Which explains my absence. I’d considered updating from the road with brief tales of some experiences, but in the end I took the partially selfish way out allowing for a lengthy stretch of nothing. And road.
My wife and I drove from Ohio down to Key West never having been before. We’d gone on a similar road trip a little over a year back to visit some friends of ours in Florida and go to Harry Potter World (mini review: it’s awesome), and during that time found our way to a beach or two. I’d never considered myself much of a beach person and I don’t think my wife considered herself one either, but those few short outings proved both of us wrong. I called her a Water Baby on this trip as she could practically live in the ocean snorkeling for hours only coming ashore for the occasional bite of food. I too had a great time exploring the relatively safe portions of the underwater world, though I had equal fun just hanging out on the beach itself. The sun remains an enemy of mine, but the sound of waves and gulls I doubt is something I’d ever tire of.
So we decided on Key West, wanting a beach trip. I won’t go too far into things in this post since I plan on covering our activities in detail over the next week or two (or three), but a brief overview would read along the lines of “The Beach Boys may have oversold some things”. Now, I don’t mean to suggest I didn’t have a good time – had a blast – but having designated Kokomo as the theme of our adventure, and having heard it a number of times on any given day while on said adventure, my vision of that particular portion of our great country was a little… colored. With the exception of Key West itself, the actual Keys themselves are a bit gross. Disappointing. Dirty. And in desperate need of a face lift. Again: the times were largely fantastic with us sleeping in our car in a Walmart parking lot, eating some ridiculously amazing food, getting chased by a Barracuda (my wife, not me as I was totally safe on shore), meeting the Florida Keys Astronomy Club, meeting also Leopold, an owl at a bird rehabilitation sanctuary – though my wife was partial to Ruby, a screech owl – along with a number of other oddities. It’s just the look of the place I found so confusing. Maybe everyone’s too busy fishing and getting skin cancer to slap on a coat of paint anywhere.
I’ll explain in a later post – I guess this is what people call building anticipation – but for anyone planning a trip that way in the near future, avoid the Cracked Conch Cafe at all costs. While going there will inevitably provide you with a story for future use you convince yourself you’ll look back and laugh at later, your experience in the present will be a thing of horror.