In the middle of February 2019, Josiah prompted me and a few others to make some spring break plans to go to St. Petersburg, Florida. He was able to secure a free hotel room from his parents since they were there on his Dads sabbatical and they knew the owners of the hotel. A group of 4 quickly turned to 10 and before I knew it I was booking a hotel room for the other 6 of us. We donned the trip, “Spring Break ’97” and I’m not entirely sure why.
Spring Break ’97 became legend and none of us expected to have the time we had. There came innumerable jokes and wild moments of spontaneity. There are things from that week that have been sworn to secrecy but I’m going to do my best to document as much as I can in the most interesting way possible. So sit back, relax and prepare yourself for the Perrytale of Spring Break ’97.
There were 10 of us total,
Witt Bauknight (room 2) – King of the Junior Mint and fearless Prius Driver
Josiah Cox (room 1) – Head of hotel room 1 and the embodiment of our own Florida man.
Dylan “Joonya” Williams (room 1) – Youngest of the group and leader of the caravan, holder of the radar detector.
Matthew “Goose” Bryant (room 1) – Our gentle bodyguard and sunscreen Prince. Takes no shit from anyone, can smell street art a mile away.
David Reese (room 2) – Itinerary holder, opinion haver, self proclaimed leader and outright cutie boy of the group.
Jordan “Jibber” Williams (room 2) – “The fuck he just say?” Coiner of the term “raw ground” a true comedy king and improv master.
Andruw “Druw” Richardson (room 2) – Aux emperor, Nuketown on full volume, “Yo Druw put your schmeat away.” 803 Fuck Train Gang
Will Lewis (room 1) – If the wind blows too hard he’ll fly away, sarcasm lover and 100% little spoon.
Collins Peck (room 2) – Foundation of all jokes, holder of Junior Mints, chick magnet, only eats chicken nuggets and pizza, swag surfer, drops it low like none other.
Hank “Spank” Johnson (room 2) – Doesn’t wear sunscreen, sunburnt day 1, second guesser, fastest driver, documents everything, morale support and immoral compass.
The morning we set out, we all met up at Andruw and Jordans. Dylan, Witt and I would be driving. The sheer energy and power radiating from the circle of us before we set off on our journey was magnetic. The mood of the voyage became evident from the moment Collins showed up in a stringy wife-beater with a fist full of Junior Mints. Like the prophet he is, Witt spoke profound and cavernous words as he spoke the language of Florida Man, dubbing Dylan as “Joonya” in honor of Collins’ consummation of Junior Mints that had slowly begun to melt softly through his fingers. An almost ritualistic, licking of the fingers, became associated with the speaking of, “Joonya Mints,” arose. David had us in a quick prayer and we set off.
Our first stop was to be at Whataburger in Jacksonville, Florida. However we made a quick stop at a random gas station in what seemed to be the purgatory of the Southeastern United States. A quick fill-up and walk through the voodoo shop later, we set off escaping the boondocks of I-95. With about 20 miles to Whataburger, my Subaru turned the gas light on. Will, Druw and I made an educated decision to power through and go to the gas station near Whataburger. However, we all received a South Carolina public education, our decision was wrong and a few miles from the exit we ran out of gas. By the time we’d pulled over, the other two cars were making it to Whataburger. We called for help and the cutie boy, David, came to our rescue with a gas can. And just 45 minutes after running out of gas we were slopping on some honey butter chicken biscuits.
Our promised land in the sea of humid, sunbaked Jacksonville folk, we were grateful for our quick rest on this journey. With only a few more hours to St. Pete, we set out. The plan for the evening was to get to a campground that we’d found online and would end up staying that night since our hotel was to be ready the following day. We made it to St. Pete before sunset, and thanks to my new friend, Josh, we were able to find and make some dinner plans for the evening.
After a heavenly taco dinner where we all gave the restaurant the same names for our separate orders, we made a quick grocery run and headed to the campground. By the time we made it, we were all ready for some sleep. I had packed an Eno hammock for this as did Dylan and Druw. But the other 7 had to squeeze their way into a tent David had brought. Little did we know, that tent was a portal to another realm, where the mind became Jibberish and the ground, raw. I cannot speak of what took place in this realm, but it was only the first stage of comedy to come, it radiated laughter and anything within earshot was laughing along with us, even the trees seemed to laugh with every quick Witted joke that slid between the nylon of that tent.
The following morning came with sore backs, crusty eyes and delusional voices. The boys that entered the tent arose as men. It was a foggy morning where Chick-fil-a became our homestead in this collective dream state. A few morning dumps and an aggressively clogged toilet later, we set out for hotel 1. Josiah’s parents were waiting to hear of our tireless journey. By the time we had all showered in Josiah, Dylan, Matt and Wills room, we were recharged and ready to hit the beach. Unfortunately our other hotel room wasn’t to be ready until noon, so we planned to hang out on the beach until then. Assuming we’d only be out for an hour, I made the foolish decision to not use sunscreen. It wasn’t until 2:30 that our room was ready, so the sun had struck mine own fair skin, walloping weakness and fragility into my first few days of spring break. Though, during those days I refused to let the suns foul hand strike me into submission. The next day, Josiah, Dylan, Goose and I set out on a great longboard adventure where we explored the depths of St. Pete as we slayed monsters and hit mad grinds and slides. When we returned from our quest of greatness, those of us in room 2 returned to rest. Where I sat in battle with the foul and painful redness of my tender skin. With pain setting in as the aloe dried up, heat radiated from my tired torso as my head lay still on a hotel pillow. The morning came and my sunburn had begun to subside, and with a whole day of adventure ahead, we set out.
We spent some time on the beach and gozzled some glizzies for lunch. I bore witness to Druw and Jordan wrangling wild seahorses, riding them like rodeo bulls. We hit the hotel early to change and explore St. Pete that evening. In the search for grub-time we stumbled upon the St. Pete gran prix racetrack and walked the track as the sky bloomed in golden hour. The setting sun gently caressed the cheeks of Witt in pure grace and elegance. Collins was dropping it low and the spirit of Florida man, and Junior Mint was upon us as we had a night out exploring the town. Cigs and brews on the beach concluded the night.
The following morning my sunburn had made its departure and it was Goose’s birthday. The four of us from before set out on another longboard quest, this time across the city. We battled cougars and evaded the pigs as they tried to catch the 803 Fuck Train Gang lacking. Many miles and challenges later, our quest led us back to the others, where we then set out with Goose in a search for art. We stumbled on many great masterpieces where our infamous, “You are my Sunshine” photos were taken. I also coined my now classic, awkward, thumbs up smile photo. We traveled a great distance on foot in search for the perfect art, discovering favorites in our own respects. We ended such a wonderful night with a casual walk thru the streets of downtown St. Pete and traveled back for a peaceful nights rest. But for room 2, there was a different plan.
The sandman had struck us down that evening, all of room 2 was in deep sleep, all but one. In the wee hours of the morning, Witt was awoken by the jiggle of the door handle. We had already heard some freaky business the night before, but unlike the comical sound of cheeks clappin’, this sound caught Witt by surprise. “Who must that be?” he asked himself as he approached the door. Peering into the peep hole he quietly looked, and there he was, Señor Mint. Only spoken of in ancient Joonya lore, Señior Mint had taken on the persona of an old man who seemed to have gone to the wrong hotel room. Witt, having knowingly bore witness to the spirit of Señior Mint, returned to bed and slept peacefully, knowing he was watching over us. The following morning we were informed of the night visit and were elated of the blessing we’d received as Collins discovered a new box of Junior Mints deep within his bag.
That day, we split up as a group. Some went in search of greater art, but Druw, Will and I set out for greater objectives, food. Tucked away in a little shack, we chomped down on one of the greatest burgers we’d ever tasted. It was almost as if the food itself whispered sweet nothings to us as we ate it. We then took to the abode of some girls from back home, whose castle had us envious. That night we made dinner plans with them and sought out for gator nuggets.
While we stood in wait for a table around the crowded patio area of the restaurant, the DJ had one woman falling in love that night, and Goose it was with. This Siren had snatched our sweet prince from us in attempt to seduce his sweet cheeks! But our fearless king, Collins, came to his rescue, taking Goose by the hand, telling the Siren, “he’s mine ;),” saving him from certain step-fatherhood.
In the midst of subpar tourist seafood, in the presence of those we loved, the boys of Spring Break ’97 solidified a brotherhood never to be forgotten. Swearing events to secrecy, never to be spoken of outside the group.
At the same time I underwent much needed healing within my own heart. Somewhere between the secret jokes, random words and dirty memes, memories were made. As was peace. That week, I’d felt loved by those around me and through that I made peace with the wrong I’d done and the wrong done to me. My heart was being opened yet again and my bottle of feelings, thrown out. And though much of Spring Break ’97 is comical, and the reminiscence brings belly laughs still, I’ll be forever grateful for the gift I was given in that random and sporadic group of guys.