping quarters. That was the first night I actually had a dream in many days, but it wasn't a good one and I snapped out of it with a violent excitement. Thank god it was the last day approaching.
There was an annoying bit of optimism floating around on the boat that perhaps we'd make it back in time for last call, and that we'd be able to celebrate that night. I wanted no part in that mentality, though, because if the sea had taught us anything from this journey, it was to not hold tight to your plans when you're willing the wind to get you there.
Our ability to cope with the intense heat was being shredded with every drop of sweat that now covered our suncrisped bodies. Applying sun tan lotion three or four times a day and not having the luxury of fresh water to hose down with made for an interesting and hardly bearable aroma in the cabin. That night we all discovered the joys of sleeping on the deck. Space was at a premium on deck, however, so I had to bear the funky dankness that was the cabin's sleeping quarters. That was the first night I actually had a dream in many days, but it wasn't a good one and I snapped out of it with a violent excitement. Thank god it was the last day approaching.
Day 8 -- Problems in Port Charlotte
We had great wind in the early morning and were going about 4-5 knots, which was considered fast for our trip. For some reason, though, we decided to keep the motor running, which burnt up all of our fuel. We made some progress and were happy to have groceries and beer. Brian and Prewitt began enjoying said groceries and beer at about 9:30, and the suns might had them napping by noon and later on in the day. The lack of fuel caused us to make another detour in our course to fill up tanks once again.
Port Charlotte was the closest point before sun down, but getting in proved difficult. The current was ripping toward the Gulf as we approached the port, and we were at a stand still with our motor running top speed. There were jagged rocks and shallows on both sides of us, and a quick tack could have proven disastrous for our voyage and the life of Ella. The only place we could see to land was a private pier, which too us 30 minutes to fight the current and get to. Prewitt, Jesse and McQuade left to get gas, and were quickly schooled on the livelihood that is the island we landed on, well lack of livelihood. We were tied to a pier on Gasparilla Island, which is near Boca Grande. They were picked up by a man on a golf cart who told them there weren't many options for gas on the island. He drove them to the marina and it was closed, and from there they were taken by a young man -- age 17, I believe -- to a gas station about 45 minutes away.
Brian and I were forced to sit on the boat as our ghetto rigging to the pier held us tight while the current ripped by us. One snap of the rope and we'd have been wrecked into a piling or beached. Some local vacationers and their kids were on the pier fishing and they told stories of catching 12-foot bull sharks from this very spot. That got my attention because I'm fearful of sharks and I had earlier told Jesse not to jump in with a rope and swim us to the dock. My reasoning was because of the current being too strong, but gladly he opted out of it.
They arrived back with gas and batteries and we pushed off, whilst there were many signs of attacking sea life around the boat as splashes and snaps were a constant. Our arrival into the Gulf was tense. Several of us lost our cool as we could not properly navigate with ease the channel of Port Charlotte, and were fearful we would run aground. We made it out and I realized how home sick I was. I needed some good sleep, so I medicated and zonked out for a few restless, sweaty hours.
Port Charlotte was the closest point before sun down, but getting in proved difficult. The current was ripping toward the Gulf as we approached the port, and we were at a stand still with our motor running top speed. There were jagged rocks and shallows on both sides of us, and a quick tack could have proven disastrous for our voyage and the life of Ella. The only place we could see to land was a private pier, which too us 30 minutes to fight the current and get to. Prewitt, Jesse and McQuade left to get gas, and were quickly schooled on the livelihood that is the island we landed on, well lack of livelihood. We were tied to a pier on Gasparilla Island, which is near Boca Grande. They were picked up by a man on a golf cart who told them there weren't many options for gas on the island. He drove them to the marina and it was closed, and from there they were taken by a young man -- age 17, I believe -- to a gas station about 45 minutes away.
Brian and I were forced to sit on the boat as our ghetto rigging to the pier held us tight while the current ripped by us. One snap of the rope and we'd have been wrecked into a piling or beached. Some local vacationers and their kids were on the pier fishing and they told stories of catching 12-foot bull sharks from this very spot. That got my attention because I'm fearful of sharks and I had earlier told Jesse not to jump in with a rope and swim us to the dock. My reasoning was because of the current being too strong, but gladly he opted out of it.
They arrived back with gas and batteries and we pushed off, whilst there were many signs of attacking sea life around the boat as splashes and snaps were a constant. Our arrival into the Gulf was tense. Several of us lost our cool as we could not properly navigate with ease the channel of Port Charlotte, and were fearful we would run aground. We made it out and I realized how home sick I was. I needed some good sleep, so I medicated and zonked out for a few restless, sweaty hours.
Day 7 -- Back to the Boat
I could not sleep must past 9:30, so I crept out of the room of slumbering, hungover bodies and went to have breakfast and accurately document the righteous times of the day prior. Upon my return to the room I'd noticed no one had so much as moved to drink any water. We were slow to rise and collect ourselves, but eventually we packed up and checked out. We headed up and down Duval Street looking for some last-minute gifts for loved ones and the random debt payment of a forgotten debit card at a club. Slowly, we got ourselves into the rental car and headed north for the long haul back to Naples. We stopped in Homestead and ate a small Hispanic establishment, where there were no English menus and all I could recognize was pizza and sandwich. Once back on the road, it seemed to take little time to arrive in Naples.
Leaving, however, seemed to take a great deal of time. We had to unload the car, get the gas cans from the boat, fill the gas cans and get groceries, unload the fuel and groceries, refill the gas cans and drop off the rental car, then catch a cab back to unload the gas and push off. In doing all of that, I forgot to purchase cigarettes for two crew members, and I knew it was going to be imperative that these gentlemen have their vice, especially if I were to have to handle them for the next three days. I walked with Prewitt to a 7-11 down the road, passed many boutiques and wine bars filled with the local high society, which from the outside in looked to be a bit WASPy, but I chose to inflict no judgment, for I was dressed like a sweaty bum.
We left Naples harbor with hope in our hearts for a quick voyage at midnight, but didn't reach the Gulf and rough waters until 1:30 am.
Leaving, however, seemed to take a great deal of time. We had to unload the car, get the gas cans from the boat, fill the gas cans and get groceries, unload the fuel and groceries, refill the gas cans and drop off the rental car, then catch a cab back to unload the gas and push off. In doing all of that, I forgot to purchase cigarettes for two crew members, and I knew it was going to be imperative that these gentlemen have their vice, especially if I were to have to handle them for the next three days. I walked with Prewitt to a 7-11 down the road, passed many boutiques and wine bars filled with the local high society, which from the outside in looked to be a bit WASPy, but I chose to inflict no judgment, for I was dressed like a sweaty bum.
We left Naples harbor with hope in our hearts for a quick voyage at midnight, but didn't reach the Gulf and rough waters until 1:30 am.
Day 6 -- Vacation, Alas!
Ahhhhh. Vacation finally sets in. After waking and shaking a minor hangover from a night on Duval Street, I had breakfast and made a hasty departure to go snorkel. Jesse had been adamant all the night prior that he was waking up at 7:30 am that morning to find out how we could rent kayaks and where we could snorkel to find lobster. He didn't get up until about 8:30, but still managed to acquire some local knowledge of some places where a few rag tag bastards from Clearwater could snorkel and grab a few bugs. He was the only one that had faith in the idea at that point, but managed to convince all of us it was worth it, so we took the plunge and dove in the clear waters of Key West. His local knowledge led us to Higgs Pier. On the way there we passed by a small Cuban restaurant/grocery that sold fresh coconut water, which is basically served as a coconut with a hole drilled in it with a straw. It was refreshing and apparently quite healthy, especially for a hangover. We each imbibed one and felt charged.
Our arrival at the first pier, not Higgs, was met with my immediate pessimism. There were no rocks or coral heads to be found, just grass flats. Now I'm no expert in lobster hunting, but I do know the little bugs don't just hang out in grass flats. But, seeing as the group was likely growing a bit tired of my pessimism and cynicism, I held my tongue regarding my disbelief in the presence of lobster. I was correct, and we all agreed to take a stab at a pier down the way, which was Higgs, I believe. That proved exciting and somewhat beneficial to our cause. We peaked out at the end of the pier and saw the entire perimeter was lined with rocks and there was plenty of visibility. Several other snorkelers were around, so we grabbed our gear and took the plunge.
As I was wading out, a gentleman was coming in with a few bugs in his bag, which gave me a charge of hope. We squared off and discovered some ourselves. Once we finally netted our first of what we thought to be a legal-sized lobster, we breached and were immediately met by a boat load of Fish and Wildlife Conservation officers. We didn't have a dive flag, which was mandatory, and the one bug we took minutes to lasso was about an inch and a half too small. They schooled us a bit and let us go, but told us our diving day was over for now. I had also grabbed a conch shell which I was going to give as a gift, but there was still a conch inside and I didn't want to face any poaching fines.
I left the water and wandered for a fresh water source to rinse off my gear. I was met by what I thought to be a vagrant who somehow had the key to a city water source. His name was Key West Ray Ray 1956, which sounds more like a screen name than a Christian name. He told us to "fuck the FWC, they're bastards!" He said he gets his lobsters at night, which is illegal, and that last night he'd grabbed twice his legal limit. I gave him a chin flick and a chuckle, along with a few dollars for his time and advice.
From there we decided to down some Cuban food and float in the pool and put down a few beers at our guesthouse, which was set up much like a grotto, or so we thought. After a few hours, I rinsed off and trotted down the road to find an Internet cafe I'd spotted earlier in the day. I was there for about an hour and a half, and a few people came in and out. The only thing that truly sticks out to me about that place is when a pigeon slammed right into the window and it caused a reaction of utter disbelief in the cashier girl making coffee and lattes. I think it threw her for a whirlwind, but I had to shrug it off because trying to gauge the psyche of Key West locals can prove tiring, and often depressing.
Brian and I went out on a mission after the Internet cafe in search of a bar that served Dark and Stormy's, which is dark rum and ginger beer — quite refreshing. Not many bars served them though, but we found a guy who told us to buy some ginger beer at the market across the street and just bring some back, and he'd make us as many as we could drink for half price. His name was Dante, a local boy who, at the age of 17, owned a strip club. We bullshitted with him for many hours and he seemed to enjoy our company over the local riff raff and tourists at the other end of the bar. Our spirits were quite high and it seemed to be infectious to others as we were approached many times.
The bar we were at was directly across the street from the Aqua Club, where we decided to catch a drag show. Upon entering, I was immediately greeted by a 6'7 drag queen with blond curls and a yellow "outfit" that was stretched to its max. She? went straight for a grab at my package, which was intended I reckon to get a rise out of me and the crowd. But I was opposed to the idea of just about anyone handling my "dude piston" so I did a slight brush of the hand and a quick spin, which landed her? hand on Brian's package. She? took a strong fancy to Brian throughout the show, and he tipped her? accordingly to be a good sport during the show.
A very strange random girl approached McQuade, and proceeded to impose awkward conversation and kisses to the neck. He was genuinely offended by her presence and forward nature, so she took to the next, which was Prewitt, where she did the same thing. Prewitt had the sense of mind to realize this poor soul was, in fact, a nut bar, so he told her that he was partially deaf, and pretended not to hear her. That drove her to stand directly in front of me. She did it with a ninja quickness that I'd never seen outside of some cliche romantic comedy with a crazy girl popping up out of nowhere and startling the victim male. I showed a bit of start, and was genuinely mortified at the creepiness of this particular girl's grin. She tried talking to me, but I gave as cold a shoulder as possible and insisted that my romantic interests lie elsewhere. I was two hands on my hips away from telling her to get fucked, but luckily she kept her appendages at bay.
She followed us out of the bar to our next destination, but Brian, being the official spokesman for our group, stepped in front of her path and politely told her to find entertainment elsewhere, that we were chalk full of weirdness and her brand did not sit well in our stomachs. She was a bit too casual about it, and sure enough she wandered into the next bar we entered, which had a topless rodeo competition on display. We were blunt with her at that point and basically pointed her to the exit.
Duval street was dead that night, and I hadn't eaten a thing since lunch. Prewitt and I decided to grab a burger. We sat at a bar and ordered food, but were somehow locked into a conversation with a "local" man and his wife. His name was Jay and he hailed from Detroit, which he seemed to be proud of, I haven't quite figured why. He eventually annoyed the piss out of me with his self-righteous nonsense and arrogant, faux-sophisticated ways that I've come to recognize in some Key West "locals." These "locals" tend to harbor a belief that they've got it figure out, and their mantra is that of "I'm too weird for the main land, so I came here." That bit of bullshit annoys me, because these people aren't weird, their just too scared to be themselves in the general population. These self-labeled "weirdos" were nothing more than cowards in my mind. I find their whole mantra to be a farce. The burger and the conversation did not sit well and I made an immediate departure.
I had to meet up with the rest of the crew at a strip club, which I was rather opposed at the idea to patron such an establishment, as I genuinely recognize the bad idea it usually turns out to be. This club was no different. Luckily I got there in time to save several of our crew members from making silly decisions with precious money. I'll not name names or insist upon who it was, but we all agreed that the club was giving us all the fear and that we had much better prospects awaiting us a few hundred miles away. No reason to fake it with some Russian male order bride.
We made another hasty departure, and decided to crash, recognizing that we had to make a long trek back to Ella and get on our way home. The fear began to rise in all of us.
Our arrival at the first pier, not Higgs, was met with my immediate pessimism. There were no rocks or coral heads to be found, just grass flats. Now I'm no expert in lobster hunting, but I do know the little bugs don't just hang out in grass flats. But, seeing as the group was likely growing a bit tired of my pessimism and cynicism, I held my tongue regarding my disbelief in the presence of lobster. I was correct, and we all agreed to take a stab at a pier down the way, which was Higgs, I believe. That proved exciting and somewhat beneficial to our cause. We peaked out at the end of the pier and saw the entire perimeter was lined with rocks and there was plenty of visibility. Several other snorkelers were around, so we grabbed our gear and took the plunge.
As I was wading out, a gentleman was coming in with a few bugs in his bag, which gave me a charge of hope. We squared off and discovered some ourselves. Once we finally netted our first of what we thought to be a legal-sized lobster, we breached and were immediately met by a boat load of Fish and Wildlife Conservation officers. We didn't have a dive flag, which was mandatory, and the one bug we took minutes to lasso was about an inch and a half too small. They schooled us a bit and let us go, but told us our diving day was over for now. I had also grabbed a conch shell which I was going to give as a gift, but there was still a conch inside and I didn't want to face any poaching fines.
I left the water and wandered for a fresh water source to rinse off my gear. I was met by what I thought to be a vagrant who somehow had the key to a city water source. His name was Key West Ray Ray 1956, which sounds more like a screen name than a Christian name. He told us to "fuck the FWC, they're bastards!" He said he gets his lobsters at night, which is illegal, and that last night he'd grabbed twice his legal limit. I gave him a chin flick and a chuckle, along with a few dollars for his time and advice.
From there we decided to down some Cuban food and float in the pool and put down a few beers at our guesthouse, which was set up much like a grotto, or so we thought. After a few hours, I rinsed off and trotted down the road to find an Internet cafe I'd spotted earlier in the day. I was there for about an hour and a half, and a few people came in and out. The only thing that truly sticks out to me about that place is when a pigeon slammed right into the window and it caused a reaction of utter disbelief in the cashier girl making coffee and lattes. I think it threw her for a whirlwind, but I had to shrug it off because trying to gauge the psyche of Key West locals can prove tiring, and often depressing.
Brian and I went out on a mission after the Internet cafe in search of a bar that served Dark and Stormy's, which is dark rum and ginger beer — quite refreshing. Not many bars served them though, but we found a guy who told us to buy some ginger beer at the market across the street and just bring some back, and he'd make us as many as we could drink for half price. His name was Dante, a local boy who, at the age of 17, owned a strip club. We bullshitted with him for many hours and he seemed to enjoy our company over the local riff raff and tourists at the other end of the bar. Our spirits were quite high and it seemed to be infectious to others as we were approached many times.
The bar we were at was directly across the street from the Aqua Club, where we decided to catch a drag show. Upon entering, I was immediately greeted by a 6'7 drag queen with blond curls and a yellow "outfit" that was stretched to its max. She? went straight for a grab at my package, which was intended I reckon to get a rise out of me and the crowd. But I was opposed to the idea of just about anyone handling my "dude piston" so I did a slight brush of the hand and a quick spin, which landed her? hand on Brian's package. She? took a strong fancy to Brian throughout the show, and he tipped her? accordingly to be a good sport during the show.
A very strange random girl approached McQuade, and proceeded to impose awkward conversation and kisses to the neck. He was genuinely offended by her presence and forward nature, so she took to the next, which was Prewitt, where she did the same thing. Prewitt had the sense of mind to realize this poor soul was, in fact, a nut bar, so he told her that he was partially deaf, and pretended not to hear her. That drove her to stand directly in front of me. She did it with a ninja quickness that I'd never seen outside of some cliche romantic comedy with a crazy girl popping up out of nowhere and startling the victim male. I showed a bit of start, and was genuinely mortified at the creepiness of this particular girl's grin. She tried talking to me, but I gave as cold a shoulder as possible and insisted that my romantic interests lie elsewhere. I was two hands on my hips away from telling her to get fucked, but luckily she kept her appendages at bay.
She followed us out of the bar to our next destination, but Brian, being the official spokesman for our group, stepped in front of her path and politely told her to find entertainment elsewhere, that we were chalk full of weirdness and her brand did not sit well in our stomachs. She was a bit too casual about it, and sure enough she wandered into the next bar we entered, which had a topless rodeo competition on display. We were blunt with her at that point and basically pointed her to the exit.
Duval street was dead that night, and I hadn't eaten a thing since lunch. Prewitt and I decided to grab a burger. We sat at a bar and ordered food, but were somehow locked into a conversation with a "local" man and his wife. His name was Jay and he hailed from Detroit, which he seemed to be proud of, I haven't quite figured why. He eventually annoyed the piss out of me with his self-righteous nonsense and arrogant, faux-sophisticated ways that I've come to recognize in some Key West "locals." These "locals" tend to harbor a belief that they've got it figure out, and their mantra is that of "I'm too weird for the main land, so I came here." That bit of bullshit annoys me, because these people aren't weird, their just too scared to be themselves in the general population. These self-labeled "weirdos" were nothing more than cowards in my mind. I find their whole mantra to be a farce. The burger and the conversation did not sit well and I made an immediate departure.
I had to meet up with the rest of the crew at a strip club, which I was rather opposed at the idea to patron such an establishment, as I genuinely recognize the bad idea it usually turns out to be. This club was no different. Luckily I got there in time to save several of our crew members from making silly decisions with precious money. I'll not name names or insist upon who it was, but we all agreed that the club was giving us all the fear and that we had much better prospects awaiting us a few hundred miles away. No reason to fake it with some Russian male order bride.
We made another hasty departure, and decided to crash, recognizing that we had to make a long trek back to Ella and get on our way home. The fear began to rise in all of us.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Day 5 -- Southway to Vaca
Without sleep, those of us that chose not to rest planned our next move. We became weary and disheartened, though, as we came to find that the ferry from Marco Island (Naples area) to Key West wasn't running until the day after Christmas, and a charter plane would cost way too much. The idea to rent a car, which earlier was harshly objected by Mac, eventually came to fruition. It was our only option to get to Key West in time to have a few days of relaxation, which was desperately needed at this point.
I was forced to wait for Jesse, Brian and Prewitt as they went to fetch the rental. Mac was sitting beside me at the public meeting place at Naples City Dock, and 4 or 5 older gentlemen came and sat down with us. They meet daily for coffee and conversation. They didn't mind our company and seemed to get a good laugh out of our situation, which I thought was genuinly out of respect for the situation. I was so tired and dozed off several times whilst talking with these men. My neck kept losing control of my head and it dropped several times and I snapped it back up once I realized what had happened. Mac unconsciously stumbled about 150 yards to the boat to rest. It was easily 100 degrees in the cabin, but he minded not. The car arrived, our laundry was finished and I bought a cold water to wake up the captain, which was the only thing I knew would get Mac to his feet. That man can sleep for days, but can also go without sleep for the same amount of time.
We loaded the car and were on our way. Jesse drove like a mad man and protested the idea of having a few beers on the way. As he was the driver, I respected his wishes and refrained, however bitterly. I was attempting sleep but never quite got there as I was crammed in the back with two others.
We eventually arrived at Key West at about 5:30, checked into our guest house and I had to grab 30-40 minutes of sleep, seeing as I hadn't had any for abotu 48 hours at this point. The others went to a bar called The Wagon Wheel, and I eventually met up with them to play drunken Jenga, which proved for some interesting laughs. The spirits were raised once again, this time for a while. They began to realize my previously crabby attitude was due to lack of sleep and nourishment, so once all that was cleared up were the best of mates again.
We headed to a dinner of raw oysters and conch fritters at Half Shell Raw Bar and set course for Duval Street there after. Our first choice was Irish Kevin's, where we entered immediately as a scuffle broke out. Such hostility was a bit foreign to us, so I think we were a bit rattled. Out of nowhere, Travis Ward, my brother in law's best man, tapped me on the shoulder and we had a few laughs. He and a few other people I knew from my sister's wedding and from my first high school were there for lobster mini season. We chatted for a bit and then left for Captain Tony's, Hogs Breath and all the other tourist spots. We stopped at a place called the littlest bar in Key West. It was in fact the size of a small bathroom, but the owner was an interesting fellow. I began ripping off a conversation with a said local about his time there and how he'd tried to make it as a writer but was weary to get his work published. The conversation made me a bit sad for the man, but he seemed genuinely happy with his life, despite his troubles as a writer. Such individual conflicts are not foreign for those who choose to make it as writers. It's a difficult trade.
That night, we went for a late-night meal and I got some of the best sleep I've had in many, many nights.
I was forced to wait for Jesse, Brian and Prewitt as they went to fetch the rental. Mac was sitting beside me at the public meeting place at Naples City Dock, and 4 or 5 older gentlemen came and sat down with us. They meet daily for coffee and conversation. They didn't mind our company and seemed to get a good laugh out of our situation, which I thought was genuinly out of respect for the situation. I was so tired and dozed off several times whilst talking with these men. My neck kept losing control of my head and it dropped several times and I snapped it back up once I realized what had happened. Mac unconsciously stumbled about 150 yards to the boat to rest. It was easily 100 degrees in the cabin, but he minded not. The car arrived, our laundry was finished and I bought a cold water to wake up the captain, which was the only thing I knew would get Mac to his feet. That man can sleep for days, but can also go without sleep for the same amount of time.
We loaded the car and were on our way. Jesse drove like a mad man and protested the idea of having a few beers on the way. As he was the driver, I respected his wishes and refrained, however bitterly. I was attempting sleep but never quite got there as I was crammed in the back with two others.
We eventually arrived at Key West at about 5:30, checked into our guest house and I had to grab 30-40 minutes of sleep, seeing as I hadn't had any for abotu 48 hours at this point. The others went to a bar called The Wagon Wheel, and I eventually met up with them to play drunken Jenga, which proved for some interesting laughs. The spirits were raised once again, this time for a while. They began to realize my previously crabby attitude was due to lack of sleep and nourishment, so once all that was cleared up were the best of mates again.
We headed to a dinner of raw oysters and conch fritters at Half Shell Raw Bar and set course for Duval Street there after. Our first choice was Irish Kevin's, where we entered immediately as a scuffle broke out. Such hostility was a bit foreign to us, so I think we were a bit rattled. Out of nowhere, Travis Ward, my brother in law's best man, tapped me on the shoulder and we had a few laughs. He and a few other people I knew from my sister's wedding and from my first high school were there for lobster mini season. We chatted for a bit and then left for Captain Tony's, Hogs Breath and all the other tourist spots. We stopped at a place called the littlest bar in Key West. It was in fact the size of a small bathroom, but the owner was an interesting fellow. I began ripping off a conversation with a said local about his time there and how he'd tried to make it as a writer but was weary to get his work published. The conversation made me a bit sad for the man, but he seemed genuinely happy with his life, despite his troubles as a writer. Such individual conflicts are not foreign for those who choose to make it as writers. It's a difficult trade.
That night, we went for a late-night meal and I got some of the best sleep I've had in many, many nights.
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