Lemonade

by Anthony J. Garot
© April 2011

See the photos


On Friday, April 01, 2011, I had a most interesting day, and it wasn't due to an April Fools prank. The plan was to meet "Big John" Nunn, a.k.a. "Beej", who flew in from Austin the previous day for the Sun-N-Fun airshow. A tornado had blown through this area the day prior destroying many aircraft. This made Beej's travel grueling and lamentable, but that is another story. The airshow was to resume Friday, so we decided to meet.

I awoke wicked early—4:30a.m.—so that I could hit the road by six. My GPS informed me that I-75 was the optimal route, even though the day before Google Maps suggested an entirely different route. I deferred to the GPS, and I think this was the singular moment that changed everything—one minimal decision with maximal effect.

My first pitfall was an accident on I-75 at 7:00 a.m. This accident blocked traffic for 0.2 miles for a duration of just under 40 minutes. These GPS devices are amazing! They tell you how long you will be stuck in traffic. As I finally reach the end of the blockage, I see that there was no reason for this interminable wait—people just simply would not merge and go. It's too early for this.

About an hour later, traffic began to congest. From the count of RV's, it was obvious these were Florida "snowbirds" returning to their homes in the north. The traffic was tolerable, but it did slow me further.

Beej called en route to ask if I would pick up paper towels for cleanup. Apparently there was still quite a mess from the previous day's tornado. This was no problem at all; I dialed up Wal-Mart in the GPS and procured the desired paper product. This was my only rest stop along the way.

To sum up so far, a destination that should have taken three hours took five. By this point, I was road weary and edgy, and I needed a break. I finally get to within 2.6 miles of the airfield when I enter the queue of cars. 0.2 miles and 25 minutes later, I cursed and took off. As I drive away, I note that the line of vehicles coming from the other direction was many, many miles long. This was absolute insanity. I called Beej to give my regrets—I was simply too fatigued and stressed from the road to deal with this chaos. Beej mentioned that if I was still in the area later, give him a call.

Since I was near Tampa, and I had my camera, I decided to head in that direction to find something to photograph. I love driving with no destination. I started to relax and unwind. Hey look—a thrift store! I went inside, and, to my good fortune, I found an old (1980's) book on photography for $1. I do so love these finds.

Eventually my car and I meander to I-4, and what should I see but a line of Airstreams embedded in the ground! How utterly rare, interesting, and peculiar. I realized that I must photograph this—I must. I later found out that this row of Airstreams was named the "Airstream Ranch." The Airstream Ranch has an interesting history, but that is another story.

Just past the Airstream Ranch, at the corner, is Bates RV, so I went there thinking they must be associated with this monument. I met a gal on a cart (think golf cart), and I mentioned that I would "like to take some photos of the Airstreams," thinking it obvious that I meant the Airstream Ranch. At this point, I didn't realize this RV dealership has a host of Airstreams in its inventory. She said that it was allowed for me to take photos, but I would need to have someone take me back. OK.

I went inside and spoke to a salesman named Bruce—at least I think his name was Bruce. He was great! He gave me free reign to go on back, and he even mentioned that farther back were the classic Airstreams. I grabbed my camera gear and began my investigation. Although I didn't find a path to the Airstream Ranch, I did shoot a lot of great pictures of new and old Airstreams.

Next to Bates RV is a mobile park, so I continued my search there. After driving down its windy, twisty roads, I finally arrive at a place in which I can see the Airstreams in the distance from the back. My thought was to walk across the water treatment area and jump a fence (fences are for cows, right?). It turned out that the fence was posted, and I don't disobey a direct sign saying authorized persons only. I did see a small alligator, and what's more, he saw me.

I still had the Airstream Ranch in my mind, and I am not easily thwarted when there is something as tweaky cool as this. By this time, my stress levels from earlier in the day had abated. In short, I was starting to have a good time. My bad day was turning around.

I went down the street just beyond the mobile village, and lo, this was it! I had found the entrance to the Airstream Ranch! A guy in a Bates RV cart was just leaving the entrance to the field as I arrived, so I asked him if I could go in. He said sure! These people at Bates RV were very accommodating and congenial. Seeing the cart here, I concluded that there must have been a path to get here from Bates RV that I just hadn't found. Oh well.

As I entered the field to the Airstreams, I saw that there were trucks already there. I deduced, incorrectly, that these were other sightseers who wanted to photograph the monument. As I get even closer, I see a scissors lift. Hmmm . . . that's odd, but I didn't let it dissuade me from snapping photos. One of the guys came over—another Bates employee—, and we chatted briefly about things like how deep are these airstreams planted. I also asked if it was OK for me to be there shooting photos, and he said sure.

I soon find out that these guys were here attaching banner signs to the Airstreams. At this point, I still didn't know why or what the signs were about, but here was an opportunity to get some unique shots of Airstreams and workers. I asked if I could shoot them while working, and they didn't mind.

About twenty minutes later, a woman drives to the Airstreams then carries over food and drinks from Burger King. She immediately introduces herself to me as Jules, and I jokingly say that I am nobody—I'm not associated with this group. Jules distributes the food and such, then returns to chat. It turns out that this woman was Jules Burt who was responsible for this banner attaching event. She is an autism advocate, and this "signs-on-Airstreams" project was her idea for National Autism Awareness Month.

Then events started to become fun. I was able to get Jules to pose near the Airstreams, and then she had the idea of being in the lift bucket above the signature Airstream. I even composed a group shot that had the team standing in the back of the "Sign Parrot" pickup truck parked in front of the "signature" Airstream. Jules was full of energy—a veritable mover and shaker. We exchanged business cards, and I said that I would share my pictures with her.

The team eventually dissipated and went our separate ways. Since it was now 3:30 p.m., I drove back to the airshow to inquire of the discontinuation of the nonsense. It had, and I was able to drive the 2.4 miles to the front gate. I congratulated myself for departing earlier—this must have been a mess. I parked my car and tried to reach Beej by cell phone, but he didn't answer. Later I found out that his cell phone had died, and he couldn't find his charger. While attempting these calls, I heard a sound like thunder and saw a F-22 Raptor doing aerobatic maneuvers. I had never seen anything quite like what this aircraft was doing in the sky. I had no context apart from my imagination.

The drive home was pleasantly uneventful. I mused upon the activities of the day, savoring the chance meeting of good people doing good works, replaying the improbable motions of a fighter jet, congratulating myself for finding another old-school photography book, and just generally enjoying the entire turn-around of a day that started so poorly. Life had given me lemons, and I made lemonade.