Travel to Florida

I awoke around 4:55 AM and drove to the Indianapolis airport. I pulled in just behind the Economy shuttle and knew just what to do. I sped across the parking lot to Shelter 10 and quickly parked my car. Then, I pulled out all my bags and begun dismantling my satellite radio and radar detector while eyeing the nearing shuttle. I ripped the DC power splitter out dislodging the panel. As the bus pulled up, I stuffed the electronics down my shirt and lumbered under 100 lbs of baggage into the Economy shuttle.

Once inside, I sat down satisfied and packed the electronics into my bag exposing two ziplocked PB&J sandwiches. Spotting my lunch, the lady across the aisle exclaimed, “I’m going with you. You must be traveling far away.” I explained that I get quite hungry when my day begins so early. At the terminal, I hauled myself toward check-in and immediately noticed an enormous line snaking away from the Northwest terminal. I stepped into place and waited my turn wondering why the online check-in hadn’t printed barcodes on my tickets. I knew that I had plenty of time and eyed a couple beauties while I waited. 40 minutes later, I passed security, and soon sat in familiar Gate A munching on my sandwich, carrots, and an apple.

I read Desert Solitaire by Edward Abbey as the plane launched towards Tampa pondering what forms quicksand. The sun shone strong on the blue, blue water and my eyes sucked in the splendor of the nearly subtropical coast. Car rental went smoothly. I didn’t even have to argue the price; Orbitz did me well. Back at the baggage claim, I spotted my backpack stuck, and backing up baggage exiting on the conveyor belt. I gave it a hard tug to no avail. I heard shuffling behind the veil of rubber and a loud clang set my backpack free with only a broken buckle. I lugged my bags down an aisle of cars to parking spot 178 where my Red Chevy Cobalt awaited Brianization. The car pulled out gleaming with gadgets and I followed Mapquest to Walmart.

The not-so-super Walmart carried nearly everything. I only lacked Low Sodium V8. I emptied the cartload of plastic sacks into the Cobalt and traveled not-so-gracefully to Barnes & Noble. I picked up The Monkey Wrench Gang and a Florida Gazetteer. Content, I crossed Old Tampa Bay and on I-275 and SR 19 north toward Honeymoon Island watching for a Lowes or Home Depot. An irritable, glucose deprived Killingbeck entered Home Depot bent on finding window suction cups. Later a powerbar, a can of not-so-great corn chowder, and some bomber suction cups from Michael’s improved my temper.