Vero Beach – 1 mile by dinghy, 2 miles by paddleboard, 4 kilometres walked, 50 metres snorkelled
For today’s Morning Manatee I sealed my phone in a Ziploc and shoved it in my shorts pocket. The frequent manatee sightings of the past days had increased my confidence level to the point where I thought it safe to bring along a recording device, with the expectation it would not jinx a sighting. And it did not. During my paddle, in nearly the same spot as yesterday, I was rewarded with a pair of manatee darlings. They did not get as close to me, so I couldn’t get a close-up photo, but I did take a short video of them swimming away, and got one image of their noses popping out of the water.
Today was our last in Velcro Beach, provided we could unstick ourselves to leave tomorrow, so we joined Ben and Kate on a public bus ride to the main commercial area to pick up provisions. While Ana was in TJ Maxx popping tags, I sauntered over to Panera Bread again and enjoyed an order of chili served in a thick, fragrant, sourdough bread bowl with a slab of baguette on the side as well as the thick bread bowl cap. I ate it all, every last chili-dipped crumb. It’s times like these when I feel so terrible for the glutards of the world. It’s just not fair. Not fair at all.
After stuffing myself with carbos like a goose in foie gras season, I staggered around, wheat-drunk, and semi-comatose for about an hour afterwards. If anybody told me anything important during that time, here’s fair warning that I wasn’t listening. When I finally shook off the gluten fog outside of Walmart, I struck up a conversation with a nice man at the bus stop. He was getting overheated in the sun so I grabbed a political yard sign from a nearby trash bin, knocked the ants and chicken nugget remnants from it, and held it up to shade him as we talked. He told me his whole life story, which was a classic tale of rags to riches to rags, starting with white hot American ambition which led to a successful business, a family and big house in the suburbs, and the rest of the dream, but a series of unfortunate events and sub-optimal decision making had landed him in a Vero Beach homeless shelter, which cost him the reasonable sum of two dollars per day which covered three meals and a bunk. And he was pretty damn happy with life. He rode the free public bus. He went to the beach. He wore nice clothes. He played checkers with friends. I really enjoyed our visit.
Once back at the boat we unloaded our provisions, which included 13 containers of UHT milk, salty snacks, and some meal-in-a-can test items from the Dollar Tree, in preparation for our upcoming weeks and months in Bahamas where fresh food can be scarce or expensive or usually both. I volunteered to sample some questionable, but highly affordable and infinitely non-perishable items so I will be monitoring my flatulence, urine quality, bowel movements, thirst levels, and general mood closely these next few days as I work my way through the buck-a-can chili, tamales, and beef stew. Wish me luck.
Ana got busy on the computer doing some yacht club business so I slipped, squeezed, and slithered into my new wetsuit, grabbed my snorkeling gear, and took off in the dinghy for the quiet end of the anchorage. My next level of manatee success was surely going to be encountering one of the big girls underwater, shaking paws, nuzzling into her luscious folds, and squeezing her cheeks before taking a ride on her back as she towed me around the anchorage and we could show off for all our underwater and above water friends. Sadly, the damn visibility was terrible and I could barely see my arms so it was a very short swim.
I returned to the boat, filled a bucket with fresh water, and swabbed out the dinghy to make myself feel useful while Ana was still pounding away on the computer, sending out delinquency notices, creating membership records, strategizing the presentation, without a single moan or grumble. She is a real trooper.
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