There was a time as destitute college students when the Cadillac Man didn't have a Cadillac and I didn't have much of anything so in that sorry circumstance there was only one thing to do: take a road trip to Florida. There wasn't much preparation to make as neither of us had much stuff.
One of the key preparations was music and most important to this was a supply of eight-track tapes. However, the trouble with eight-track tapes, eight-track tape machines, or both is that the tapes were coming to quite a quick demise. By the time we got to Florida there were only two tapes that had survived, one by Judi Collins and another by Black Sabbath.
We wandered around Florida a little bit, staying in places so cheap you could hear creatures moving around at night, but that wasn't the adventure. No, the adventure came when we tried to go back home as this was when we got to Jacksonville and the transmission on the Cadillac Man's car broke. After some discussion with a mechanic it was clear that it was not only broken but couldn't be fixed so it would be necessary to replace it. This was not good news to hear on a Sunday morning.
With the car left in the able hands of the mechanic and no slightest idea of how he would be paid, we found our way to yet another cheap motel. With nothing at all to do until the mechanic found another transmission, the only option was to sit outside and watch the world passing by, apparently oblivious to our dire circumstance.
After sitting outside for some while, the motel phone began ringing. The Cadillac Man answered it as he hoped it was the mechanic with news of his car but actually it was some fellow, a quite gay fellow, who had spotted us from a nearby motel. He gave the Cadillac Man some kind of proposition but that only caused a bit of consternation from him as the closest we had come to romance on this trip was a gay guy trying to pick us up. He was shaking his head as he came back from the phone call but, no, this was not the adventure. This was just an odd interlude.
This does remind, however, of a trip I took to Florida with the Mystery Lady and we arrived quite late in the night but with no reservations anywhere. For that situation, we took the first place that looked decent enough to stay with one's wife and peacefully slept. The next morning we went out to the swimming pool and after some time I noticed something unusual. At this time, I turned to the Mystery Lady and asked her if she had noticed that all the people staying there were men, all of whom seemed to be quite good friends with their traveling companions.
So the Cadillac Man and I got back on the road. How he found the money for the transmission is lost to history but I know it didn't come from me but I do know it involved some quite frantic phone calls back to Cincinnati.
But that wasn't the adventure either. The adventure was trying to drive sixteen hours with only two tapes, Judi Collins and Black Sabbath, as mentioned above. It didn't really become brutal until about halfway when the Black Sabbath tape died. I submit that listening to Judi Collins for eight straight hours isn't something to which even a war criminal should be subjected and I confess I have hardly listened to anything she has done ever since.
And so another trip to Florida went down in the annals of musical history.
One of the key preparations was music and most important to this was a supply of eight-track tapes. However, the trouble with eight-track tapes, eight-track tape machines, or both is that the tapes were coming to quite a quick demise. By the time we got to Florida there were only two tapes that had survived, one by Judi Collins and another by Black Sabbath.
We wandered around Florida a little bit, staying in places so cheap you could hear creatures moving around at night, but that wasn't the adventure. No, the adventure came when we tried to go back home as this was when we got to Jacksonville and the transmission on the Cadillac Man's car broke. After some discussion with a mechanic it was clear that it was not only broken but couldn't be fixed so it would be necessary to replace it. This was not good news to hear on a Sunday morning.
With the car left in the able hands of the mechanic and no slightest idea of how he would be paid, we found our way to yet another cheap motel. With nothing at all to do until the mechanic found another transmission, the only option was to sit outside and watch the world passing by, apparently oblivious to our dire circumstance.
After sitting outside for some while, the motel phone began ringing. The Cadillac Man answered it as he hoped it was the mechanic with news of his car but actually it was some fellow, a quite gay fellow, who had spotted us from a nearby motel. He gave the Cadillac Man some kind of proposition but that only caused a bit of consternation from him as the closest we had come to romance on this trip was a gay guy trying to pick us up. He was shaking his head as he came back from the phone call but, no, this was not the adventure. This was just an odd interlude.
This does remind, however, of a trip I took to Florida with the Mystery Lady and we arrived quite late in the night but with no reservations anywhere. For that situation, we took the first place that looked decent enough to stay with one's wife and peacefully slept. The next morning we went out to the swimming pool and after some time I noticed something unusual. At this time, I turned to the Mystery Lady and asked her if she had noticed that all the people staying there were men, all of whom seemed to be quite good friends with their traveling companions.
So the Cadillac Man and I got back on the road. How he found the money for the transmission is lost to history but I know it didn't come from me but I do know it involved some quite frantic phone calls back to Cincinnati.
But that wasn't the adventure either. The adventure was trying to drive sixteen hours with only two tapes, Judi Collins and Black Sabbath, as mentioned above. It didn't really become brutal until about halfway when the Black Sabbath tape died. I submit that listening to Judi Collins for eight straight hours isn't something to which even a war criminal should be subjected and I confess I have hardly listened to anything she has done ever since.
And so another trip to Florida went down in the annals of musical history.
2 comments:
Its been over 40 years since that trip. I still recall every word to every song on that Judi Collins tape. UH UH
It's forty years on but it still makes me laugh!
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