Chapter 18

June 22, 2019

Day 8

Origin: Kissimmee, FL

Destination: Orlando, FL

 “Standing in a two-hour line makes people worry that they’re not living in a Democratic nation,” Santaland Diaries, David Sedaris.

 Which one sounds familiar?

“The Happiest Place on Earth.” 

“Where Dreams Come True.”

“What Will You Celebrate?”

No matter what slogan you grew up with, the message is the same. Disney has long touted itself as having a monopoly on fun and once-in-a-lifetime experiences.

Perhaps their most famous advertising campaign, “I’m going to Disneyland/Disneyworld,” has since become the standard of celebration the world over since its inception in the 1980s at a dinner party. It became familiar to the public during a Super Bowl commercial, but it was born into an event with less glamor than the biggest television event of the year: a dinner party. Then-CEO Michael Eisner and his wife, Jane Eisner, were having dinner with George Lucas (creator of Star Wars, which Disney now owns) and Dick Rutan and Jeana Yeager, the first couple to fly around the world without stopping.

This who’s who of dinner parties was relatively uneventful, as the story goes, but left a lasting legacy. Initially recorded in Michael Eisner’s memoir and later reported in a 2016 article by ABC News, the dinner conversation had stalled. To fill the silence, Michael asked Dick and Jeana “Well, now that you’ve accomplished the pinnacle of your aspirations, what could you possibly do next?” 

Jeana replied, reportedly without hesitation, “I’m going to Disneyland!”

Realizing the potential, Jane said “You know, that’s a good slogan.”

It debuted in a Super Bowl commercial soon after, and the rest was history.

Today, no celebration at the peak of personal accomplishment is complete without the magic of Disney. As such, Darian and Austin had planned to spend some time at Disneyworld to aid in celebrating their own personal peak accomplishment: marriage. Darian had worked at Disneyworld through a college internship program and had become intimately familiar with the inner workings of Disney that only the most dedicated patrons ever learn from the outside — and only after hundreds of hours and thousands of dollars’ worth of churros, chocolate, pretzels, and non-alcoholic mint juleps. 

We’d been invited to join the festivities. This meant that I’d be going on a honeymoon with newlyweds, and strangely enough, not for the first time. Years before, I’d gone fishing with my best friend Ben Blanchard and his new wife, Autumn. Granted, their honeymoon had been a month long, and they’d spent a ton of time alone together, but it made for a great story about me, the ultimate third wheel. 

I even wrote one of my earliest fishing columns on the trip back in 2015, which I’ve shared here to show you how not much has changed.

“Third-wheeling along the Oregon coast,” originally published January 30, 2015:

In 1988, the United States government outlawed the production and sale of three-wheeled ATVs, commonly known as ‘three-wheelers’ because the third wheel made the vehicles incredibly awkward and unsafe. Two years later, I was born. I grew up blissfully unaware of the ban on three-wheeled vehicles, routinely spending time with my coupled friends and making an awkward triad.

Triad was also the name of my high school, but that’s just a coincidence. I think.

As I got older, I became aware of when it was okay to third-wheel with my friends, and when it was not. First dates? No. 

You’ve been dating for months and you’re now sitting at a basketball game? Yes. Oh. You’re going to propose at this basketball game? That’s awesome! Don’t worry, I didn’t blow the surprise. Retroactive congratulations, Shawn and Maddie Elliott!

Understandably, most of my friends desired alone time with their significant other, so I tried to give them space. 

We all grew older, and before I knew it, it was 2014. My best friend, Benjamin Blanchard, was engaged and planning his wedding. The timing of the wedding meant our annual fall fishing trip to the Oregon Coast — tradition since graduating high school six years earlier — was off the table.

I’m not going to lie, I was a little disappointed. Still, I was happy for my friend, and I absolutely understood. Then, he surprised me by saying that he and his then fiancé (now wife), Autumn, wanted us to take our fishing trip, with her, during one of the days of their nearly month-long honeymoon.

Not one to turn down a fishing trip, I immediately agreed.

December rolled around, and we made plans to meet up in Lincoln City where they were staying. I started my weekend with a few days in Portland before heading to the coast. Ben, Autumn, and I met briefly the night before to catch up in their beachside vacation rental, where they were spending their honeymoon, before I retired to their floor.  Kidding. I retired to the offsite motel room they’d generously rented for me. The next day started off brisk and cold as we drove to nearby Depoe Bay, the world’s smallest navigable harbor. We climbed onto the charter boat and got to know some of our fellow passengers. Once it was discovered that Ben and Autumn were honeymooners, everyone congratulated them. 

Once it was discovered that I was third-wheeling their honeymoon, we had a few laughs, one weird look from an older gentleman who thought we might’ve been a trio of lovers, but finally a comment from the captain, who said “Wow. That’s an honor.”

Indeed it was. While many would feel like a third wheel, I never did with these two. As we reeled in fish after fish, Autumn battled seasickness with a remarkably positive attitude. Considering the fact that we were adrift in the middle of the ocean during mid-December, it was unseasonably warm. My phone listed the weather in the 50s by mid-morning.

The fishing was productive, too, even though both Ben and Autumn out-fished me. In total, we landed more than 40 fish, representing a variety of species. Black Rockfish, Blue Rockfish and Yellowtail Rockfish made up the majority of our catch, but we also landed several vividly orange, then threatened Canary Rockfish, several Lingcod, and I even caught a species I’d never caught before: a Widow Rockfish. 

They survived the first stormy seas their marriage would see (pun intended), and we had a great time together. They never called me a third wheel, and though some of you might, I’ll counter with this: apart from the steering column, boats don’t have wheels.

Funny, right? Well, my editor at the time, Gerry O’Brien, thought so, noting that catching a Widow Rockfish on a honeymoon could be darkly funny. It was just the third fishing column I ever wrote, and it was the one that served as a tipping point to make way for my weekly column to start soon after, which, in turn, eventually led to this book.

My third-wheeling in Orlando was different, though. It wasn’t just the two lovebirds and me.Sure, Mickey and Minney (Austin and Darian) were there with Goofy (me, obviously), but Donald, Daisy, Pluto, and a dozen other characters were along for the ride, or at least, along for the rides. Our goal was to hit as many rides as possible and visit all four parks: Animal Kingdom, Hollywood Studios, Epcot, and Magic Kingdom (in that order) in a single day. It was ambitious, but so is dating for a serious relationship in your twenties, and it worked out for them! 

We hit all four parks, but we ended up riding very few attractions due to a number of complications. But I’m getting ahead of myself. I can’t spoil the magic. I’ll walk you through each park as if it were a feature film. After all, drawing things out as much as possible in an effort to monetize them is the Disney way. So I’ll tell this fairly straightforward story in four parts, and you tell me if this sounds like “The Happiest Place on Earth” when all is said and done.

Animal Kingdom

We were plagued by misfortune from the beginning. We’d arrived right at the time the gates were supposed to open — at least, the time the gates open on a normal day. Little did we know that our chosen Disney day had been one where the park opened an hour early. 

Huh. 

If you didn’t already feel like an ant in the roiling activity of a Disney Park, arriving late and then making a beeline for the newest ride in the park will guarantee you do. Our first stop, at the newly opened “Avatar: Flight of Passage” ride, began well enough. Nobody got sick and nobody got heat stroke despite the punishing early morning sun that harkened a horribly hot day to come. 

The only real downside? We waited more than three hours to ride the ride. 

The six-minute duration of the ride was enjoyable, but is six minutes really worth the wait? Tune in once I’m married to see what my wife says after our honeymoon. Spoiler alert: I probably won’t be inviting anyone other than my wife along for my own honeymoon. 

Regardless, in this case, I didn’t think six minutes was worth the wait.

“Avatar: Flight of Passage” was like Disneyland’s “Soaring California” but while sitting on a less comfortable seat shaped like a crotch-rocket without wheels. 

Honestly, I don’t remember doing anything else at Animal Kingdom. I mean, we probably did, but I just remember getting separated from Austin and Darian and their wealth of knowledge. I then split off with my brothers, Rylee, and our friend Christian Wood, and together we proceeded to do everything wrong. From failing to get Fast Passes to hitting popular rides during peak times and waiting for hours on end to eating during peak meal times to letting ourselves get a little dehydrated, we made all of the bad decisions. But this was only Park No. 1. We had three parks’ worth of bad decisions to go.

Hollywood Studios

Animal Kingdom was new enough, but Hollywood Studios even more so. 

When Darth Vader marched a contingent of stormtroopers in full gear down the street, my first thought was “Awesome.” My second thought was “It’s 90 degrees out, and he’s used to the Dark Side, which is probably cooler.” I stopped thinking at that point. 

Our party survived the encounter without being Force Choked, so we called that a win. Impressively, only one person in the party made a “Look Luke! It’s your dad” joke, so that was surprising. What a wasted opportunity.

Speaking of wasted opportunities, we passed on several rides to hit up the two most-acclaimed rides at Hollywood Studios: Rock ‘N Roller Coaster and Tower of Terror. 

As was becoming the trend, we timed both wrong, opting to ride the Tower of Terror at the hottest part of the day. The uphill line zigged and zagged all the way back to the starting point, and we were enduring abject misery, but at least we had company. Misery allegedly loves that.

Don’t get me wrong; I love roller coasters and thrill rides. Not enough to wait hours for one, but I really do enjoy them. For this reason, I’m more about Six Flags than Disney, but I still enjoy the latter in ideal conditions. These were far from ideal. It was a grueling sauna. My feet were sore, my back ached, and I was done in the sweltering heat with nobody to flip me over. Jake, Gabe, Christian and I cooked slowly. Worse still, Rylee gets insanely sick on roller coasters (a lingering side effect of a severe concussion she had in high school), which meant she was stuck waiting outside the ride. It was shaded (sort of), but we felt bad nonetheless. 

I’m not one to complain (I lie, midway through a chapter-length complaint), but it was too long. Time was as stagnant as the dank Florida air, so I couldn’t tell you exactly how long we waited, but it was long enough that I took three bathroom breaks. Of course, three bathroom breaks didn’t stop me from peeing myself on the ride after the gauntlet finally came to a close. 

We did make it to the top eventually. Was it two hours? Three? That’s unclear, but had I opened a 401(k) when we got in line, it would’ve nearly vested by the time we were strapped in.

Our particular group included Jake, Gabe, Christian and I, and we were all wearing bright colors that may have stood out a little ordinarily but made us look like strutting peacocks compared to the tour group in matching white shirts that filled the other 15 seats. 

The ride itself was enjoyable, but Christian screaming at the top of his lungs like a damsel in distress and Jake and Gabe laughing uncontrollably at his reaction was worth the wait. I was beaming when it came to a stop, and the Alfred Hitchcock-but-not-Alfred Hitchcock voice said something over the intercom as we exited. 

The photo was priceless. Four guys in bright colors sat in the front seat, surrounded by a sea of matching white shirts. Everyone looks terrified in the photo, including Christian, but Jake, Gabe, and I are smiling the biggest smiles imaginable. Also, my arms are straight up in the air while everyone else hangs on for dear life. This somehow makes the whole thing even better.

Revitalized by the triple-threat of air conditioning, laughing at Christian’s expense, and an adrenaline rush, we met up with Rylee and headed over to the Rock ‘N Roller Coaster. 

It was late 1980s- or early 1990s-themed but not in a retro sense. It simply looked like they hadn’t updated the ride in 30 years, but it was still a decent roller coaster. Having done all we wanted to do at Hollywood Studios, we made our way back to the car and headed to Epcot.

Epcot

The iconic giant golf ball-looking thing (actually called Spaceship Earth for no obvious reason) was the first part we noticed. We posed for a group picture in front of it, and I was reminded of Will Farrell asking “What do I do with my hands,” as we smiled. I crossed them in front of me and later regretted it.

Epcot is unique among Disney venues in that it doesn’t really have rides. Its name was derived from a top executive’s baby trying in vain to say the word “apricot” but, being a baby, only managing to say “Epcot”. The executive liked the uniqueness of it and rolled with it. Of course, that’s not true at all, which is the pits. Nonetheless, the fictitious fruity backstory of my own design helps me like Epcot more. 

In reality, Epcot is an acronym that means “Experimental Prototype Community of Tomorrow” later rebranded as its own word, but my origin story is better. Regardless, the prototype community is unique, and of all the parks at Disneyworld, Epcot was my favorite. Probably a strange admission from a guy whose primary draw to theme parks are the rides, but it was just, well, unique. 

Epcot is set up to be highly walkable, with loops and circles naturally laid out for casual strolling. My favorite part was the “World Showcase” which included miniature versions of a dozen countries where the architecture was designed like the country represented therein. Interns from the “country” they worked in wore culturally appropriate clothing and served foods and drinks unique to their home culture. I sampled a Norwegian pastry, a German sausage with mustard and sauerkraut, and a Moroccan plate lunch. It wasn’t great, but everything was edible, and the experience was worthwhile to be sure. 

We made our way from Epcot to the Magic Kingdom in hopes of hitting some “classic rides” and enjoying the after-dark festivities and fireworks. At this point, we’d walked about six miles. By the end of the night, we’d more than double that thanks to just how far-removed the Magic Kingdom was from the parking lot. Again, despite the experience, there was something less-than-magical about walking so much.

Magic Kingdom

The Magic Kingdom is quintessential, traditional Disney. It’s where you see fireworks over a castle, traditional Disney characters from the classic cartoons, and experience Disney in much the same way as it was experienced by your parents and grandparents albeit with absurdly inflated prices. 

By far, it is the most popular park at Disneyworld, and as such, it requires the most parking. There was a park-related pun in there, but after such a busy day, I didn’t have the energy. To get to Magic Kingdom from the parking lot is a trek. Girls of Instagram might even call it an adventure. 

You have to walk from the parking lot to a tram, ride a tram to a train, ride a train to another pathway and, if you happen to ride a boat ride once you make it inside Magic Kingdom, and stand near a certain iconic mouse, you’ll have visited almost every possible venue in which to eat green eggs and ham. 

I was tired from the trip in, but I would be exhausted from the trip out. I’ll get to that, though. During the waning hours, we managed to ride all three peaks (Splash Mountain, Thunder Mountain, Space Mountain) and got some traditional foods. I got the nonalcoholic mint julep I can never resist, one person got a funnel cake, and everyone got some candy. We missed out on other classics like corn dogs, churros, and heat stroke, but we made it safely in and out of the drink line without anyone slipping us a Mickey. 

I stopped and tried to get my mom a souvenir — she absolutely loves Tinkerbell and Groot — but failed to find anything that spoke to me, except for an annoying pull-string doll that said “I am Groot” that literally spoke to me rather than speaking to my sense of gift-giving.

By this point, my dogs were barking, and I found every excuse to sit or lean on something to stretch out my aching back, hips, quads, calves, and feet. So I stood and admired the nearest Disney princess, remembering that time years ago I talked to a girl named Ashley for a month or so on eHarmony (yeah, I actually paid for online dating for a year after college), learned she was a Disney princess at the park, and wondered how she was doing. 

We lived 12 hours apart, and dating someone that far away would be absolutely crazy, right? So we never did. We parted ways amicably and wished one another a good life. I didn’t see her there, and given there aren’t a lot of black Disney princesses, it appears that she’s since found another gig.

Hopefully she’d found her real-life fairytale even though it looked like I might never find my own. Romantic self-pity aside, the chance to sit let me reflect for a moment. 

In all the excitement, I didn’t realize I hadn’t been fishing. This would be one of just two days where I experienced such a tragic reality on my 46-day trip, but I’d had a magical time, and I couldn’t complain about anything but my aching muscles in the aftermath of the 26,508 steps the Pacer app on my phone recorded that day. Given my height, that calculated out to 12.2 miles — just shy of a half-marathon. That didn’t factor in standing for roughly 16 hours, either. I’m not sure what’s worse: the realization that I walked a half-marathon or that people willingly choose to run twice as far for sport. I shudder. Just like those who willingly complete a marathon or half-marathon, I made sure you knew I did it, so I guess I do share something in common with those masochists. 

In retrospect, Disneyworld was absolutely worth visiting, but Disneyland is a much better experience. Were I to go again, I’d limit myself to one park per day and spread it out, taking a daily break to leave the park, get a massage, and just decompress a bit. Nonetheless, it was a great (if not quite magical) experience. 

Next Chapter: Chapter 27: Key West