Hi all:
I have been back in Janesville since April 29, so it may seem silly to update the blog with events that happened over two weeks ago. But I want to close the books on what was my fifth winter getaway to Florida in order to provide "closure" as the saying goes, and reflect a little upon this trip compared with past ones.
Leaving Florida to return to Wisconsin is always somewhat bittersweet. I have the ocean and beaches, the awesome seafood, a bounty of fresh, locally grown produce including citrus. Balmy days cut the need considerably for wardrobe. Most days, it's shorts and a T-shirt. It's a good life down there. I could do without the traffic, but that's part of most anywhere in Florida you go. One of the slogans down there is "Another Day in Paradise," and to a certain extent it's true. Hard to give all that up. But I guess ultimately, I'm "from" Wisconsin ... born and raised here. I merely "live" in Florida for part of the year. I'm an interloper, a "snowbird," and I suppose I am regarded there the same way we regard Illinois "flatlanders" and "FIBs" here. Besides, there's too much here that I would miss ... the rolling hills, the good beer, brats, pizza (yes, pizza. I have yet to find good pizza in Florida!), and friends that I have cultivated over the better part of a lifetime. And my watch hobby/business contacts. Despite all the incredible wealth in Florida, I have yet to crack the code to gaining access to the watch market. During my first two weeks back here, I found and purchased more watches than in all the six months I was in Florida! So I am back where I believe I "belong" ... where I feel I'm woven in to the fabric of the place.
But I digest ...
I left Fort Myers about 7 a.m. on April 27 with my personal belongings, cat Abby, and a microwave oven from the apartment on Kings Point Drive that will become a spare when the microwave in Janesville, WI, gives out, which I sure will happen one of these days seeing as how it's over a decade old. I left (sister) Dawn alone to hold down the fort, as it were, in the new 2-bedroom apartment on Lakewood Trace Court. It will be interesting to see how she does on her own with a scant social network to speak of. She knows how to get around town pretty well, and knows where the grocery and drug stores are, the bank, the library, and a handful of reliable restaurants. She knows how to get to the beach, to Sanibel Island, and to her friend's house in Naples. And that's all good. But that's only part of the equation of course. A job needs to be found, friends need to be made, and sweltering heat and humidity need to be dealt with. I wish her the best and hope at least some of these challenges can be met by the time I return next November.
I arrived at my first stop, a Rodeway Inn at Macon, Georgia. Just a little over 500 miles. Abby traveled beautifully, as usual. Car travel along Interstate 75 was interrupted once with a traffic jam outside Ocala, Fla., due to a crash. It took 1.5 hours to traverse 10 miles before the jam cleared. I hate this, but nothing you can do about it. I traveled with my trusty Coleman cooler, stocked with Diet Cokes, baloney, and cheese. In a separate bag I have a loaf of white bread, trail mix, and granola bars, the latter two are for quick energy. I made one stop in Tifton Georgia to gas up, and also stop at the Adcock Pecan Co. where I bought $21 worth of pecans in various flavors, and a Goo-Goo Cluster for dessert that evening. The hotel was perfectly adequate, and for dinner I had a baloney/cheese sandwich, potato chips from a vending machine, a Coke, and the Goo-Goo Cluster for dessert.
To digress again for a moment, some of you may be wondering why I eat a "white trash" diet while on the road when I am known for splurging on good food the rest of the time. The reason is I don't like to waste good food when I'm on the road. The "getting there" is not a fun time for me. I have no one with whom to share the driving. I'm hustling to reach my appointed destination and usually very tired when I arrive and all I want to do is "flop" for the night. It seems a waste to spend a good chunk of money searching out an A-list restaurant on Yelp or Trip Advisor or whatever when I'm tired and all tense from being on the road all day. So a "food pill" is really all I want. I usually pull off at a rest stop for a sandwich, and another stop to refill the gas tank. Oh, and also a few pee stops thrown in there, which I am finding is a more frequent occurrence these days. Part of getting older, you know, but I find it's getting more and more critical these days. I have a theory that the distance to the next rest stop (or an exit with a clean gas station or a McDonalds type of place) is inversely proportional to the urgency with which you have to pee. Case in point: I kind of needed to "go" right around the time I hit that accident zone. By the time I got through, I felt as though I was going to burst. The next stop happened to be a rest stop. I pulled in, and I swear to God every other motorist who had gone through the accident zone was there, too! There was an actual line at the men's room, which almost never happens. The line at the ladies' room was of course twice as long. So I know I'm not the only one that experiences this. Rest stops are especially infrequent in Florida which has long puzzled me. With the huge number of seniors there requiring frequent bathroom breaks, you'd think it would be state law that a rest stop be mandatory every 50 miles! But no such luck.
Anyway, the accommodations in Macon were more than adequate. A funky smell in my room was cleared away by running the AC on high for about an hour. A hot shower and shave improved my disposition immensely, and I fell quickly into blissful sleep. The "comp" breakfast in the morning was surprisingly good, with real scrambled eggs and sausage links to augment the otherwise usual carbohydrate-rich fare found at most budget motels.
April 28
This is the big push ... the day I kind of dread, because I must traverse three large metropolitan areas: Atlanta, Chattanooga, and Nashville. I got through Atlanta in 45 minutes, pretty darned good, but hit a traffic jam on the outskirts of northern Atlanta that brought us to a standstill. Fuck me, again. I decided to go rogue and follow a line of adventurers who cut through one of those emergency turnarounds (under construction mind you!) and headed back south. I took the first exit, headed west, and let the GPS figure out an alternate route. I was back on I-75 in about half an hour, clearing whatever jam was in the way. Dawn, if you had been with me in the car, you would have had kittens and scolded me for doing this, but sometime you just have to unleash the inner beast and go outlaw.
Chattanooga wasn't too bad, and the beautiful mountains and scenery certainly helped pass the time. What a contrast to the endless Florida flatness! Circumventing Nashville also wasn't too bad, thanks to the "bypass" around the city by going Briley Parkway (the "Opryland" spur) which really isn't an official bypass, but I've made it one. My theory is that the Tennessee Highway Department doesn't want "thruway"motorists like me using Briley Parkway to circumvent downtown, thereby clogging the route for the folks who specifically want to get to Opryland. But the map shows this as an obvious alternate route, so I've taken it for four out of the last five trips here and back, and believe me it saves a lot of headaches.
I arrived in Paducah, Ky., about 4 p.m. due to gaining an hour by switching back to Central Time. I got Abby settled in the room, and then decided to make a little side trip (6 miles each way) to the Harrah's Casino in Metropolis, Ill. I needed to tame an itch that hadn't been scratched in nearly six months due to a dearth in gambling venues in Florida, save for a rather depressing Native American establishment in Immokalee. I lost $50 at the craps table, but then won the $50 back at the blackjack table, leaving the casino even, which is still a win in my book. I hadn't been to that Harrah's in years, and I wanted to see how they were doing. In a word, not good. A really nice display of antique slot machines has been removed. The eating choices have been downsized, with no snack bar or place to get a decent cup of coffee (machine-made coffee --- yuck -- is available at a bar). Carpet needs replacing, and all the felts on the table games were badly scuffed and needed replacing. This was a top-notch place when it first opened. Just goes to show that casinos are often not the boon they are often purported to be.
Back at the motel, I made my usual sandwich, but broke down and went to a Burger King across the street because they had a special on 10 chicken-like substance nuggets for $1.49. They were everything I expected them to be, and I can see why kids love 'em ... greasy, salty, and with no discernible flavor whatsoever beyond whatever "dipping sauce" one chooses. Enjoyed another good night's sleep.
April 29
The only protein choice on the breakfast bar in the morning was precooked hard-boiled eggs. Thought l could get away with microwaving one after cutting it into slices. But no such luck; the damn thing exploded in the microwave. A lid for the egg plate fashioned out of a second paper plate turned upside down was the only thing that averted a full-blown disaster inside the oven. The breakfast bar lady had a few words for me, especially since there was a sign on the microwave urging guests not to nuke the hard boiled eggs. So there you go; lesson learned.
I was on the road by 7:30, and this last leg of journey was something I could almost do with my eyes closed because I have traversed it so many times. It's just a long, boring slog through the flatlands of Illinois. Field after field (empty this time of year of course) with only the occasional grain elevator to punctuate the landscape. Thank goodness for Google Tunes and Pandora, channeled from my phone to the car's audio system via Bluetooth. My God, how did we ever survive before this wonderful invention? Whizzing through Rockford, Ill., I knew I was only about a half hour to my wonderful little apartment in Janesville. Upon arrival, I let Abby out of her carrier, and I swear she knew she was "home." She sniffed the air a few times, and proceeded to survey the rooms one by one, all the time with tail up in the air.
So that's it for another winter adventure. This all started in the winter of 2010, with a three-month stay in Florida ... holed up in a rather depressing room at a Rodeway Inn outside Orlando in Kissimmee at $150 per week. It's now evolved into a six-month stay at a 2-bedroom apartment in Fort Myers rented by the year at $1,250 per month, which Dawn and I split 50/50 on the cost. So my share comes to $625 a month. Which, when you think about it, is only $25 more a month than what I was spending on that tiny room in Kissimmee, though admittedly the amount must be paid 12 times per year instead of three! But what a change (for the better) in quality of life, not to mention surroundings, since beginning this little experiment five winters ago.
I guess the biggest change I noticed from last year's stayover was the absence of the Big M casino ship. That was one of my most favorite things to do, and I made that outing almost every week. It was the best $5 cruise in the world, and I got to enjoy a little bit of gambling along the way. This was sorely missed this time around, and I can only hope that the Big M decides to return to Fort Myers next season The other big change was having Dawn along for the ride this time. This certainly changed the dynamics of the trip and necessitated an upgrade in living quarters. The latter was a welcome change anyway. The one-bedroom on Kings Point was a great starter apartment that had a certain charm to it. But problems due to the landlord's neglect were becoming evident, and I fear they will get worse. Time to move on, and Dawn's arrival on the scene provided the perfect opportunity to make the move.
I'm glad to be back "home," but certain I will be ready to head south again when the winds of November start blowing. I'm glad this little blog of mine has provided some fun and entertainment for friends and family. As I've said before, I mostly maintain this blog as a journal for myself, but am happy (and flattered) that you all think enough of me to check in on my goings-on from time to time.
Until the next adventure,
Bruce
