Florida Winter at Alligator Alcatraz and the Invisibility Bubble

Lucienda leaned back in her beach chair, propped against the open door of the cargo van and stared out at the lonely grayness of the Atlantic Ocean. It was a windy, cloudy Miami Monday and the only people at North Park on Virginia Key were windsurfers, with their lower foil rudders and inflatable kite sails. The science of surfing with wind was constantly progressing. She was in Florida for the winter, finding employment wherever folks needed cheap labor, mediocre music or angry hand jobs. Most times, it was a seller’s market but here she was taking a mental health day. Grilling Argentinian chorizo and laying low. Hiding out from any immigration agents with a penchant for confusion and mistaken identity. Camouflaged with the white work van, the Mother Ship and the freestyle comfort of the Invisibility bubble.

The High Country was engrossed in the brace of deep winter. Lucienda had stayed in the mountains the previous year, the Buick encased in an frozen egg, sliding on black ice. No mas. She didn’t ski or snowboard and the closest she came to winter sports was seeing how long she could go each season without slipping and wiping out on the ice. This was the tour that would hit all the sweet spots. Make sure your passport isn’t expired. Welcome to Florida Winter at Alligator Alcatraz and the Invisibility Bubble

Lucy’s head was spinning. It had been a busy couple of weeks and it was hard to ignore the news. Bob Weir had passed, sobering everyone up for a few days. In Minneapolis, Renee Nicole Good had been killed by ICE officer Jonathan Ross, who suffered moderate rectal bleeding. The suits were talking about bringing down soldiers from Alaska to help with the crazies. Get the folks in line, they say. Lucy couldn’t imagine why anyone would choose to live in Minnesota in the winter, but that didn’t make things better. If they were looking for Spanish people, Lucy had just spent a week on Miami Beach and saw no ICE agents even though the place was thick with Spaniards. It was for the better, Lucy was scared enough of cops when they weren’t covered up with hunting bandannas. It was a time to remain invisible.

She was hunting something she’d known earlier in life. The Florida Winter. Golly, could she even remember how it was, with its cool breezes and dry afternoons? The weather is here, I wish you were beautiful. It made everything else easier. Now she was untethered and let loose on a populace unaware of how creative and shaky she could really be. There was work to be had all over the state and she was willing to sell “everything”. Even a job as an immigration agents showed up on the board, with a fine starting salary. No experience necessary.

For a while, the mountain folk enjoy winter. Just as the first snow comes on Halloween night, they get busy greasing up their skis and taking bank-calendar worthy photographs of mountains and split rail fences covered with snow. This lasts for a while through November and many continue to find pleasure in this landscape for about two good snows or right after Christmas. The joyfulness is then over and come mid-February, the mountain people manage to find themselves in, what Jimmy called the “lower latitudes”.

Deland– Lucy was already sitting at the bar when the young man entered, obviously in a huff. He sat directly across from her and ordered a double. He knew the bartender and was ready to unload his troubles. The following excerpt is from the original notes.

“So, my girlfriend found out she was pregnant and I was thrilled. We’ve been doing great. I already bought a wedding ring and you know, I just bailed her out for $3,500. Was going to change my last name to hers, because I hate my family. They never include me in family gatherings. Why would I give a shit? My problem is, I just saw her car parked at the tattoo parlor and I know they don’t put tattoos on pregnant women. Christ, I just bailed her out of jail for $3500. The good news is my friend will vouch for me if I want to join the Outlaws.”

Are night terrors contagious? Could they be passed on like mites?

River House, Old Homosassa.Fort Myers– The guy at the flea market said it was the same as regular weed. The lady at the Purple Mushroom suggested that by purchasing cheap glass she was supporting the Taliban. Terrorist glass? All from buying a cheap gas station bowl. But now she was happily smoking gas station weed and it was getting her plenty high, she just wasn’t sure what was in it. Having at one time been a “purist” now, influenced by the Consigliere, she was routinely smoking THCP or A or whatever, in the most recent case, it was Pineapple Express. Both she and the Counselor were too cheap to pay for a Florida medical card and apparently, night terrors no longer counted as PTSD.

She made her way to Safety Harbor, on the north side of the bay. The bar was listening to Guns and Roses. “We’ve been dancing with Mr. Brownstone. He won’t leave me alone. Won’t leave me alone.”

Old Homosassa– Bob Weir’s passing sobered people up for a few days. The last time Lucienda had seen Bobby was with String Cheese the weekend that Phil Lesh passed. The wooks were breathing together. Hoping to live the rest of their life with a “Bob Weir” kind of attitude and approach to things.

The Invisibility Bubble. The gypsy insisted she’d never received a ticket while driving a motor vehicle. While it was impossible to figure she attributed it to the fact she traveled in an “invisibility bubble” that somehow kept her safe from the gestapo. Now Lucienda was traveling around in a 2007 GMC Savanna cargo van that had once been used as an AT&T service vehicle. It came with a emergency light on the back and striped warning tape down the bumper. For all purposes, it was completely invisible and would be perfect for her brand of travel and loose camping.

How can a person control their dietary habits when they sleep eat?

South Beach– On her way to Miami, she missed her turn in Moore Haven and ended up in Big Cypress National Preserve in Ochopee, Florida. Next stop, the South Florida Detention Facility. Alligator Alcatraz. A tent city, immigration detention facility located at Dade-Collier Training and Transition Airport. That sounded crazy. A bunch of immigration agents harvesting Spanish people in the middle of the Everglades. Yeesh. She drove forward, wondering what the chance was they might have some kind of t-shirt, gift shop. A sure fire Christmas gift she could give to her Republican Dead Head friends in Texas and the Villages. Or maybe this place had an outside bar with palm frond, chickee roof, Christmas lights and ESPN. Could it be true that immigration agents deported several Miccosukee families back to the reservations in Tonkawa, Oklahoma? Probably just rumors. It was hard to know what to believe and Lucy still had to get to Miami. With a new cast net and three rigs, set to go, she knew that where ever she was in Florida, there’s never more than sixty miles to the coast.

Some of the fam was just getting back from the Friendship cruise and whatever bad dreams accompanied that ugliness, the other group was gearing up for Love Burn and another trip to Miami Beach. It’s February after all. Go to where the climate suits your clothes.