Category: Adventures

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Adventures Vacation

I Heart New York

Having just returned from a vacation to New York City, I have this breaking news: That is a big city.

Now, I know you are all aghast at this shocking revelation, but it’s true. It’s big. Really, really big. 

I have been to plenty of big cities. But it really is staggering just how big it is. It’s so … tall. My wife is from Atlanta. The tallest building in Atlanta would be something like the 15th tallest building in NYC. I am from South Carolina, and the tallest building in the whole state would be … well, probably demolished along with several other buildings to build a building five times taller.

My wife, daughter and I went for a whirlwind tour and went full tourist in The Big Apple because, well, we were tourists. My wife had a business trip the following week, in which she had to be in work mode, but we decided we would go do all the fun touristy things the weekend prior. And we checked a lot of the boxes we wanted to do. Among the highlights:

  • We saw three Broadway shows, and they were all amazing. My daughter is a huge theater fan, and she was absolutely fan-girling the whole time, especially after shows when you can gather at the stage door and maybe interact with the cast as they leave. I am fairly sure her favorite moment was getting selfies with various cast members from Into the Woods. For me, it was seeing our daughter get her program signed by Billy Crystal after seeing Mr. Saturday Night. And to the dude behind me shouting, “You look mahvelous”  over and over – Hate to break it to you, pal, but he’s heard that one before. 
  • We turned on the television in our hotel room one time during our visit, and that was on our last night when I was curious what the local news broadcast was like. And it was like any other. Started with the weather, and it focused on the scorching heat wave that was gripping the city. It WAS in fact hot, but as we had all noted, yeah, summer is like this. Guess a lifetime in the South helps with that. 
  • Times Square is … interesting. While we are all normally very friendly folks wherever we go, we also know when the best bet is just to keep moving and not engage. And when a very short Ironman, a dumpy Spider-man, and two women with painted-on American flag bikinis are strolling by you, you just keep your eyes forward and keep on toward your destination.
  • After two days there, my wife and I were commenting on how the folks we had interacted with had actually been quite pleasant and kind, dispelling the myth of the brash New Yorker. And then we went to a small bakery and someone at a table with his family had parked his stroller in a spot that apparently blocked someone’s apartment door, which angered the tenant. Words were exchanged, the tenant pushed a bike toward the man and it hit his stroller, with the baby in it. More words got exchanged, and suddenly the two men were face to face yelling at each other, as the man’s wife stepped in to intervene. Just as it was de-escalating, my daughter tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Did you notice how everyone else just kept on having their conversations at other tables?” Clearly locals, just used to this, I guess.
  • Speaking of locals, I found that they were my guides when navigating the streets. We walked a lot – almost 20 miles in 3 days – and we quickly learned that crosswalk signs were mere suggestions. Our cheat code: find the older woman with a bag of groceries or the jogger pushing a stroller or the young professional who was also on a business call at the intersection. When they go, you go. 100 percent success rate crossing roads.
  • We did a bunch of awesome other stuff – Top of the Rock, Central Park, The Met, and more – and it was a great time. I was exhausted when I got home, but glad we had such a fantastic trip. I look forward to my next trip, but for the meantime, I’ll keep my feet planted where it isn’t quite so big.

 

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

 

Categories
Adventures Animals

Feeding times

There is a thief in my midst. And I plan on catching him red-handed. Or, actually, probably, fur-pawed. But I will catch this thief.

I have five feeders set up in my yard. They are primarily squirrel feeders, despite the more common name of bird feeders.

For the past several years I have had a hard time getting birds to come around to my feeders. My first thought was the pair of nesting barred owls that we hear all of the time. And then my thought was, “Well, then why are there still squirrels?” To which I answered because squirrels can clearly spontaneously replicate, and an eliminating one makes two appear. It’s a never-ending battle.

But this year, I noticed the squirrels had been joined by a collection of birds. Nothing to exotic, but it’s been nice to see timouse, chickadees, cardinals and bluejays flitting about. We have seen some bluebirds in the neighborhood, so I’ve been putting out mealworms for them, as they supposedly love them. However, I have yet to lure any over, but I have found that the broad-headed skinks at my front porch really love them, and I have taken to feeding them on a regular basis. Generally, it takes about 10 seconds tops for one of them – usually Big Boy, Scar or Mama; yes, they have names, and your point?) to appear and chow down. (Click here to see video of Mama having a snack, and Big Boy running her off: https://vimeo.com/421790749)

I had been making sure to keep the feeders full, and even added a couple of suet stations. In a matter of a couple of days, two downy woodpeckers began to appear and peck away at the suet, and it has just occurred to me that I have not given names.

One day recently, after the suits were fairly depleted, I replaced them both as I refilled the feeders (after first feeding the skinks, of course). It was nearing dusk, so I knew it would probably be morning before the birds and squirrels hit the buffet.

The next morning, I awoke and went outside to enjoy my morning coffee. And I glanced over at one of the suets. Nothing there. Empty. Completely gone. 

I hoped this was just a one-off, and vowed to replace the suet the next time I went to the store.

The next morning, I came out again for my morning coffee. I looked at the other suet holder. Empty as well. Two nights. Two thefts. 

Now, I know how long the birds and squirrels take to work away some suet, so I know this is not their handiwork. And I have a fence around my yard, so it’s doubtful some wandered through my backyard and took it. You know what? If I DIDN’T have a fence around my yard I would be doubtful someone wandered through and took it, because that would be exceptionally weird.

So now I plan to catch the thief in the act. I have replaced the suet, and have also mounted a wildlife camera on the fence, facing directly at the suet. And when that thief returns and steals my suet again, well, I will have pictures, probably of a raccoon. But at least I will know for certain.

If the culprit is confirmed, I haven’t decided if I will leave it out overnight and continue to enjoy the visits, or bring the suet in each night and return it the next morning. That’s a decision to be made later, and one on which I will consult with a handful of my nature experts, as they are really into the outdoor feeding stations. Their names are Big Boy, Scar and Mama.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

Categories
Adventures Animals Childhood Family

Do go chasing waterfalls

As I stood at the base of the waterfall, the cool mist sprinkling over my face, I thought of the centuries of time that had passed as the waters flowed over these very rocks. I closed my eyes and reflected on the steady, relentless consistency of water, unfazed by time. And then I thought, “If I slip and fall here, I will have an incredibly bad day, as that water is really cold, there are lots of rocks out there, and my phone is in my pocket.”

Thanks, brain. Always there to drop a note of treacherous potential in the most serene moments. 

I tried to flush the slipping concern out of my head and get back to enjoying the waterfall. I was there with my son, and he was busy crawling around on rocks with a flashlight, looking into crevices trying to find salamanders. 

We were in North Carolina, where we had traveled for a couple of days to tromp around and look for salamanders and waterfalls. Yes, oddly specific.

My son loves finding critters, and keeps a “life list” of his animal finds. He is most proud of his reptile and amphibian list (current species total: a pretty impressive 145), and is always looking to expand that species count. He identified an area that is rich with salamanders, so we decided to set off to see what we could find.

We had a great time and found some wonderful waterfalls and super cool salamanders. But, of course, we also had some interactions with people. So, a few observations:

  • Why would anyone feel the need to yell at a waterfall? And I don’t mean yell while at a waterfall. I mean AT the waterfall. As in screaming directly to the waterfall to see if you could be louder than it. Yet, there they were, two college dudes, screaming. At a waterfall. They paused to share a laugh together. 
  • We have discussed this previously, but if you’re gonna bag your dog business, you’ve entered into the contract. Don’t leave your bag on the trail.
  • Apparently people travel to western North Carolina for Valentine’s. Who knew. Originally, we were going to stay at a friend’s cabin. But we ended up meandering around and wound up fairly far away after sunset. We were exhausted, and just wanted to find a place to crash. And nearly every hotel near us was booked. After the third, “We’re full” I asked if there was a festival or something. The woman at the hotel said, “Uh, it’s Valentine’s weekend.” Oh. I guess that’s a thing. I know what you’re thinking – my wife is one lucky gal.
  • There is a particular restaurant near the hotel we stayed at that has some serious drama going on. My son and I sat at the bar and quickly learned we were at Ground Zero for all the things going on in that place. It’s as if we were invisible, and the entire staff was congregating to talk about everything going on at work. And it was complex. I was texting my wife updates throughout dinner, up to and including when “Erica is doing the thing she always does,” to which the whole crew rolled their eyes. That’s just so Erica.
  • If you hike near places that have rocks, can you please do this one simple thing: Don’t. Stack. Rocks. I know you think it’s harmless. But there are tons of critters that live under those rocks. Even the small rocks. You’d be a little bummed if you came home and found out some giant had stacked eight houses in your neighborhood on top of each other, in particular if one of those homes was yours. So, you know. Be cool. Leave their homes alone.

All in all, we had a great trip and saw lots of beautiful things over two days. I am looking forward to our next field trip, so we can get out there and really take in the serenity that nature provides us. And hopefully not slipping into a creek.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

Categories
Adventures Animals Childhood Family

Bee careful

My father has beehives. He got into beekeeping a few years ago, and he and my brother-in-law are the expert stewards of the hives. 

The bees provide delicious honey, and are also really interesting critters to watch go about their daily bee lives. 

Recently, we were in town and decided to go out and check out the bees. Normally, the bees are rather chill and you can walk right up to the hives and watch them come and go. But when the hives are being opened and the bees are being disturbed, it’s pretty much game on, and if you don’t want to be stung, keep a good distance.

My brother-in-law, Keith, had donned his beekeeping suit, and my son was going to be his assistant for this day. Parker suited up, and they approached the hives. 

I stood back about 20 feet, as I have been there before when they check on the hives and stood closer, and let me tell you – that did not end well. My wife opted to watch the bee check-up from our car. As she said, “I know where they can’t sting me.”

The beekeeping was going well, and I was situated a good distance away watching them assess the hives. And then it became clear something had gone south. Mainly, this was because Parker said, and I think this is a direct quote, “AHHHHHHHHHHH!”

He began sprinting toward me, peeling off his beekeeper gear as fast as he could. “IT’S IN MY HAT!!!!” he screamed, as he tore off the protective top and the hat.

Fun fact about bees: they do not give up on a fight. Parker was out of the suit, but several bees were still coming after him. He began sprinting away from the hive, hoping to outrun the stings. He outran most of them, but logged about five stings on his head and neck from when the bee was in his hat.

I went back to retrieve the shed bee gear. The gloves and shirt were clear of bees. I picked up the hat, and saw a bee was still clinging to the mesh face protecting part. Figuring this bee would want to go home to his hive, I turned the hat inside out and gave it a few good shakes to free the bee. Turns out, he did not like that. And he blamed me.

So the next thing my wife saw from the safety of our car was me sprinting past her and the car, a beekeeping shirt being twirled like a helicopter blade over my head like crazy to try and keep the bee away from my head.

Once I was free and clear of any bee attacks, I went back to the bees (but in the safe zone), and Keith and I agreed our work here was done. I hopped in the car to head out. I lauded my wife on her wise choice at staying in the car.

And we drove about 100 yards when a heard a big BZZZZZZZZZZ in my ear. I swatted at my head, and a bee that had apparently been secretly riding with me presented itself, and proceed to fly towards the windshield. My wife was not exactly thrilled.

I stopped the car and told my to get out of the car. She did. Not my best call.

She stepped out of the car and plopped her foot firmly in a fire ant nest that was covered in sandspurs. She said … well, she conveyed that she was not cool with this current situation. I grabbed a plastic bag that was in the car and managed to use it to shoo the bee out of the car. All the while my wife was trying to delicately get fire ants off of her foot without being stabbed by sandspurs.

We eventually made it out with no more bees riding shotgun and no fire ants hanging on my wife’s foot, and eventually picked off all of the sandspurs. 

It’s a small price to pay for being able to watch these amazing creatures and to enjoy their delicious honey. But next time we go check them, just a hunch my wife will let us do it without her.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Mt. Pleasant. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike or at www.mikeslife.us.

 

Categories
Adventures Childhood Family Food

Take me out to the ball game

I just attended my first Major League Baseball game in almost 25 years.

You must be thinking, wow, Mike, you are clearly not a baseball fan.

Au contraire.

I am a huge baseball fan. My first job ever was before I was old enough to work, and the owner of a baseball card store near my house figured out a way to game the system and, rather than pay me to work, let me have store credit if I “volunteered.” At the end of each week, he would tally up my volunteer hours and gift me a store credit. One week, my entire pay … I mean, gift … was a single baseball card, a 1980 Topps Ricky Henderson.

I love baseball. But since 1995, I’ve had a bit of mental roadblock on going to a game. Because that game I went to in 1995? Kinda special.

It was Oct. 28, 1995. The Braves were good. Super good. They had been the team of the 90s. And they finally won the World Series. And there I sat in the stands, with dad. My wife, who was my girlfriend at the time, sat a section away, with her dad.

And to be honest with you, it’s a hard thing to ever top watching your team win the World Series. In person. With your dad. I’m pretty sure if you think about it hard enough, a bald eagle will appear with an apple pie for you.

I have attended games with my kids. But those were minor league games. They have both gone to MLB games, but they did those with their grandparents in Atlanta. 

But recently, I ended my streak. We were going to be in Atlanta for the kickoff to the Alabama football season, and my wife caught wind of a Friday night Braves game that was geared for Alabama fans, including a super cool ball cap that had a Bama logo on it.

And the game was everything I could have hoped for. There were Bama fans everywhere, and we all had on our signature caps, and there was no shortage of “Roll Tide” exchanges being passed back and forth through Suntrust Park. I know this sounds like torture to a lot of non-Bama fans, but trust me, it’s a nice evening for us.

The Braves won the game 10-7, and while the game did not have quite the same importance of the game I last saw, it was awesome to be there.

Among the highlights:

We saw Chipper Jones, who was a rookie when I last saw the Braves play in person. And he is a large individual.

We got to enjoy Suntrust Park, which is an amazing stadium.

We ate ballpark hot dogs, which simply makes life better.

We watched The Freeze race – and lose! If you are not familiar with The Freeze, Google it. He rarely loses.

Prior to entering the stadium, there were clowns outside who were juggling and unicycling. They were slightly amazed when my son asked if he could join them and juggle and unicycle. And then proceeded to juggle and unicycle. I do not think they were expecting a fellow clown in the crowd.

We found out that you can rent ball gloves for free. Yes, for free. You give your credit card, and they give you a couple of gloves. Both of my kids are lefties, so they were excited about having mitts in case a home run ball made it our way (it didn’t). I asked the guy at the stand how exactly you could “rent for free”? He told me that if we did not return the gloves, they charged me $750 per glove. I laughed. He did not. He said, “No, seriously.” Rest assured, we returned those gloves.

So we had a great time. And while the time my wife and I went to the World Series win with our dads will always be special, this day was special, too. Because we will always remember the time we saw The Freeze lose.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Mt. Pleasant. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike or at www.mikeslife.us.

 

Categories
Adventures Animals Childhood Family Food

Gone fishin’ (and eatin’)

My son loves to fish. Loves, loves, loves to fish. If I gave him the option of having a roof over his head or fishing, it’s pretty much time to tell him goodbye.

He fishes in the morning. He fishes in the afternoon. On plenty of occasions I have called him and said, “Dude, it’s dark. How are you still fishing.”

His usual response: “Yeah, I’m packing up and will…WAIT – BITE! GOTTA GO!”

We rarely keep what he catches. Part of that is that a lot of the fishing he does is around the lakes and ponds near our neighborhood, and I prefer my fresh fish not to be marinated in a brine of lawn chemicals and road runoff.

Another reason, however, is that cleaning a fish is a lengthy investment. It’s messy, it takes a good bit of time, and it kinda smells like fish.

But every once in a while, you want to be able to catch your supper. My son had done some research online and found a new pier he wanted to fish. He was positive he was going to catch dinner. I reminded him that, should he catch dinner, he and he alone was in charge of cleaning it. He made it very clear that no one else was invited to take part in cleaning said future catch, as it was his catch, his clean. Fishermen are a prideful lot.

My daughter was home from college and she came with us to the pier. She likes to fish on occasion, but is more of a stand-by-the-rod-and-Snapchat kinda fisherperson. If she catches something, great. If not, at least there was Snapchat.

After an hour he had a few nibbles here and there. I told him we were getting close to needing to pack up, and he offered his usual closing offer, “Five most casts?” Which means 15-20 more casts, because, you know, almost got a bite on that last one…

He cast one here and there and then BOOM! His line dove. He sprung into offense, grabbing his pole and positioning himself in the perfect fishing stance, which I say because I have no idea what the perfect fishing stance is, but good chance you don’t either, so we can just go with whatever stance our mind’s eye finds appropriate.

After fighting for a few minutes, the fish broke the surface. It was a sheepshead, a beautiful black and white fish that hangs out around pier pylons. It took a few more minutes, but he pulled it in, and he measured it to ensure it was the appropriate size for a keeper. It was well within the range. Dinner time!

When we got home, my son set to cleaning the fish. Because this is 2018, he first spent about 30 minutes on the couch watching YouTube videos on how to clean sheepshead. The internet is really something.

While my son was on fish duty, my daughter and I went into the other essential component of a fish fry – hushpuppies. We had the hushpuppy mix and read the directions on the side. It said we could either use a deep fryer or bake them in the oven. I asked my daughter which we should do. “What kind of question is that?” she said. Deep fryer it is.

My son soon had the fish cleaned and ready to be dipped in a batter. My daughter tended the hushpuppies on the back deck (I learned early on that deep fryers are an outside game, lest you want your house to smell like a Waffle House for a week; I love a Waffle House, but I don’t want to live in one). Oh, the perfect fish fry was on its way.

In short order, we were loving friend sheepshead and hushpuppies. My wife is not a big fan of fried food, so she politely tasted and then went back to some spinach concoction she created for herself. But the other three of us wolfed down our health food dinner, and enjoyed every fried minute of it. Not sure when we will try and catch dinner again, but I am sure it will be before we know it. And, whatever he hauls in for the catch I’m sure will be a perfect meal for the evening. Thank goodness the internet is there to tell him how to prepare it.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Mt. Pleasant. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike or at www.mikeslife.us.

 

Categories
Adventures Animals Family

It’s all about time

When it comes to punctuality, I have long subscribed to the old adage of “Early is on time, on time is late, and late is unacceptable.”

This is often a difficult trait to have, especially in my family. My daughter is always on time for school or work, but apparently uses all of that on-timeness there, as she is constantly the last one ready for any family social event. This is something we should have known would be commonplace when my wife was pregnant some 18 years ago and she went in to be induced in late July. Hey, you know how when women get induced they have a baby shortly thereafter? Yeah, not in this case. Our daughter arrived 11 days later, foreshadowing a lifetime of getting to family events on her time schedule.

Our son is not so much late as indifferent to time. Early. Late. On time. Whatever. As long as there is some time for fishing prior.

My wife is rarely late for anything, but has that knack for getting places just in time, which for someone like me is sooooo much fun. There is a reason the most frequent phrase my wife says to me is “Relax. We’re fine.”

That said, I do understand that there are times when you are late for reasons beyond your control. I’ve had a flat tire on my way to work. I’ve been stopped by a train that, by my estimate, was 800 billion cars long and moving at one foot per hour. And, like everyone, I’ve been derailed by having to rescue a possum.

What, you haven’t?

It happened a few years ago, when I was taking my son to camp. I don’t remember how old he was, but I know he was still young enough to have been in the backseat. I know this because I remember having room in the front for a possum.

We were pulling out of our neighborhood when I saw a guy on the side of the road. He was standing next to a live mammal trap, which held an incredibly unhappy possum. Granted, that adjective is probably unnecessary, as I have met quite a few possums in my day, and I have yet to meet a happy one.

I pulled off on the side of the road, and engaged the gentleman. He and the possum were having a disagreement of sorts, and he did not want the possum to have the ability to return to his place. After a brief discussion, I convinced the man to give me custody of the possum, and I agreed to take it and release it far away so the two would never cross paths again.

I went back home and got a pet carrier and in short order had the possum secured and in the front seat. I am fairly certain the man who had trapped the possum has questions about me to this day.

My son and I drove to some remote woods and released the possum. It scampered off into the woods, and, most likely, used its possum-honing skills and made it way back to the nearest highway, as is the possum way.

We were about 30 minutes late to summer camp that day, and my son did get to share a great reason for his late entrance by bouncing in shouting, “WE RESCUED A POSSUM!!!” Granted, several folks did ask what in the world possessed me to pull over and haggle with a stranger over a possum.

And, yes, one of those people was my wife. Granted, she’d have done the same thing. But somehow, she’d have done it, released the possum, and still made it to camp on time.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Mt. Pleasant. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike or at www.mikeslife.us.

 

Categories
Adventures Family

The Magic Cowboy

And the silent cowboy rode off into the distance, knowing the town would be just fine. “Who was that cowboy?” someone asked. “We’ll never know. We’ll never know,” I said.

– Ending to a Western novel I just made up.

So my wife and I were having a leisurely stroll on a South Carolina back highway the other day. We were chatting about matters of great import, as folks are wont to do on backcountry roads. I think the particular matter was what to do for dinner.

And then up ahead we saw movement. Green movement. Big movement. Because a big ol’ tree decided that was the perfect time to uproot and come across the road.

I am not sure what either of us said, but let’s go with, “Wow!” or “Golly gee willikers!” or something else g-rated.

I hit the brakes and pulled off to the side of the road. There was a house and driveway right there, which was fortunate as driveways on this stretch of road are often miles apart.

I called highway patrol on my phone (*HP for you folks in South Carolina!), and went to assess the situation. The tree was blocking the westbound lane and then some. It had turned this 55-mph stretch of highway into a one-lane road.

Realizing we were about to have some serious traffic issues, I handed the phone to my wife so she could finish giving details to highway patrol. I went to the road and saw a line of cars approaching. I began frantically waving my arms, and doing kind of a bowing motion with my arms to get folks to slow down. My wife finished up the call giving our location and took a spot slowing the eastbound traffic. Another motorist saw what was going on and pulled over to help with traffic control.

We were waving one lane through at a time, hoping highway patrol would get there soon. And then The Cowboy appeared.

He pulled his big black pickup truck past the tree and then crossed over into the oncoming lane. He put his truck in reverse and backed right up to the fallen tree.

He stepped out of his truck, and didn’t say a word. Because The Cowboy wasn’t here to chat. He was here to get things done. He was an older gentleman who looked like Richard Petty, complete with a perfect mustache. He wore a black cowboy hat, a big shiny belt buckle, and black boots. The mudflaps on his truck said, “Cowboy life.” I kid you not. I am not positive, but the theme from “The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly” may have started playing (at least in my head).

As we continued to get the cars past the tree one lane at a time, The Cowboy grabbed a strap out of his truck, hooked it around the tree, and then attached it to his truck. He got back in his truck and hit the gas. The tree moved a smidge. One more try. A little more. A third try, the tree came free. But when the third try dislodged the tree, it also skidded his truck into a ditch. The Cowboy got out, cleared the remaining debris off the road, packed up his strap and headed back to his truck. I walked over and shook his hand and told him thanks. I asked him if he thought he could get his truck out of the ditch. He responded the only way The Cowboy would: “I reckon.”
He gunned his engine, climbed right out of the ditch, gave us a thumbs up and headed off into the distance.

Highway patrol did not show up by the time we left. I am sure that when they arrived, they wondered just where that tree blocking the road was. But it was gone. As The Cowboy had arrived and taken care of business, as is The Cowboy way.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Mt. Pleasant. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike or at www.mikeslife.us.

 

Categories
Adventures Family

Flying is for the birds

My daughter, Allie, and her boyfriend, Tyler, were getting ready for their first airplane trip together.

They were going to see his family in Ohio, and while Tyler probably wouldn’t admit it, I think he was fairly nervous about it. This was his first flight since he was 8, a flight he doesn’t really remember.

Understandable that you would have some nervous tingles. I’ve flown plenty of times, and I still get a smidge of anxiety before heading into the skies. After all, you are kinda doing something that, while quite safe and consistent, is something that kinda seems like a great big gamble.

My wife flies a good bit for work, and she’s a pro at packing and prepping and navigating the entire process. She took the lead in getting them all ready to go, giving them checklists and pointers as we went. I assisted by providing snappy one liners. For example:

MY WIFE: Do you have your ID? Boarding passes downloaded on your phone? Phone charger? Computer charger? Got movies downloaded to watch?

ME: Remember, if you see someone at the airport you know named Jack, do NOT shout, “Hi, Jack!”

MY WIFE: Sigh.

She sighs a lot.

The day prior to the flight, we were talking about what to expect. My daughter has flown several times, and she is also someone who never gets nervous about anything except school exams. I could sense Tyler was a little apprehensive about the flight. I assured him that flying was plenty safe, and that it would actually be a fun and cool experience. He jokingly said, “What happens if a bird hits the plane?”

I responded, “Simple. Your pilot lands it on the Hudson River.”

Fast forward to the day of the flight. We got to the airport in plenty of time, and they had their bags checked in no time. They headed to security, where my daughter for some reason had been selected for TSA pre-check, which means she got to take a fast pass through security. Tyler headed off to the regular check. We told them we would hang out and make sure they made it through security. Allie breezed through. Tyler, after about 20 minutes, was at the front of the line. It was at that point we realized Tyler was going to go through the big scanner, where you stand in this cylinder, raise your hands, and they look for whatever it is they look for. That was the moment I realized we had missed a great opportunity. My wife and I had this conversation:

ME: We really should have told him the scanner only stings for a little bit.

MY WIFE: Yep.

Once they were through, we waved them off to their gate, and my wife and I set off to the grocery store, because that’s the kind of gangster life we lead.

As we were finishing up shopping, my wife’s phone rang. She answered, listened for a moment and said, “WHAT!?!?”

The airline they were flying only has a couple of routes, so each flight has to wait on the airplane to return from said destination before they can all pile in and defy gravity. And the plane that was going to be shuttling them to Cincinnati? Yeah, it hit birds. Enough birds that they were not going to be flying out that day, and they would have to be rescheduled for the next day.

Their flight the next day made it out fine, and they have since returned home safely.

But reflecting on the whole journey, of all the things that could have gone wrong with a flight, I am rather amused that it was the one thing Tyler was worried about. Also, I really thought they were supposed to land on the Hudson River when that happened.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Mt. Pleasant. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike or at www.mikeslife.us.

 

Categories
Adventures Animals Childhood Family Vacation

Road trip!

I have recently completed a road trip with my kids, and I can safely say it included the perfect amount of buffalo slobber.

This road trip was done over their spring break, and we set off on a whirlwind tour of roadside attractions and off-the-beaten path adventures, which is really the only way to spend spring break.

It was just the kids and me, as we realized too far into the drive that we had left my wife back home. Either that or she was in Omaha on a business trip. I can’t remember.

Our first stop was the Wild Animal Safari in Pine Mountain, Ga. As is often the case, I didn’t tell the kids where we going, as I love to see the looks on their faces when we arrive at a destination. The Wild Animal Safari is just what the name says. You drive your car through this great big rolling field, and feed buffalo and Texas longhorns and wildebeests as they mosey up to your car and occasionally stick their giant heads in through the window. Fun fact: buffalo have horrible breath AND copious amount of slobber, some of which was distributed into the car interior and my kids courtesy of a well-timed sneeze.

After the safari, our next stop was the Little White House, the retreat for Franklin Delano Roosevelt. At the entry, there is an FDR mannequin in a wheelchair, complete with his dog Fala. Neat, we thought. When we got to the actual house, there was another mannequin in a wheelchair on the front porch. And then the mannequin lifted his hand and started perusing the brochure he was holding, because it was actually an older gentlemen (who sat remarkably still)  waiting for his family to finish the tour.

Our next stop was at the Lunch Box Museum in Columbus, Ga., which is, without a doubt, the single greatest museum ever created. With thousands of lunch boxes on display, it is an amazing walk down memory lane, especially if you’re a child of the 70s or 80s. Happy Days, ALF, Six Million Dollar Man, Holly Hobbie. You name it, chances are it was there. There was also one lunchbox that featured “The Exciting World of Metrics,” apparently designed for the kid who wanted the Fast Pass to an awful elementary school existence.

The next day we made our way to Macon, Ga., where we stopped at a place

called Reboot Retrocade and Bar, which has dozens of old-time arcade video games and pinball machines, each costing just a quarter. Draft beer and some Galaga on a Tuesday afternoon? Don’t mind if I do.

 Fortunately, kids are allowed in the bar in the afternoon, so mine were able to experience life in an 80s arcade. Minus the draft beer, of course.

Our final stop was at the Museum of Aviation in Warner Robins, Ga. If you’re ever passing through, I highly recommend you stop in and walk through the history of aviation and see some amazing aircraft, including an SR-71 Blackbird, which may be the coolest plane ever built. I’m talking Six Million Dollar Man mailbox level cool.

We hit a few other spots along the way, sometimes just pulling off on the side of the road because we saw something interesting, such as an abandoned football stadium or a hunting and fishing store called The Funky Skunk. We also caught up with some old friends along the way, which is always a treat.

Upon arriving home, we all agreed it was a quirky and cool road trip, the kind we love to embark on. Maybe next time we can remember to take my wife.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Mt. Pleasant. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike or at www.mikeslife.us.