Day 2 – OK, So It’s Just “Bike Day” For Us

Don’t know if it was the comfy bed…or the gentle rockin of the boat…or just worn out from the long ride yesterday…but I slept in ‘til 7:00 this mornin! That’s an hour ‘n a half later than my usual rise ‘n shine on these bike rides. The missus can hardly believe it either. We get showered and head up into the main salon…hey, I’m pretty sure that’s what they call the livin room on a yacht… to find that Doris already has coffee brewed, and is whippin up some waffles ‘n bacon for breakfast. Man, a floatin Waffle House…only a whole bunch better…I done died and gone to heaven! I’m tellin ya what…if we didn’t have a son and jobs waitin for us back home…we could easily turn into them thar guests that outstay their welcome if ya know what I mean. Hey, we WOULD pitch in on the diesel ya know.

After a delicious breakfast, Doris ‘n CK walk over to the beach for a little stroll in the surf…and Wayne ‘n I hit the lounge chairs on the poop deck for a jaw session…ya know, solvin the ills of the world and all that. I did take a walk over to the beach to get a shot ot the gals in the sand, but they musta gone joggin or something ‘cause they were nowhere to be seen when I got there. Oh well…not like I don’t need the exercise. Back at the boat, Wayne ‘n I settle in for the afore mentioned jaw session. Ya shoulda heard ‘bout some of their run-ins with bad weather, high seas, shallow shoals, and rude riverboat captains. I’ll jump on the scoot and head off anywhere…any distance…but don’t know if I’d have what it takes to attempt the journey to which they’ve committed themselves. Tales of runnin aground in areas of bad bouy placement…ya know, the kind only the locals know ‘bout…and the subsequent prop repairs. Tales of high seas knockin ‘em ‘round pretty hard as they were makin the crossin in the Gulf. Tales of dense fog and no visibility…relyin solely on the radar picture, which by the way, can be littered with false targets. Hey, “targets” is what they’d be if’n I was operatin the boat. Like I said, don’t know if I’d have what it takes…and they called us “gutsy” just for jumpin on the bike for 600 miles at a moment’s notice. Compared to their journey, our little bike ride was ‘bout as weenie as all the Trailer Queens we saw on the road yesterday.

Anyways, just as we were on the verge of discussin the secret of life…wouldn’t ya know it, the gals come strollin down the pier…so we set ‘bout pullin a prank instead. Hey, a man’s gotta have his priorities ya know. We pull a buncha beer bottles outta the waste can and set ‘em ‘bout the table like we done killed a half case at ten in the mornin…and just to add a touch of believability to the scene, I pop open a fresh ‘un. CK ‘n Doris make their way up onto the poop deck, and instead of the shock ‘n awe effect we thought it’d have on ‘em…they head down into the galley and mix up a pitcher of Bloody Mary’s instead. Guess they figgered they had some catchin up to do. Ahhhhh…just like bein in the Keys again…on island time for sure. We proceed to turn our prank scene into a mid-mornin reality, and are havin a right good time pickin up right where we left off the night before. By lunch we’re already at least a couple sheets in the wind… sooo, we decide to pace ourselves a bit and head down to take a nap in our cabins. I did manage to nod off for a short power nap, but was soon up ‘n restless…sooo, I saddle up and head down to Main Street to see what all the fuss is ‘bout. I had been to other rallies, but never to Daytona. Let’s see…t-shirt tent, bar, t-shirt tent, bar, goobers revvin engines like they forgot how to work the clutch, bar, bar, trailer queens unloadin bikes, bar, bar, honey in a thong…yep, same stuff, different town. But hey…the thong thingy never gets old, aye.

After pickin up a couple rally pins for my son’s collection, I head back to the boat to rouse CK so’s she can get her first taste of a rally. After enjoyin some Boondocks burgers on the poop deck, CK ‘n I mount up and head down into the festivities. We rode up A1A past Main Street to hit a li’l t-shirt tent I had seen earlier, and CK’s in her element…shoppin. We had hit some pretty good traffic on A1A…duh…and CK was a bit nervous ‘bout rollin into the Main Street mess she had seen as we passed by. Ya see…this was her first rally…ever! So, I guess her nervousness was understandable…but it didn’t last long, as she was soon enjoyin the crowds and craziness of rally central…ooh’n and ahh’n over the parties in full swing in every direction…snappin pics of the revelers on the balconies of places like the Dog House, Wiseguys, Boot Hill, blah blah blah. In fact, as we were headin outta the main scene she up ‘n says, “That was fun. Let’s come back when we have a few days next time.” She might be a bit new to all this…but me thinks she was born for it. We roll on outta the congestion, and start makin our way along less crowded streets towards Port Orange…with a petro stop where CK got her first face-to-face with a patch holder. After a couple hello’s ‘n howdy’s, CK turns to me and says, “Nice guy.” I told her not to believe all the crap the general public spreads ‘bout the clubs…just give respect and you’ll get it back…disrespect ‘em and ya gets what ya gets. Which, in my humble opinion, is how it should be.

We make our way over to Dunlawton Avenue…the main drag out to the beaches in Port Orange…and try in vain to find a seafood place we saw on the way in the night before. We stop at a store, and the guy inside says to try King Seafood under the bridge…sooo, we head to Kings to pick up some fresh shrimp ‘n oysters for tonight’s dinner. While CK’s inside grabbin some of the afore mentioned crustaceans, a dude on a bike nearby starts backin outta his spot to head out. Outta the blue, this other guy standin there starts tellin me ‘bout how he just lost a gear in his transmission…and I’m sympathizin and tellin him how bad that sux…and then, without ‘nuther word, he hops on the back of the bike that just backed out and off they go. Oh man, I felt for the dude…guess he just wanted it known he had a legit reason for ridin bitch away from the tiki bar next door…instead of leavin me to believe whatever my perverted mind chose to believe. hehe To each their own I guess…but I’da walked or called a freakin cab myself. No, I’m not homophobic…but some things just ain’t right ya know.

Anyways, CK soon exits with a bag ‘o shrimp that more closely resemble lobster…man, those things were huge…and a bag o’ snot on the halfshell…hey, that’s what oysters look like to me. We fire up ole Rattler, and make hasty tracks back to the boat to throw the little critters in a pot…and settle in for ‘nuther eve of imbibin on the poop deck. Hey, here’s a maturity check…see if ya can say “poop deck” out loud without gigglin like a li’l boy that just farted…hehe…I can’t. After crackin open the cooler more times than I can remember, we finally finish off every last beer in the thing. But, not to worry, Doris breaks out the tequila and the margs are soon a flowin…along with a custom concoction CK ‘n Doris cooked up with scraps from the liquor cabinet. Let’s see…what did they call it?...oh yeah, a Dreamsicle?! Don’t ask what was in it…don’t think ya wanna know. Just as the sun is settin, our neighbor that had left out for some fishin early this mornin, comes backin his big Cabo sport fishin boat…errr…yacht into the slip next to us. Man, this thing was nice for a “fishing boat”! Turns out the dude was the captain for the owner…Carlton Meyers, four-time offshore racing champion…which probably ‘splains why he was workin so damned hard on the post-trip clean-up…gettin paid. Pretty nice fellow…and even invited me over for a tour. That thing is pushed along by a pair of 800 hp MAN diesels. In my best Tim Allen voice…ooh ooh aah aah aah…that’s some muscle! Must like fishin better than the fish itself, ‘cause ya could buy a wholllllle lot more fish with what it takes in just fuel alone on that thing. ‘Course, if’n ya can afford the boat AND a crew…I guess yer not worryin too much ‘bout fuel costs are ya. Must be nice.

Oh yeah...here's a shot for my bud, Muthuh...he'll understand.

Well, we have a right good time consumin mass quantities of alcohol as the evenin progresses, but with the pendin departure for home in the mornin, we hit the sack just a bit earlier than last night. See ya in the mornin for the backroad ramble home.