Hot Miami Nights!

  Pirate Press      January 2019

After our Hyundai self-imploded in Atlanta, I foolishly believed my bad luck for the year had run out. Therefore, I was brazenly emboldened to tackle another ridiculously long road trip in my seemingly never-ending search for a suitable Ferrari replacement.

Once more, I found an apparently too-good-to-be-true car for sale. But this one was in sunny South Florida, nearly double the distance we had driven to Georgia the month before. Still, I reasoned, the ten hour drive was doable, and factoring in stops for food/gas and the Eastern Time Zone would only inflate it to twelve hours. I confidently calculated that if we left at 6am, we could be there by 6pm.

But, like many things in life which turn out otherwise, it initially seemed so deceptively easy.

The first impendent was, of course, the fact that despite my best intentions I’m never, ever, able to actually leave on time. Secondly, Amanda and my daughter conspired to arrange an #UsToo protest that wanted them recognized for their willingness and sacrifice (Victoria’s words, not mine) in undertaking this lengthy spur of the moment travel. Their price, it was revealed, was a day at Disney World on our way back. I accepted their terms when I realized that they might as well go with me since the Doll House in Ft. Lauderdale had closed down.

The first couple hours of our drive on I-10 were uneventful until we came upon the exit for Defuniak Springs. There we began to see firsthand the awful destruction caused by Hurricane Michael nearly three months earlier. Massive oaks had been completely ripped out of the ground, and countless pine trees were snapped in half like brittle matchsticks. It was a staggering display of Mother Nature’s fury and a sobering reminder that it could very well have been us in the storm's path.

In terms of barometric pressure, Hurricane Michael roared ashore as the third-most intense Atlantic hurricane to ever make U.S. landfall, behind the 1935 Labor Day hurricane and our own Hurricane Camille in 1969. With a wind speed just 1 mph below Category 5 status, Michael also had the dubious distinction of being the most powerful Hurricane to ever strike the Florida panhandle since records began in 1851. It reportedly racked up $6 billion in damages to U.S. fighter jets at Tyndall Air Force Base in Panama City, and we personally witnessed some of the estimated $5.18 billion in losses to agriculture and timber. At one point, we came upon a twisted roadside sign indicating a Rest Area, but as we approached it, there was literally nothing left but a cement slab.

Don't tell the ladies, but Michael was average-sized as far as hurricanes go. However, its violent eyewall created momentary wind speeds in excess of 200 mph that fueled the damage and powered a 20-foot storm surge. As such, the National Hurricane Center is considering revising Michael to a Category 5.

The well-defined eye also prolonged its devastation, as it remained a Category 3 hurricane even when it entered Georgia, making it the strongest storm to hit that state since 1898. I don’t want to get into the “Global Warming” debate, as people are fiercely divided, but scientists are strongly suggesting that climate change could be responsible for the proliferation of these monster storms. A record heat wave in October provided the ammunition for Michael to rapidly intensify, hitting Florida just three days after developing in the Yucatan as a Tropical Depression. I’m reluctant to jump to conclusions, but what I do know is that in 2018, I personally experienced heretofore unseen schizophrenic weather patterns with the worst snow I’ve ever driven in as well as the hottest autumn in memory.

Not long afterwards, I happened to look down and notice that my phone had not been charging for the entirety of the drive. Normally, this wouldn’t be a big deal, but we were on a 12-hour road trip and I was using the Waze traffic app, which drains the battery faster than Oprah goes through a Holiday platter of cheesecakes. My iPhone was already down to 50% and I had a mini-panic attack wondering how we would navigate to our hotel in Miami. I had never considered myself nomophobic, but it was a terrifying realization of just how dependent a previously avowed smart phone stalwart such as myself had become. None of the USB ports in the truck were working, so I assumed that whatever was affecting it (a blown fuse, maybe?) would also prevent us from charging them from the cigarette lighter socket as well. I then chuckled to myself with amusement as I realized what a misnomer the term “cigarette lighter” is in 2018. My thirteen year-old daughter has never even seen an automotive cigarette lighter, much less relied on one as the single source of amusement in the backseat of a 1974 Toyota Corona as I did. In fact, I believe the last car I had with an actual cigarette lighter and ashtray was my 1996 Honda del Sol, possibly because Asians love smoking almost as much as gambling.

We stopped in Tallahassee for a late lunch at BurgerFI, my third favorite fast-casual hamburger joint behind In-N-Out and Shake Shack. Serving all-natural burgers from the Top 1% of hormone-free, steroid-free and antibiotic-free Angus beef, I decided to try their fancy “CEO” burger. It’s advertised as a Double Wagyu + Brisket Blend Burger with Homemade Candied Bacon-Tomato Jam, Truffle Aioli and Aged Swiss Cheese. Of course, I realize it’s a marketing mouthful as it’s not real Japanese Wagyu anymore than the Candied Bacon-Tomato Jam is homemade. And with white truffles fetching $6,000 per pound, how much actual truffle can they afford to put in a $12 hamburger?

But the good news is that when we left, the USB ports started miraculously working again, so we all simultaneously plugged in our depleted devices.

Some 90 minutes later, we jumped on I-75 near Lake City and that’s when the traffic became insane. Having driven to Disney three times in the past three years, I’ve witnessed the ever-increasing gridlock each time. But what I’ve also noticed in my travels far and wide is that a driver’s attitude is quite often (perhaps even subconsciously) intrinsically tied to the vehicle they drive. Of course, there are exceptions to this, but like stereotypes, remain largely accurate nonetheless. Therefore, and culled from nearly forty years of driving, I’ve personally witnessed that Mercedes owners are the most self-entitled and inconsiderate drivers on the road. These are the ones I’ve observed the most who are always speeding in the left hand lane and impatiently attempting to bully other motorists into letting them by. Statistically, this bears out, as a 2015 YouGov personality test of 200,000 current automotive customers illustrated. Mercedes owners scored at the bottom with just 7% categorizing themselves as “Friendly”. Similarly, only 9% deemed themselves “Bighearted”, indicating an aversion to being concerned with or helping others. However, they clearly have no self-esteem issues as nearly one out of every two felt that they were “Knowledgeable” (46%) as well as “A Leader” (45%).

The second biggest highway offender I’ve recognized belongs to (not surprisingly) BMW owners. And more than any other automotive brand, BMW drivers are the most universally maligned and draw the most criticism.  Whether or not this is historical momentum from the brand’s “Yuppie” era of the 1980s, it seems justified as a whopping 70% pronounced themselves “Knowledgeable” while only 9% admitted to being “Friendly”.  Finally, an interesting parapraxis among both the Mercedes and BMW survey pools is that both scored poorly on the “Dependability” trait, with scores of just 10% and 13% respectively.       

Later that evening, we were near Orlando when Waze suddenly warned me about an “Object on Road Ahead!” These alerts, while generally helpful, aren’t always accurate. Many times, I never see any evidence of a hazard, or if there is something, it usually has blown onto the shoulder. Still, I had a gut feeling that this might be something to be concerned about, so I moved out from the car I was behind and into an empty lane. I made an executive decision that if there was something in the road, I don’t want the vehicle in front of us striking it and slinging it into our windshield.

Suddenly, I saw it— an enormous, shredded 18-wheeler tire directly in front of us. The black rubber against the black pavement at night made it invisible until I was directly upon it. At 85 mph, I couldn’t risk swerving so I braced for impact. There was a horrendously sickening jolt as the colossal chunk of steel-belted rubber collided with the Hyundai. Immediately, there was all manner of gut-wrenching sounds followed by sparks flying, worrisome noises of rattling pieces, and debris hitting the road.

My initial concern was of a punctured tire, ruptured radiator, or damage to the oil pan, all things which would incapacitate our rental car and leave us stranded. Bravely (though Amanda might say stubbornly) I continued driving, desperate to try and get us to Miami, despite the frightening rubbing and grinding sounds present. I was curious, yet equally terrified, as I tried calculating the extent of the damage possible.

Around 10pm, we finally made it to Miami, and for the past couple hours I had closely monitored the tire pressures and other ancillary functions. Based on that, it seemed the damage might only be cosmetic. However, when I opened my email to let the dealer know I had made it to Miami and would see him tomorrow morning, I had flashbacks of Atlanta one month earlier when the vehicle was sold out from underneath me. Apparently, someone bought the car just after we got underway, so we’d driven all day for nothing. With that disappointment and hitting the tire, it appeared that I just couldn’t escape the bad luck that had literally plagued me since June.

Miami was similarly unwelcoming with high heat and humidity and none of the glamour advertised on TV. Far from the tropical paradise it’s portrayed to be where celebrities are often seen frolicking in the white sand, we were kept awake all night by car horns, sirens and what sounded like gunshots in the distance. Not surprisingly, Miami was recently ranked “The Worst City to Live in America” while Travel+Leisure designated it “America’s Rudest City”. So what happened to The Magic City’s Southern Hospitality? Both reports cite the huge wage disparity as a determining factor with the top 1% of earners in the Miami metro area making about $2 million annually, which is 45 times greater than the average income of the other 99% of earners. The report also observed, “Citywide violence is closely associated with a range of negative social and economic outcomes, including incarceration, unstable employment, lower cognitive functioning and anxiety.” But, while I agree with the findings, I do need to stress that Miami certainly does not have a monopoly on “lower cognitive functioning” residents. In my travels, that affliction seems to be nationwide.  

Moon over Miami.

The next morning, I was able to visually inspect our Hyundai and thankfully the tires were still inflated and there were no fluids pooling underneath it. However, there was obvious damage to the front lip with the lower valance ripped up and the front skid-plate completely missing. The front passenger fender liner was also a casualty as it was pretty chewed up from rubbing against the wheel. But there was some solace in realizing the annoying flapping and grinding I had been hearing was just from the wheel well guard and nothing major. Of all the damage, it would be the cheapest and easiest to fix.

And fix it I would have to unless I wanted my insurance premiums to go up again. After my claim in May 2017 where the “lower cognitive functioning” woman came to a complete stop instead of yielding, my rates jumped from $100 per month to $180.   

So with our second Hyundai damaged and my prospective car sold, there wasn’t anything for us to do but turn around and head back to Orlando the next morning.

We made it to Disney Springs by noon and, as one can imagine on Black Friday weekend, the crowds were unbelievable. Likewise, due to the unexpected nature of our trip, we didn’t have any lunch reservations as everything was booked-up online. Even so, Amanda had always wanted to eat at T-Rex Café so when we walked by, she begged me to ask the hostess if by chance they had any cancellations. I initially resisted but eventually acquiesced, and warned her that I was going to get laughed out of the restaurant. I walked up to the hostess and prefaced my inquiry with “I know you’re going to think I’m crazy…” and then bluntly asked if they had any tables available. Incredibly, they did, and it was even in the coveted “Ice Room”. I was literally dumbfounded that we scored such incredible seats with no reservations whatsoever. It was clearly the most tangible evidence of Disney magic that I had ever experienced! In fact, if you Google “T Rex Cafe Ice Room” you’ll be greeted with around 20 million results, all containing endless YouTube videos, pictures and forum discussions devoted to the amazing area. I quickly realized that the prices were equally amazing, as even a salad was $19.50 and a bottle of water was $4.50. When I casually mentioned this “Disney Tax” to Amanda, she cheerfully reminded me how much money I saved since the car I wanted was sold. It was the most outlandish justification I’d ever heard, but it somehow made perfect sense.

After lunch, I was dragged into the “World of Disney” store which as the titular name implies, is the largest Disney gift shop in the world. Covering a massive 56,000 square feet, it was nonetheless so crowded with people clamoring for Christmas gifts that we could hardly move. I wasn’t able to calculate the amount of money being spent per minute there, but I’m sure it exceeded the gross national product of many small countries. It's the perfect place to go if you hate your money.

For dinner, I managed to book us a table at The Boat House in Disney Springs. Readers may remember this venue from my February 2016 article on the Amphicar. This was a case of doing things in reverse, as we did the Amphicar excursion first, and two years later were actually eating at the restaurant it is based around. But it gets stranger: The Boat House exclusively serves Gibson’s Blue Star Heritage Angus Beef provided by the legendary Chicago Steakhouse. Even funnier, we dined at Gibson’s in Chicago when we picked up my Ferrari in May. So, I was curious to judge how the two cuts of beef, separated by 1,200 miles, would compare. In The Windy City, I ordered W.R.’s Chicago Cut, a massive 22 oz. bone-in ribeye intended for two people. Given Gibson’s reputation as the first restaurant group in the country to be awarded its own USDA Prime Certification, I was expecting the beef to be outstanding. However, I could not have been more disappointed as the $60 steak was riddled with gristle and wouldn’t pass muster in an Outback steakhouse. As such, it holds the inglorious distinction of being the worst special steak I’ve ever eaten.

Unfortunately, and for whatever reason, The Boat House did not have the same W.R. Chicago Cut on their menu, so I had to settle for their next closest thing: a boneless 16 oz. ribeye for $48.50. It was served with several small potatoes and a tiny container of steak sauce, two items conspicuously absent from our meal in Chicago. Despite that, my Boat House steak was excellent and was much more in line with what I expected from Gibson’s. As a rule, I never request steak sauce, but will try it when it’s served with the entree. It was enjoyable, even if it tasted like an elevated version of Heinz 57. However, I still contend that for me, there is no better steak sauce than the one served by the world-famous Peter Luger in New York.

The next morning, we arose early to catch the bus to Magic Kingdom for our carefully orchestrated 16-hour assault on it. That’s right, we purchased one-day park tickets, as well as passes for the after-hours Christmas party, so we were going to stay there from 8am until the park closed at midnight.

I found a red convertible, but it wasn't for sale!

Given our spontaneity, we had no park reservations, no fast passes, and no idea what we were doing. Truthfully, it sounded like the perfect recipe for disaster, but unbelievably, it was just the opposite! The Lake Buena Vista weather was beautiful, and because it was the last day of the Thanksgiving week, the typical holiday crowds were leaving in droves to return to school and work. We casually strolled all over Magic Kingdom, simply astounded at how empty it was, and reveled in the ease with which we were able to board the rides. Even the most popular attraction, the Seven Dwarfs Mine Train roller coaster, had a standby time of only 30 minutes, quite a difference from the usual, agonizingly-long 120 minute wait. Amanda was reluctant to ride it with us due to possible consequences from her brain surgery. However, she decided that it wasn’t going to hold her back and she loved it. After the ride was over, she gushed enthusiastically that she wasn’t even dizzy.

At 6PM, the Disney employees began kicking out anyone who hadn’t purchased a $100 arm band for the Christmas party, and snack stations started popping up everywhere. These kiosks had an assortment of free cookies and beverages that was limited only by the size of one’s stomach. As such, I began voraciously devouring them at every opportunity, consuming roughly 15 jumbo chocolate chip cookies and 8 cups of eggnog during the first hour. Unfortunately, it all threatened to come back up during the Jingle Cruise. But, I didn’t see anyone else puking over the side of the boat, and I sure didn’t want to be the first to “toss my cookies”!      

Despite the gastrointestinal distress which thankfully passed, the 16 hours flew by. Victoria checked her Apple Watch, and it said we had taken a remarkable 16,000 steps which worked out to be something like 8 miles! Amanda admitted to her legs being a little sore, but otherwise, she was a real champ about it. I credit the steady supply of caffeine, sugar, and adrenaline for sustaining us through that marathon event.

The Disney Christmas Parade is about the only way you'll ever see snow in Florida.

The next day, I drove the 500+ miles back to Mississippi with the constant, irritating flapping of the right mangled fender liner as my sole source of entertainment. By the time we made it to Hurley, I was ready to finish the job and rip it the rest of the way out with my bare hands! If CIA operatives find that Barney’s “I Love You” theme is no longer effective for their "enhanced interrogation program" of terrorists, I hereby nominate the 10 hours of ceaseless scratching and rubbing I had to endure. It is guaranteed to melt the minds of even the most hardened criminals.  

Even less good news came in the form of the parts needed to fix my mechanical mishap. The affected pieces were identified as the front grill ($419.94), the bumper cover ($350.46), the front skid plate ($202.67), the fender liner ($130.47) and the front bumper lip ($70.49).

The fender liner was on national back order, but I managed to pick up the other pieces from Palmer Hyundai in Mobile. The parts manager took pity on me and knocked off $200, but even with his gesture of kindness, it still rang up to a staggering $918.34 before labor/installation.

Merry Christmas to me!

Truthfully, I’d never thought about it before, but it turns out that road debris like I encountered is much more common than I believed. In 2013, California spent $62 million cleaning up 155,000 cubic yards of litter and junk along its highways. To put that figure in perspective, that’s the equivalent of filling 1,000 swimming pools with 30,000 gallons of garbage each.  

But, road debris is more than just an eyesore: it can also be quite deadly. A 2016 survey from AAA uncovered that over a 4 year-period, highway hazards caused 200,000 accidents, 39,000 injuries and more than 500 deaths! Surprisingly, one of the biggest culprits was Christmas trees, along with furniture, lumber, tools, mattresses, garbage and even appliances. Undoubtedly, the scariest item reported was a bouncing bowling ball, while the funniest had to be an unclaimed artificial leg.

As I mentioned in my last article, our initial repair estimate indicated our Santa Fe would be ready November 26^th. But that date was quickly revised to December 15^th when I was notified that the engine was back-ordered. Now, the most current guess is January 25th for the engine’s arrival, along with an additional 14-24 business days to get it installed and tested before it will be ready. So, based on that schedule, it looks like we may very well be celebrating Valentine’s Day in Atlanta. But the funniest footnote regarding this came in the form of an "Important lefProduct Improvement Campaign" letter I received from Hyundai Corporate. Apparently unaware that my vehicle had already been in their care for the past two months, the delicately-worded manifesto urged me to take our Santa Fe to the dealer as soon as possible, but carefully avoided any mention of a recall. It cited, "excessive connecting rod bearing damage" that could cause "severe engine damage including engine failure." 

Regarding a Ferrari replacement, I’ve thrown in the towel after making three separate trips to three different states in the past three months and being shot down every time. Like I discovered last month, bad luck really does come in threes (or fours, if you count the tire we hit on the way to Miami). If nothing else, 2018 will certainly go down as the most unforgettable year of my life!

Finally, we're leaving the rain-soaked Mississippi coast for some New Year Cheer In Texas. Among other things, I'm looking forward to trying a steak that just might top the Japanese A5 Wagyu I ate in Manhattan.