In the spirit of the upcoming surge of underage, idiotic, naive, believe they are immortal, did I mention idiotic? Michiganders jumping on I-75 south in search of some sunshine and celebrating their last year of high school, the way back machine today heads back to 1985 when a bunch of underage, idiotic, mortal adolescents did just that; and had the time of their lives.
Our story starts in the fall of 1984 when the planning of said trip was in the preliminary stages. Al C. had mentioned that his parents were headed down a week earlier for the spring holiday to visit relatives and he planned to head down with them and do a partial grandparent visit in Port St. Lucie (going off of memory but believe that was their location) mixed in with a Daytona Beach excursion. The partial time missed in school could easily be arranged with teachers. The only roadblock I could see would be the school baseball season that would be starting up about that time. We didn't have an official coach at the time as the previous year's coach took a teaching job with another school system that offered more security. I missed him as a coach but can't blame him for looking out for his family; getting a pink slip every summer with hopes to return in the fall to teach doesn't sound like something I would want either. Missed practices could be made up in some fashion via sprints or cleaning the ball field and the new coach would understand (I rationalized) so Al, Gus, Matt and myself were in for the extended spring break! Fast forward to the spring of 1985 when the new baseball coach was brought in. The first thing he mentions to the team in the first practice is anyone missing time for an early spring break won't be playing for him. No exceptions. You have got to be f****** kidding me!!! No games missed, three practices. No exceptions. I mentioned to him that I made my plans before he was hired. No exceptions. Other coaches spoke to him. No exceptions. I'll give him credit for sticking to his guns but young Tim was off to Daytona Beach. No regrets on said choice.
The caravan south was quite a scene. We had Al's parents and a couple of their friends in the front van pulling an orange dune buggy (that we would use in Daytona Beach) while Al, Gus, Matt and I were in either a Grand Marquis or a Crown Victoria in the rear. This was pre-cell phone days but boy did we have fun with the CB radio. If any truckers could have tracked down our vehicle, I would have to think Matt would have gotten his rear end seriously kicked. Some of the stuff he was throwing out can't be printed. Matt also gets a gold star for his driving around the Cincinnati area when we were headed down. Rain was coming at a typhoon rate; I couldn't see a thing but somehow he got through it.
So we hit the land of gray hairs and settled in for the first portion of our vacation with some good eats (believe the smorgasbord place was called 'Duff's') and the four of us took in a Tiger baseball exhibition game in Lakeland another night. We marked up a hotel blanket (from a hotel that shall be nameless) with our names and took it to the game. I recall making an attempt with the banner but I don't think we made it on television. A fun appetizer for the rest of the vacation it was though.
The first part of the vacation was done; it was time for the four of us to separate from the elders and spread our wings in Daytona Beach. Al's orange dune buggy was our mode of transportation to said destination from Port St. Lucie. I'm sorry I don't have a picture of the buggy to share as Al's dad Dave created a beautiful ride there. I'm also sorry I don't have a picture of the four of us (all pretty large human beings) in the buggy with all of our luggage crammed in with us as we rode 40-45 miles an hour (the vehicle could not go any faster) down the freeway as cars zoomed by us on the left. It took us awhile but we had a good giggle the entire way.
So we arrive in the city of...., not sure what Daytona Beach is the city of. NASCAR and the sun I guess. I'm not a big fan of the former but welcome the latter. Our lodging for the week was the AAA four-star rated (have no idea) Royal Beach Motel. I'm not sure if it was Mark or Al that found the place but it served our purpose. No frills, on the beach, had a pool, cable TV so we could watch the same 10 MTV videos the entire week (it was a battle between REO Speedwagon and Madonna for side bets on which video would come next), a lounge and you could walk right from the parking lot into your room. People whose keg parties were shut down at other hotels brought their beverages to our pool area (no lie). I pulled some pictures from the web of the place and found the legendary Royal Beach Motel is.....now closed. A good run it was.
Meeting up with the four of us in the same hotel were Dave, Johnny B., Mark and Terry; and a good portion of our senior class. Beverage purchase was handled via a place down the strip called 'Drive Thru Brew' as I recall. One ID (from someone who shall be nameless but there were a few out there) and load up the tubs back at home base. The locals knew we were all stupid youngsters but as long as someone had an ID, they could make their money. One establishment that we frequented a bit was a place called 'The Pier.' I walked in with my ID, looped around the side to a waiting Matt, gave him the same ID and in he walked.
The week was wild as it seemed like you ran into someone you weren't expecting to see each day. Matt's friend Steve K. either lived in the area or came down but one night Matt and Terry took Steve's motorcycle to Orlando. A chilly night ride I recall Matt claiming when he got back. Another pop-in came when Al and I were riding down the strip. Who jumps in the buggy at a stop light but none other than Al's brother Roger! He road tripped down from CMU with a group.
There are many other stories to share but to protect those involved, we'll leave those for the fishing boats.
I am sorry to say there are only a few pictures out there of the trip as it was one for the ages. The one picture I have from the trip (thank you Mark C. for it) came on one of the last days. Matt had made a claim to the group that he was going to hurl after drinking the rest of his beverage. And being a man of his word, Matt calmly walked to the bathroom after finishing said beverage and let it fly. He struck a pose with the group after the experience.
A Seadog celebration it was.
Trail Head
The first part of the vacation was done; it was time for the four of us to separate from the elders and spread our wings in Daytona Beach. Al's orange dune buggy was our mode of transportation to said destination from Port St. Lucie. I'm sorry I don't have a picture of the buggy to share as Al's dad Dave created a beautiful ride there. I'm also sorry I don't have a picture of the four of us (all pretty large human beings) in the buggy with all of our luggage crammed in with us as we rode 40-45 miles an hour (the vehicle could not go any faster) down the freeway as cars zoomed by us on the left. It took us awhile but we had a good giggle the entire way.
So we arrive in the city of...., not sure what Daytona Beach is the city of. NASCAR and the sun I guess. I'm not a big fan of the former but welcome the latter. Our lodging for the week was the AAA four-star rated (have no idea) Royal Beach Motel. I'm not sure if it was Mark or Al that found the place but it served our purpose. No frills, on the beach, had a pool, cable TV so we could watch the same 10 MTV videos the entire week (it was a battle between REO Speedwagon and Madonna for side bets on which video would come next), a lounge and you could walk right from the parking lot into your room. People whose keg parties were shut down at other hotels brought their beverages to our pool area (no lie). I pulled some pictures from the web of the place and found the legendary Royal Beach Motel is.....now closed. A good run it was.
Meeting up with the four of us in the same hotel were Dave, Johnny B., Mark and Terry; and a good portion of our senior class. Beverage purchase was handled via a place down the strip called 'Drive Thru Brew' as I recall. One ID (from someone who shall be nameless but there were a few out there) and load up the tubs back at home base. The locals knew we were all stupid youngsters but as long as someone had an ID, they could make their money. One establishment that we frequented a bit was a place called 'The Pier.' I walked in with my ID, looped around the side to a waiting Matt, gave him the same ID and in he walked.
There are many other stories to share but to protect those involved, we'll leave those for the fishing boats.
I am sorry to say there are only a few pictures out there of the trip as it was one for the ages. The one picture I have from the trip (thank you Mark C. for it) came on one of the last days. Matt had made a claim to the group that he was going to hurl after drinking the rest of his beverage. And being a man of his word, Matt calmly walked to the bathroom after finishing said beverage and let it fly. He struck a pose with the group after the experience.
A Seadog celebration it was.
Trail Head
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| walk right into your room at the Royal Beach |
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| Royal Beach is no more |
