A Californian in Florida: February 15 – 20, 2011 A week in Sarasota...

Florida State Rally - opening ceremonies

At last count 325 Airstream rigs (roughly 700 people) are present for the 38th annual Florida State Rally.

Not very long ago over a thousand rigs would attend this rally. As with the International Rally and many other club events, attendance is way down and the average age is rising. People put a lot of work into these events but as attendance shrinks activities and quality entertainment decline in what looks like an irreversible spiral. You have a good time if you know enough of your fellow campers but there is little to entertain a new person. The location is the saving grace here.

We camp on lawn, daisy-chaining hoses to get running water and connecting to temporary electric ports that offer maybe 6 amps of service. The fairgrounds have restrooms (no showers). We do not have sewer hookups so we need to be careful.

We rise a bit chilled Tuesday and with Mike driving we explore the southern end of the keys bordering Sarasota. The day quickly warms and at Siesta Key we buy deli sandwiches, park easily in a large lot, and walk across a firm base of very fine and white sand to a spot on the beach. This is the Gulf and no wave is more than about a foot. The water is beautiful. There are people on the wide beach but it is not crowded – most are tanned seniors, and nobody is in the water. The lifeguard tells me that the water is 59 degrees, too cold for these people; the water is slow to warm because the nights are still cold and the Gulf shallow.

Are we there yet?

Marcia and Jane spread the blankets and we find ourselves sitting one couple behind the other, as if we were still in the truck. Perhaps we have been traveling together too many miles and in too many towns. I think we likely look a little silly, seated in this pattern, wearing our badges and Florida State Rally ribbons, clothed except for shoes. I ask some deeply tanned semi-Speedo-clad Canadian seniors to take our picture and they oblige good-naturedly.

The beach is clean, few trashcans, populated with squadrons of possible gulls; if gulls, they are small by California gull standards. As we face the water eight swarm at Mike’s hand, stealing half his sandwich. The Canadians, and maybe the back seat, laugh. Mike - as even-tempered as anyone I know - is upset at the bold theft but doesn’t at first show it. But he is a hunter; I once saw him spend I think $1800 on a shotgun. He says if he had his shotgun this matter would be quickly settled. We remind him of the sign at the entrance: Bird Sanctuary – No Hunting.

We soon leave the beach and explore some older residential streets. We come across a for-sale sign on a not-to-bad empty home and Mike turns in to the driveway. We explore, noting that it backs on a canal, has a screened pool and patio allowing use in the summer. The place is not spectacular but is better than its neighbors. It is priced at a little under $600,000, less than I expect.

John & Elain show how it should be done.

We try our best.

Tuesday night is nice, the temperature never falling out of the fifties. We rise Wednesday and join John and Elain and others for a brisk walk about 8:00 AM. John has an unusual plan: acknowledging that our biggest elevation gain in this flat state is probably the three steps into our trailers, he drives us to a park on the other side of a mile-long bridge that rises high enough to allow boats to pass. In a morning haze we walk over the bridge and a little way into the city then return – a nice walk that quickly has us down to T-shirts. Our cold days and nights seem to be over.

Beth, Marcia, Ed

Later we invite Ed and Beth, two friends from the Viking Trail caravan (now themselves leading the Civil War caravan) on a drive to the northern end of the keys explored yesterday. In this direction we encounter many expensive homes and vastly more attractive canals. One is having a Realtor’s “open house” and we explore. Attractive, 4000+ square feet, built in 2008, on a nice canal, filled with upscale features, not ostentatious. Asking price: $2.5 million. The realtor explains the owner is “upside down” and wants to sell the home, used only during the winter. (To a Californian, this is a topsy-turvy world: Sarasota is crowded in the winter and empty in the summer. Well, ok, the price also seems ridiculous, even to a Californian.) ((I had an English teacher that threatened an automatic “F” for any use of ok, OK, or okay in composition. I wonder what she would think of double parentheses. Personally I’d give an “F” for using them.))

We continue our drive up the key to its end and have a very nice dinner at a restaurant called the Beach House. While waiting in the bar Ed and I talk about the Droid smartphone as we both have one. I explain how we were able to track our son Andrew’s nonstop drive from Seattle to Roseville in bad weather for Christmas using Google Latitude. I login to Latitude and show Ed that Andrew is currently at his office in downtown Seattle. I explain that Andrew can also track us, if he chooses, as we have exchanged permissions. Very oddly the phone rings, I answer, and it is Andrew in Seattle. He asks if we are at the Beach House Restaurant in Florida, and we are. This is a too spooky.

Dave, Marcia Kathy, Cam

Thursday finds us returning to the same area with Dave and Kathy, friends from the Southeast Coast Spectacular several years ago. While returning from the Alaska caravan last year they unfortunately dumped their trailer on a road in British Columbia. There were no injuries of note but the trailer, an impeccably maintained model, was a loss. Their caravan leader was very sympathetic: he has totaled two rigs in his many years of towing. Dave and Kathy have bounced back and now own a newer model with almost the same design. We enjoyed fish and chips with them at Rotten Ralph’s near the old pier. I look for manatees but no luck.

This is historically a circus town, so Friday night we go to the not-for-profit Sarasota Circus, under the, well, medium-sized top. This is a modern one-ring circus, no animals save some horses and dogs. OK, maybe it was really a small top, but it feels traditional and good compared with modern arena shows.

I’m first at the ticket booth and misunderstand my instructions from Marcia and buy $25 tickets rather that the planned $10 tickets. The others from our truck follow suit to be nice. It turns out there really are no bad seats in this small circus, and even if there were, the crowd is sparse and you can just move forward to a better seat. Well, not a better seat: the seats are planks certainly upholstered by Airstream and very uncomfortable.

The acts are good, even the clowns, and very professional – mostly Europeans. The surprise is the last act. The very competent (and by lack-of-accent probably American) ringmaster discards the high hat and long coat and becomes the lead attraction: ‘The Edge”. Without tether he walks a giant revolving metal frame, sometimes on the inside, and sometimes on the outside. As the speed increases he begins to run and jump, occasionally seeming to lose his balance, risking probable death. A few more spectacular jumps and his act ends, leaving a very satisfied audience.

I worry throughout the performance about my missing credit card. A call to Thursday's restaurant finds it safe in their lock box, so early Saturday I again drive the route to get my card back. I dread this third trip in as many days and fear weekend traffic, but I'm by myself, a cup of Starbucks on the console, traffic is light, and the trip is actually very relaxing.