It was nearly one-thirty in the afternoon on Tuesday April 23, 2024 when our Jeep Grand Cherokee crossed the Georgia-Florida line as Tom, Vicki, and I made our way from Plains, Georgia to the State Capitol Building in Tallahassee. Once we were out of Georgia and into The Sunshine State, the capital city was less than 20 miles away. I was surprised because in my home state of Michigan, our capital is located almost in the center of the state – okay, in the center of the Lower Peninsula. But in Florida, the capital can’t get much further north and still be in a major city. I figured Orlando would’ve been a better choice because of its central location, but I guess there’s already enough goofy lawmakers with Mickey Mouse agendas in Florida and they didn’t need to add fuel to the fire.
Once my photographer’s wife had our Jeep parked after only a ten-minute search, the three of us were on foot towards the State Capitol Building – which was a two-block hike from where we left our vehicle. During our walk, I laughed to myself as I heard Tom singing (and that’s a generous description) the lyrics to Tallahassee Lassie by Freddy Cannon, although my chubby friend only knew those two words of the song. Then suddenly, as if summoned by an angel, I heard ‘Everyday’ by Buddy Holly as the melodic 50’s tune filled the air all around us. Thankfully, as Tom’s ears perked up when he heard the voice of Holly, his mouth closed shut – down in F-L-A.
As soon as the fourth tallest State Capitol Building in the country came into view, I saw there might be an issue with ongoing construction. There was caution tape and signage everywhere, which caused an issue as we attempted to walk to the eastside of the complex. And when I say complex, it’s because there were two capitol buildings on the grounds. The Old Capitol, which was built in 1845, looked like a traditional domed structure. And the New Capitol, which was a 25-story skyscraper that was constructed in 1977, was located just behind the original building. The three of us wanted to see both, however, the ongoing construction project kept us from getting into the Old Capitol.
For roughly a half hour, I posed for photos in front of the two buildings before we made our way inside the New Capitol. Even though the view from the observation deck on the 22nd floor of the structure was cool, at least until a swarm of school kids arrived, the rest of our time inside the New Capitol was underwhelming to say the least. To top it off, when Tom attempted to locate Governor Ron DeSantis’s office, my photographer was told the office wasn’t accessible due to the on-going construction.
When we left the State Capitol Building, I had mixed feelings about the visit, and I knew my photographer wasn’t overly happy either. Tom didn’t mince his words when I heard him say out loud, “I would’ve liked to have seen the office of Ron DeSanctimonious, or whatever Trump calls him. No dome; no governor’s office; confusing elevator system, contractors and rugrats everywhere. I guess that chaos was symbolic of the state itself.”
The clock on our Jeep’s dashboard was closing in on three-thirty in the afternoon when we left Tallahassee behind and were headed on a southeastern route towards the center of the state. The one aspect of our afternoon drive that my companions hadn’t expected was every highway, freeway, or expressway in the Sunshine State was a toll road. With each toll booth’s electronic system we passed through, and we passed through plenty of them, my photographer showed his displeasure by saluting the camera with a single extended digit. He usually followed his salute by saying, “That’s for you, DeSantis. Your people don’t have to pay a penny to drive the roads in my state, I shouldn’t have to pay to drive on yours. You’re a crook – no wonder you once admired our 45th President. You’re both two peas in a pod.”
Roughly 180 miles and nearly three hours into our drive, my companions decided to stop in Ocala and find a hotel for the night. The best bang for their buck, along with the perfect location just off I-75, was a place called The Equus Inn. While Vicki registered for the night in the hotel’s lobby, Tom once again unpacked their belongings onto a cart and delivered the luggage and the rest of their stuff to the room.
For dinner, Tom and Vic decided they wanted to lick their fingers – which meant a short drive to the local KFC for some delicious fried yard bird. Back in the room for the night, I watched from my cozy spot alongside the TV set as my photographer put chickens on the endangered species list. Little did any of us know, but we were about to discover those birds weren’t close to being endangered or extinct in Florida – especially on the island of Key West.
Tom extinguished the lights shortly after the three of us watched a couple of episodes of Seinfeld. Alone in the darkness for the entire night, I became the master of my domain when I dreamt that I was still on the couch at the Historic Inn in Plains. “By the way, they’re real. And they’re spectacular!”
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Wednesday April 24, 2024 began when my photographer’s alarm rang at 5:15am, which was an earlier-than-normal start, but necessary because we had an intense all-day drive ahead of us. Not only did the three of us face a five-hour, 345-mile drive just to get to the southern part of Florida’s mainland, but once we made it there, we still had another 110 miles of travel to reach our hotel in Key West. And that travel would likely consist of slow-moving touristy old people making their way over 42 bridges that connected a total of 44 islands known as the Florida Keys.
As Tom and Vic packed our Jeep in preparation for the day’s long ride, I noticed the crack in my right arm seemed bigger and my arm ached more than usual. Dumbfounded as to the cause, I stood in my photographer’s padded camera case and watched the scenery and miles fly past.
While traffic was heavy near Orlando and became even a bigger headache for Vicki around the Miami area, nothing compared to the slow-speed parade of vehicles we encountered once we reached Key Largo. For the next two-and-a-half hours, we plodded along over the bridges that connected the tiny dots of land in the Gulf of Mexico. At times, Tom held me up to the windshield so I could enjoy the beautiful scenery around us, which included some of the most amazing turquois-colored water I’d ever seen. Although some of the small towns we drove through seemed extremely touristy, the areas near the water were pages out of the ‘Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous’ book.
At two-thirty in the afternoon, we arrived at our final destination – the Parrot Key Hotel & Villas in Key West, Florida. The first thing my two companions quickly realized was their two-day stay in the Conch Republic wouldn’t be inexpensive, especially when they had to fork-over $23 per day for valet parking at their hotel as soon as they arrived. Then Tom’s wallet went from the frying pan and into the fire when they investigated meal prices at The Grove, which was the restaurant featured at the Parrot Key Hotel. For example, a 14-ounce steak was forty-five bucks, while an order of French fries was a ridiculous nine dollars; and that was after they had already shelled-out $440 per night for their room. When Tom and Vicki were registering at the front desk, I thought the clerk should’ve been wearing a ski mask and holding a gun; at least my two companions would’ve felt better while being robbed.
Not wanting to shell-out an exorbitant amount of money for a meal, my two companions decided to have a reasonably priced Papa John’s pizza delivered to their room. Once Tom and Vic devoured their pizza, the three of us went for a walk around the grounds where we saw dozens of lizards basking in the palm tree-shaded sand. At one point during our excursion, my two companions and I ended up at The Grove bar where they drank Michelob Ultras and enjoyed the company of the local cats and chickens.
Then suddenly, Tom’s demeanor turned from laid-back to concerned when he watched a middle-aged man leave two young girls at the entrance and walk into the outdoor lounge area near one of the pools. After the suspicious character walked past us, my photographer watched intently as he placed a backpack into an unoccupied chair not too far from our table. Once he set his sandals near the chair, he reunited with his girls at the entrance and in an instant, they were gone.
Roughly thirty minutes had passed, and the unattended backpack was still in the chair. The sad part was, no one else in the area seemed concerned; but I knew Tom was nervous as heck fire – he hardly ever took his eyes off the chair. At 6:45pm, my photographer summoned a staff member to his table where he reported the suspicious backpack and described how it ended up in that chair. I heard Tom say to the not-overly concerned staffer, “I know it’s likely nothing, but in this day and age, you can never be sure it’s not dangerous. People shouldn’t set backpacks down and then vacate the area for a long period of time. My wife and I aren’t sticking around to see if the damned thing blows up or not, but I would strongly suggest you call a professional to investigate. The last thing anyone needs is for a bomb to explode and kill a lot of people.” And with that, the three of us headed back to our room where we awaited a large KABOOOOOOOM!
My photographer, Vicki, and I sat in lounge chairs in front of our room where we listened for an explosion at seven o’clock, which was the time Tom had predicted the backpack to detonate. Thankfully that time passed without any known incident; and for once, I was glad my camera guy was wrong. And let me tell you from experience, that doesn’t happen very often. As a matter of fact, I hear Tom often tell his wife, “I hate being right all the time. Sometimes it can be a curse.” That’s usually the moment when I notice Vicki roll her eyes every time.
After the sun had set and the sky grew dark, the three of us returned to our room where my companions wasted no time getting into bed. I didn’t blame them – Tom had his alarm clock set to ring at 4:50am. When the lights were shut off at nine o’clock, I stood in the darkness by the room’s television set and thought about our excursion planned for the next day. In less than twelve hours, we would be headed by boat 70 miles out into the Gulf of Mexico to the Dry Tortugas National Park to visit historic Fort Jefferson.
I guarantee the next post, which will feature our day in the Dry Tortugas, will be one you’ll enjoy. If not, my name will be Mudd.
