My wife and I suffered our fifth wedding anniversary many years ago.It’s a wonder we and our marriage survived. The anniversary was not, of course, designed to be a disaster. It began as a slow descent into forgettable and gained momentum into unpleasant before careening downhill into catastrophe.
We had spent the week before the anniversary in a lovely cottage on Captiva, an island off the coast of Florida. Although situated at the back of a parking lot, the cottage was close to a lively center of activity: steel drum bands; great restaurants; charming walks amidst beautiful scenery. We didn’t do a lot of cooking, but did enjoy our time both in and out of the cottage. For instance, as a challenge for the week we decided to sample the key lime pie at every restaurant on the island and believe we successfully met the challenge.
The culmination of the vacation, including the anniversary itself, was to be attendance at a sports car race, the 12 Hours of Sebring, on a converted military airport just outside the town of Sebring, which was located smack dab in the middle of the state. I had called ahead to make reservations at the historic hotel in the center of town and for dinner at the hotel’s restaurant. (I should have had an inkling of the looming trouble when the restaurant’s manager seemed surprised that I wanted to reserve a table.)
The drive from the cottage to the hotel conveyed us from the cultural capital and captivation of Captiva to the secluded, steaming, smelly swamp of Sebring. I would not have been surprised to find alligators staffing the gas stations along the way. The air conditioner in our car worked overtime and we felt a great need to stay in the safety of the vehicle.
If you’ve ever seen a horror movie where the young couple checks into an almost deserted, desolate and decrepit hotel before spending the night in abject terror, you have a good idea of what the historic Sebring hotel was like. I need say no more.
As you can imagine, the hotel’s restaurant was sparsely occupied and staffed by people who had lost all interest, indeed all hope, of creating edible food. Reservations, it seemed, were not entirely necessary. Since the town of Sebring was not exactly Captiva-like in its dining options and since the heat and humidity argued against wandering the almost deserted streets looking for sustenance, we ate, if you can call it that, at the restaurant in the hotel. We then spent an entirely forgettable night in our room, hoping that the door would not open and offer even more horror.
The day of the race dawned bright and steamy and we headed for the track for the eleven o’clock green flag. We had learned that if we brought a receipt for the purchase of a couple of quarts of some motor oil (I’ve forgotten the brand, just as I’ve forgotten a great many details of the day) we were permitted access to the brand’s special seating area. We had envisioned a hospitality tent with water, soft drinks and, at least, shade. What we got was, as Bob Dylan sings, bleachers set out in the sun.
Now, I need to tell you that this anniversary was just a few months before I had major neck surgery that would finally allow me to stand and walk without pain. In Sebring the heat, humidity and bleacher-view of only one part of the track, coupled with my inability to walk easily to other vantage points, made time slow almost to a halt and, for quite a bit of the time, seem to move backwards.
As the race progressed, we lost whatever small interest we had in it and focused on basic survival. A very nice hotel had been built on the grounds of the track, not very far from our bleachers. Late in the day we discovered the hotel and its wonderfully air conditioned lobby, restaurant and bar. Why thousands of race fans had not invaded the hotel and liberated it in the name of the people was a mystery to us. We, however, did take great advantage of it. We ate dinner there and took our drinks to their private race viewing area. This respite from oppression most likely saved our sanity.
As the race was nearing its miserable conclusion, we snuck out of the track and drove quickly through the town and past the hotel from Hell. We headed out, leaving the swamp behind, not stopping until we had discovered civilization, franchise food and chain motels.