Well, after our day of travel, we slept. Some longer than others, but we slept.
My internal alarm clock had me up by 4:30, but I did sleep.
It was a quiet start.
Before breakfast, Butch and I explored the grounds of Tranquility Bay. We came upon an egret in the high grass who was possibly stalking for breakfast too.
Egret in the tall grass (Photo Bill Pike)
After breakfast, we piled into the car.
We drove toward Seven Mile Bridge.
We quickly discovered that the bridge is seven miles long. Once you are on the bridge, there is no getting off until you reach the other side. I think when we reached Veteran’s Beach, we were able to turn around and head back to Marathon.
Back on Marathon Key, we were curious to check out Sandals. This was a store that we had seen constantly along U.S. 1 on our drive into Marathon.
Turns out that Sandals is a beach store. It is not unlike the Wings stores that we find on every other corner in various beach towns along the mid-Atlantic coast.
After Sandals, we made a grocery store stop at Winn-Dixie, a chain that I remember from growing up in North Carolina. They were a Florida based chain. With all of the changes and challenges in the grocery store landscape, I was surprised to see that they continues to live.
Lunch time was approaching. We decided on the Sunset Grill. This open air restaurant sits at the foot of the Seven Mile Bridge. The restaurant is properly named as it is the ideal location to watch a sunset.
I ordered conch chowder and a blackened fish sandwich. It was interesting to note the differences in the conch chowder from my similar order on Monday at High Tide in Key Largo. This version was much sweeter and featured less vegetables in the mix.
After lunch, we were in pursuit of shrimp for dinner and bait for fishing. We found both.
The clerk at the bait shop directed us to a water front seafood market where we purchased three pounds of fresh caught shrimp for our dinner. Bubba and Forrest would have been pleased.
For the remainder of the afternoon, we took advantage of the sunshine and comfortable temperatures.
At the heated, saltwater pool, Dan tried out the snorkeling gear that he brought with him. He was prepping for swims in the Gulf of Mexico and the Atlantic Ocean to view sea life.
Dan in the pool (Photo Bill Pike)
At guest services in the lobby, we picked up golf balls and putters to test our green reading ability and patience on the synthetic putting greens in the open space in front of our unit. Additionally, we reserved three bicycles for a ride back down to the Seven Mile Bridge.
After the putting practice and bike rides, I put together the fishing rods and set them up to use on Wednesday morning. My non-resident fishing license issued by the state of Florida was only good for seven days, so I wanted to try my luck and not waste my pennies.
As we pushed toward dinner with our shrimp, a few of us ambled toward the water in search of a sunset.
Toward the end of day two (Photo Bill Pike)
Thanks to gray clouds, the sinking sun was obscured, but I did capture our brides who are the braintrust for this trip.
The brains of our outfit (Photo Bill Pike)
Prepared by Butch and Marian, our shrimp dinner was delicious, and it was topped off by a Florida favorite—Key Lime Pie.
Our post-dinner entertainment was organized by Marian. We participated in an assortment of games that made us think a bit, but that also generated humorous commentary.
Soon sleep was calling, and we talked about our thoughts for Wednesday.
Turns out that cold air we left back home was going to find its way into the Florida Keys.
Whatever disappointment the gray clouds, sparse sun, and stiff winds would bring, I needed to remember it was much colder back in Richmond.
But beyond the weather, I’m also reminded to be thankful for this opportunity to get away.
And I must always keep in front of me this fact—some people from the day they are born until they make the leap to heaven never have the opportunity to get away.
And maybe there is no better way to ponder this by referencing a song written by John Lennon.
On his 1980 album, Double Fantasy, Lennon’s song, “Beautiful Boy(Darling Boy)” is about his son, Sean.
In the song, Lennon used this quote from Allen Saunders: “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.”
I’ve never been to Chippewa Falls, but I have an appreciation for the beers brewed by Leinenkugel brewers. For me in Virginia, that appreciation never would have occurred without distribution of Leinenkugel beers initially by Miller, and more recently by Molson Coors.
Truthfully, I’m not surprised by the dumping of Leinenkugel’s original brewery by Molson Coors. Big breweries are focused on two goals — surviving and earning a profit.
When big brewers figured out that the craft-beer explosion was chipping into their sales, the big guys responded by purchasing successful craft breweries.
Not all of these acquisitions were successful.
Leinenkugel loyalists might find interest in learning the story of San Francisco’s iconic Anchor Steam Brewery. A few years after being purchased by the huge Japanese brewer, Sapporo, Anchor Steam historic brewery was closed.
Unfortunately, I don’t believe this will be the end of brewery closings in America. Investors, no matter if they are vested in a craft or behemoth brewery, desire to make a profit. For Leinenkugel, I hope there is a solution.
But what I really hope is that Molson Coors executives have learned a valuable lesson from the brewery in Chippewa Falls — loyalty still matters.
Bill Pike, Richmond, Virginia
From the author: Friends, I’m honored that my letter to the editor about the closing of the Leinenkugel Brewery was published in the Sunday, January 26, 2025 edition of the Wisconsin State Journal.
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.
Starting the de-icing in Richmond (Photo Bill Pike)
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.
Coastal plain along the Atlantic Coast (Photo Bill Pike)
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 