BAD DAY AT HAWAII'S BLACK ROCK

Pittsburgh Pennsylvania is situated at the "confluence" of three rivers.

THE ALLEGHENY AND MONONGAHELA MERGE AT PITTSBURGH, TO FORM THE OHIO RIVER.

This article has nothing to do with Pittsburgh!  Instead, it has to do with the "confluence" of carelessness and over-confidence, to form stupidity.

                               

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In 1995, a former employee of mine went on vacation to Barbados.  In this slice of Eden, he went snorkeling, had a heart attack and drown.  It's wrong to speak poorly of the dead. So without all the facts, I'm not implying that stupidity was a variable in his death.  Out of common decency and respect, I'll call him Jonny.

Oddly, this article has nothing to do with Jonny either.  But I flashed back to his demise during my December 2015 vacation in Hawaii.  That's when my carelessness and over-confidence merged into stupidity and netted me an all too real, near-death experience.


                                                                   
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I'm no stranger to vacation carelessness.  In December 1995, my wife Sue, baby son Andrew and I landed in San Diego.  Friends picked us up and drove us an hour, to their house.  When we got there, the return tickets (that I was entrusted with) were missing.  Together with our host, I returned to the airport.  We actually found the specific luggage cart that brought our bags to their car but the tickets were gone.  Unfortunately, they weren't turned-in to lost and found either.  In addition to costing me an extra sixty dollars each to re-buy them, I had cost my host over two hours of his valued leisure time.

Twenty years later, (last month) I accidentally tried to re-enact that screw-up. Sue and I celebrated our mutual sixtieth birthdays with a trip to the Hawaiian island of Maui. Unless you are a frequent flyer, with all the new TSA procedures cemented into your memory bank, just getting on the plane can be daunting.

THE TRANSPORTATION SECURITY ADMINISTRATION (TSA), IS AN EXPEDITED AIRPORT SECURITY SCREENING PROGRAM. TO THE UNINITIATED (ME), IT'S AN UNFORTUNATE YET NECESSARY,  COLOSSAL PAIN IN THE ASS. 

I admit it, I was nervous.  In addition to all the preparation and worry about forgetting small details, Sue and I woke up at 2:AM for our frantic drive to Philadelphia, to make our 5:15 flight.

The first step in the airport, is checking your luggage.  Sue had a strong handle on that.  However, many of the do-it-yourself computer terminals weren't working.  We were getting pissed-off because others who lucked-out with working terminals, went ahead of us.  Then the actual airline employee who checked our bags, was a bitch.

Up one flight on the escalator, is the TSA checkpoint.  An agent checks your paperwork before allowing travelers into the inner sanctum of the security system.  All he asked me for was our boarding passes.  I didn't have them!  My heart sunk and it was all on me.  I flashed back to my lost tickets in San Diego and bolted down the escalator to the only place they could be.  Luckily for my sorry ass, they were right next to baggage check bitch's station.

We flew on American Airlines.  The first three and half hour leg of our epic journey took us to Dallas. I expected it to be easy to sleep but I was overcome by high anxiety. Back on the ground, we ran like lunatics from one corner of the airport to the other to find the jet to Maui.  Along the way, we stuffed crap from a 7-11 in our mouths because we learned the hard way that even our eight and a half hour flight, did NOT provide meals.

YOU CAN'T BLAME AMERICAN, ALL THE WEASELLY AIRLINES DON'T OFFER MEALS, TO MINIMIZE CONSUMER COST, (MAXIMIZE THEIR PROFIT) .  INSTEAD, THEY OFFER GARBAGE NEATLY WRAPPED IN CELLOPHANE FOR PURCHASE.  IF YOU SAW THE SHIT THAT THEY WERE TRYING TO PAWN-OFF AS A $9.50 PASTRAMI SANDWICH, YOU'D GLADLY STARVE ON PRINCIPLE. 

Dallas to Maui would be my longest flight ever.  I caught a catnap but it was nothing significant.  I finished a Sudoku puzzle and suffered through a Meryl Streep soap opera-like movie.To further emphasize the monotony, I kept looking out the window at the land below.  I knew we couldn't be making much progress until we were flying over  the Pacific Ocean.

Those first three hours were an eternity. I wanted to cheer when the brown earth below was replaced by the glistening, briny, deep blue sea.  Crazy but true, within seconds, my perceived bliss of progress came to a screeching stop!  That's when a screeching woman ran back from the front of the plane and screamed, "My husband's dying!"

 Like the movies, the stewardesses announced if there were doctors aboard.  Later, passengers with diabetic sugar sampling equipment were urged to volunteer.

The next two hours were surreal. American Airlines, to avoid liability, made a U-Turn back to Los Angeles.  We were never informed whether the man's life was in danger the whole time we were on the ground.

All the other passengers had to be careful, so nobody complained that this emergency caused extra time to be added onto our marathon flight. Just imagine a dream-fest vacation ending with a loved one (or you) sickened or dying on the way.

Hours later when our irritability and exhaustion were maxing-out, the movie screens were turned on. For the next half hour, our dulled senses were amped-up by a collage of scenic photos backed-up by relaxing Hawaiian music.

(STOCK PHOTO)  EVERYONE ON OUR PLANE BECAME RE-ENERGIZED WITH EXCITEMENT WITH THE FIRST SIGHTING OF LAND .  I CAN ONLY IMAGINE HOW THE CREW FELT ON JANUARY 18, 1778 WHEN CAPTAIN JAMES COOK BECAME THE FIRST EUROPEAN TO DISCOVER HAWAII.

We charged off the plane with ukulele music in our heads.  In the concourse, on our way to baggage claim, those wonderful sounds were replaced by Christmas music.  If we came any other time of year, we would have been better off, because the holiday tunes we were already familiar with dominated every loudspeaker, gift shop, elevator etc., for the rest of the trip.

In our first half-second outside, (3:PM), Sue and I were intoxicated by the fragrant scent and natural beauty...and we were only in Maui Airport.  Even though it was overcast and breezy (almost windy), we knew difference between eighty degrees in Utopia and forty in South Jersey.

Our hotel, the Maui Sheridan was a one-hour shuttle bus drive away.  Our burnt-out, main-lander driver gave us a history lesson, showed us points of interests and patiently answered our typical tourist questions, (so many of the male grunt workers were spaced out pot smokers).

(STOCK PHOTO)   AERIAL PHOTO OF SHERIDAN PROPERTY, (COMPLETE WITH THE FAMOUS BLACK ROCKS, FAR LEFT).

We soaked in the cultural shock as every view of the hotel grounds was greater eye candy.  I'm happy to report...that feeling never ended, the whole time we were there.  But as soon as that initial rush subsided, we came to our senses and ran out to eat.

EVERY MORNING, TEN FEET OUT OUR DOOR, WE WERE SMACKED IN THE FACE WITH THIS VIEW.  ON THE FIRST DAY, I TEXTED MY SON ANDREW, "EVERY SECOND SPENT INDOORS HERE, IS A WASTE!"

We correctly chose Maui because we wanted to do more kicking back than sight-seeing.  We swam in the ocean, took long walks on the beach and chilled in hot tubs.

THE SHERIDAN HAD "BLACK ROCK" (BEHIND US) .  VISITORS FROM ALL OVER MAUI COME AT DUSK, TO SEE THE DAILY CEREMONY IN WHICH AN ANNOUNCER EXPLAINS THIS RITUAL'S HISTORY OVER HAWAIIAN MUSIC.  AT THE SAME TIME, (EXACTLY AT SUNDOWN), A YOUNG LOCAL BOY RUNS DOWN THE BEACH, CLIMBS UP THE ROCKS AND LIGHTS ALL THE TIKI TORCHES BEFORE DIVING OFF THE CLIFF.

Beyond the Sheridan, we enjoyed long walks in both directions, in the surf or along the paved beach walk. Going south, the beach was commercialized but behind the hotel, the coastline seemed secluded and had a more pristine beauty.

GOING NORTH, ON THIS LONELY STRETCH OF BEACH, THE MAN WHO TOOK THIS PICTURE, HAD JUST TURNED HIS BACK ON THE CALIFORNIA RAT-RACE. HE WAS BETTING IT ALL,  ON A MICRO-BREWERY, (HE WAS OPENING LATER THAT WEEK).  IT'S EASY TO SEE WHY PEOPLE GIVE UP THEIR WORK-A-DAY MAIN-LAND LIVES, TO BECOME SURFERS BEACH-BUMS OR IDYLLIC IDLERS. 

We saw unusual critters like, black crabs and a seagull-like bird with a duckbill.

WE LEFT THE ISLAND WITHOUT FINDING OUT WHAT SPECIES THIS ODD-BOID WAS?

The worst animals were the omnipresent vultures trying to sell you shit along the southern arm of the beach walk.

MEET FRANK.  HE'S A JACKSON'S CHAMELEON.  THE ANNOYING TIMESHARE SALESMEN USED HIM TO LURE US TO THEIR BOOTH.   INSTEAD, WE USED THEM FOR THIS PHOTO-OP.

We later learned that Jackson's Chameleons are native to East Africa but have been introduced to Florida and Hawaii.

(STOCK PHOTO)  A CLOSE-UP OF A JACKSON'S CHAMELEON.

I got it in my head that giant sea turtles are all over Maui.  We heard that two miles south of our hotel, they love to hang-out every afternoon on the beach.

HOW BIG WERE THE TURTLES SUPPOSED TO BE IN THAT SPOT...BIGGER THAN THIS!  HOW MANY DID WE SEE...NONE!

On all but two mornings, before sun-up, I did a ninety-minute power walk.  Hard to believe, even at that hour, the beach walk was clogged with runners and walkers. To avoid the congestion, I went different ways and scouted out cool places to show Sue.  Along the way, I came across one celebrity.

I SAW ALAN DERSHOWITZ (1938-PRESENT),  HAVING BREAKFAST AT AN OCEANFRONT RESTAURANT.  A LAWYER,  AUTHOR,  POLITICAL COMMENTATOR AND DEFENDER OF CIVIL LIBERTIES, HE'S FAMOUS FOR REPRESENTING; MIKE TYSON, PATTY HEARST AND JIM BAKKER.  HE ALSO HELPED OVERTURN CLAUS von BULOW'S MURDER CONVICTION AND  WAS AN APPELLATE ADVISER ON O. J. SIMPSON'S DEFENSE.

The Sheridan offered a great perk, a free, hourly *shuttle bus service to the next town, Lahaina, as well as shopping centers.  Lahaina has a tourist destination called Front Street.  For us Front Street was the laid back confluence of Greenwich Village meeting Bourbon Street.  We went there on three nights and loved the restaurants, quaint curio shops and art galleries.

* The Hawaiians are so laid back...that when our shuttle bus, (at a stop) was slightly run into (a hit-and-run), our driver didn't get out to access the damage.

ON FRONT STREET, IT LOOKS LIKE I PICKED A PERFECT TIME TO WEAR MY WO HOP SHIRT.  EARLIER, A COUPLE FROM NEW JERSEY STOPPED ME AND CALLED IT,  "THE PRIDE OF NEW YORK CITY'S CHINATOWN."

The concierge at the Sheridan recommended a restaurant with a whole lobster special.  It was on the last block of Front Street and over a mile walk.  Of course when we got there, the bait-and-switch bastards said they were out of lobsters. We wound up at Bubba Gump's and had a blast.

AT BUBBA GUMP'S, WE WERE SEATED AT THE OCEAN'S EDGE.  THE FOOD WAS TERRIFIC AND THE WAITER LIKED US SO MUCH, HE DIVULGED THE SECRET OF THIS CUP STACKING MAGIC TRICK.

Sue and I also went on two tourist excursions.  The first was a two-part adventure to the volcano at Haleakala (Holly-ock- ala), State Park.  Followed by a 26-mile bike ride down to the beach town of Paia, (aka Hippie-Town)..

AT 10,000 FEET UP,  SUNRISE IS SUPPOSED TO LOOK LIKE THIS.  WE DID NOT SEE ANYTHING LIKE THAT.

To get to Haleakala, we woke up at 2;AM.  A van picked us up and whisked us away in the star-filled night, ninety minutes away, to the "the upcountry" and the mountain.  The native Hawaiian driver was quick to point out how perfect the conditions were to see an immaculate sunrise.

Halfway up, their business office, was across from a property called "Cloud-Ten." It was built and owned by George Harrison of the Beatles. Inside, we were introduced to Jack our guide and shown a safety video on biking down the mountain.  He provided us with gloves, a coat and pants because the temperatures at the mountaintop might be near freezing.

Further up at 6700 feet, the clear skies and crisp air was sweet ambrosia for the soul. We were told on the way back down, that our bike trip would start at that spot.  Later, as we twisted up the mountain road, it started to sprinkle.  Soon the wind picked up and a hard rain blew horizontal.

At the state park's main gate, it felt like we driving through a hurricane.  A ranger who was having trouble holding his ground while hold down his Smoky the Bear hat, told us that the peak was experiencing wind gusts of 80 MPH.  He added that the information station was closed at the time.

In the dark, I saw that the parking lot was empty at the top.  While the wind howled and the rain pelted down, I told these guys funny stories until I needed to pee. Jack had to get out and hold my door, to protect its hinges from being bent back the wrong way.

Outside, I could barely see ten feet.  In no time, I was freezing and drenched despite being all covered up...and, it didn't help that I stepped in a deep puddle.  Soon tons of buses and cars filled the lot. People went to the observation deck and braved the conditions, to be where the spectacular sunrise would have been seen, (I know that because I went too).

The storm continued as the obscured, rising sun failed to penetrate the thick fog.  Defeated, the van drove down from the summit. Minutes later, the cloudless skies reappeared.  Behind us, the one huge dark gray cloud crowning the Haleakala's peak reminded us that it was still crappy up there.

At 6700 feet, the bikes were brought out and for a short time ,we zoomed down but Sue didn't like it.

SUE REMAINED IN THE VAN AND TOOK HIS SHOT OF MY POSTERIOR.

The ride was 95% coasting.  For me, it was fun and easy.  I wished Sue would have joined me.  We finished at the beach town of Paia.

AT PAIA, (HIPPIE-TOWN).  BEHIND ME, BEYOND THE SUGAR CANE FIELDS, THAT'S WHERE WE STARTED, HALEAKALA, TWO MILES ABOVE SEA LEVEL.   

The next day, we rented a car and took another excursion to, "The Road to Hana."  Hana is a tiny town on the furthest end of Maui.  The only way there, is a slow drive around the back side of Haleakala.  This magnificent, heaven-on-earth, side trip includes the most scenic mountain road imaginable.  Every place you stop, there's an opportunity to hike the trails, swim in lagoons and find one Kodak moment after another.

SUE AT A RAINBOW EUCALYPTUS TREE. WE HAVE MANY ROAD TO HANA PICTURES BUT YOU REALLY HAVE TO BE THERE BECAUSE OUR SNAPSHOTS REALLY DON'T CAPTURE MOTHER NATURE'S FINEST MOMENT.

Sue took a gazillion selfies of us.  Luckily a family came by and took this shot.

OUR CAMERA MISERABLY FAILED TO CATCH JUST HOW DROP-DEAD-GORGEOUS THIS WAS.

We had a picnic lunch, at another slice of perfection.  A man came by and said, "I came all the way back here because three hours ago, I tripped over this wall and fell down the embankment."

SUE IS GESTURING THAT SHE WON'T GET CLOSER TO THE LITTLE WALL.  THE MAN FELL OVER IT.  IF HE DIDN'T GRAB ONTO VEGETATION AND CLIMB BACK UP, IT SOON BECOMES A SHEAR DROP.  CAN YOU BELIEVE IT, ANOTHER NEAR DEATH EXPERIENCE ON OUR TRIP. 

We took tons of photographs; waterfalls, trees, flowers and ourselves.  But for the sake of brevity, I just included my favs.

IT LOOKS LIKE A STOCK PHOTO OR A POST CARD...BUT IT ISN'T.

We put in seven hours on the Road to Hana. On the way back to civilization, we stopped for dinner and do some shopping, in Paia.

PAIA (aka HIPPIE-TOWN), REALLY MAKES YOU FEEL LIKE YOU'RE IN A "TWILIGHT ZONE," EPISODE, SET IN 1970,  DURING THE FLOWER-POWER ERA.

Sue and I were amazed that modern-day hippies hung out in clusters, smoked pot on the beach or sat in circles on sidewalks, humming their mantras.  Curiously, while the streets were uncluttered by people, Mana Foods, (the one food market) was jammed with young, spaced-out people, (it looked like a convenience store from the outside but inside it was a throwback 1960's mini-supermarket).  It had narrow aisles, rickety wooden floors and a claustrophobic room filled with health foods, vitamins and supplements.

We also went to Makawao (aka Cowboy-Town).  It was smaller and more rustic than Paia but far less interesting.

In the morning, we drove to Slappy Cakes for breakfast.

SLAPPY CAKES WAS A CUTE PANCAKE HOUSE WITH THE GIMMICK OF COOKING YOUR OWN FOOD, ON THE BUILT-IN GRIDDLE ON EACH TABLE.  WE LEFT OUR EATING DESTINY UP TO THE CHEF IN THE KITCHEN.

Our trip was winding down.  We took one last beach walk and poked our heads in at two rival hotels, the Westin and Hyatt.  They were equally Polynesian but more corporate than the Sheridan.  The Westin featured live flamingos in their humongous koi pool but we liked the Hyatt better because they had a pen with South African, black-footed penguins and several huge parrots.

ON THE HYATT'S WALKWAY BETWEEN THE PARROTS AND THE PENGUINS, THEY HAD A BOTANICAL GARDEN FEATURING NATIVE PLANTS AND TREES.  HARD TO BELIEVE BUT TRUE, PINEAPPLES WERE HARD TO FIND IN HAWAII.  BUT THAT'S A WHOLE OTHER STORY.

Perhaps it was an omen of what was to come.  At the Westin, I met up with a trash talking tiki statue.

TIKI TOTEM POLES ARE HAND-CARVED SPIRITUAL FIGURES WHOSE SCARY, EXAGGERATED EXPRESSIONS ARE USED TO WARD-OFF EVIL. IN PREPARATION OF FLYING HOME, MY INNER BROOKLYN CAME OUT IN THIS ARGUMENT.  REMEMBER...NOBODY CALLS ME EVIL! 

At the Sheridan, Sue and I decided to do some snorkeling.  The rental station is at the base of Black Rock.  I was excited because the buzz in the crowd included talk of turtles feeding along the shore.

Sue and I waited behind a Barbie and Ken couple (early 20's) getting their equipment.  The girl was truly a knockout and I confess to checking her and her minuscule bikini out.  The illusion was burst when she copped an attitude and refused the snorkeling fins and face mask, in favor of an inflatable raft.

I do have snorkeling experience.  In 1992, Sue and I did it in the Bahamas.  Like swimming in an exotic fish tank, it was unbelievably cool. My memory of it was was so pleasant, that because I was over-confident, I didn't ask for a refresher course.  In my defense, because it's so basic...none was offered.

I was getting into ocean when I noticed Barbie (later I found out that her name was Hannah) was knee-deep in the water, holding the raft.  Just before I got in the water, a smile came across my face as I leered watched her mount the raft as Ken swam beneath her.

Snorkeling is the ultimate relaxation.  Just breathe normal, gently kick your feet and brush the water with swimming strokes to steer.  Side-by-side with Sue, my first two minutes were full of visual ecstasy, (from the fish).  I don't know why but I lost the coordination on biting down on the mouthpiece.  My lungs filled with water so I popped up to the surface.

I was too deep to stand so I tread water until I understood the problem.  I tried again but the same thing happened immediately.  My spastic ridiculousness happened about five times.  By the last time, I had become arm weary. I was frantic to reach the rocks...to rest.

Sue wanted to know if I was okay.  That's when my over-confidence about not using the proper breathing technique collided with carelessness.  To prove to Sue that I was fine, I gave it another try. But rather than going closer to the shore, I put myself in deeper water.

I thought I had the procedure down pat but a minute later, I was again taking-in giant gulps of water. That's when I had a Jonny drowning in Barbados flashback, I recalled the man on the plane needing an emergency landing in Los Angeles and the poor fellow who might have died after falling from the cliff, on the "Road to Hana."

When I decided that the snorkeling fun factor couldn't out weigh the risk, my previous carelessness and over-confidence morphed into stupidity.  I swam to the farthest end of Black Rock where the once high stones, are at water level.  Setting myself atop the rocks was an incredibly moronic place for this whale to beach himself.

Temporarily, I was safe as I sat up.  I was so far out, I didn't see anyone and because everyone was focused on the people jumping off Black Rock, (closer to the beach) no one noticed me.

Jesus H.  Christ, suddenly a crashing wave knocked me over.  I understood the power of the sea...so pardon the pun, I really thought I met my Waterloo.  I tried to stand, to get on higher ground.  I was knocked down.  It occurred to me that if my ankle got caught in one of the nooks and crannies during a fall, the force could crush my head against the rocks.

I was further immobilized by the fins. In a panic, I managed to stand on the precariously uneven stone and rushed to get one off. I was knocked down again.  I dropped the one fin and my snorkel mask.  The tide picked them up, they were floating away. I was reminded of the movie, "CASTAWAY," when Tom Hanks' character saw his imaginary friend Wilson (the volleyball) drift away in the current.

WHAT AN IDIOT, OUT OF A FALSE SENSE OF RESPONSIBILITY TO RETURN ALL THE RENTED EQUIPMENT, I IMPULSIVELY LUNGED BELLY FIRST, BACK TOWARD THE OPEN SEA.  I TOOK ONE SWIPE AND RECOVERED BOTH ITEMS.

My arms were exhausted. A great chest pain signaled my water-logged lungs.  With one flipper still on and encumbered from holding the other and the mask, I maneuvered onto higher rocks. At the crest of Black Rock, I saw the divers getting ready for their turn to jump in the water.

I was halfway up when Hannah saw me awkwardly inching up.  She offered help.  My pride got in my way, I turned her down.  In the next five minutes, I had navigated a mere three feet higher.  I asked a random kid, "Is there a path up there to walk along the rock, back to shore?"  He looked down at me and said, "No, you gotta come up a little higher, jump down and swim."

I made it to that lowest ledge when Hannah was coming back up from her jump.  She said, "You're as white as a sheet.  If you jump down, I'll help you back to shore."  I agreed.  She jumped in.  I threw down both flippers and my face mask.  She gathered them up and told me when it was safe to jump.

My arms were like rubber and my chest was pounding, After a few seconds of swimming, I confessed that I couldn't do it.  That's when my life saving mermaid grabbed the inflatable raft that she wedged into the rocks.  Together, we doggie paddled to safety.

Sue was on the shoreline.  She was had no idea where I had been.  She was on the verge of calling the National Guard. I called out to Hannah and told Sue, "She saved my life."  Hannah smiled and swam back out to Ken. I was glad that my first impression of Hannah being a drama queen or a stuck-up princess was wrong.

I DON'T THINK SUE REALIZED THAT I WAS IN SOME DEGREE OF SHOCK.  I SAT IN THE FIRST CHAIR I FOUND .  I DECIDED TO NOT GET UP UNTIL THE PAIN IN MY LUNGS STOPPED.  BUT THAT TOOK HOURS.  ON THE BACK TO THE *ROOM WHILE CONSOLING ME, SUE PISSED ME OFF MY SAYING, "RIGHT AFTER I LOST TRACK OF YOU, A GIANT TURTLE SWAM RIGHT PAST ME."

* I stayed in the room.  Sue took one last dip and was knocked over by a wave.  She fell on her arm and a month later, it's still giving her trouble.


Luckily, my bad day at Black Rock was only a close call.

BUT THE MORE I THINK ABOUT IT, THE LOCAL KID HAD NO TROUBLE SCALING THAT WALL AND WALKING TO THE END.  MAYBE IT'S ALL FOR THE BEST, BUT I WON'T MAKE A GRATUITOUS WET-DREAM JOKE, AT THE EXPENSE OF MY SAVIOR.

Sue packed our bags that night for our noon flight.  In the morning we loaded up with Subway sandwiches so we wouldn't starve on our return.  On the way back to the Sheridan, we received a wonderful, beautiful farewell from the aloha state.

ON THE WAY BACK TO OUR ROOM, WE SAW THIS AMAZING RAINBOW.  WE HAD SEEN LESS SPECTACULAR ONES, SHOOTING STARTS, COOL CRESCENT MOONS AND EVEN SOME MONGOOSES.  BUT THIS PERFECTLY TIMED SYMBOL OF WONDERMENT CAPPED OFF THE GREATEST VACATION OF OUR LIVES.

All that was left was to go back to room and head to Maui Airport.

BUT FIRST WE HAD TO COMMISERATE.

While waiting for the shuttle, there was still time for one last selfie.

WHEN WE'RE TALKING NEAR DEATH EXPERIENCES, I COULDN'T LEAVE YOU WITH A FROWNY-FACED PICTURE.

One more thing to remember, don't let anyone tell you...that you get the same vibe in the Caribbean without the expense and distance as you do in Hawaii.  Trust me, it's worth it!

CAMP ZIMBO

It has been said; Nobody has ever out-exercised a poor diet.

My wife Sue and I celebrated the second leg of our vacation at J and G Zimbo’s summer retreat, in Carolina Beach, North Carolina. Despite living less than ninety minutes apart, (in New Jersey), we probably have averaged less than a visit a year since 1984. So the allure of accepting their many invitations was always there.  But due to scheduling conflicts, our long overdue visit down south, (six years) finally came to be, (this week).

JZimbo and I know each other since we were about ten. Three years later, we were Bar Mitzvah-ed together (May 31, 1968).  But our long and current friendship didn't blossom until our late teens. Coincidentally, independent of us, Sue and GZimbo, became BFF’s in Brooklyn College.

1974 KISSIMMEE, FLORIDA.  WHEN THE EVER-SVELTE RBOY (SECOND FROM LEFT) AND I WORKED FOR DISNEYWORLD, FOUR FRIENDS CAME TO VISIT INCLUDING JZIMBO (FAR LEFT).  AND NO, WE WEREN'T ALWAYS ZOFTIG, (THAT MEANS HE AND I WEREN'T HOLDING OUR STOMACHS IN FOR THIS SHOT).

In our young adult lives, JZimbo and I always enjoyed eating...too much. Our struggles to maintain sexy beach bodies combined regular dietary adventures with rare success. To his credit, the big difference between us is JZimbo works hard and plays hard. I do neither. That means with a more conservative approach, I don’t live the dolce vida or kill myself trying. The positive spin on excessive behavior is, high risk, high rewards. So looking back, one could say I’ve maintained a less impressive, middle weight range, while JZimbo has looked spectacular and at other times…well…not so much.

For this year's vacation, Sue and I drove two hours from the Myrtle Beach (South Carolina) Airport to the Zimbo house. Their four-bedroom, three-story house is a block from the beach. This beautiful home is perfect for visitors and parties. Our three night stay over-lapped with other friends, (the M’s), in the beginning and the A’s at the end. Even if we all stayed at the same time…even with a fourth couple for the last bedroom…we all would have had plenty of spacious privacy.

The first thing Sue and I did in town was hit the supermarket. We bought fruit, wine, water and other essentials. When we arrived, GZimbo greeted us while JZimbo and the M’s were at the beach. In my quick scan of the kitchen, I was beamed-back to the memories of our college days. All along the counter, I saw JZimbo’s influence, (an industrial-sized jar of Animal Crackers, a huge box of knock-off Nilla Wafers, super market brand chocolate chip cookies and several bags of cashews, walnuts, pecans and sunflower seeds).

Our reunion on the beach began with catching up, (good, bad and indifferent gossip that morphed into a laugh marathon). The M’s were flying home that night from nearby Wilmington (N. C.) airport. So we headed out in two cars, for an early dinner, at Elijah's, on the historic river walk, in the old town section of Wilmington.

GZIMBO MADE A PERFECT RESTAURANT CHOICE. ELIJAH'S OFFERED GREAT FOOD, GREAT SERVICE AND A BEAUTIFUL VIEW OF ANN STREET AND THE CAPE FEAR RIVER.

Luckily the M’s are no strangers to food either because our communal effort (led by JZimbo) flooded our table with salads, soups and appetizers before the equaling satisfying entrées arrived.

While JZimbo drove the M’s to the airport, GZimbo gave Sue and I, a walking tour of old Wilmington.

LED BY SAMMY THE SEAHAWK, (above), WILMINGTON IS A COLLEGE TOWN.  DESPITE THE SCHOOL (UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA AT WILMINGTON), BEING IN THE MONKEY JUNCTION SECTION OF THE CITY, THE STUDENTS (AND TOURISTS) FLOCK TO OLD TOWN AND ITS COOL BARS, RESTAURANTS AND SPECIALTY BOUTIQUES. 

I never knew anything about Wilmington but its architecture, cobblestone streets, antique shops and history was a nice surprise. The contemporary vibe combined with southern charm made me want to spend more time there, (I also felt that although my son Andrew is thriving in college life, he would love this city because his university town of Ewing is nothing by comparison).

GZimbo took us to a vintage ice cream shop. In the perfect marriage of relaxation and eating crap, we sat on a bench shaded by magnolia trees. We watched the passengers get on and off the horse-drawn trolley and people watched.

SUE AND I WITH THE HORSE-DRAWN TROLLEY TEAM OF RUFUS AND HOBART, (FAR LEFT WAS CAMERA SHY).

JZimbo came back from the airport and got us off our duffs. So true to his character, he marched us several blocks away to his favorite, (different) ice cream parlor. The ever-friendly JZimbo chatted up the proprietor and suggested ways of improving the man’s business. Later, he handsomely tipped a street saxophonist while letting him know that the river walk (a couple of blocks away was a better location).

By accident, we found a bar that showed cult movies in a small, adjoining theater. The night before they showed the, “ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW.” But that night’s headliner was, “DOLOMITE.” JZimbo was certain this movie was a riot, (everyone else was indifferent). Then the bartender poked her head out of the door and said, “Y’all’s in luck, tonight’s feature film just started.”

We shuffled through the one hundred percent empty bar and into the darkened fifty seat theater, (with fifteen or so customers). Within seconds we found ourselves embarrassed by this "blacksploitation" film from 1975…despite some humor derived from the shoestring budget, we walked out after twenty minutes.

At the bar, JZimbo again proved his excessive behavior by proclaiming, “I can’t go anywhere without buying something.” While he alone enjoyed the fruits of his motto, M and M’s and a can of Pepsi, he started a pleasant conversation with the bartender...who through an endearing local accent told us of her a connection with Flatbush, (the neighborhood in Brooklyn where GZimbo grew up, next to Canarsie).

On the way back to Carolina Beach, JZimbo gassed up and bought tons of junk food, (Sue and I got sodas). At the house, the arm of JZimbo’s reading glasses fell off. In an attempt to make the repair, he was entertaining as he struggled to properly line the tiny screw into place. I’m guessing that GZimbo was less enthralled than me. She said, “Let me see what I can do.” To show how excessive behavior grows on people, she threw the glasses on the floor, stomped the last bit of life out of them and said, "Tomorrow, you can pick your self up a new pair.”

In the morning, in lieu of breakfast at the highly touted Grandma’s, JZimbo led us, in the broiling humidity on a walk that zigzagged the back streets. The girls paired-up and I walked with JZimbo. Our fulfilling conversation’s wide a breadth spanned the ridiculous and the sublime. The chat was so peaceful that the hunger, drudgery and mysterious objective became secondary.  Along the way, he got a phone call from the M's reporting that they were safely home despite a slight problem leaving Newark (NJ) Airport.

UBER TAXI, IS A NEW (CONTROVERSIAL) PRIVATE CAR OR RIDESHARE SERVICE.  IT IS OBJECTED TO BY ESTABLISHED MEDALLION CABS, BECAUSE OF CUT-RATES, SAFETY ISSUES AND LICENSING LOOPHOLES.

The M's phone call included that the police stopped them before they got into the Uber Taxi and the driver was issued a thousand dollars in fines and was arrested, (so they had to find a ride in a conventional cab for $12 instead of $10).

Our million-mile march was starting to get stale when JZimbo mentioned that Port City Java was our destination. I assumed our morning meal would be there…I was wrong. I was also wrong because our four-mile walk didn't earn us the privilege of a real meal. Consistent with his excessive mentality, we had coffee and cake then JZimbo said, “The baked goods here aren’t very good.”

I was still wondering about JZimbo's decision to take us to the that coffee shop as we approached the Snow’s Cut Bridge.  Rather than lead us back to civilization, JZimbo took us across, out of town. Over the man-made waterway that connects the Cape Fear River with the Atlantic Ocean, we continued to a park on the opposite shore.

THE ZIMBO'S THOUGHT IT WAS NOTHING BUT WALKING OVER THAT BRIDGE WAS CRAZY.  BUT IT WAS PLEASANT IN THE RIVERSIDE PARK ON THE OTHER SIDE.  IF WE HAD A CAR, I COULD HAVE STAYED THERE ALL DAY.

The hike going back was direct along Carolina Beach’s main drag. JZimbo needed to replace his stomped reading glasses, at the “Dollar and Up” store. He with Sue’s help took a half hour to find exactly the right ones.

Our next stop was at Walgreen’s. We were still three miles from home but JZimbo bought nuts, candy and six colossal cans of Arnold Palmer brand lemonade. Like two pack mules, he and I each carried a heavy sack each and trudged through the town’s business district.

At the municipal building, GZimbo needed to clarify her water bill's balance, (she had received a duplicate invoice). Outside the water bill payment window, a local TV reporter, a cameraman and an intern greeted her. Their station had a publicity stunt and were paying random people’s water bill. GZimbo turned to the municipal representative to plead her case. She was then assured that she had a zero balance...and thusly didn't qualify to have her bill paid. Seconds later, a man came up and they indeed paid his bill, ($124.61).

A mile from the house, we came upon a man-made lake with a jogging path, playground etc. In the distance, GZimbo spotted heavy storms clouds rapidly coming our way. She was saying we needed to move quickly when stout lightning cut through the sky accompanied by a tremendous, crackling, thunder clap. She pointed at a nearby bar and insisted we wait out the possible natural fireworks. JZimbo was in full agreement but Sue and I snapped, “We can make it home.”

GZIMBO DIDN'T APPRECIATE WHEN I SHRUGGED, "WE'LL BE OKAY, I HAVEN'T BEEN KILLED BY LIGHTNING YET."

Poor GZimbo.  She didn't like that we didn't join, in her over-reaction.  So in a near panic trot, she admonished us while encouraging us to scurry along. The potential catastrophe was bearing down on us as I lagged behind, in what Sue calls my “mall-walking speed.” Strangers recognized the imminent disaster and two different alarmists volunteered to drive us…I was so confident, I turned down both offers.

We were safely back twenty minutes and all hell broke out. For five hours, thunder and lightning highlighted nature’s fury. The lights flickered, the streets flooded and the Zimbo’s were glad they listened to reason.  Otherwise their over-protectiveness might have caused us to be stranded, (drunk and fed at the bar) the whole time.

Later, we got dressed for dinner. Huge puddles eliminated many parking spots but we enjoyed at elegant meal at the Dockside. Afterwards, we drove to the next town (Kure Beach) for dessert at the Arctic Circle (soft ice cream stand). I had my mother’s favorite, a hot fudge sundae with chocolate ice cream and wet walnuts, (my first one in twenty years, it's tough to imagine anything better).

Wednesday morning was hot and cloudy. The girls declared it a "no beach day" and shopped in Wilmington. JZimbo and I walked, (with our beach stuff) around the corner to Grandma’s. Apparently the previous day’s storm knocked out their electricity, we continued to the beach. We threw around a Frisbee. I hadn’t done that in decades. JZimbo was sweating through his shirt after forty minutes. Later he admitted trying to out last me but that's one activity that I can be excessive at.

We sat in chairs and stared into the ocean while chatting. He pointed out that the omnipresent pelicans continually do strafing runs, inches above the water. When they spot their prey, they skim the water with their big lower jaw and scoop up food. Their other feeding method has far less finesse. From a high vantage point, they do kamikaze face-first dives into the sea for a meal.

(stock photo) PELICANS ARE BIG, UGLY BIRDS. I HAD NEVER SEEN ONE, SO I LOVED WATCHING THEM.

I followed JZimbo into the surf. He dove in while wimpy me was getting my second toe wet. The ocean was choppy from the storm and another seemed to be brewing. JZimbo's head was a distant bobbing dot in the briny deep before the first big wave knocked me over. It took time to stand upright.  I was shaken-up enough that I retreated to my chair.

If I had joined JZimbo, I would have merely waded in chest deep water but JZimbo actually swam. From the safety of shore, I watched him cut through the current, parallel to the shoreline with ease. I was impressed. I was thinking that he reminded me of the pelicans. The flock I saw glided so gracefully or perpetually splattered themselves into the water.

At around eleven, JZimbo led me to an indoor/outdoor café on a nearby pier. I had psyched myself up for breakfast at Grandma’s so the limited gourmet lunch items were not appealing, (they didn't serve breakfast). So I was surprised that we went back to his house...unfed. While I foraged for food, (cookies, nuts and fruit), he went into his backyard in pants and a sweatshirt to spray insecticide on tree worms. He was out there a long time so when I made a burger run, I was shocked that he turned down my offer.

The girls called and said they bought the fixings for a barbeque. Another north Jersey couple (the A’s) was coming to Camp Zimbo after visiting family in Florida. Consistent with his character, JZimbo, like a man possessed suddenly declared he needed more insecticide and a garden hose.

Through a downpour of biblical proportions, he took me to Wal-Mart, in the Monkey Junction section of Wilmington. We went through the self check with his garden needs and four lollipops. Maybe he was doing it purposely but there’s the possibility he doesn’t know how entertaining it was to watch him struggle to scan the tiny, individual UPC labels on those pops.

In his car, while I’m imagining the need to build an ark because of the volume of rain, his excessiveness was made funnier when he made a series of insane turns to get to a Philly cheese steak joint. I didn’t want to spoil my dinner and didn’t get anything. But it was hilarious that he went through so much hardship to see if the place was any good only to order a can of tuna mixed into a bowl with lettuce, tomato and onion.

Later, the A’s arrived exactly on time. Sue and I were well acquainted with them but this was our first chance to really socialize. In no time, we had new friends. After eating we talked and laughed for hours.

On our last morning, (Thursday), like a camp counselor, JZimbo organized us for another walk. I asked our fearless leader if he was dragging us and the A’s on another ten-miler. JZimbo assured me that this jaunt, through the affluent section of Carolina Beach, (to the North Pier), was much shorter. Three miles later, I controlled my sarcasm by NOT whistling theme song to, “BRIDGE ON THE RIVER KWAI.” It took an eternity to reach our goal but because the conversation flowed, I never complained.

1957's "THE BRIDGE ON THE RIVER KWAI," FEATURED THE SONG, "COLONEL BOGEY'S MARCH." THE OPENING SCENE DEPICTS THE ALLIED PRISONERS WHISTLING THIS TUNE AFTER SURVIVING THE "DEATH MARCH" TO THE PRISON CAMP...ONLY TO BE BEATEN, TORTURED AND STARVED.

We followed JZimbo up the North Pier’s stairs. I was expecting a cute little café but it was little more than a bait shop with toilets, (while the others took advantage of the facilities, JZimbo's zest for trickle down economics resulted in him buying a Chunky chocolate bar and playing pinball). The rest of us were interested in real food so we indulged in neither the candy counter fare or the protein-rich selection of chilled worms under glass.

I was starving as we had a photo shoot on the pier.

THE A's ARE A GREAT COUPLE.  I HOPE WE GET TO SPEND MORE TIME WITH THEM SOON.

During a lull in the photography session, I watched a trio of pelicans play a form of musical chairs as two alternated hunting for food while a third rested atop a random mooring post set out in the ocean, (as hungry as the bird on the pole might have been, he didn’t give up his few moments of rest easily for the next tired pelican trying to take a breather).

THE ZIMBO's, ON THE NORTH PIER.

JZimbo was either blind to our needs or he wanted us to burn enough calories to earn our meal. So he took the scenic route back. This round-about way took us to the town’s miniature boardwalk. At its famous doughnut shop, he made three points; early each morning a line stretches out the door, they only sell one flavor doughnut and that one type of doughnut, isn’t good.

By this time, the natives were restless and demanded food. JZimbo wanted to complete our eight-mile journey at Grandma’s but in a landslide vote, the apparently reliable eatery was ousted, in favor of the arbitrary place across the street, Kate’s. Speaking strictly for my self, if Kate’s specialty was shit on a shingle, I would have ate it and loved it. As for the actual southern-styled cuisine, Kate received twenty-four enthusiastic thumbs up, (all six of us used both hands and feet to accentuate our joy).

At the Zimbo compound, JZimbo, like a man possessed, in the stifling heat and humidity decided on another round of bug spraying. The others went to the beach…I took a nap.

We said our thank you and good-byes and loved every cherished memory of our stay at Camp Zimbo. The M’s were fun to be with the first day, Sue and I had the Zimbo’s to our self in the middle and we finished by making stronger friends with the A’s.

On the drive back to Myrtle Beach Airport, Sue lamented that the four of them were going to rent bikes the next morning. I figured a wheeling JZimbo would have taken them to Beale Street in Memphis via Miami…so me and my buns certainly didn’t feel like we were missing anything.

Later, on our hour-long flight back to Jersey,  I reflected on how JZimbo maintains his incredibly excessive, work-hard, play-hard lifestyle.  Then I realized there are many ways to get the job done right.

Our rough landing at Atlantic City Airport temporarily made me think about my mortality.

THE PILOT LUCKILY RIGHTED THE JET. SECONDS AFTER OUR BOUNCY, SCREECHING LANDING, WE RE-ENACTED OUR VIRTUAL PANIC IN A SELFIE.

My son Andrew picked us up at the airport.  On the way home, despite side-stepping a plane crash and an untimely death, I was pre-occupied.  I realized that I'm generally happy to sit on the sidelines instead of living a pattern of constant energy-burning supported by power-eating.  So, I guess, I’ll never make it as a pelican...wait, when do they have time to make baby pelicans?

Ironically, the JZimbo system must have merit because I lost three pounds at his house…that means…thanks to the Camp Zimbo method, despite over-eating great food…daily ice cream and continuous in-take of other sweets, (washed down with beer), I out-exercised my poor diet.

ROCK AND ROLL HALL OF FAME: THE GIFT THAT KEEPS ON GIVING.

Ever get punched in the face? It doesn’t feel too good. So you can only imagine what getting punched repeatedly must feel like. NOW! Imagine those continuous punches, except they are a bombardment of positive emotional jolts. That’s how I felt, (earlier this week), when my wife Sue and I took a three-day mini-vacation to Ohio.

My plan was simple, to right the wrong of not taking Sue to the Rock-n-Roll Hall of Fame in 2006, (I took my son Andrew there when our family vacation was scrapped because Sue had just started a new job).

This trip’s positive karma started with a nearly flawless 8+ hour jaunt to Northeast Ohio, (the only drawback was that Sue’s two-hour tour of duty driving was marred by an hour of torrential...trudging through a car wash-like rain).

At a rest stop in Ohio, I picked up a motel coupon booklet from an extremely pleasant man at the, ‘Welcome to Ohio Center,” (I always told Sue how uncanny it was that EVERYONE in Ohio is so nice…and this gentleman was the first to prove my point).

To shorten the trip, I wanted to find a motel along the Interstate, between Cleveland and our other stop, the pro Football Hall-of Fame, in Canton. The planets must have been perfectly aligned because our feather-in-the-wind destiny landed us almost exactly between the two cities, (a Microtel, in the town of Streetsboro).

ESTABLISHED IN 1989, MICROTEL IS A SUBSIDIARY OF WYNDHAM WORLDWIDE.  IT IS LISTED, BY J. D. POWER AND ASSOCIATES AS HIGHEST IN GUEST SATISFACTION AMONG ECONOMY HOTELS FOR TEN STRAIGHT YEARS AS OF 2011.

Sue and I were burnt out from the road as we approached the front desk. We were greeted, (overwhelmed with positive energy), by a couple, (co-managers Ole and Diana). Like being with old friends, the check-in procedure probably was three times longer than usual because of the warmth, talking and joking. They accepted our coupon, reminded us about the closing time of their indoor pool and suggested a nearby restaurant.

At the Brown Derby Steakhouse the perky hostess asked, “Table or booth?” I said, “Booth.” She said, “I have tables now, but a booth might take a few minutes.” Everything was going our way so I said, “We’ll wait for a booth.” A half minute later she said, “Your booth is ready.”

We entered Nirvana and found that the place expertly combined atmosphere, service and great food.  By the time we walked out, Sue and I were ready to do a free testimonial. I even tracked down the manager, (never did this in my life) and complimented Ashley the waitress and thanked him and the rest of the staff.

THE BROWN DERBY HAS SEVERAL LOCATIONS THROUGHOUT OHIO.  IT'S A BIG STEP UP FROM THE OUTBACK...AND I LIKE THE OUTBACK, A LOT.

On the way back to the motel, I spotted a hardware store billboard, in the town of Kent Ohio. Talk about a feather-in-the-wind destiny, prior to seeing the sign, I had no idea where in Ohio, Kent State University was.

Later, after a refreshing dip in the pool, I asked Ole, if Kent State University was indeed in Kent. It was the only time this upbeat man was ever somber around me when he said, “Yeah, next town over. The campus is eight miles from here.”

In the morning, I did my power-walk through town. Later, we ate the Microtel’s complimentary continental breakfast. Then we stopped at Wal-Mart for some travel essentials. While wandering around the store, I got the idea of seeing if they sold Kent State University tee-shirts, (in case going there didn’t fit in our plans).

MY ANDREW ATTENDS TCNJ.  LAST YEAR, IN AN ATTEMPT TO CIRCUMVENT THE HIGH STUDENT BOOKSTORE PRICES, I WENT TO THE NEARBY LAWRENCEVILLE NJ WAL-MART TO BUY TCNJ MERCHANDISE...THEY HAD NONE!  SO MY HOPES OF NETTING AN AFFORDABLE KENT STATE SHIRT WEREN'T TOO HIGH.

I asked Rex, a ready-to-please high school exchange student from Liberia. He didn’t know if they had Kent State shirts but added, “Let me find the lady who knows it all.” I followed him through the racks of the women’s wear department until he found Dixie.

I would have thought it was impossible but Dixie was nicer than Rex. On the way, she apologized because there was only one style Kent State shirt. But there it was, in a choice of navy, gray or yellow…exactly what I was looking for…I bought the dark blue.

Cleveland was a simple thirty-minute drive on Interstates through towns like Twinsburg, Macedonia and Akron. While going through Akron, I mentioned how I believe in the power of coincidence as opposed to our fate being pre-destined…so I added, “It would be cool if LeBron James re-signed with the NBA’s Cleveland Cavaliers while we were here.”

IT IS MY OPINION THAT LeBRON JAMES (29), A NATIVE OF AKRON AND A FORMER CAVALIER, IS THE GREATEST BASKETBALL PLAYER ON THE PLANET, (WITH THE NEXT BEST BEING EONS OF TALENT BEHIND HIM). HIS RETURN TO CLEVELAND WOULD BE POETIC JUSTICE AND INSTANTLY RESURRECT THIS SPORTS STARVED CITY, (THEY HAVEN'T BOASTED A WORLD CHAMPION OF SINCE THE NFL's BROWNS, IN 1964).

We got to the Rock-n-Roll Hall-of-Fame at 10:15AM. We soon experienced the gift that kept on giving. The next eight hours, (we NEVER stopped for lunch) was a shear love-driven rollercoaster…with the switch permanently set on “UP”…because every exhibit took us higher and higher.

SPRINGSTEEN, McCARTNEY AND JOEL...THROW ME IN AND YOU'D HAVE SUE'S MOUNT RUSHMORE.

I am not outwardly motivated by music. Yes, I have appreciation for it but I would never say it defines me or is an important part of my life. But it is. This importance might not be a part of my conscious being but at the Rock-n-Roll Hall of Fame, a continual flood of dormant (happy) emotions were gushed forward by so many artists, song titles and lyrics that activated wonderful historic memories of my life.

COULD YOU "IMAGINE" SUE MISSING A PHOTO-OP WITH JOHN LENNON?

A feast for the ears, eyes, brain and heart, you’d think a guy like me would run out of internal shivers and quivers and external tears of joy…but NO! I’m proud to have been so touched. It’s great to feel alive. WOW!

WHETHER IT WAS MICHAEL JACKSON'S GLOVE (above) OR SEEING A LITTLE RICHARD VIDEO OR READING THE LYRIC'S TO WOODY GUTHRIE'S, "THIS LAND IS YOUR LAND," THE CHILLS KEPT COMING.  MANY TIMES I BECAME MISTY AND JUST WHEN I THOUGHT, I HAD NO MORE EMOTION TO GIVE, THE NEXT EXHIBIT WOULD START ME ALL OVER AGAIN.

What a special day…and remember, I already experienced the same positive punch in the face feeling eight years ago. But it wasn’t enough, I needed more to accomplish my goal…and I got my reward when I heard Sue say, "This place is awesome!"

I'M NOT AN ELVIS DEVOTEE BUT I GOT CHILLS AS IF I WAS MEETING HIM N PERSON.

While Sue capped our stay at the gift shop, I asked an employee to suggest a restaurant, (please understand that I’m aware that the nice people I encountered in Ohio are all in the hospitality industry but it seemed to me, everyone…on both of my visits to the Buckeye State went above and beyond the call of duty).

This employee stopped what she was doing and found a file of maps. Her detailed explanation included her opinion that it’s better to drive because the Warehouse District, (an area with a series of hipster bar/restaurants), has free parking after six.

Free parking yes, finding a spot..well that's another story. But when you're, "in the zone" everything goes your way. I didn’t even have to pray to the Patron Saint of Parking Spaces, (Joe Vanilla), as someone pulled out and created the only spot on the whole street. We read the outdoor menus and landed at Bar Louie’s, at the corner of West 6th and St. Clair.

THE YOUNG CLIENTELE MADE US FEEL LIKE FOSSILS.

Bar Louie's under-thirty customers all looked like business people or kids in Cleveland sports team apparel. Gathered around the big screen TV tuned to a live Indians game, they carried the hope of Cleveland's future sports identity in their Johnny “Johnny Football” Manziel jerseys and old Lebron James shirts. I said to Sue, “If the network interrupts the game to announce that LeBron James signed with Cavaliers, they'll blow the roof off this place.”

IT'S BEEN 50 YEARS SINCE THAT BROWNS CHAMPIONSHIP.  EVEN WORSE, SINCE 1894 THE INDIANS HAVE ONLY BEEN CHAMPS TWICE, (1920 and 1948).  THE CAVALIERS HAVE NEVER WON IT ALL AND THE NHL'S CLEVELAND BARONS STAYED ONLY TWO SEASONS (1976-1978).  THEY SUCKED SO BAD THAT THE TEAM DIDN'T MOVE, THEY DISBANDED.

At Louie's, Sue and I were still in the warm after-glow of the Hall-of-Fame. We discussed the highlights of our eight-hour, musical love affair over burgers and a flat bread pizza appetizer. The surprisingly good quality of the food supported our vibe.

In the morning, during my power-walk, I got the idea to suggest breakfast at a Cracker Barrel. We both have heard great things about it but never tried it. Sue googled it and lucky us, there was a location in North Canton, minutes from the Football Hall of Fame. I then said, “As long as we aren’t in a hurry…and it’s so early, let’s try to find Kent State on the way.”

Ole’s directions were quick and easy. The school’s significance coincidentally ties in to Rock-n-Rock music, hippies and the anti-Vietnam War movement of the 1960’s and into the 70’s.

I had no idea what to expect but the tasteful, artistic monument to one of the worse moments in American history (May 4, 1970), left me numb. I thought I had purged my system of tears the day before, but the senselessness of the four student’s deaths (and other gunfire injuries) shuddered my wife and I, on so many levels. But we’re so glad we took the time to see it, better understand and share the experience.

Click on the link below for the Crosby, Stills and Nash, "OHIO."
http://search.mywebsearch.com/mywebsearch/redirect.jhtml?action=pick&qs=&pr=GG&searchfor=tin+soldiers+crosby+stills+nash+youtube&cb=CD&pg=GGmain&p2=%5ECD%5Exdm003%5ES04317%5Eus&n=77fc41c7&qid=f77524ba93f74361b53496f616be3c3f&pn=1&ss=sub&st=bar&ptb=D6B92608-79BD-4909-92A0-160CFD832118&tpr=sbt&si=CKuH4unForUCFQPd4AodLCEADg&redirect=mPWsrdz9heamc8iHEhldEcgdjfjqpMajKYmz288FhTJFwKwXkWukp8ilDEDcUfLAxjvcZ23xDihFIH6JKsGodA%3D%3D&ord=2&ct=AR&

Thirty minutes later we were wowed at the Cracker Barrel. Trust me, pancakes aren’t just pancakes.

CRACKER BARREL ORIGINATED IN 1969.  THIS RESTAURANT/COUNTRY STORE COMBINES TRADITIONAL SOUTHERN CUISINE WITH A QUAINT DECOR.  ALTHOUGH THERE AREN'T ANY LOCATIONS NEAR MY HOUSE, THEY HAVE 630 FRANCHISES IN 42 STATES.

Everything continued going my way..even the gas prices were $3.25 in Canton, (no lower than $3.60 everywhere else).

The Football Hall of Fame would dredge up so many great memories.

THE ENTRANCE TO THE PARKING LOT.

Football has always been a major part of my life, (I played high school football too), so I expected some sort of emotional response. But no, it was just good, clean interactive fun.

EVEN THOUGH I GAVE SUE 8 HOURS AT THE ROCK-n-ROLL HALL, UNDER WALTER PEYTON'S WATCHFUL EYE, SHE PUTS ME ON THE CLOCK FOR TWO HOURS.

Sue pointed out that all the women we met were bored stiff.  Sue had the idea of heightening the woman's prospective by showing how the players decorated their homes or a display on how their wives dress.

BEFORE WE WENT IN, SUE SPOTTED ANOTHER DISINTERESTED FEMALE.  SUE OFFERED TO TAKE A PICTURE OF THAT LADY'S FAMILY AND SHE RESPONDED BY TAKING OURS, (above).  THAT WOMAN WAS VERY NICE AND SHE WASN'T EVEN FROM OHIO.  IF I DIDN'T BREAK-UP SUE AND HER NEW BFF, MY MUSEUM TIME WOULD HAVE BEEN SEVERELY CUT. 

The Hall offered many hands-on exhibits.

FORGET THE SILLY POSE, THIS HELMET DEMONSTRATES HOW THE COACH COMMUNICATES WITH PLAYERS WITH BUILT-IN SOUND SYSTEMS.  I ALSO LIKED THE BOOTH WHERE YOU GET TO DECIDE IF A REFEREE'S CALL WAS RIGHT.  THEY EVEN HAD A MOLD OF THE NFL's LARGEST HAND, (WILLIE McGINEST).  IT WAS DOUBLE MY SIZE AND RESEMBLED A JAI ALAI CESTA.

The most popular room has a bronze bust of each member's head, (organized by the year of induction).

I HAVE SO MANY FAVORITES TO CHOOSE FROM BUT THE CHUCK BEDNARIK (above) IS THE ONLY ONE THAT I LOOK CUTE IN.

The Hall's memorabilia can be measured only in tons. Among my favorites was the evolution of equipment, team jerseys, cleats, super bowl rings and the Super Bowl trophy.

SUE DOING A FINE IMITATION OF JERRY RICE CATCHING THE SUPER BOWL TROPHY.



It's funny, at the ticket booth, they ask for your zip code...and favorite team.  I told them my zip and then muffled my mouth as I grunted Jets, (they have caused me intense psychological damage since 1963). 

Even the other guests are fascinated by everyone else's team affiliation.  One Southern Californian in a Detroit Lions jersey told me, I should be proud and roar that they are my favorite team.  But other than Joe Namath and Don Maynard anyone else associated with the Jets in the Hall, achieved their greatness with other teams.

I GOT JOE NAMATH'S AND DON MAYNARD'S AUTOGRAPH IN AUGUST 1966, AT JETS TRAINING CAMP (PEEKSKILL NEW YORK).  IN JANUARY 1984, SUE AND I UNWITTINGLY ATE IN DON MAYNARD'S RESTAURANT OUTSIDE EL PASO TEXAS (IN NEW MEXICO).  OTHER THAN THE JETS ONE VICTORIOUS TRIP TO THE SUPER BOWL, MY JETS HIGHLIGHT REEL PRETTY MUCH ENDS WITH THIS PARAGRAPH.

To honor the New York Jets and the other upstart Americn Football League (AFL) teams, the Hall has a separate room dedicated to them. 

THIS ORIGINAL 1960 BUFFALO BILLS BANNER HANGS FROM THE RAFTERS OF THIS AFL ROOM.  I CHOSE THE PHOTO FOR CHARLIEOPERA, (THE ONLY BILLS FAN OUTSIDE BUFFALO). FOR "SUPER" RESULTS, MAYBE I SHOULD HAVE STOOD FARTHER TO THE LEFT, TO AVOID BEING, "WIDE RIGHT."

I found myself very interested in the AFL exhibits.   While reading, I lived up to my "Instant Recall Edelbum" nickname (bestowed on me by RBOY) and discovered, not one but two typos, (a player's name misspelled and a wrong year).  I should have reported it, maybe they would have hired me as a proof reader.

My two+ hours at the Hall were over.  Our great time completed a near perfect mini-vacation. On the way to the Interstate, I asked Sue what her favorite part of the Football Hall-of-Fame was...she punched-up a candid photo she took.

I WAS EXPECTING A SHOT OF THE BIGGER-THAN-LIFE STATUE OF JIM THORPE OR THE COMPARISION OF RICHARD SLIGH TO JACK SHAPIRO, (THE NFL's TALLEST AND SHORTEST PLAYERS...SEVEN FOOT AND FIVE FOOT).  BUT INSTEAD, SUE WITH TONGUE-IN-CHEEK SHOWED ME THIS PICTURE OF THE EXIT SIGN.

We were driving through Akron on the way home.  I said how weird it was to fall into Kent State.  Then I added, "If all our positive energy of this trip really amounted to anything, LeBron would sign with the Cavaliers while we are here." 

Well, that didn't happen but he DID sign the next day!  So Sue and I can still say...our karma and presence throughout Northeast Ohio influenced LeBron's return.  And with any luck, he will be the springboard to end the Cleveland sports teams forever drought.  Plus, those teams and their fans can stop getting repeatedly punched in the face while witnessing the revitalization of this depressed region...with a gift that keeps on giving...in the name of economic relief.  Years from now when all this goodness comes true, don't thank LeBron...thank me!