Beginning of the Expedition

3:00 AM, Day 1: I finally get to sleep, having massively underestimated the time it was going to take to finish packing, clean the apartment, wash dishes before leaving (no roaches this time upon my return!).

7:30 AM: I leave the apartment for campus after 4 refreshing hours of sleep. Ironically I talk to neighbor in parking lot, who complains about excess roaches in his apartment. “Like small dogs. . . “ he says.

8:00 AM: I stop for coffee a Jittery Joes, redeeming punch card for most expensive coffee item on the menu, the infamous “Crackachino” w/ no fewer than 4 shots of espresso. Life is good.

8:30 AM: Tumbler drops in door lock to lab, locking me, increasingly frantic and un-caffeinated, outside of the lab. The key, which worked minutes before does so no longer, placing a heavy door between me, the field gear which I need to start loading on to the truck, and more importantly, my coffee. TJ arrives, his key also does not work. Fortunately, the master key does and disaster is averted, but time of departure is pushed back.

9:15 AM: Gear is loaded and the expedition begins! Michael – “Are we there yet?” . . . First indication that our fearless leader might be somewhat delusional, or just have a sick sense of humor. This is going to be a long trip. . .

9:30 AM: The boat is picked up from the EnTox facility. I notice that the ball of the trailer tongue is loose. Trailer ball is tightened (with what appears to be almost excessive vigor) and over the next few hundred miles Michael tries to erase the images of the boat, no longer tethered to the hitch by the aforementioned loose trailer ball, bounding merrily after the truck on the highway at 70 mph. TJ immediately falls asleep in the back with all the equipment that could not be stored in the truck bed – this appears to be a comfortable position. I decide to try it myself.

1:30 PM: I take over driving for a bit. The afternoon deluge hits. Rain is pretty intense. I keep an eye out for pairs of animals two by two crossing the highway. Michael is just glad he remembered to wrap his bag in plastic at last stop – meaning that he will have dry underwear when we get the keys.

3:00 PM: Our massively long truck, boat, and human rig stops for gas and sustenance. Michael, who fortunately did not forget about the trailer ball, checks for the 4^th time and finds that it turns in his fingers. TJ’s lack of wrench-turning strength is immediately ridiculed. Ball is tightened again and we are on our way.

5:00 PM: We stop again, trailer ball is loose again. We start looking for an establishment that sells trailer balls in St. Augustine, FL and is open late on a Thursday.

6:00 PM: We found what may be the world’s most expensive 2 inch trailer ball. Made out of solid platinum, or something, apparently justifying the its $45 dollar price tag. Turns out the old ball had threads too small for the receiver and the lock nut had been wrenched inside the hole in the hitch, rendering it useless. New ball fits nicely. We all gather ‘round, gaze upon its beauty, and hope that this is the last time we have to stop for this crap.

9:30 PM: We stop to feed the thirsty truck. We are all assailed by bugs, but particularly Michael, who has to stand by the truck to pump the gas. This particular gas station supports a particularly diverse group of insects, few of which are the same species, but all enthusiastically charging up Michaels shirt, nostrils, hair, etc. We leave gas station for the next exit for dinner, hoping it will be less ecologically diverse.

12:00 AM: We enter the land of tolls and engage elderly toll booth operator who inquires whether we are going fishing. Yes, replies our fearless leader. “In all this rain?” she asks. “Yup,” I say, “in all this rain at MIDNIGHT!” No, just a second, that is what I thought – we just nodded politely and got the heck out of there. In the land of tolls, we meet many types of tollbooth operators: Very slow elderly gentleman, very slow elderly woman, weebles, arithmetically-challenged axel-counter, and at last, a competent operator. . . with 9 miles to go on the Turnpike.

2:00 AM: We enter the 18 mile stretch. TJ finally wakes up, “Are we there yet?” Conveniently, all the construction crews have waited until the wee hours of the morning to put up construction cones for me to drive through.

3:00 AM. We are 10 miles from the Keys Marine Lab, our final destination and get stuck behind a wide load (half-a-house) going through a construction zone. Driver is conveniently knocking over every cone into my path to weave the boat through. This is not a particularly welcome development.

3:30 AM: We arrive at KML and are greeted with a warm, humid dorm and a turd in the downstairs bathroom. Air conditioning on, turd evicted, and to bed we go! Home, at last. I leave you with a picture from the marina dorm looking out over Florida Bay with a storm rolling in our first day.