SuperBuickGuy
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THE WANDERERS #13
[h=1][/h]
ON THE ROAD TO MIAMI - SORT OF
By Rick Sieman
When we last left Carl and Emma, they had just spent a few fun-filled weeks with a speed trap-operating cop in Georgia, and in the process, had managed to break up a ring of 4x4 thieves. They were next headed for Florida. Specifically, Miami. We join them now as they wander (what else?) south on Interstate 75.
***
Emma looked up from her knitting and asked, "Carl, I'm curi*ous. Normally you don't take big freeways like this."
"Interstate, Emma. Interstate. There is a difference."
"What's the difference, dear?"
"Ummm, well, er, ahhh... you see, an interstate is funded by Republicans and a freeway is funded by Democrats. Yeah, that's it."
Emma beamed. "Carl, you're so smart! I never knew that. But anyways, why are we on this interstate instead of one of the backroads we take most of the time?"
"Its because I'm in a big hurry to get to Florida. You know I was in the Navy for 29 years, 11 months and 53 days, right? Well, I got some fond memories of the time I spent in Jacksonville and Sanford. I want to sort of drive by there and maybe look over the old stomping grounds. So I want you to keep an eye out for High*way 10. That'll take me right smack to the middle of Jackson*ville. "
"Dear, this map says that 10 is an interstate, not a highway. Is there some other kind of difference I still don't know about?"
"Uhh, yup. You see, a highway is not quite as wide as an interstate, and if it is, you can't hardly make out the dif*ference just by looking at it. You ever see those guys out on the roads with those binocular-looking deals on the big tripods? Well, they're out there to measure whether it's a highway or an interstate."
"Oh, Carl, I just don't know how you manage to squeeze so much knowledge into your head."
"Well, I don't let it swell my noggin woman. Anyways, enough about roads and such. See if you can get something decent on that radio."
Emma fiddled with the dials on the imposing multi-bucks radio, and eventually found a control that changed stations.
Brrrraaaap ... zzzuup ... skritttch ... went the noise from the radio as the dial was turned from right to left.
" ... So stop by the Stuckey's nearest you and enjoy our pecan pie special. Now, back to our music, featuring Wesley Dank and the Pigtown Boys playing one of the biggest bluegrass hits this year, 'Don't Leave Me for a Trucker or a Cowboy, Just Jump off a Cliff Instead'... "'
…Dial, dial, dial…
" ... and we can expect a 90-percent chance of rain today across the southeastern seaboard, with humidity in the high ..."
…Dial, dial, dial…
" ... should be a great day today, with virtually no chance of rain and a brisk breeze from the south in the coastal region, with ... "
…Dial, dial, dial…
" ... and dry, hot winds from the west should virtually guar*antee hurricane conditions if the cool air from the east hits it off the coast, so batten down the ..."
"Whoa, did you hear that, Emma? When I was in the Navy in Florida, the big seller was YooHoo Chocolate Soda. Looks like tastes have really shifted towards Coca Cola. Maybe we ought to invest a few of our retirement dollars in a Coke distributorship?"
"Oh, Carl, here's Highway 10. You have to head east here.'
"Hey, you're talkin' to a Navy man. I know the points of the compass like the back of my head. You just sit back and knit or read one of them wimmins magazines about mutant hormones, and leave the driving to old Carl."
Carl studied the maze of signs ahead, then guided the huge Suburban through the cloverleaf turns, eventually settling down to a cruising speed exactly two miles per hour over the speed limit.
Emma coughed quietly "Dear, are you sure you're going the right way?"
"Woman, just make like this is a Greyhound and leave the driving to me. I'll wake you up when the majestic Atlantic Ocean rolls into sight. Next stop, Jacksonville, home of a great Naval Air Station."
Emma crossed her arms, pouted and mumbled something under her breath. Carl drove happily on, spitting a wad of tobacco juice out of the window of The Whale every 6.2 miles or so, depositing yet another stain on the flank of the huge Suburban.
Hours later, Carl nudged Emma awake, and proclaimed, "There it
is Emma. The mighty Atlantic - the wettest and deepest of the 11
seas, and there's Jacksonville in the distance. Sorta puts a lump in my throat."
Emma snuffled. "It ought to put a real big lump, Carl. See that sign up ahead? It says 'Pensacola - 7 miles'. If that's the Atlantic Ocean l'm Jacqueline Cousteau."
"What ... wha' ... where ... How in the ..."
"Simple, dear you turned west when you should have turned east way back there, where 75 met highway 10. I tried to tell you, dear, but you wouldn't listen. Noooooo, you told me to go to sleep. Well, Mr. Navigator-Compassman, I'm going back to sleep. Wake me up when we do get to Jacksonville."
Carl swore a hearty string of Navy curses and swung The Whale around. The squeal of the tires was almost loud enough to drown out the giggling coming from the passenger's seat.
***
At Tallahassee, Carl swung south on 363, taking them close to the Gulf of Mexico. The white sand against the blue water was a thing of beauty, and they stopped for a while, found a two-track road leading to the beach, and parked The Whale there for two days.
For those two glorious days, they truly lived the good life. Carl fished in the small inlets, while Emma cooked some great meals. In the evenings, they sat in lawn chairs, running their toes through the warm white sand, sipping a cold drink or three.
To cap it off, they retired to the interior of The Whale, turned on the television, lined up the satellite dish and watched wres*tling until they dozed off.
***
After the welcome camping break, they loaded up The Whale, and drove carefully down the sugar-sand road to Highway 98, which they took east to 27. Instead of heading back to the main roads again, Carl kept to the tiny back roads and got a genuine view of the real Florida that the tourists never get to see.
They passed small lakes where cattle stood knee-deep in water, munching on tall green grass. He drove by groves of orange trees, tidy little farms, towns that appeared to be straight out of the 1950s and sections of swamp land that looked like primeval bogs. They explored some interesting dirt roads, wandered from pavement to dirt, and back again. They stopped to eat along the way in small diners, and had real, fresh, orange juice, great seafood dinners and pecan pie with near-sinful richness.
Eventually, they arrived at the outskirts of a big city. This time, the sign said Jacksonville. Carl had no trouble whatsoever finding his way to the massive Naval Air Station, and after getting a visitors' permit, was allowed to drive on the base.
He pointed out the magnificent aircraft and huge hangars to Emma, who "ooohed" and aaaahed" with genuine appreciation. Smart*ly dressed sailors walked around, looking much like starched penguins.
Emma pointed "Why are those sailors over there dressed so funny, dear?"
"Them ain't sailors, Emma. Them's jarheads."
"Jarheads!"
"Yeah, Marines. Swimming pool sailors. Their insignia is a chicken standing on a basketball with an anchor hanging from its butt. lf you can t read or write, you get to be a Marine. lf you're smart, you get to be a sailor."
"Gosh, I never knew that, dear!"
"Don't ever forget it, Emma."
After two hours, Carl had seen enough to convince him that the Navy was still functioning strongly, despite the fact that he was no longer in it.
They drove The Whale up to the gate and Carl went inside to sign out and return the visitors' pass. The Lieutenant JG behind the desk was courteous. "Well, sir. How did you like your tour?"
Carl beamed. It was the first time he'd ever been called sir by an officer
"It was great! You know, I just retired from the Navy a few years ago, and this sure brought back a lot of memories."
"Well, l'm glad you enjoyed it, sir. Where, to now? Back home?"
Carl scratched his chin. "Nope. It's off to Miami for us. l'm going to look around a little bit, relax and maybe try to work out a deal where I can distribute some Coke and turn my retire*ment money into some real bucks!"
The eyes of the young officer turned deadly cold.
"Sir, please leave this facility right now. And if I see your face again, I'll shoot you in both legs on the spot!"
Carl, stunned, took Emma's arm and escorted her out to The Whale. As they drove away, very confused and puzzled, Emma shook her head and asked, "Carl, why do you think that nice young man turned so nasty all of the sudden?"
Carl spit a wad of Red Man out of the window! "Dunno. Must be a YooHoo cola man."
***
Good Lord! What is Carl getting into? He's heading south to Miami, the drug center of the United States, and doesn't know the difference between coke and Coke. I don't know about you, but frankly, I'm concerned about what's coming up!
[h=1][/h]
ON THE ROAD TO MIAMI - SORT OF
By Rick Sieman
When we last left Carl and Emma, they had just spent a few fun-filled weeks with a speed trap-operating cop in Georgia, and in the process, had managed to break up a ring of 4x4 thieves. They were next headed for Florida. Specifically, Miami. We join them now as they wander (what else?) south on Interstate 75.
***
Emma looked up from her knitting and asked, "Carl, I'm curi*ous. Normally you don't take big freeways like this."
"Interstate, Emma. Interstate. There is a difference."
"What's the difference, dear?"
"Ummm, well, er, ahhh... you see, an interstate is funded by Republicans and a freeway is funded by Democrats. Yeah, that's it."
Emma beamed. "Carl, you're so smart! I never knew that. But anyways, why are we on this interstate instead of one of the backroads we take most of the time?"
"Its because I'm in a big hurry to get to Florida. You know I was in the Navy for 29 years, 11 months and 53 days, right? Well, I got some fond memories of the time I spent in Jacksonville and Sanford. I want to sort of drive by there and maybe look over the old stomping grounds. So I want you to keep an eye out for High*way 10. That'll take me right smack to the middle of Jackson*ville. "
"Dear, this map says that 10 is an interstate, not a highway. Is there some other kind of difference I still don't know about?"
"Uhh, yup. You see, a highway is not quite as wide as an interstate, and if it is, you can't hardly make out the dif*ference just by looking at it. You ever see those guys out on the roads with those binocular-looking deals on the big tripods? Well, they're out there to measure whether it's a highway or an interstate."
"Oh, Carl, I just don't know how you manage to squeeze so much knowledge into your head."
"Well, I don't let it swell my noggin woman. Anyways, enough about roads and such. See if you can get something decent on that radio."
Emma fiddled with the dials on the imposing multi-bucks radio, and eventually found a control that changed stations.
Brrrraaaap ... zzzuup ... skritttch ... went the noise from the radio as the dial was turned from right to left.
" ... So stop by the Stuckey's nearest you and enjoy our pecan pie special. Now, back to our music, featuring Wesley Dank and the Pigtown Boys playing one of the biggest bluegrass hits this year, 'Don't Leave Me for a Trucker or a Cowboy, Just Jump off a Cliff Instead'... "'
…Dial, dial, dial…
" ... and we can expect a 90-percent chance of rain today across the southeastern seaboard, with humidity in the high ..."
…Dial, dial, dial…
" ... should be a great day today, with virtually no chance of rain and a brisk breeze from the south in the coastal region, with ... "
…Dial, dial, dial…
" ... and dry, hot winds from the west should virtually guar*antee hurricane conditions if the cool air from the east hits it off the coast, so batten down the ..."
"Whoa, did you hear that, Emma? When I was in the Navy in Florida, the big seller was YooHoo Chocolate Soda. Looks like tastes have really shifted towards Coca Cola. Maybe we ought to invest a few of our retirement dollars in a Coke distributorship?"
"Oh, Carl, here's Highway 10. You have to head east here.'
"Hey, you're talkin' to a Navy man. I know the points of the compass like the back of my head. You just sit back and knit or read one of them wimmins magazines about mutant hormones, and leave the driving to old Carl."
Carl studied the maze of signs ahead, then guided the huge Suburban through the cloverleaf turns, eventually settling down to a cruising speed exactly two miles per hour over the speed limit.
Emma coughed quietly "Dear, are you sure you're going the right way?"
"Woman, just make like this is a Greyhound and leave the driving to me. I'll wake you up when the majestic Atlantic Ocean rolls into sight. Next stop, Jacksonville, home of a great Naval Air Station."
Emma crossed her arms, pouted and mumbled something under her breath. Carl drove happily on, spitting a wad of tobacco juice out of the window of The Whale every 6.2 miles or so, depositing yet another stain on the flank of the huge Suburban.
Hours later, Carl nudged Emma awake, and proclaimed, "There it
is Emma. The mighty Atlantic - the wettest and deepest of the 11
seas, and there's Jacksonville in the distance. Sorta puts a lump in my throat."
Emma snuffled. "It ought to put a real big lump, Carl. See that sign up ahead? It says 'Pensacola - 7 miles'. If that's the Atlantic Ocean l'm Jacqueline Cousteau."
"What ... wha' ... where ... How in the ..."
"Simple, dear you turned west when you should have turned east way back there, where 75 met highway 10. I tried to tell you, dear, but you wouldn't listen. Noooooo, you told me to go to sleep. Well, Mr. Navigator-Compassman, I'm going back to sleep. Wake me up when we do get to Jacksonville."
Carl swore a hearty string of Navy curses and swung The Whale around. The squeal of the tires was almost loud enough to drown out the giggling coming from the passenger's seat.
***
At Tallahassee, Carl swung south on 363, taking them close to the Gulf of Mexico. The white sand against the blue water was a thing of beauty, and they stopped for a while, found a two-track road leading to the beach, and parked The Whale there for two days.
For those two glorious days, they truly lived the good life. Carl fished in the small inlets, while Emma cooked some great meals. In the evenings, they sat in lawn chairs, running their toes through the warm white sand, sipping a cold drink or three.
To cap it off, they retired to the interior of The Whale, turned on the television, lined up the satellite dish and watched wres*tling until they dozed off.
***
After the welcome camping break, they loaded up The Whale, and drove carefully down the sugar-sand road to Highway 98, which they took east to 27. Instead of heading back to the main roads again, Carl kept to the tiny back roads and got a genuine view of the real Florida that the tourists never get to see.
They passed small lakes where cattle stood knee-deep in water, munching on tall green grass. He drove by groves of orange trees, tidy little farms, towns that appeared to be straight out of the 1950s and sections of swamp land that looked like primeval bogs. They explored some interesting dirt roads, wandered from pavement to dirt, and back again. They stopped to eat along the way in small diners, and had real, fresh, orange juice, great seafood dinners and pecan pie with near-sinful richness.
Eventually, they arrived at the outskirts of a big city. This time, the sign said Jacksonville. Carl had no trouble whatsoever finding his way to the massive Naval Air Station, and after getting a visitors' permit, was allowed to drive on the base.
He pointed out the magnificent aircraft and huge hangars to Emma, who "ooohed" and aaaahed" with genuine appreciation. Smart*ly dressed sailors walked around, looking much like starched penguins.
Emma pointed "Why are those sailors over there dressed so funny, dear?"
"Them ain't sailors, Emma. Them's jarheads."
"Jarheads!"
"Yeah, Marines. Swimming pool sailors. Their insignia is a chicken standing on a basketball with an anchor hanging from its butt. lf you can t read or write, you get to be a Marine. lf you're smart, you get to be a sailor."
"Gosh, I never knew that, dear!"
"Don't ever forget it, Emma."
After two hours, Carl had seen enough to convince him that the Navy was still functioning strongly, despite the fact that he was no longer in it.
They drove The Whale up to the gate and Carl went inside to sign out and return the visitors' pass. The Lieutenant JG behind the desk was courteous. "Well, sir. How did you like your tour?"
Carl beamed. It was the first time he'd ever been called sir by an officer
"It was great! You know, I just retired from the Navy a few years ago, and this sure brought back a lot of memories."
"Well, l'm glad you enjoyed it, sir. Where, to now? Back home?"
Carl scratched his chin. "Nope. It's off to Miami for us. l'm going to look around a little bit, relax and maybe try to work out a deal where I can distribute some Coke and turn my retire*ment money into some real bucks!"
The eyes of the young officer turned deadly cold.
"Sir, please leave this facility right now. And if I see your face again, I'll shoot you in both legs on the spot!"
Carl, stunned, took Emma's arm and escorted her out to The Whale. As they drove away, very confused and puzzled, Emma shook her head and asked, "Carl, why do you think that nice young man turned so nasty all of the sudden?"
Carl spit a wad of Red Man out of the window! "Dunno. Must be a YooHoo cola man."
***
Good Lord! What is Carl getting into? He's heading south to Miami, the drug center of the United States, and doesn't know the difference between coke and Coke. I don't know about you, but frankly, I'm concerned about what's coming up!