to stop for gas. It was late and I don't know the neighborhood so I just
followed the signs off the Interstate to find a station. I wasn't paying
much attention, it's just one more in a long series of anonymous gas
stations, they're all pretty much the same. Here you have to pay before you
pump so I walked in, got in line to give the guy some cash, fished out my
wallet, pulled out a wad of cash, and started pawing through it.
And became aware of 4 things.
In addition to the 2 attendants behind the bullet proof glass this station
was also staffed with an armed guard.
Out of the dozen or so people I was the only white guy.
Out of the dozen or so people I was the only one who didn't look like he'd
spent time in jail and liked it.
And that everybody was staring straight at me. And my wad of cash.
The guy beside me looked me up and down and started made some admiring
remarks about my jacket. He had one eye, a scar like a trench running across
his face, and was buying 4 bottles of mouthwash. I'm guessing he was more
interested in the alcohol content than in minty fresh breath. In fact it
seemed as if everybody in the place including the guard was sizing me up to
see what part of me each one was gonna get. I threw $4 at the guys behind
the glass and went out to get enough gas in my tank to get back on the
interstate and get the hell out of there to find a safer place for a fill.
I had just got the nozzle in the tank when a guy sidled up beside me and
asked "Hey man, want some rock?" First Moonshine, now crack cocaine, what
next? At some future gas station is somebody going to offer me a teenage
prostitute? Maybe a Goat?
"No thanks."
"You want crystal?" Great! Now he's trying to sell me methamphetamine!
"No thanks, I just need gas"
"Well then what you stoppin' here for boy? The regular station is across the
street." He says, pointing to a station across the road that looks so much
safer, and so far far away. Thanking him I jam the cap shut, hop on the bike
and almost fry the clutch in my haste to depart.
Saturday is the start of the Muff Brothers boogie so there's finally people
around to jump with. I get onto a 21-way where I have got to be the youngest
person on the load. And my gear, some of which I've been using for years has
got to be the newest on the load. One guy is celebrating his 78th birthday
and his wife comes along to the plane to bring his walker back for him. That
means either all these people have lots and lots of experience and this is
going to go incredibly well, or this will be very very scary.
Despite the crowd there's only one plane flying so we have to wait over 2
hours for our load. When it finally goes off I make my slot but the thing is
going so slow I start slowly dragging my whole side down. The organizer is
throwing me a dirty look but there's a few people going low, a couple people
bouncing off the formation, and a lot of general stupidity going on so I
don't feel the least bit guilty, I'm far from the worst skydiver there.
When we land they start talking about doing a formation load and I think "40
Of theses clowns in the air? No thanks!" Besides, it took so long to get the
first load up this probably won't get in the air until dark and I have to go
get Nathalie. I'm packing as the organizer is walking around collecting jump
tickets and as he comes my way I've already got my excuses for not being
able to go ready. And he walked right past me to ask the guy packing next to
me if he wanted on the load. WTF? I just got cut by the MUFF BROTHERS?
Yes, I know I didn't want to go anyway but I just got cut by the Muff
Brothers?!?! My skydiving career has just hit a new low, it can only get
better. Unless Z-team finds out. If anybody starts asking me about my recent
big-way experience, how am I supposed to explain this? The Muff Brothers
will jump with anybody! They have no standards or goals other than having
fun. They kept the 78 year old who didn't make his slot and dumped in place
without tracking but cut me?
Sigh.
I finally fetch Nat from the airport shortly before sunset, and as we're
pulling onto the interstate she tapped me on the shoulder to point to a
spectacular sunset over the harbor. And I promptly got lost. We wound up
going onto a 9 mile long bridge across the harbor with no way to turn around
until we reached the far side, but we were on a bike, in Florida, chasing a
sunset out to sea, so it didn't seem all bad.
Sunday morning, after a few false starts we set out for Miami. Central
Florida looks a lot like the prairies, flat, no trees, just crops stretching
out to the horizon. Until we hit the orange grove. Almost an hour of row upon row
of trees so densely covered with oranges you could hardly see any leaves.
There were enormous dump trucks parked in rows with oranges piled so high
inside they were literally overflowing. We stopped for lunch in some hole in
the wall dive of a restaurant that was jammed with locals, which is just
about the best recommendation you can get. We got two extra-large chicken
Fajitas and two beers for $8. There was a highway work crew comprised of
short, large mexicans sitting at a long table by the window, and every time
Nathalie got up their whole table fell silent as they all watched her moving
around. I'm guessing that tall, red-haired, leather-clad French women are in
short supply around here. They saw me watching them watching her, and looked
briefly guilty until they saw the proud smile on my face.
We were cruising pretty fast, 120-130 km/h, and none of the Harleys we
encountered made fun of my saddlebags, they were all too busy admiring
Nathalie's bike. With the Canadian plates we drew attention to begin with,
and her bike is a a unique and unusual style of hybrid that has come into a
lot of favor lately with the globe-trotting adventurous types. At first
glance it can be mistaken for a dirt bike, and with the right tires it could
probably climb a brick wall, but it's also quite at home loaded with luggage
belting along the interstate.
Our hotel in Miami was on the beach, taken right from the art-deco style of
Miami Vice, and after dinner we strolled barefoot back along the beach from
the restaurant.
Monday morning we had to find a Yamaha dealer, my rear tire had developed a
slow leak and I didn't trust it to get us to the Keys and back. Turned out
it had a nail in it, and after getting it replaced and watching Nathalie's
bike (and Nathalie) draw an admiring crowd of bike mechanics we were on our
way.
The Florida Keys.
Holy Crap.
We crossed the first bridge, a huge, long, soaring climb into the air, and
out in front of us was a string of green jewels joined together by bridges
and causeways. To the right, the Florida side, the water was aquamarine
green, to the left, the ocean side, a deep, rich, blue. My camera was in the
seat bag behind me, and there were signs everywhere saying "No Stopping On
Bridge." Damn!
We had lunch sitting in a covered swinging table next to the ocean, and then
I had a nap lying on one of a series of 4 poster beds just feet from the
water.
Oh, we have SO arrived in the Keys. The plan for Tuesday is to head for Key
West, find a bar on the water, and work on getting a sunburn. I'm going
native and intend to ride in my bathing suit and a t-shirt, my helmet the
only concession to safety gear.
I hear the bikes are out back home, in the -5 temperatures. Snicker!
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