Milton Raises 'Cane

Wed Oct 25, 2024 - Greacey Palms Senior Putt Putt Trailer Park

Retire, they said, and relax... I'm here to tell you there's no such thing, it's just a different set of problems once you lay down the grease gun at Royal Canadian Veeblefetzer, where I used to babysit the vulcanization of little round rubbery buttholes on the size 7 grommet production line.

Regular followers will know of what I speak, and I also know that your worlds have their own sets of problems, and hopefully, blessings.

Me, I've got this blog, a trailer in Florida to winter in, and a golf cart with completely dry, completely dead lead-acid batteries.

They've got to be replaced. There's six of 'em and a typical price is $130 each plus tax. And they are a pain in the ass. Heavy. Require maintenance. Short lifespan.

For about 30% more, I can get a lithium setup.

And that's how I came to be riding on the worst red eye I've ever been on.

The trip down south from Flusherville looks like this.

Step 1: Panic pack and make arrangements for a full two weeks, plus watch hurricane Milton progress and sweat it out like a junkie coming off a diet of smack and Mountain Dew (and vitamin C, reds, and cocaine, I suppose, since it's a long strange trip.)

Step 2: Drive to Scranton, which involves maximum authority issues at talking to the border guards.

Step 3: Spend the night in Scranton. I know a good Home2 hotel there.

Step 4: Drive from Scranton to Lorton VA and catch the Autotrain. Leave at 5:00 pm and arrive in Sanford FL at 9:00 am the next day.

Step 5: Drive from Sanford to the Greacey Palms, and survey the havoc first hand that Hurricane Milton has wrought.

Well, the Greacey Palms didn't get the worst of the winds that Milton packed. (Why do hurricanes always arrive packing winds of 10 billion miles an hour or whatever? What do they pack them in? Do hurricanes have other wind conveying words like carrying, pushing, expelling or... why not say hurricane Milton is balancing 300 mile per hour winds like giant spinning plates on sticks?)

I have a few security cameras on the trailer and saw how bad it was getting one second before the power went out.

It looked bad. Really bad. I could see waves coming up the driveway. When it went black, I went to bed, hoping for the best.

The next day, I found out what we all found out - Milton was a brute causing widespread damage and flooding in a wide swath from the gulf coast right across central Florida.

And some photos came my way that were not encouraging. My house had water higher than the cart shed door, which is higher than the skirting. I just hoped it had not got into the house, and hoped for no wind damage.

Aerial shot of the Greacey Palms.

Miraculously, my power came back on the next day - my front yard had become a lake.

I got a damage report from neighbors - I'd had an awning torn off, and another damaged, and siding ripped off from two places. And of course, the water.

The big issue with water under these manufactured homes is that the AC ductwork runs under there. There's also insulation. None of that stuff survives getting submerged.

It was sickening to watch, not knowing how bad it was going to be. I would find out first hand in a week or so.

On October 16th, I finished packing, shut down the house in Flusherville, waved goodbye to Jimmy Poon, and hit the road for Scranton. I had quite a lump in my throat, as it was one year to the day that I'd left with the Quad Queen after using the MultiLift to wrestle her into the car.

The border was fine, I was through in no time. And the drive to Scranton was pretty easy. 

I made a stop at Access Unlimited, which was just a little bit out of my way in Binghamton to return a piece of equipment they'd prototyped for the MultiLift to work in the '84 Tercel. I had a nice chat with one of the people I'd worked with there and as I turned to leave, something on the bulletin board caught my eye.

There, along with many other notes, cards, and photos, was a photo of my late wife Karen. The thank you card I'd sent them almost a year ago.

Bittersweet to say the least, but nice to see her smiling face, and to know that some other people far away cared enough to remember her, even if they only knew her from her photo.

Scranton appeared in my windshield in good time, and I stopped at a nearby Walmart for food supplies and a few minis of vodka (TRAIN!) and found my room at the hotel.

Dinner was a bag of frozen chicken wings. I thought this was an absolutely brilliant choice!

Even better, it turns out the room came with a microwave!

I ate and relaxed and slept very well.

I got up the next day, had coffee, puttered around, ate a leisurely breakfast, packed my backpack cooler with a couple of freezer packs, drinks, and a shitload of treats for the train, and finally packed up the car.

I had about 4 hours and 20 minutes of driving to do by the book, so really about 5 hours. I hit the road and five minutes along I-81 I was in stop and go traffic making all of 3 miles an hour.

And then I remembered.

Yes, the Autotrain leaves at 5:00 pm. But the cut-off for loading... I tried to remember. Was it 3:30 pm? Was it 3:00 pm? I looked at my watch. It was 9:45.

SHIT! NOT SAVVY!

For some stupid reason, I didn't think about my plan to get to the train on time.

I was pretty sure the cut-off for loading cars was 3:00 pm. I had 5 hours in the car most probably. It was 5 hours and 15 minutes before 3:00.

The delay lasted about 20 minutes, and I put the pedal down. I would have to haul ass, and ass I did haul. I hauled ass like an ass-hauling magnificent bastard!

I needed to make a stop for gas and managed to get that done with only 4 minutes taken off the clock.

There would be no time to stop for any food. Fortunately, my cooler was within reach and when I finally did get hungry I was able to get at the punishment cheese sticks. Appropriate.

The only other stop I made was for a whiz at a rest stop. Six minutes taken off the clock including two minutes of walking.

I hit only one other slowdown on the interstate, and it didn't last too long, fortunately. The miles flew by at 78 miles an hour.

By the time I got to the Autotrain, there was barely any lineup of cars to check in. But there were cars. That was a good sign. Relief. I joined them. It was 2:40 pm and cut off was indeed 3:00 pm. Lesson learned.

I'd booked a coach seat on the train, giving up the usual private roomette with bed. Why was I doing this?

Remember the golf cart with completely dry, completely dead lead-acid batteries? I planned to replace them with lithium iron phosphate, or LiFePO4 batteries. They'll be 300 pounds lighter, and will last twice as long, and can't get ruined if the dipshit in the park who was supposed to keep them topped up with distilled water all summer doesn't bother and lets them run completely dry. Which is what happened.

Last time I checked, the local cart service people were charging $2,800 for a top notch solution. I can't afford $2,800 for batteries.

No, I'm going to risk my life and do it myself with a low notch solution for under $1000. The money I save on the train is going to go towards new batteries. Plus I want to see how bad it is.

I figure even if I have a terrible night, it's only a few hours more in the car to the Greacey Palms. I can load up on coffee and get home and sleep all I want, assuming I don't have to immediately start throwing out all of my Milton-ruined possessions.

We got on the train at 4:30 or so. The seat was okay I guess. It reclines significantly and has pop-up leg rests. But there's no center arm rest! Fortunately, I had a friendly and considerate woman next to me and not some huge stinking hulk of a man like myself.

All aboard!

Well, the trip was long. We didn't leave on time. The evening was okay. I snuck the contents of some minis into my bottle of diet Cherry Pepsi, which eased the pain somewhat. I ate all kinds of train snacks for dinner, like punishment nuts, punishment cheese sticks, a punishment apple, parm crisps (non-punishment), and about six little packages of Biscoffs.

Is that a personalized cooler between your legs or...

The night was... awful. I raw-dogged the whole trip. Watched nothing on the computer. Just sat and tried to get comfortable. I'd brought a small pillow and good thing I did, I needed it behind my neck.

I slept in short chunks, waking up over and over throughout the night.

At 6:15 I'd had enough and as soon as my seatmate showed signs of waking, I stopped kicking her in the shin, and begged to get out. I wanted to beat the rush for coffee.

I'd taken a break here around 10:00 pm and most of the same people were still there. They did the trip in the snack car all night long.

It turns out the give you breakfast on the train, but it was all sweets and carbs. Baked stuff, cereal, juices, nothing but carbs and sugar. I had two cups of coffee and a banana.

And I spent two hours there, just happy to be out of my seat and somewhere else. I had a long convo with some interesting people as well, which helped pass the time.

We arrived at noon instead of 10:00. I'd been on the train 20 butt-busting freaking hours. My ass was hamburger with no buns. That's more than enough time to fly to - almost anywhere in the world.

Next up, wait for the car to be offloaded. Another 45 minutes and I was on my way.

The house, it turns out, was in pretty good shape. Many others were not so lucky. Some had carports ripped off or flipped onto their roof, some had significant roof and other damage, and many had their ducts and AC units flooded out. A few houses, nearby, had significant water flow underneath that took out the cinder block pilons on which the houses sit. They may be write-offs.

This was a neighbor's house once.

I was able to confirm that about 4" of water had gotten into the shed, but nothing much was ruined by it.

The big question for me was did the water get under the house high enough to get into the duct work.

I realized after the fact that I'd dodged a couple of bullets.

One, I'd left the fridge running. Power had been out for 18 hours or so. What was in there??? (Fortunately, nothing that could go bad.) Some people were out of power for almost a week.

Two, the AC had been running all summer, which is fine. I have a dumb thermostat and I never thought to have someone go and turn off the breaker for the AC. As soon as power was restored to the house, the thermostat told the AC unit to fire up.

What if it had been submerged and/or damaged? And what if there was swamp water in the ducts?

Some damaged AC units have caught fire when powered up after a storm.

I'm going to look into getting an Ecobee installed so I can control things remotely. (Tried to do it myself once, but I don't have the necessary wiring to make it an easy install. There are ways to do it that are beyond me.)

One thing I did do right, Dudley, was to bring a couple of old sump pumps and a bunch of hose with me.

There was indeed still about 5" of water under the house, and the pump cleared it in about an hour and a half.

The water had deposited waves of crud over the driveway and patio, so I spent a bunch of time dealing with that. I hosed down a neighbor's driveway too. They're also Canadian and don't arrive for a while.

A good look into the return duct with an endoscope and a flashlight (what a date that would be!) showed no sign of water, and two weeks after Milton, I detect no odor of mold or anything musty in the air. I'm assuming the house ducts are okay. It's probably dry enough to crawl around down there now... 

I hired a guy a few days ago for $100 to fix the siding (fortunately, a neighbor recovered all the pieces that had blown off), and take down the second awning. I wanted them gone anyway.

The saddest thing for me was the loss of Karen's Jacaranda tree. She loved that thing, and I did too, and I nursed it along in her memory. Gone.

The first week here, my mood was terrible. All of the events of this same period of time last year are echoing through this house, and my mind. It was tough, and I wondered why I was even here. But where would I go? Back to Flusherville for the winter, another place I don't know why I'm there?

I've kept moving, dealing with more of the things in the house that didn't get dealt with last year.

And the cart project is underway. These arrived yesterday.

The new batteries. Soon Carty McCartface, aka The Antichrist will be zapping around like a hot rod. She's gonna be a bastard to start (sorry Reverend) but it will be worth it.

I've started the process of electrocuting myself upgrading the batteries already.

Soon the Tragically Hips old fart classic gas band rehearsals will start. I've decided we should practice at my house. It'll inject some activity that I can't get out of into my life. Because everyone should have a drum kit in their living room, right?

That's the update from Florida. I got off lightly. I've struggled with mental health but the last 2 days or so have been much better. Hopefully the sunshine continues, and continues to perform its healing magic.

Three Apples

Life event update time, since there's no Vegas bidness going on.

There was no question that I would return to the Greacey Palms Senior Putt Putt Trailer Park for the winter, at least, in my mind.

The summer in Flusherville came and went and the best I can say is I got through it, and had a pretty good Vegas trip last month.

But things were different all around. The house is physically the same, all the things are here... but without Karen it's just a place, a box of memories and pain, for now anyway.

It's almost as if my world knows she's gone. The cherry tree out front didn't blossom. The old oak out back that survived the 1998 ice storm, that fought back even though it had been torn literally limb from limb, that even grew new branches here and there, the old, proud sentinel, too tough to give up - fallen into rot in the stone fence. Given up and gone.

The apple tree that sprouted spontaneously from a thrown apple core long ago didn't bloom much. I looked and looked and all I could see this fall were three sad apples.

Life is there, ticking over, but a shadow of what it once was. 

As happens every fall and winter, the change in light sends me reeling into despair and depression. I get as much sun as I can and the feelings come and go, but when it's bad, I'm completely overwhelmed and tears are never far off.

Add to that the loss of the best friend I could ever have, my partner and soul mate, and it's a recipe for self pity and pain.

And still, though, I am moving forward. Somehow.

I know this sounds grim and in a way selfish, but it's the bare truth, and I think you deserve that. It's not that I don't count my blessings, either. I'm so fortunate to have a place to go away from winter, and the means to get there. I'm so fortunate to have had such an amazing marriage with someone who could play 1200 hands of video poker an hour on the right machine. Accurately. I mean, let's get serious here.

Plans to return to Florida, and play music with my friends down south provided just enough spark to make trudging through the emotional morass of this bit of time worthwhile.

Preparations start in the summer, and my 9,031 item checklist guides me through all the things that depression makes me want to avoid.

But another of life's curveballs happened - a disturbance in the gulf that looked to become a hurricane.

And in the early going, it had a bead right on my house down south.

Well, everyone who has been anywhere near a TV or news site knows what happened. Milton did form, and kicked the ever living crap out of much of Florida.

While things were still uncertain, the track drifted south, which I thought was good.

It wasn't. The very worst of the torrents of rain were to be found in a bloody red Paul Bunyan thumbprint, rain under it drifting across the state for hours. And my house was in the middle of it all.

I'm not sure I can articulate the anxiety and stress of watching it all unfold. Hours watching every little wiggle, every update from NOAA, every detail on the broadcasts.

On top of that, the cameras I have mounted on the house let me see the battering we were taking. I worried for my friends and neighbors that decided to ride out the storm. I worried for my property.

About 11:30 pm while watching one of the feeds, as I fretted about the water that was lapping at my shed door, and looking to get under the house - how high would it rise?? -  it all went black. Power gone.

I'd get no more direct information till late the next day.

And in the Greacey Palms, as in much of Florida from Madiera Beach (where the Quad Queen and I honeymooned so many years ago) through to Orlando, it was chaos. Water. Wind. Damage. Destruction. Bradenton. Sarasota. Tampa. St. Pete's. Hillsborough County. Polk County.

Somewhere north of a foot of rain fell on the Greacey Palms.

Well, the house survived. A neighbor sent a photo that showed the water up to the shed door entrance. There's water under the house, but I'm hopeful it isn't too much and the AC ducts underneath have been spared. I lost some siding and an awning.

But saddest of all for me, was the loss of the struggling but beautiful Jacaranda tree that Karen so loved. It had become a symbol of her for me, and I treasured it. That tree had already been knocked down a number of times, and I did everything I could to nurse it along.

Milton, that fucker, broke it off. Not even that little thing was spared this year. It's as if the magic that Karen brought into my life has all blown away, wet leaves, dust, pieces of a house, oak trees.

Wednesday morning, I start my journey to Florida for the winter, and I will see for myself.

So, so many have lost so, so much because of Milton, people I know in the park, people for miles and miles and miles around. I got off lucky.

And yet. A house is just a thing, as I found. It's the people that are in it that matter.

And maybe life will be okay, maybe it will not be so hollow. Because there's a couple of things.

That apple tree out back gave three apples. It takes but one seed to make a tree, just as that tree was made.

And when I told my cousin from Titusville about the loss of Karen's Jacaranda, you know what she told me?

"I have a Jacaranda in my back yard. I'll save you some seeds."

What life seeds do I have left at age 64 to shelter and nurture and experience? I don't know. I just hope there are some. Even if it's just three apple's worth.

Poor Jacaranda.

Karen, with 'fresh out of the pool Einstein hair', watering the tree.

Flowered beautifully, taken tragically.

A Good Snag

Day 7 Tuesday Sept 10, 2024

I woke just before dawn and watched the sun come up over the smoke-shrouded mountains.

After yesterday's quad-fest, I almost wished I was going home today. I feel pretty satisfied with how this trip has gone. I've had fun, hung out with friends, and I'm up on the trip. I re-learned that I could really enjoy being here alone. The only box unticked is getting a Royal.

I decided I would set a limit of $100 for the day to ensure that this trip ends up a winner - something that is tough to do. Consider two trips ago, I was even until the last two days, and then lost $300 a day to finish down $600. And last trip was a complete blowout, with a loss of $2400 (but think of the comped rooms!).

And, I suppose it can be said that part of that loss has come back as the room offers I enjoyed this trip.

In any case, I intend to finish a winner. I just need discipline.

Does anyone have some they can lend me?

The morning went as usual, with some Punishment Nuts and coffee, and typey-typey.

Remember when I said I didn't trust MGM's accounting systems? I checked my folio and sure enough, $11 is on the bill for dinner Hussong's. I happen to know that I'd charged about $80 to the room, plus the $33 boofay - which the front desk Sheila told me to put on the room and it would be taken care of.

So, what clearly happened was that it was not taken care of, putting me over the $100 resort credit by $11 when you add the four things together. That's why half a Hussong was on there.

Same old shit. Another visit to the front desk.

I had a good idea how to deal with this though. I explained the situation and pointed out how crappy the internet is in my room - and it is spectacularly useless.

I'll cut to the chase. I negotiated the removal of the boofay from my bill, and the covering of the rest of Hussong's - and, the removal of one night's resort fee to cover the second boofay.

This is pretty good because I'd already had one boofay comped by the slot boothling on arrival, and now I've had a second one comped and I've saved the cost of a resort fee out of pocket for what the desk thinks is the second boofay - except I'm not going to pay cash. I'm keeping the $37 plus tax saving on the resort fee and using comp dollars.

If you followed all that, you deserve a medal.

On top of that, I still have $20 of room on my resort credit. I'll probably 'splurge' on a Johnny Rocket's $22 cheeseburger.

I can't believe it's come to this. Gouge, gouge, gouge, every time you turn around.

That sorted, I went to work on the video poker. I had a decent session, dwindling my hundred dollar stake down to almost nothing over the course of a couple of hours or so, and then winning most of it back. 

I had one quad in there, of little consequence.

Next stop, lunch, and the only thing worth noting was that I found a bag of drugs on the floor. I didn't touch it, and alerted the boofay staff, who sent the chef over, who happened to be standing nearby watching for people who might be stuffing green apples in their pockets or something.

The chef watched over the drugs until help arrived.

I had just enough comp dollars to cover lunch, which was made up of this and that and another omelette. 

I like a good snag as much as any larrikin, mate, but you can keep your apostrophes out of my bottom.

After lunch, I took a break in the room, including a half hour shower and a shave. I'm on a well at home, and do without such things until I get to Florida for the winter.

Then, video poker, the final conflict. The $100 lasted an hour and a quarter. I did get a few quads, but not nearly enough of them to keep it going.

And that's it. Gambling done.

Damn.

No Royal this trip. Again. The last one was May, 2022.

I took a walk outside to warm up - the casino is frigid. I'm not walking as much today, so I put a few steps on, anyway.

And that's pretty much it for this trip. I shut it down and stuck to my guns and preserved the win.

I had a quiet night at Excalibur, and I'm awake early to get my ass to the airport and get home.

Budget

Without a doubt, my goal to be a Cheap Magnificent Bastard has been accomplished. Not only did I pretty much stay within my budget, I managed to win money in Las Vegas.

And I had a great time doing it.

To date, I have not paid out of pocket for a meal on this trip, but that will change today during the trip home.

The most amazing part is the incredible support shown me by you savvy readers.

I thank you one and all for all of the ko-fi and PayPal donations. I don't have a huge readership, but my followers are loyal.

If I didn't have anybody to tell what happened on these trips, I'd feel a lot more lonely. You make it fun.

One of the best things on this trip - if not the best - was spending time with friends I've made through the blog. 

Actual Total Expenses so far are $501.

I spent a little extra on the flight by paying for window seats near the front of the plane. I'll desperately need that on the way home, because my layover in Philadelphia is less than an hour.

I also spent on Lyft, which I hadn't budgeted for.

My bill at Excalibur is $125 and I'd budged $176, so that kind of covers the Lyft charges. And I only bought one $10 three day bus pass, not two.

I expect I will incur some charges on the way home - there will be a Lyft to the airport, not the bus, and I'll have to eat something at some point - I'm finishing the last of the punishment nuts as I write this.

The gambling, compared to other typical trips, was stellar.

I'm leaving Las Vegas with more cash than I arrived with.

I had 4 winning days and 3 losing days for a total win on the trip of $242.

If that isn't being a Cheap Magnificent Bastard, I don't know what is.

Stay savvy,

Royal Flusher