Labor Day Loser

About three weeks ago, my partner Maria came up with a plan: we would spend Labor Day weekend camping and canoeing. This, I though, was brilliant, with one possible exception: it’s four thousand degrees outside.
Now Maria, the native Puerto Rican, is not one to be dissuaded by our summer heat. She actually wears several layers of clothing, including a stand-by sweater, to combat the air-conditioning in her office building. I mean, compared to San Juan, we’re practically shoveling snow up here.
But I digress.
Because this is the sort of thing you do for your partner, I agreed to this insane camping proposal on one condition: we go to one of Florida’s cool, clear springs as far north as a day-trip could take us.
So we began researching. Owing to the fact that Florida is pretty much a giant, floating blob of sand, there are no less than a zillion or so “ground-fed” water sources in our state. Many of these springs are small, uncharted for the casual tourist, or so remote you’d need a GPS locator and a machete to find them. Then, of course, there are the bigger ones which are so popular – particularly on a hot, holiday weekend – that you could barely dip your toe in the 72 degree water without smacking up against a flotilla of blow-up alligator rafts.
After careful consideration of these facts, we settled on Manatee Springs, about an hour and a half north of Tampa. There was really no reason for this except that the pictures looked pretty. And also they allow dogs, which seemed like a good idea at the time. So, Manatee Springs it was. We had made our decision.
Fast forward to about a week later. We have invited friends. A crew of four was now ready to hit the springs and discover “real” Florida. Only, our new traveling companions were not so excited about the camping part. Great, I say, barely concealing my relief, we could stay in a nice little bed & breakfast on Cedar Key, a marvelous fishing town about an hour west of Manatee Springs. Applause all around: I am the Labor Day weekend genius.
Then, a funny thing happened. I started a new semester at school and forgot all about the dang trip. Well, the plans were made, right? What could possibly be left to do?
If you’ve ever been outside of your house on a holiday weekend – I mean, to even so much as a picnic area – you know what I forgot to do. I forgot to make reservations.
Of course, by “forget,” I mean that I just didn’t do it.
Turns out we weren’t the only Floridians who wanted to hit the old canoe trail for Labor Day. Apparently, all of the rest of you did as well. Maybe you could drop me a line and let me know how it went, because, well, by the time I did make some phone calls (last Saturday morning), there was nary a canoe, kayak or floating vessel to be had in the entire state. And, needless to say, there were no rooms left at the inns.
Well, when life hands you lemons, you know what they say. I decided to go with Plan B. My dad owns a perfectly beautiful canoe, and there are certainly enough watering holes in the Bay area to dip it in, so I made one last phone call.
Would you believe that Dad’s canoe was booked too? Of course. He was practically on his way out the door with it.
It is amazing how fast you can go from Labor Day genius to Labor Day loser. I was in trouble now. My friends, sensing blood in the water, backed away from the whole deal. Maria was no longer speaking to me. What could I do?
There was only one trick left in my bag. An old friend of mine lives on the pink streets down by the Skyway, and I had heard a rumor that there was an ancient canoe in her garage. Well, it would be no spring-fed wonderland, but I supposed we could paddle around the docks down there. We could even bring our dog, Mango.
So we loaded up the truck with snacks and towels, sunscreen, and a couple of cans of Heineken. Twenty minutes later we were standing in my friend’s garage, struggling with this decrepit, thousand pound boat that probably hadn’t been in the water since Nixon left office.
But it was a canoe. Just fifty yards from the Gulf. And, even though I didn’t deserve it – even though I hadn’t made a single reservation – we had the best day.
Right up until Mango lunged for a bird and flipped the boat.