John Pennekamp Coral Reef State Park

20:30
I wake up after a good sleep, but with a slightly groggy head. I challenged myself to empty the fridge before bed, which meant the last beer, and a couple of glasses of wine. I pack for the final time - which means actually getting stuff into my suitcase. One of the things I most enjoy about road trips is having a car in which to dump carrier bags and the like, rather than having to fully pack my suitcase each and every time I’m moving on. I’ve had a black rubbish sack for dirty clothes, a green fabric shopping bag from Sri Lanka for clothes that are worn, but out of which I can probably eke at least one more wear, and a blue Whole Foods bag from Las Vegas that has been the carrier of my booze’n’food along the way. Not this time - everything’s got to go back into my hold luggage. It’s a bit of a squeeze, but goes in happily enough.

I’m still not really sure what to do with myself today. I’m erring on the side of heading up to Miami in good time, dumping the car and my bags, then heading into the city for some beers and food. First, I head further along the northern Keys, stopping at a beautiful little state park named for John Pennekamp. No? Me neither. It’s very pretty though, and I spend a relaxing half hour wandering around the coast line. I try to get to Angelfish Cay, to take a picture of it for Karin, but am denied by a closed road. I stop for a late breakfast at a very cool little café called The Hide Out, and then get on the road North for Miami.

I’ve been assiduously avoiding tolls while I’ve been in the US - not a cost management strategy, but because I’ve been genuinely unsure how to pay for the toll roads, in a world of automated / electronic gates. I decide to finally read the materials I was given when renting the car, and it turns out there’s a very simple way - there’s a transponder on the windscreen, which I basically need to, well - turn on. This cuts my journey time to Miami in half. My flight isn’t until 23:30 tonight, so I’ve got a bunch of time to kill.

Approaching the city, I see signs for an Outlet Mall, which includes a Columbia store. For those unfamiliar, Columbia is an outdoors / activewear brand - think North Face, and you’re not a million miles away. I’ve been on the lookout for some ultra light/quick dry shorts and zip-off trousers for a while now, and if the prices are decent, this could be a godsend. I’m not 100% convinced I have room in my luggage, but let’s worry about that later. The discounts are immense. A pair of Columbia convertible trousers in the UK would cost me close to £100. Here, I pick up 3 pairs for $30 each. Their lightweight shorts would be £60 at home. Here, $20 per pair. I walk out with close to £500 worth of clothes for £140. I then buy a small duffel bag to pack them in, and I’m still ahead by £300.

Pleased with my endeavour - because it’s saved me a ton of cash, and because it’s consumed an hour of my boring waiting time, I reward myself with a visit to ‘World of Beer’ a sports bar a few miles from the airport. I have a pint of Voodoo Ranger, and some loaded tots.

I arrive at the car hire return garage at 15:00. During my stop at WOB (that’s what they call themselves) I’ve realised there’s a Virgin flight leaving at 18:45. Now - bear with me for a moment. When I originally booked my flights to Dulles / out of Miami, my return flight departed at 19:00, arriving into Heathrow around 09:00 on Friday morning. Months back, I got an email from Virgin saying my flight had been changed, and was now a 23:35 departure. Meh, but ok. these things happen. I now find that there’s a flight leaving at almost exactly the same time as my original booking, which I’d much rather have been on. All my flights on this trip are freebies, so I shouldn’t complain *too* loudly, but I’m at least going to head to the ticket office / check-in desk, and see if there’s a chance I can get on the earlier flight.

Nope. No chance. The 18:45 flight is actually over-booked, so zero possibility of me blagging my way onto it. The check-in attendant says my later flight is very close to full. It’s clearly a busy route for Virgin. She does, however, offer to check-in my bags, even though my flight’s not for 8 hours. I accept - somewhat foolishly as it turns out, as I check in the duffel bag with my new purchases, which ALSO has my hoodie, and trouser legs. Hopefully, the plane won’t be too cold.

So - I’ve got 7 hours at Miami airport, a decent whack of funds, and a small notion that I shouldn’t just sit in a bar (many bars) and get hammered. My first port of call is a bar - this does not bode well. They have a beer called Dogfish Head 90. I’ve got previous with this beer. When I went to California for a work conference in 2015, it’s the beer that I thought lovely, until I’d had 7 of them. Then, when going to leave, I fell off my chair. Only in hindsight did I discover that the ’90’ refers to the ABV, which is 9%. Ever since, I’ve considered that the 90 stands for how many minutes it takes to get you broadly pissed. It was a very strange day. The conference was at Disneyland in Anaheim. Stumbling around like the pissed idiot I was, I bumped into Goofy, and then Minnie Mouse. They were all very kind. I was also gifted my beers by a lovely couple from Minnesota, who had joined me, sitting at the bar. When I told them it was my birthday (which it really was), they secretly paid my drinks bill. That was around 15:00 on the Sunday afternoon. I went back to my room for a ‘rest’ and woke up at 07:00 on Monday morning, just in time for the conference to start.

Anyhoo… I’m very well behaved, and have just one of these sneaky little buggers, then sit for a while and catch up on some tablet TV. It’s pushing 18:30 now, so decide it’s probably ok to head through security, having confirmed that my plane is inbound, and due to land soon. The security checkpoint promises a 15-19 minute wait. This is pure bullshit. I realise that as soon as I arrive to the queue. There are 3 of the brand new, 3D scanners available - meaning no need to remove shoes, remove liquids, electronics - but the TSA team responsible for processing passengers have only got 1 of them open. As a result, the queue moves incredibly slowly. At one point, a group of 3 ask if they can move in front of me, because their flight departure time is rapidly approaching. I huff and puff, look at my watch - but let’s face it, my plane leaves in 5 hours, so it’s very little skin off my nose. They repeat this process with 5-6 more people, then hit old grumpy bollocks. An elderly gent (75? 80?) vociferously points out that he arrived to the airport in plenty of time, and maybe they should next time too. I struggle to internalise a chortle. The untrepid explorers flag down a TSA womble, who says he can’t help, and it’s really up to the other customers if they’re allowed through or not.

Finally through, I head for the nearest bar/restaurant. It’s 19:30. Time is advancing. I sit down, order a beer, and am immediately told the bar closes at 20:00. WTAF? Checking the airport’s website, it transpires that NONE of their hostelries are open past 22:00. My flight doesn’t even begin boarding until 23:00. I’m going to have to work this out incredibly carefully… This bar has more of the Dogfish Head 90 on tap. I treat myself to a couple, before they sling me out. Ceremoniously - if that’s even a thing.

Near my gate there’s a ‘Corona Beach House’ which is at least open until 22:00. I um and ah - Corona is a long way from my favourite beer, but needs must. I grab a seat at the bar, and - joy! They have a wine list, a cocktail menu, and more of that Dogfish Head 90. I decline the beer - I feel a bit full anyway. Mojito please! Oooh, and then a Stormy Daniels. No, that’s not right. A Dark and Stormy. Yes, that’s more like it.

21:50
More Dark and Stormy please.

22:35
This is one of the things I adore about US airports. I spend a brilliant half hour chatting to… Nope. Can’t remember his name. He’s from Canada, but lives in Miami. He’s on his way home to Toronto, and gives me some great advice about stuff to do in Toronto itself, in Manitoba, in Vancouver when I/we finally get there. We both spend a little while marvelling at the upwards filled pints (see video), which is one of the coolest things I think I’ve ever seen.

He (nameless) has to leave t get his flight. That’s fine. I can keep myself company with my Darks and Stormies. I’m just settling into my book, when the next guy along the guy interrupts me. He’s Walker - a 22 year old who’s on his way to Brazil for a month. He’s that rarity in the US - a youngster who actually want’s to leave the country. I buy him a beer, he buys me a D+S, and we talk about the evils of capitalism. I’m both jealous of his trip, and excited to steal some ideas for my, Vicki and Tam’s trip later this year. I ask him, as I seem incapable of not doing, of his voting intentions in November. He was pissed off not to be old enough last time around. He’s gay, and should feel like a Democrat vote is his only tangible option. I’m concerned to hear that this politically active kid is barely interested in the election, due largely to Biden’s:

1) age
2) senility
3) luke warm position on traditionally Democrat views

If the Dems can’t pick up this kid to vote for them, they might just be fucked.

The bar kicks us out as advertised at 22:00. I hug Walker goodbye, and head round to the departure gate. Hey - at least it’s air-conditioned.

23:55
Boarded, and furnished with my glass of bubbles. I’m determined to sleep for as long as I possibly can. But I’m also hungry, and want some food.

QUANDARIES.Les mer