The Sweatiest Road Trip Ever - Days 12, 13, 14, Whatever

Days 12 &13 -

And now, a brief photo collage of our last two days on the road. Driving 13+ hours each day.

Prepare for blast-off!

9:04 a.m.

Let's do this!

Only 23 hours  and 9 minutes to go!

Yeeee-HAW!

Welcome to Alabama.

Blasting along the Hank Williams Memorial Highway.

And considering eternity.

I suggested entering Squanket in a drag race.

But that is the actual dragway and it didn't seem... I don't know... safe?

We stopped at Love's for some gas.

And found The World's Largest Selection of Rollable Meat-Like Products!

I don't know what they have. Kerri refused to stop.

And then we were in Georgia!

And Tennessee, where I was adamant that we needed to get some official BBQ.

Or, at least visit one of the dozens of "World's Largest Fireworks Store"s that we passed on this trip.

Kerri opted for Archer's BBQ in Knoxville, and it was a wise choice. This is called the BBQ Sundae. It is a bowl of heaven.

And then, northward through the driving rain,

and roaring thunder,

and biblical-level lightning.

A brief stop at a rest area where we were stalked by...

a black cat, skulking through the parking lot.

And when I turned away, there was another one, hiding behind the garbage can.
Or was it the same one...?

We finally called it a night in Wyethville, VA, the same town we had stayed in on our drive down.
And I am now, forever plagued by the idea that I want to get Professional toilet paper for home use.

In the van the next morning at 9:10. 

And if we play our cards right, we can be home tonight!

What are YOUR lubrication needs?

If we lived here, we'd be home now.
But we don't, and we weren't.

There was a lot of stunt-hauling along the highway.

And, once again, I was denied a visit to the John Wayne Truck Stop and Chrome Shop. Curse you, Kerri!

Kerri also didn't let me party with them.

The ring of dirt, grime, grease, I don't even want to know, on this bathroom door was impressive.

As is the posted list of rules and regulations for using a Pennsylvania Rest Stop. Maybe they should add, "Wash your nasty hands before touching our nasty doors!"

We survived the doors of doom and I was, once again, allowed in the driver's seat. Here we go!

I can practically smell home!

This is the pond that gave Squanket her name.

And then, just like that... We were home.

Over 4,300 miles and over 80 hours of driving.

We got Tori to school safely.
We got back home safely.
We all survived.

And we're all still talking to each other.

Now, we're planning the next adventure...

The Sweatiest Road Trip Ever - Day 11 - Maybe Florida Will Let Us Live. Maybe...

Day 11 - The Final Day In Florida

I work up early and made a cup of coffee to take down to the pool deck for some morning reading.

Not a bad start to the day.

On my way to the pool, I couldn't help but notice the last line on this sign. You had one job, sign guy.
Also, unlike the previous pool, it is apparently okay to swim here if you are ill with diarrhea. Good to know!

After my coffee, I went for a long walk along the beach. The waves had subsided a bit and I notice large, black areas of water near the shore. The ranged in size from a few feet across to 50 or 60 feet across. Because of how well the water in Florida had treated us so far, I naturally waded in to see what sort of sting, bite, puncture, burn, break, rash, or infection I could get.

The black pools were actually huge schools of tiny minnows swirling and swimming near the shore. It was sort of magical to watch and, contrary to Florida maritime law, did not hurt me in any way. I passed a couple who were obviously making their fortune off the fishy phenomenon. Or they were getting dinner. I actually have no idea which.

He had a huge net and was wading into the middle of a school of fish. He slapped the net into the water a few times and brought up a writhing ball of fish. She would run over with a 5 gallon bucket, he'd dump the fish in and she'd empty the bucket into a cooler that was up on the shore.

When the novelty of watching other people work had worn off, I went back to the hotel and we all spent the day at the pool, watching other people work.

The only real excitement of the day was when the maintenance crew descended en masse around the pool, quietly and calmly asking everyone to exit the pool for routine maintenance.

It seemed to us that routine maintenance generally doesn't not occur in the middle of the day while everyone is escaping the heat.

That can only mean one thing.

We eagerly watched the scene. Even though none of the maintenance guys weaved his way across the pool deck clutching a steaming turd in a pair of long-handled tongs, we have our suspicions.

While we waited for the pool to be sanitized and de-pooped, we walked along the beach where Alex continued his practice of flicking beached jellyfish back onto the water so other people could enjoy The Complete Pensacola Experience*.

*Now, 85% stingier!


When the All Clear blew, we spent the rest of the day lounging around in the hopefully poop-free pool.

The pool. Viewed from above. No poops from here! 

The Tiki Bar because, as per Florida law, every establishment, no matter what sort of business it is, MUST have a Tiki Bar on premises.

The menu is cleverly posted along the lazy river. Fiendishly effective!

Eventually, it was time for dinner and since we had dropped the vegetarian off at college, we made a solemn family pact to try as many BBQ places as we could on the way home. We weren't technically on the way home yet, but it seemed wise to get a jump-start on this endeavor.

Because you needed to see my food.

With smoky deliciousness still lingering in our mouths, we headed back to the pool for a night-time swim. It was quiet and warm and wonderfully relaxing. Which is good. 

Because tomorrow, we hit the road again.

The Sweatiest Road Trip Ever - Day 6 The Great Cuban Sandwich Search Continues...

Day 6 - 

Tori spent her first night in a dorm last night. I didn't get much sleep.

Mostly because I was thinking about that Cuban sandwich I had for dinner.

What was wrong with it?

Why didn't I like it?

Was it a bad sandwich?

Could it be that I just don't like Cuban sandwiches?

HOW could I not like Cuban sandwiches?

I tossed and turned and dreamed tremulous dreams of mustard, pork, and pickles.

Today we are joining Tori at school for a convocation, which, as far as I can understand is sort of like a reverse graduation. Rather than booting you out of school, they are welcoming you, and your tuition payments, for as long as you'd like to pay stay.

Convocations also, it would appear, start in the middle of the night. We had to be at school by 7:30 a.m.

It's as if the school wants every new student to be aware that they are, indeed, Freshmen and will be taking all the early classes that nobody else will sign up for.

The convocation was actually scheduled to start at 9:00, but Tori needed to be in the auditorium by 8:00 and asked us to meet her at 7:30.

"Do you think they might have Cuban sandwiches in the hotel breakfast room today?" I asked Kerri, when she woke up.

"Wha...Whmmph...unffff..." she gurgled, rubbing her eyes.

"I've been thinking about that sandwich..."

"Enough about the sandwich," she growled. "You were talking about it all night. It was a SANDWICH."

"But," I said, "I just want to know if..."

Kerri gave me a look that, after decades of marriage, I was able to translate as, "Please stop talking about Cuban sandwiches now and forever and while you are not talking about Cuban sandwiches, please go down to the lobby and get me a cup of crappy hotel coffee."

Safety first is my motto. So I got Kerri a cup of crappy hotel coffee and we all headed for campus to see Tori get indoctrinated or hazed or whatever they call it these days.

Leonard was at the door to greet us.

Once again, his defensive measures failed and we were able to get to the van.

Florida,  for its many, many drawbacks (hurricanes, snakes, alligators, lunatics, traffic, jellyfish, accident lawyers, crappy hotel coffee, Leonard, etc.) is at least consistent.

Consistently hot and humid.

I actually sweat through my shirt just walking 40 feet to the van.

We arrived on campus, slick with sweat, just as the van's A/C actually started to do some good.

So, clammy and damp, we ventured out to meet Tori.

The campus, despite being infested with iguanas the size of a 6 year old child, is quite lovely.

Their mascot is a shark. One of the deficits about Florida that I failed to mention in my previous list. 

Welcome to school! Don't touch ANYTHING. EVER!

Tori accidentally grazed her fingers across the N and was whisked off by campus security for some re-education.

We filed into the arena where The Great Event was scheduled to occur.

Hey! We get to wait in line!

Cool murals and possibly real sharks on the wall.

Please read and agree to this giant legal disclaimer of you want to see your kid.

Oh, yeah. Here are some more rules for you to follow.

Tori left us to meet the other inductees and we found some seats in what might graciously be referred to as The Nosebleed Section. By the time we found seats, we were only 60 short minutes from the beginning of the event.

Where's the hot dog guy?

When the students finally stared filing in, at 9:00 on the dot, my cup of crappy hotel coffee kicked in and I was, to be delicate, in need of a restroom.

It took 20 minutes to get all the students seated.

While they were filing in, the A/V crew running the cameras was having fun zooming in in students who were texting, napping, indelicately picking their noses, or scratching themselves indiscreetly and putting them up on the huge TV screens for everyone to enjoy.

Smile! Your booger is on TV!

Peoples' reactions to being on the screen were priceless.

Did everyone just see me scratching my butt? 

Yes, we did!

It was totally worth the price of admission.

"This might be kind of fun," I thought.

And then the speeches began.

And all the while, my coffee was loudly announcing itself to my body. "Hello! I'm here! I don't want to be here anymore! Hello? Let me out! Are you there? Can you hear me? I'll TURN UP THE VOLUME!"

The speeches came from many, many people, all of whom had decidedly different levels of public speaking acumen.

The president of the university sounded regrettably like Colonel Sanders from KFC ads. Alex kept leaning over to me and saying things like "This class of 2023, looks finger-lickin' good."

And then I got eyeballs from Kerri when I laughed. Like it was my fault!

The dean of one of the science schools then gave one of the worst, most disjointed, incoherent speeches I have ever heard a sober adult give. Her shambling speech, delivered in an abrasive monotone, made several references to the Disney version of Sleeping Beauty as it pertained to the spectacularly uninteresting fact that both plant AND animal cells have mitochondria!

No, I'm not kidding.

She also made many, many references to the fact that, somehow, she was the Professor of the Year last year. I don't know if there was more to that title like: (Most Boring) Professor of the Year, but if there was, she didn't mention it.

The culmination of the event was each student going up on stage and being draped with a sash. "Keep this until your graduation," they were told, "You will once again wear it then. It will serve as a beginning and an end to your time here at Nova Southeastern. Also, if you lose it, we'll charge you 70 bucks to replace it."

By the time it was over, I was eyeballing empty water bottles that people had graciously left behind as a viable alternative to wetting my pants.*

* No, I didn't. Either one.

After it was over, Tori took us on a tour of the campus. It was made more exciting by the fact that she had lived on campus for fewer than 12 hours and had no idea where anything was. So much of her tour went like this, "This is the... I don't know. Does this look like a library to you guys? Hey! Is that a pool? Wow. I've never seen this parking lot before."

Hey! A big shark!

the one shark in Florida that might not eat you.

She's happy to be there!

It was fun, if not overly informative.

After that, she had the day free. Rather than troubling Tori by making her decide what we should do, I offered a suggestion.

"Let's do take-out for lunch!" I suggested slyly. "That way we can ll get what we..."

"Is this a thinly-veiled attempt to get another Cuban sandwich?" Kerri interrupted.

"What?!?" I gasped. "How could you possibly suggest that... yes. Yes, it is."

We planned out a route for getting lunches that would satisfy everybody. BBQ for Alex and Kerri. Falafel for Tori. And a Cuban sandwich from the restaurant voted Best Cuban Sandwiches in Fort Lauderdale on Yelp for me.

The loop to get to these restaurants and then get back to the hotel was, perhaps, a 15 mile loop. With traffic, it took almost 2 hours. We developed a system that worked brilliantly.

Alex called each place and put in our order when we were a mile or two away. That gave us 10 or 15 minutes to get there, grab the food, and move on. Fortunately, we were treated to the thrilling sights of Fort Lauderdale to keep us entertained.

This store offers, it would appear, every service known to mankind. 

Passing side. Suicide. What does that even mean?!?

The BBQ and the falafel bear no discussion, but the Cuban sandwich?

We are going to discuss this, my friends.

In depth.

We pulled up to the address of 925 Nuevos Cubanos and were greeted with a ramshackle, garishly pained restaurant plunked in the middle of a torn down city block.

I was immediately in love with this place.

How could you NOT want to eat here?

It smelled like deliciousness.

We pulled up in front of the restaurant, but there was no parking there. We pulled down the street a bit and turned into a muffler shop. No parking there either.

As we sat there for a moment, wondering where to park, my mouth watering with the thought of a Cuban sandwich, a golf cart skidded to a halt next to us. "You looking for parking for the Cuban place?" the guy driving asked.

I wiped the drool from my mouth and nodded.

"Follow me!" he called, pulling out of the parking lot and zipping down the street.

I don't know about you, but when a stranger on a golf cart tells you to follow him through a sketchy part of town, I do it.

What could possibly go wrong?

He lead us down a quiet side street, pointed to a small parking spot and waited for us. We climbed into his golf cart and he brought us to 925 Nuevos Cubanos, much like Charron ferrying souls across the river Styx.

Except with much, much better food.

Our ride.

Us, on our ride.

This shirtless dude was outside the restaurant chopping coconuts with a machete. I assume he worked there, but I have no proof of that.

When my sandwich was handed over the counter to me, the brown paper bag already going clear from the grease, I knew that this was going to be the greatest day of my life.

We raced back to the hotel, the glorious mix of aromas in the van almost too much to bear.

I skidded to a stop in the parking lot, we ran past Leonard and settled around a hastily prepared table in the hotel room.

I tried to take a picture of my sandwich, but my hands were shaking with anticipation.

Deep breaths, Marty. You can do it. Behold: The Perfect Cuban Sandwich.

Falafel? Pffft.

BBQ? Nahhh.

Kerri's BBQ? Nahhhhh.

Let's get another look at this work of art.

After lunch, we spent some time at the pool.

Kerri and Tori found this "Please Dance Like This" sign in the hallway on the way to the pool.

I was asked, on several occasions, during the afternoon to please stop talking about my sandwich and how delicious it was.

I didn't.

Soon, we brought Tori back to school and left her for her second night in the dorms. We were greeted by a young man, who we named Carl, who demanded to see our IDs before we could accompany Tori to her room. Carl seemed like the kind of kid who probably got kicked out of the Boy Scouts for being "a little too intense".  It was the wraparound sunglasses he was wearing behind the desk that clued us in.

We feel much safer knowing that he's there to protect Tori from any iguanas who might want to enter the building without ID.

We were allowed inside without being subjected to deep cavity body searches and we said goodnight to Tori.

Tomorrow, she's going to meet us back at the hotel for a crappy hotel breakfast, and then, we are leaving her here.

Yikes...