Florida Key

by Neil Watson

  “If you wanna do something around here for some beer money, I’ve got plenty of jobs for you,” offered the owner, keen to take his seat at the other side of the bar, and read the newspaper.

  “Don’t mind if I do,” replied Ozborn. And so, the two men swapped places, and it remained that way for the rest of the day. In between serving beer and washing glasses, Ozborn would occasionally converse with customers, while taking swigs from his constantly-replaced Corona bottles, but rarely speaking more than a few words. He was used to working behind a bar, but not used to making small talk at any hour before dusk, and woe betide anyone whose attitude didn’t agree with him, especially if they appeared to be anything other than what he termed ‘100% American’.

  By the time he pulled up at Sandy’s later that evening, once again he was hardly in any fit state to perform what she was expecting. Drunk he might have been, but his brain still imagined groping those delicious breasts of hers. He stumbled in through the front door—only to be greeted by a look of disgusted and frustrated disappointment once more from his hostess.

  CHAPTER 4

  (WEDNESDAY, 8TH APRIL, 1981)

  Yushi’s Wrong Turning

  T wo days into his endurance-testing cycle ride, Yushi was feeling pleased with himself. His beloved bike was, so far, performing brilliantly. He was enjoying the challenge of achieving his 90-mile-a-day goal. The first day had been tough when he rode away from home at midday, waving goodbye to his family, trying not to shed a tear and noticing the false bravery on the faces of his parents, particularly his mom, as they in turn did everything to hide their melancholy emotions.

  The previous night, the first on his own, staying in a motel room about 40 miles heading out west from Allentown, was unusual for him to say the least. He’d never stayed the night in a building other than his home on his own before, not least a hotel or motel. By late afternoon he had already begun feeling tired, so he decided to call it a day early, find somewhere to stay, take an evening meal, watch TV and get an early night. Only 40 miles covered was well below his target of at least double that distance if he had any chance of reaching California before his money ran out, but yesterday had been an exception due to the late set-off time, he told himself.

  Yushi anticipated that usually he’d be off and away before 8.00a.m. And sure enough, by his third day on the road he had worked out a routine that would enable him to reach his self-imposed daily mileage quota. His routine was to study his AAA map the night before, and plot a destination target 90 miles ahead, and then break the planned route into three sections of 30 miles each—allowing himself a snack break at 30 miles, and lunch at 60. Although Yushi was fit, he struggled initially to get his stamina up to the necessary level to do the full 90 miles, but it was the mental fatigue more than the physical that was his biggest handicap during his first few days. At the beginning of each day, and at each 30-mile stretch, he very nearly gave up and turned back to the comfort of home and his mom’s cooking.

  However, being the somewhat introverted thinker that he was, he devised a strategy that would help him reach each 30-mile position—with the help of his old, wise grandfather’s words entrenched in his memory.

  “Yushi,” his beloved grandfather used to say. “Whenever you face a seemingly insurmountable task ahead of you, remember that the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.” And so Yushi bore that advice in mind and simply divided each 30-mile section into three further 10-mile sub-sections. It was a simple idea, but for Yushi it worked, and by his fourth day on the road he felt more confident than ever that he’d be able to complete all 3,000 miles of his adventurous trip.

  He began to relax into the journey, joyfully observing the wonderful nature and magnificent surroundings. As well as enjoying the visual treats, he also loved listening to his handlebar radio. He found that the pop stations on the AM band were perfect for listening to his favourite songs, and he spent many happy hours fine-tuning the little knob to see what programmes he could pick up as he rode along. He even sang along to the hits that were played on rotation from any place he was able to receive a strong enough signal. ‘Being With You’ by Smokey Robinson was a good one, as was Kim Carnes’s ‘Bette Davis Eyes’. His voice didn’t do much justice to ‘Nine to Five (Morning Train)’ by Sheena Easton, but he was very happy with his rendition of George Harrison’s ‘All Those Years Ago’. Yes, thought Yushi, he really loved anything by any of The Beatles. He sure was glad of his bike radio—it was the best $30 investment he could have made.

  By day five, Yushi was able to settle back in his saddle and worry less about the physical challenge ahead of him, and more about the mental torment that troubled his soul. With a normal soon-to-be 21-year-old’s hormones rushing around his body, and so much time to think, he pondered the big question. How, up to this point in his comfortable but dull existence, had he not managed to have a relationship with anyone he could call a girlfriend? So, during the planning stages of his trip, when he joined the Youth Hostel Association, he wasn’t only thinking ahead toward his sleeping accommodation. By staying in a hostel, he hoped he might get the perfect opportunity to, in the words of one of his musical heroes, ‘Lay, lady, lay’.

  ***

  That morning, he called ahead from the room of his motel to the Youth Hostel in Cincinnati, enquiring whether there might be a bed available that night. “Why, sure!” the administrator confirmed, with gusto. “That will be $12, and perfect timing for you. Why don’t you join us for our street party? I’m sure if you’re travelling all that way by bicycle, you’ll be wanting some food and company by the time you get here,” the woman at the end of the phone line continued, with an infectious friendliness present in her voice that Yushi was most impressed and attracted by.

  “Well, thank you. I’d sure like that,” replied Yushi, giving his name to her so she could book his bed in the dormitory. The woman told him to ask for her by name—Megan—when he arrived, and he was convinced that she had been flirting with him. For the first 60 miles of that day’s cycling, he wondered what the street party would be like, and who he might meet there. With growing confidence in himself, he hopefully daydreamed that tonight could be his lucky night, perhaps even with the flirtatious Megan.

  It was around 2.00p.m. when Yushi set off on the final 30-mile section of the day, anticipating it should take him around three hours along the relatively flat tarmac of Route 50. As he approached the outskirts of Cincinnati, the traffic became busier than he had ever been used to, and it took him by surprise. This was by far the largest city or town that he had so far encountered, so the volume of traffic matched the city size accordingly, and he wasn’t even downtown yet. Yushi put all thoughts about street parties and girls to the back of his mind, and concentrated on reaching the hostel in one piece. A road that just a short while ago was quiet and peaceful had now become a loud and frightening roar, full of huge articulated trucks with their chrome funnels billowing exhaust fumes into the sky, and speeding cars of all shapes and sizes whizzing past and towards him.

  He didn’t like it. He was scared. And he was confused. His confusion arose from the fact that, although his route should have been straightforward, and there were many signposts guiding road-users towards Cincinnati, those signs were aimed at modes of transport bearing more than two wheels and two pedals. It was a fact that the large green ‘exit’ signs were meant primarily for vehicles travelling at 50 miles per hour, and were therefore situated at least a mile before the actual turning was reached: obvious to those truck and car drivers, but not to poor Yushi. He wasn’t to know that the small lane directly after the green signpost was actually a slip-road for emergency vehicles needing quick access onto Interstate 275, a massively busy, eight-lane highway circling the city. Not noticing the tall ‘EMERGENCY ACCESS ONLY’ sign that was way above his line of sight, after cycling for five minutes along this deafeningly loud road he realised he’d made a mistake, but by now it was too late. It would be too dangerous to turn around and g
o back against the oncoming traffic, even on the emergency lane, so his only option was to continue as fast as he could until he reached the next possible turnoff. But before he could reach one, he heard the distinctive sound of a siren wailing in the distance behind him, which was growing louder and louder, until the police car from where it was emanating pulled to a stop in front of him. The oblong, red flashing lights on its roof were intimidating enough, but that was nothing compared to the clearly disgruntled Officer of the Law who got out of his patrol car and walked back towards Yushi, gun in his holster. Yushi could see his own image clearly reflected in the mirrored gold-rimmed shades that the policeman was wearing. As he suddenly became a rather frightened young man, Yushi’s heart, already beating heavily from the physical demands made upon it from cycling, began thumping a whole lot more. His earlier daydreaming about meeting Megan was quickly replaced by an ominous thudding from within his rib cage he was certain could be heard out loud. He’d never been stopped by the law before.

  CHAPTER 5

  (FRIDAY, 10TH APRIL, 1981)

  Sandy’s Frustration

  S andy couldn’t believe it. She’d been looking forward to slipping into her alter-ego self all day, and had very generously, in her opinion, decided to give the man a second chance. And now, here he was, once again drunk to the point of hardly being able to walk at all, let alone in a straight line, and expecting to grab at her body for a quick fumble. Well, she thought, he’s got another thing coming if that’s what he’s expecting.

  “Don’t you dare touch me!” she angrily warned him as he made an unsuccessful lunge at the top half of her clothing. “You’d better go in there and cool off, otherwise you can get the fuck out of here,” she said, coldly, pointing to the other room while trying to control her voice’s quiver and to disguise her disappointment and annoyance—not that Ozborn had the capacity to recognise it anyway.

  What Sandy hadn’t expected though was that, despite Ozborn’s inebriated state, he was still very strong, as he made a second attempt to grab hold of her arm with one hand and push her head back with the other to go in for a slobbery kiss to the mouth. This time, as she retracted her head, she made it clear that she wasn’t going to accept his advances, no matter how much she had been keenly anticipating them only moments earlier. “Get the fuck off me,” she shouted at him, followed by a swiftly aimed knee where it would hurt the most. Ozborn finally got the message, and staggered indignantly to the other room to calm down, but not before swiping a plate off the kitchen table so that it hit against the adjacent cupboard.

  Miraculously, it didn’t break. But it was enough for Sandy to regret ever setting eyes on the man, who, to all intents and purposes, was still a complete stranger to her. She didn’t know anything about him, and while reprimanding herself for stupidly letting him into her home, she glanced though the half-open door to see him out for the count on her bed. The emotion of sexual excitement and anticipation had long since evaporated. Sandy Beach now felt a new emotion—fear.

  The only thing she could think of doing was to let the guy sleep off his alcohol intake, avoiding any conflict when he awoke—maybe cook him some of the food she’d bought, and optimistically hope he’d calmly leave of his own accord. As it happened, he remained asleep on her bed for the rest of the evening, she ate her meal alone, and eventually went to sleep on the pull-out bed she kept for guests in the spare room.

  CHAPTER 6

  (FRIDAY, 10TH APRIL, 1981)

  Yushi’s Disappointment

  “W hat the hell d’ya think you’re doin’, boy?” asked the voice from behind the gold-rimmed sunglasses. Yushi looked in silence at the six-foot tall man while he was being addressed. Unusually for a policeman, and against normal policy, he had a beard, which the cop continuously ruffled with his hand as he spoke. “Ya know you’re committing a traffic violation on that cycle of yours, don’t ya? Well? I’m waiting for your answer, boy, and I haven’t got all day,” the gum-chewing traffic cop barked. He clearly wasn’t a man to be messed with. Yushi, feeling intimidated as the officer towered over him, did his best to explain how he’d inadvertently found himself breaking the law by riding on Interstate Highway 275, but his tongue became more and more tied as he scrambled to find his words. Fortunately for him, Phil Booth, the policeman with six years’ service in the Cincinnati Traffic Unit, was beginning to show a small amount of leniency, probably realising that the cyclist was genuinely sorry for his mistake.

  “Well, I can’t leave you here to fend for yourself, it’s far too dangerous. I’ll have to lift your cycle into the trunk and escort you off the freeway at the next exit,” decided Booth.

  With that, he opened the lid of the patrol car’s huge, empty trunk, large enough to take one, or perhaps even two bikes, as long as the front wheels could be removed and placed alongside the frames. Thanks to Yushi’s bike having quick-release forks, that was no problem, with no need for a spanner. Inside the car, Officer Booth wrote down Yushi’s name and address, and with a smile, decided to write ‘ADVISORY ONLY’ on the triplicated report form, before tearing off and handing Yushi a copy.

  Only a few moments later, the policeman was driving away from the scene, with his ‘criminal’ passenger being allowed to sit upfront next to him as they engaged in conversation. By now, the traffic cop had dropped his guard and had become quite inquisitive about his passenger’s adventure. A feeling of envy came over Booth, who had never followed his own dream to travel when young.

  “So, where ya headed?” asked Booth, who was becoming increasingly fascinated by the young cyclist’s adventure. Booth had never ventured outside the Midwest and by this time the policeman chose to continue the car journey beyond the first exit point so that they could continue talking. He asked all the obvious questions like, “don’t you get tired?” and “where do you sleep?” and, before he knew it, he ended up offering to take the brave adventurer the whole way to that evening’s Youth Hostel accommodation. “That way I’ll be sure that you’ve arrived safely and haven’t gotten back on the freeway again, okay?” he teased.

  Yushi was actually grateful for the ride. That whole episode had upset his equilibrium and he was pleased that he wouldn’t have to negotiate the busy inner-city roads. He began thinking ahead again towards the street party—and meeting Megan. Plus, it was quite fun being driven in an officer’s car, with the police radio constantly squawking news of various crimes and misdemeanours taking place across the county.

  His driver, extremely familiar with the whole area, was clearly sure of the best route to Brushwood Avenue, where the hostel was situated. As they turned left into the street, they could see the many tables being set up along the middle of the cordoned-off road. Each table was covered with a bright orange cloth, and people were milling around with smiles on their faces as they carried plates and cups, and trays full of all sorts of delicious-looking food.

  Yushi looked for the house number, 1284, and discovered it was facing the hub of the activity, with people constantly coming in and out of the building.

  “Well, Yushi,” began the policeman, “this looks like as far as I can take you. We’ll just get your cycle out, and I’ll be on my way back to the freeway, to check there ain’t no more cyclists getting lost like you.” He smiled at his little joke as he pulled over to stop, got out and opened the trunk, then lifted the bike, its front wheel and Yushi’s rucksack and pannier, and placed them on the sidewalk.

  In his eagerness to reassemble the bike without using up the officer’s time any longer than necessary, Yushi hastily gathered his things and said goodbye, and watched the policeman do a U-turn and drive off into the distance. For good measure, Officer Booth turned on the car’s siren for a couple of seconds, his way of saying goodbye, causing some of the folks preparing the party to turn around, curious to see what was going on. They were used to hearing police sirens in the city, but not at this close range in leafy Brushwood Avenue.

  Megan from the hostel was one of them, and she instantly gues
sed that this must be the hostel-guest she’d been expecting. She waved at Yushi, and walked towards him, with welcoming, open arms. “You’re here already. That’s great. I’ll show you the dorm and where you can store your bike. What happened? Did you get arrested?” she jokingly asked, with a gorgeous twinkle in her eye that Yushi was instantly attracted to. As he pushed his bike along the sidewalk to the imposing building with its pillars and front porch he was struck by how pretty Megan was.

  As he thought to himself how well the day was now turning out, he failed to notice that his precious red and black radio must have become detached from his bike’s handlebar, and was now residing in the far-left corner of the police car’s cavernous trunk.

  With the street party in full swing, a live bluegrass band belted out some fine tunes. Amid the laughter and fun, dancing and talking, Yushi was enjoying himself, and he was convinced that Megan’s friendliness towards him must be a sign that she liked him just as much as he liked her. Naively, he thought she surely fancied him. It might even be love at first sight, he convinced himself, as his mind raced ahead to more carnal thoughts.

  Poor Yushi—he really wasn’t very worldly-wise when it came to women. The party atmosphere, as well as the balmy warm air, and no doubt the ice-cold bottles of Coors, combined with Megan’s sexy figure, made a far greater impact on Yushi than was normally the case for an inexperienced young man. Megan and Yushi spent at least a couple of hours in each other’s company, and as the evening fell to dusk, night came and the pretty tree lights were turned on, Yushi was absolutely convinced that tonight may be his lucky night. The first such lucky night of his entire inexperienced and naïve life up to that point.