River of Barbecue

It was a glorious late March day today, and Wifey and D2 had plans. They went to see "In the Heights" in Lauderdale. I had seen the show on Broadway with D1 last year and thought it was terrific. Wifey and D2: not so much. They thought it was contrived and boring, and the production from the traveling show was subpar. Two thumbs down. I guess the message is that you really do have to see musicals only on Broadway --there's nothing like the old theatres, and the acoustics they have, as well as the top flight talent.

My day was much better. My friend Mirta called, and asked if I wanted to go bicycling. I did, and she had never been to Shark Valley, in the Everglades. She picked me up in her Honda, we saddled up the bike rack, and off we went.

It was about 70 degrees, and a lovely breeze was blowing. The birds and alligators and turtles were out in abundance.

We rode the 7 miles to the observation tower, and climbed to the top. It was so clear, it was as if you could see the entire River of Grass. I remarked that it looked like the African plains. Another visitor said the same thing.

A tall, thin blonde asked me to snap a picture. I did, and noticed her Stanford hat. I asked how she liked visiting here from the Bay area. No --she lived in Miami, but was a Stanford grad. I played my one degree of separation with her, and, sure enough, knew D1's friend Hannah's mother. Hannah's family is crawling with Stanford alums. I guess there is no better infestation.

Mirta and I headed back onto the trail. We chatted wonderfully about our families and lives. Mirta has been a caregiver for her whole life --for her mother, now gone, and then her boys, and finally her grandchildren. She dreams of moving to MAdrid and trying our life there. I told her the final expenditure from our firm, before it closes, will be an open ended ticket there for her. Wifey and I can visit.

As we neared the entrance, some bright pink movement caught our eye. At first I though they were flamingos, but realized we had come upon a small flock of roseate spoonbills. In 30 years of going to Shark Valley, this was my first such sighting.

We rode back to Mirta's car, and headed East on the Tamiami Trail. We crossed Krome Avenue, and made a mandatory stop, at the Pit Barbecue.

I've been going there for years, and about 5 years ago, the rednecks who owned it sold to a Cuban family. The food is much better now, and we celebrated our 15 mile ride with ribs, chicken, and delicious corn on the cob.

The sound system was playing salsa, and then a group of Gringos on motorcycles drove up. The manager changed the songs, in deference to them. We finished our lunch to "Freebird" and some Elvin Bishop...

We came back to Villa Wifey, and I made us some coffee. Wifey and D2 came home, and told us details about the disappointing musical.

D2 left, and Mirta, Wifey, and I talked for a long time about aging parents. Mirta's mother died 5 years ago, and she still misses her terribly.

The Everglades calls me back. I'll go again, before the heat and mosquitoes make it impossible. And the Pit? I wonder how late they're open...