The Sweatiest Road Trip Ever - Day 8 - Escape From Key West!

Day 8 - 

This is me, sweating through my shirt from walking across the parking lot to the van.

It seems I've been complaining a lot lately. The heat. The humidity. The crappy hotel coffee. The crappy hotel breakfasts. The sub-standard Cuban sandwiches.

Well, today we are leaving Key West and I will try to be upbeat and positive, like the ray of sunshine that I am.

On the plus side, this hotel is swanky and fancy so they don't provide any free coffee or breakfast at all.
No crappy hotel coffee or breakfast!
That's nice.

I took an early morning stroll around the hotel to try to get in as much walking as I can before we get in Squanket for many, many hours.
I like walking!
That's nice.

Do not swallow that water... especially if someone is breaking the rule above that.

Nobody who is ill with diarrhea should be in the pool where we swam yesterday!
That's nice.

Because they may be ill with diarrhea.

Nobody was touching or feeding the iguanas!
That's nice.

This was the smallest iguana I have ever seen. Most of them are the size of a kindergartner. 

When I got back to the room after my morning constitutional, Kerri was seated in a Dr. Evil chair, sipping non-hotel coffee.

Her coffee is... Evil!

My wife is hilarious, even first thing in the morning!
That's nice.

We packed up all our things and said goodbye to Key West.

Goodbye lovely view from our room.

Goodbye, untouched and unfed iguana.

Goodbye lovely pool area with nobody who is ill with diarrhea swimming in you. I hope.

Hello, highway.

Alex found a 110v. outlet next to his seat and made himself extra comfortable with a fan that he stole from Tori.

The ride back from Key West was much like the ride down, except in reverse, and with much, much more traffic.

I did suffer one bitter disappointment on the drive back north. I discovered that, somehow, we had missed a trip to Funland.

No, kids. We're not going to Disney. We're going to FUNLAND!

I couldn't figure out what makes it so fun and the mystery still haunts me.

There were other places that we didn't stop, either.

Look! They have antique cars you can drive! That's why it's for adults!

I will be installing one of these in our yard when we get home. Don't tell Kerri. It's a surprise.

I will also be carving some trees to look like these. Another surprise. Shhh!

We opted not to stop here.

Because, seriously - Where is it?!?

We also missed the Shed Stacking World Cup Finals.

And the world famous Beer Can Shorts.

But we did have another chance to see the natural beauty of the Keys.

Speed and crippling depression from seeing what we did to their islands.

Honestly, the rest of the day was spent driving. Or, at times, sitting in the van and not driving because the traffic was so bad.

The big highlight of the day was that, through an effective campaign of whining and sniveling and sobbing, I got Kerri to make a slight detour from the highway as we drove along the outskirts of Fort Lauderdale.

Were we going to pay a quick, surprise visit to Tori to check in on her?
Nooo...


Were we getting off the highway to avoid this guy and his Dangerous Appliance Stacking show?

Noooo...

Did we drive a few short miles out of our way to get another AMAZING CUBAN SANDWICH?

Maybeeeee...

Did Alex turn his nose up at an amazing, fresh Cuban sandwich and, instead, subject his body the horror of a burger from an international chain, specializing in crappy burgers?

Maybeeee...

Did we get stuck in more traffic?

Obviously.

Kerri is a trooper. She drove on, and on, and on, and on.

Past more scenic landfill mountains.

Ohhhh, Mt. Stinky!

Past an assortment of super classy bumper stickers.

Romantic!

Past more attractions that I was not allowed to attend.

Please let me go to Machine Gun America! Look! There are scantily clad blondes there!

Long past a beautiful sunset.

Long into the night, and past the longest stretch of No Parking signs I have ever seen.

Wait - can I park here? Along the highway?

We drove all the way from Key West to Tallahassee. A mere 13 hours in Squanket.

We found a hotel and I slept soundly knowing, because I asked in advanced, that there would be free, crappy, hotel coffee awaiting me when I awoke.

That's nice.

Ocean City, Day 1: Horses; French Fries; and Popcorn

We, as a family, faced a large crisis recently.
April vacation was looming large in our immediate future and We wanted to do something fun for a few days. It had to be someplace we could drive and it had to be relatively inexpensive.
My many suggestions like: the grocery store, the path in the woods right near our house, and the couch, were dismissed out of hand by the powers that be.
Alex was not going to be joining us because he is on the volleyball team and had practice over vacation. That left the decision up to Tori and Kerri.
Tori wanted to go someplace warm, sandy, and beachy. She suggested Bora Bora and, by the way Kerri's eyes lit up, I knew that immediate action was required on my part.
I offered a compromise of placing a big tray of salt water next to the sandbox in our yard.
Neither Tori nor Kerri was impressed.
Kerri swooped into action and proposed Ocean City, Maryland.
I sputtered and wailed about the 8+ hour drive, but Kerri is a brilliant tactician. She sealed our fate by showing Tori pictures of a place called Assateague State Park where wild horses roam freely along the beach.

Here are things Tori loves:
1. The Beach
2. Horses

Here are things I cannot stand:
1. The Beach
2. Horses

So, naturally, we packed up and headed off to get sunburns while being stompled to death by roving gangs of rabid, wild beach ponies.

We left at 2:30 in the afternoon on Saturday and, after a drive that I would like to never think about again, we rolled into Ocean City–bleary-eyed, and butt-fatigued–at about 11:30 that night.

The lobby was tastefully decorated with buckets of long, disgusting old man toenails.

They also featured what appeared to be a Muppet stuck in a large, white vase.

Kerri and Tori enjoyed the Dr. Evil chairs in the lobby.

And Tori was very excited that SHE would be able to push the buttons in the elevator and she would not have to share that thrill with Alex.

As we checked into the hotel, the lady at the front desk cheerily asked us if we had even been to OC before. When she found out that we had not, she leaned over the counter conspiratorially.  "While you're here, you HAVE to get Thrasher's French Fries and Fisher's Popcorn."

Here are things I love:
1. French fries.
2. Popcorn

We staggered off to our room and dropped into bed so we'd be well rested when we needed to escape from gangs of wild horses, intent on stompling us to death before eating our french fries and popcorn.

Virginia Vacation Journal: Day 7 - Nausea, Horror, and More Waffles!

Guess what! More waffles for breakfast!
And then, after waffles, we risked becoming social outcasts for the entire southern half of the country by skipping the Richmond NASCAR race and heading off to King’s Dominion Amusement Park so my children could drag me onto terrifying rides that were designed with the sole purpose of making me wish I was back on the highway with no brakes where things seemed safe.

The park was large and loud and smelled like equal parts cotton candy, corn dogs, sweat, and fear. It was everything an amusement park should be.

 First we had to rush to The Dominator so we could wait in line. We stood in line for about 5 minutes before a warning type of horn blew and a recorded announcement ordered everyone to leave the area because they were “testing the ride”. Not wishing to tempt fate too far, we went off in search of other thrills.
We soon found them; pushing ourselves to the limits of human endurance by waiting 80 minutes in line for The Volcano, a ride that lasts about 45 seconds and, in that time, can reduce you to a quivering pile of human jelly. It begins by going from 0 to a bajilliondy miles per hour in an eighth of a second, then it whisks you up a vertical run and out the top of a stone volcano, upside down. Then it really gets exciting. But I think I successfully suppressed most of it, so I don’t care to go into it again.

 (part of The Volcano)

It was delightful, and as soon as my legs stopped shaking, we raced to yet another roller coaster, this one featuring things that caught on fire. I love a great big ball of fire as much as the next guy, but this was just weird. The ride stopped about half way through and you sat for a moment, listening to recorded gunfire and admiring the view of a helicopter and some gas pumps. Then, flames woofed out of a few places and we were whisked into a black tunnel for the remainder of the ride.
After that, it was Tori’s turn. She had thus far refused to go on any roller coasters, but she had her eye on a cute little number called The Crypt. There are two things I do not like. Spinning and heights. This ride managed to brilliantly incorporate both of them into something so fiendishly awful that I suspect it could actually be classified as cruel and unusual punishment.
I watched a dizzy, disoriented lady on the ride just before ours step from her seat and pitch forward to her knees, bumping her head on the metal gate in front of her. Tori chatted amiably with me as we awaited our turn. She cannot be my daughter.
I will try my best to describe its unparalleled horror. Imagine a very large swing set with only one large seat running all the way across it. maybe 40 people sit on this bench, back to back in 2 rows of 20. Then the swing starts swinging just like a big, friendly swing at the playground. Except it goes 40 feet in the air. Then it swings all the way over, upside-down. Then the bench that you are sitting on spins around, independently of the other spinning. Then it keeps spinning. Then you wish for a sudden cardiac arrest so the suffering will cease.

  (The Crypt, aka the Pukilator)

The ride was the only one that had its own viewing area so spectators could gather and watch other people suffer. I’m sure it was delicious fun.
Kerri tried to take pictures, but claimed they didn’t come out too well because she was laughing too hard at the frozen terror on my face.
Then it was time for lunch!
I ate lightly, hoping that less food would led to less violent vomiting later.
We made our way back to The Dominator, which, it appeared, that they were finished testing. It was a great ride. Fast and furious, not too high, not too spinny, but wonderfully invigorating.

 (The slow, relaxing part of The Dominator)

After that, Alex decided that he was ready for the big one. He had done a bit of online research (by research, I mean watching promotional videos) and was insistent that we should go on a roller coaster called The Intimidator. It’s a roller coaster based loosely on Dale Earnhardt, the race car driver.
I’m not sure what the connection is, but I must commend them on their name choice. “The Intimidator” is a much more effective name for a thrill ride than “Dale”.
“Want to go ride Dale?” seems to lack something.
The Intimidator lacked nothing.
My fear of heights is not a casual, relaxed, offhand sort of fear. It is a deep-seated, fully-bloomed pathological terror of heights.

 (The first hill of The Intimidator, please note that it is too tall to fit in one picture.)

The Intimidator supplied me with a lifetime of material for nightmares that will certainly haunt me long past my death and into whatever afterlife might await me. It begins with a perilous climb to 305 feet above a cozy concrete pad. The air got a bit thin at that altitude, but I wasn’t even allowed the pleasure of passing out before our climb was over and we slipped past the summit and began a leisurely descent down an 85 degree slope at 94 miles per hour. The rest of the ride was something of a blur. I remember going really fast up and down, then turning and then turning some more and then it was over and I was able to crawl away to find a quiet place where I could lay down and whimper and cry for a few hours.
Actually, I really do enjoy roller coasters. I did not enjoy peering over the edge of my seat into the cloudy oblivion below at the crest of the hill, but the rest of the ride was a lot of fun.
We finally convinced Tori to try a roller coaster and once she did, she was hooked. She and Alex spent the rest of the afternoon racing from one coaster to the next and I was able to spend the remainder of the evening sitting quietly with Kerri, enjoying the flashbacks from The Crypt that I kept having.
As an added bonus, nothing fell off the car on the ride home.

Cute Little Crabs

So, here's a problem.
Crabs are not cute.

See?
Not cute at all.
They are not cuddly and, frankly, unless they were incorporated into the delicious splendor of Crab Rangoon, I never gave crabs much thought.
Until a few weeks ago when I was approached by an editor at Islandport Press. She was looking for an illustrator for a book about a family of crabs who go on vacation to the beach.
Because seriously, where else would crabs go? Out for Chinese food? Not likely.
My friend, Lita Judge,  passed my name along to Melissa, the editor at Islandport, suggesting, I suppose, that I seemed like the kind of guy who ate a lot of Crab Rangoon and, as a result, might be able to draw crabs very well.
The logic of it is lost on me, but somehow, my preoccupation with greasy Chinese appetizers won over the heart and mind of Melissa and I got the job.
So now I am faced with the daunting challenge of spending the next year in my studio, trying to make crabs look cute and lovable. My frequent research trips to the local Chinese food joint for Crab Rangoon have yielded little in the way of practical help in drawing crabs, but I will keep trying.
And now those snacks are tax-deductible.
My first challenge was not actually making the crabs look cute, but making the crabs work like humans. In the story, the crabs have all sorts of wacky adventures that require more of them than might be expected of your average crab. I needed to make them able to move like humans. To that end, I made the executive decision to play Darwin and evolve one set of legs off of them.
Quick marine biology lesson:
In addition to their claws, crabs have 4 sets of legs. I learned this, not from my extensive Chinese food research, but from looking at actual, unprocessed-for-consumption, crabs.
It occurred to me that eight legs would be getting in the way all the time, so I opted to create a family of rare six-legged crabs for the book.
The other immediate problem I faced–and I know this is a very species-ist, politically incorrect comment for me to make–is that crabs all look alike to me. Especially when they are looking like appetizers.
Maybe I haven't spent enough time really looking at crabs, but, if faced with a family of crabs, I would have a difficult time telling one from the other.
I assumed, perhaps rashly and selfishly, that other people might have this same trouble.
I opted to put clothes on the crabs to help readers identify which crab is which. You'd be surprised how difficult it is to make a really nice bathing suit for a crab.

I sent these initial sketches to Melissa at Islandport and her first comment was, "You know that crabs have four sets of legs, right?"
I explained that I did know that. My response, that crabs also do not typically dress up like tourists and go on family vacations, was accurate, but held no sway with her.
The crabs could wear clothes, they could use cameras, they could purchase tacky souvenirs, but they could not have only three sets of legs. In her defense, Melissa saw the humor in this, but still did not relent.
I have since come to terms with the crabs' eight-leggedness. I still haven't been able to whole-heartedly embrace them as cute and cuddly, however.
Tasty? Yes.
Cute? Not really.
Perhaps one more tax-deductable trip to the Chinese restaurant will convince me.