AB1 Tour 2014 - Week 6 - Miami

Oh, Miami, we were going to do so much in your beautiful seaside town: jai alai; Jungle Island (where they have "Hercules," a "liger," which is a cross between a lion and a tiger.  I had to see it.  And then, what next?  A griffin, maybe?  That would be part lion, part eagle for you Greek mythologically-challenged); dinner at the legendary Joe's Stone Crab; Gulfstream Park now that we're so fired up about California Chrome and his wonderful Kentucky Derby run-for-the-roses; and the Jackie Gleason Center for the Performing Arts.  Yes, we missed seeing any or all of these.  It was due to a run of bad fortune combined with horrendous traffic, expensive fees, our loss of a day to St. Augustine, and our general all-around RV-induced malaise.  What are the odds?
   

 We did, however, accomplish our main reason for including Miami on our Sisyphusian summer schedule: we got to see a baseball game in Miami's brand spanking new (2011) baseball stadium.  So if you're keeping a Kaye and Stuart official scorecard, you can cross off #18 on our list of 30 major league baseball stadiums which we'll be seeing by September, 2015 (or bust), or at least it will be so until idiot Atlanta builds another new stadium (has to be their 4th one in 11 years) and then our list of seeing all 30 major league ballparks will revert to 29.  No backsies.
     OK, I was going to tell you that since we were only going to be in Miami four short days, that this edition of the "Kaye & Stuart Blog" would be mercifully short ... but I guess that ship has already sailed judging by what I've already written.
     Bygones.
     Monday, May 5, was our travel day.  Our one-day delay meant we didn't have a day to recover like we usually do when laying vacational siege to some major city (like New York, Philadelphia, or Blooming Prairie, MN ... hi O.B.  Remember the Blossoms' cheerleader?).  That meant that we were up and at it immediately the next morning with our long commute into town to see the Miami Marlins game.  No rest for the wicked or the retired.
     

We got to town early enough to snag one of the last free parking spots in one of the last free parking lots in any major city in the world.  It was the section of town called "Little Havana," a scant 10-block walk from the ballpark.  We wandered Little Havana hoping to get a real "Guys and Dolls" feel for the island nation.  Instead, we got a feel more for East Dubuque, Iowa, a tough town if I've ever seen one (and I don't think I have).  Instead of a real Cuban dinner in Little Havana, which we weren't able to find, we instead opted for the fine dining experience of "haute ballpark cuisine."  I couldn't have been happier.  Diedre wearily shook her head and went along with the program.
     

The two-time world champion Miami Marlins are playing in major league baseball's newest stadium (built in 2011).  It was huge, spectacular, somewhat stark, and mostly devoid of fans.  Their main attraction was a bobblehead museum.
     Go figure.
     The Marlins hosted the New York Mets on our night.  With a nice job of shutout pitching by the locals' 2nd year pitcher with the British-Hispanic name of Henderson Alvarez, the Fish prevailed 3-0. Young Miami strongman Giancarlo Stanton absolutely crushed the ball every time the Mets would actually pitch to him (2 walks and 2 base hits).  Attendance was 18,315 in the 37,000 soul stadium, although most of those in attendance seemed to be disguised as empty seats (I know, I know, old joke).
     

The real excitement of the evening came later that night back at the homestead (RVstead?) when our youngest and only female feline Samantha made her long-awaited break for freedom.  One moment she was there, and the next, she was a gone cat.
     A "Snowshoe" by breed which means her abnormally long white feet really do look like snowshoes, Samantha became the first of our three cats to escape from the previously impregnable AB1, better known in cat-speak as "The Al-cat-raz RV."  Her quest for freedom reminded me a lot of Andy Dufrene in that great prison movie,"The Shawshank Redemption."  Samantha had actually clawed a hole in the RV wall, then took the crumblings and hid them in her litter box so we wouldn't realize what she was doing.  I'm not making this up ... well, most of it anyway.  Finally on a night with a big storm ...
     No, no, that's not right.
   

(DK - Does this really look like someone ready to bolt?)

 Actually, the door was left unlatched when ONE of us went to the camp bathhouse to take a shower. Now, I'm not going to say which one of us risked the life of our poor, sweet little girl, although most of you can figure it out, what with my aversion to soap and water being fairly well known.  So when the door was left minutely open, Samantha was out in a flash.  Alleged brains of the cat mob Charlie stood hesitantly at the door debating whether to make his break for freedom or go have a much-needed lie-down on the couch.  Meanwhile, adorable middle child Casey was lying on top of the refrigerator absently counting his toes.
     It took me five solid minutes to finally apprehend Samantha. I was a real bloodhound. Sammy was like an escaped convict in one of those old fashioned prison movies where they're dressed in black striped uniforms. I continually pursued, she continually escaped.  She went under the RV ... I went under the RV ... She went under the Honda ... I went under the Honda ... she went under the picnic table ... I went under the picnic table ... She went under the Boardwalk ... "Under the boardwalk, out by the sea" ... no, wait, that's a 60's song.
     Anyway, you must remember how good cats are at responding to verbal commands. Unfortunately, their response to most any verbal command is a casual yawn and a look that snidely translates as "REALLY?" They then inevitably roll onto their backs and await the expected tummy rubs.
     I finally caught up with our facile feline when her extra poundage had her tiring of the chase.  I nabbed her quickly, at least as quickly as any good 63-year old retiree can nab a wayward pet, and returned her to the RV prison where the punishment meted out consisted of a snack and a spirited game of "Bird."  Her distracted meows that night sounded like she was saying "SCHEREZADE!" (You'll have to ask our actress friend and Early Bird Special comedienne, Alaina Beauloye, what that means.)
     I just received an email of such earthshaking importance that I know you, meaning every God-fearing dessert lover in the tri-state area, will want to know about.  Las Vegas, home of all that is decadent and depraved, has finally come up with something that is good, decent, and wholesome for every non-diabetic you know.  They have just announced ... drum roll, please ... wait for it ... OK, now ...
     HERSHEY'S CHOCOLATE WORLD!!!
   

 Yes, Las Vegas, that massive den of iniquity, is now becoming the sugar capital of the world.  Already sporting a four-floor M&M's Museum and Gift Shop (emphasis on the "shop"), they are now in the process of building a two-story destination site featuring all things HERSHEY'S.  It will be located at the New York-New York Hotel and Casino. The retail experience will offer guests a chance to create their own HERSHEY’S happiness through a variety of interactive experiences such as customizing candy wrappers and personalizing HERSHEY’S Kisses plumes.  There's also talk of a chocolate dunk tank, but the waiting list for that is already two years long.
     OK, back to real blog news.
     

On Thursday, we made our way out of the city and into that vast moray of mud, swamp-water, and the creepy crawlies.  No, it wasn't an invite to Kanye West and whichever Kardashian's wedding.  Better than that.  It was the Everglades National Park, a place I had always wanted to see.  And our little Grand Canyon hiker was only too glad to join me and strengthen those leg muscles wading through thigh-deep bogs while fighting off the occasional, now full grown, toilet-flushed Burmese python.  Oh, do I know how to woo a girl!
     Instead of one big hike like we've taken at so many other national parks, we instead took a series of short hikes to totally different types of trails, each with its own unique take on flora AND fauna (Didn't want you to forget the "fauna.")  At the first trail head, we ran across a sign indicating a precaution we had never heard about before.

Bird diapers ... what will they think of next?
     After safely ensuring the safety of our trusty steed, Zippy, we started off on the "Anhinga Trail," so named for the Anhinga bird.  He's an interesting guy; he gets so wet diving for fish that he can't fly, so he awkwardly stands in the sun and flexes his wings like an avian Arnold Schwarzenegger to try to get them to dry off.  This trail was also great for spotting alligators in the wild, as opposed to alligators in your rumpus room.
   

    Pinelands, the next trail, was teeming with a subtropical pine forest.  Yes, I said "pine" forest in the Everglades, full of bogs and swamps.  Evergreen trees?  Not a picture I had even considered.  Who'd a thunk it?
     From there, it was on to the Mahogany Hammock Trail.  Clambering over about two miles of boardwalk (no song here) at the base of these massive trees growing in the swamp made me feel like Han Solo on the planet of the Ewoks.  (Cue Diedre to roll her eyes).  

But my favorite tree, a bare, red barked beauty, was the lyrically named "gumbo-lingo tree."  Kind of reminds me of that great Dodger pitcher from the 40's, Van Lingle Mungo.
     The Everglades is one huge-ass park.  What I didn't realize, in fact, is that the lower half of the park, virtually the entire southern tip of Florida, is more water than land ... a lot like the basement in our Minnesota house.  This area is made up of nothing but keys, and these are not the ones leading down to Key West. There's so many, I think they ran out of names for them.  There are the keys that sound like a bunch of guys playing poker and after drinking too much beer, decided to go out and name some keys after themselves: Frank Key, Clive Key, Roscoe Key, Sid Key, Bob Key, and Russell Key.  Animals are well represented here: Rabbit Key, Eagle Key, Deer Key, Pelican Key, and, of course, the everything is just "Duck Key."  Speaking of animals, there's a particularly treacherous spot in the area where there starts to be more land than water.  It's an area one should probably avoid: the unholy triumvirate of Shark Point, Alligator Point, and the most feared Minnesota attack animal of them all, Mosquito Point.
     And then there are the really odd names: Twin Keys (Twinkies?) and Gopher Keys (after our great Minnesota sports teams), Spy Key, East Key and West Key (not Key West), Dildo Key (Now what were they thinking there?),  and the only Russian key, Passkey Down the Streetskey. (That one's for you Marx Brothers fans).
     But I digress (Ya' think?!)
     See you in Tampa!