Internally, all I could think about was getting to January 20, 2025 in good shape. That was the launch date for our trip.
After months of planning and fine tuning, our departure morning was finally here.
My body’s alarm clock woke me at 3 a.m.
By four the Commander Supreme was awake.
Prior to 4:30, the house’s thermostats had been properly set.
With the approaching bitter Arctic air, one bathroom sink faucet was left dripping.
Our iced over car was warming up.
Each piece of luggage was accounted for more than once. Phones, wallets, IDs, glasses, once last bladder stop, and we were departing.
The drive to the Richmond airport was quiet.
Up in Highland, Maryland and down in Greensboro, North Carolina similar logistics were in motion from our college friends the Callows and Sherrills.
If the travel gods properly collaborated, by late mid-morning, we would meet in the Miami airport.
At the extended stay parking lot, a nice young man with his warm van got us loaded up. Our reliable car would sit for two weeks. I pray it will start upon our return.
I was surprised at how many cars were dropping off groggy travelers for departing flights at this early hour.
We were flying American Airlines.
At the American kiosks and check-in counter, there were already lines. I hoped we survived the craziness of navigating this confusing maze.
Whine #1, whoever designed the kiosk area did not take into consideration edgy, sleep deprived travelers toting bulky luggage. No matter how we moved, we bumped or nudged other travelers.
Whine #2, the check-in counter was understaffed.
To counter the whining, I, Whining William, have stated at least 479,958 times: airlines should hire elementary school teachers to handle the logistics for checking-in, boarding, and unloading airline passengers.
We cleared security with our TSA Pre-check with no hitches.
At our gate, lines had formed for loading the plane.
When my ticket was scanned, the agent suggested that I ask a flight attendant to store my fishing rod case. She recommended a special storage compartment used by the flight crew.
That was a good tip. As we stepped on the plane, the flight attendant who greeted us graciously stored the case.
We found our seats, and we were granted a rarity in air travel—the middle seat was empty.
Soon, we were ready for departure.
Via the PA system the Captain greeted us. He described the Miami weather, our estimated flying time, and informed us about the amount of fuel we would burn as we flew south.
Our departure time was 6:15. We were on schedule.
Then the Captain came back on the PA. He informed us that because of the cold overnight temperatures the plane would need to be de-iced.
Internally, I grumbled, but I understood the reasoning—safety.
By seven, we were zooming down the runway.
From my window seat, I could feel the pilot turn the plane east. With that turn we started winging our way toward Miami.
As we worked our way down the coastline, I was treated to pretty views of rivers flowing through coastal plains. The rising sun cast golden hues on the sleepy bays and sounds.
River water turned brackish at this point of entry, and soon the dominance of the ocean fed sound consumed any traces of the river.
Gradually, we stopped hugging the coastal plan. It disappeared.
The Atlantic Ocean was its replacement. At some point the ocean vanished. A blanket of clouds covered the ocean’s dark gray.
I think the pilots burned extra fuel trying to make up time in the air for our late departure out of Richmond.
This morning, I absolutely despised the descent into Miami. Part of that scorn comes from my aging impatience—land this big bird.
The plane’s engines kept plodding us through an impenetrable cloud layer that was the color of cold gray ashes.
The choppiness made for an uneven ride until we broke through the cloud cover.
We caught glimpses of Miami as the 737-09/21 revision drifted down to a rainy runway.
Finally, we were on the ground.
I am convinced that a slug can beat a commercial jet to the gate where the jet is to be parked for unloading. This morning, getting to that gate was slowed even more by an unattended fuel truck that was parked in our space.
The plane temporarily parked on the tarmac until the absentminded driver could be located.
That stall for the fuel truck set off an urgent rush of bladders to the plane’s restrooms. The chief flight attendant wasn’t happy with this chaos. I was one of the last minute dashers.
Several minutes passed, but finally, the plane inched to the gate. I could imagine the smirking slug helping to guide the plane to the jetway connection.
Whine #3, since the plane was late in arriving, many passengers needed to make connections. Instead of the crew apologizing profusely, why not ask the passengers who had no urgency to make a connection to remain seated so that those panicked passengers could depart.
My fishing rod case was waiting for me to grab as we made our way off the plane. Now, we started to navigate the Miami airport.
Our North Carolina friends had texted us that they had landed.
We followed the posted signage to the luggage area, and eventually we found the Sherrills. Our suitcases showed up. We organized and found a place to sit.
For a little over an hour, we chatted and waited for our Maryland pals to arrive. Eventually, the travel gods sent them to us.
With the Callows present, we started our journey to the car rental area.
Dragging luggage and following signs, we found our way to the monorail that would take us to the terminal for car rentals.
Luckily, Dan’s pre-planning for securing a vehicle worked.
With a few more steps, the towing of ourselves and the luggage came to a stop, we found the SUV.
The next several minutes was like a Marx Brothers’ movie.
We loaded, unloaded, and rearranged bags based upon size. Some bags were relocated into any open space in the seating area. After lots of squeezing and repositioning, the trunk door safely latched.
Our driver, Dan, and navigator, Butch, got their bearings and their devices isync, and we cautiously crept out of the parking lot.
It took us two attempts to exit the airport’s grounds, but we did.
We were headed south towards Key Largo. There we would stop for lunch.
As we drove and took in the ever changing landscape, we chatted, made our “are we there yet” comments, gave back seat driver advice to the driver and navigator, but most importantly we laughed.
Nearing Key Largo, there was a mad search to find a restaurant.
We settled upon High Tide.
In business for three years, its appearance was deceiving, but its food wasn’t.
Nourished, we piled back into the SUV.
The push to Marathon Key was a determined one as our driver and navigator smoothly adjusted to the whims of other drivers and US 1, the Overseas Highway.
Eventually, we edged into Marathon Key, found our destination, and were greeted at the check-in desk by the staff at Tranquility Bay.
At unit #60, we parked, pried out the passengers in the very back, and unloaded all that junk we had toted from Maryland, North Carolina, and Virginia.
For a few minutes, we organized ourselves inside. Next, we finalized a grocery list, and Judy, Butch, and I set out to find the Publix we had passed earlier.
After the run to the grocery store, everyone helped to unload the groceries. When the groceries were properly stored, our early wake up times caught up to us.
We were ready to collapse.
Before giving up to sleep, we chatted a bit more.
That chatter was focused on Tuesday.
Tuesday was to be our orientation day about our temporary home in Marathon Key, Florida, at Tranquility Bay in Unit 60.
We all knew that Friday, January 31 would be upon us in a blink. We didn’t want to waste a minute of being away from our homes.
A few weeks ago at Trinity UMC, I asked an exhausted church member how she was doing in providing care for her husband following his second surgery.
Quite honestly, she stated, “I need to get on plane.” Perhaps with a twinge of guilt, she quickly and lovingly retracted her statement. I understood her feeling.
I hope I never lose sight of how lucky I was this morning to get on a plane.
Gratefulness for that luck includes having a wife who tolerates me, the loyalty of these college friends and their wives who will barely endure my bad habits for two weeks, and the indispensable wit and wisdom of their cherished humor which always rejuvenates my needy and weary soul.
Also, included in that appreciation is the good Lord, who for lots of unknown reasons has continued to keep me vertical.
might be baloney 