May 9, Friday – Bloody, Black Friday

My new campsite was a rock hard area next to a mammoth herd of ugly RVer’s. (Strange how my psyche can preach it round or preach it square just on where my head rests for the night.) And on this side of the key there wasn’t a smidge of air movement. I was dying from the 85 degree temp and the 85 percent humidity. I remembered the previous night’s attack so I spent the necessary minutes on a search and destroy mission for all things that flew or walked inside my tent. Again peeling off my sweat socked clothes was as far as I got before giving up to slumber. Later in the night I was awaken by strong winds and even though the rainfly was off, it still was hot inside so I unzipped the mosquito netting door next to my head and returned to a fitful sleep. A couple of hours later I awoke with at start: Something was having at it on my leg. My flashlight revealed a tent full of mosquitoes. The wind had dropped and it was open season on Ron’s naked body. After quickly zipping the door back shut I whispered, “Already you thirsty shitheads, you are all going to die.” For the next 35 minutes it was a blood bath. They could run but they couldn’t hide. The inter wall of my nylon tent is now the artist tapestry of blood streaked smashed bodies of dozens of mosquitoes. Balanced by red mosquito bit swelling all over my body. The tent wall blood smears are a monument from the night of hell on Bahia Honda. Before dawn I was on the road to Tamarac.
On my return reunion with SneeOosh in Tamarac, I wanted to see the downtown Miami skyline so I took Route 1 and Interstate 95 past stacks of high rises. Beach? What beach? All I caught a glimpse of were canyons and buildings- no water. What a shame to isolate your beauty. We Americans tend to do that. Look at our cities; Miami is not alone.
It was a joy to drive the last hour with the A/C on in the Jetta. I backed the VW up to Snee Oosh and started rounding up the gear to return it to the mother ship. I was not prepared for what awaited me. Snee Oosh had $45 worth of season’ s greetings from the local police department. Unbeknownst to Alix, me and the section president, this charming golfing community had an ordinance that no RV’s are allowed to park in a resident’s driveway. In their rush to be a perfect community and the fear of losing control, they made rigid rules with not flexibility. If a resident has a friend driving a RV who would like to visit a few days, the answer is no. Or as one policeman that I spoke to at the police station, “They could park at WalMart … Come to think of it, they’d probably get a parking citation there, too.” So I filled out a report contesting the citations and said goodbye at 5:30 and left Tamarac. What started out as a trip up the keys to Miami turned into a bust and I was on the road again. I found a safe harbor in the form of a little known state park called Jonathan Hickinson that still did reservations by hand. I was home.
But the major thing that went un-noticed that day was that Side Two of Ron’s Circle Tour had been completed and for the first time I would be heading north instead of south or east. I had been to the to outer corner and now was tickling the Eastern Seaboard.