I love wave runners. My lovah loves wave runners. So much so that we have been tempted to buy them several times, and only haven’t because A. we lack a place to store them properly and B. we don’t live on the water… yet. So when visiting the Keys (one of our favorite places to Seadoo, by the way) and some dude with an Irish accent says he offers “relaxing tours of the Island on wave runners…at your own pace… for 20% off” we were WAY on board!
We arrived at the shack and Irish guy was nowhere to be found. They
wouldn’t couldn’t take our 20% coupon we just got that morning even though they said they would when we reserved the tour. The weather seemed a bit foreboding, but we were assured, “Nah, that’s nothing – the tour is still on, man!” After being issued a life preserver that smelled like a giant foot, we all (about 10 of us) followed Cheech and Chong on our cracked up wave runners. Cheech gathered us about 50 feet out from the shore and told us that we would all follow each other in a line, and to read his hand signals, ya know “for safety.” Then the bitch proceeded to tear outta the lagoon at what looked like 1700MPH leaving everyone in his ocean mist dust.
At that point, I was thinking… “Man, it sure feels like someone’s going to die today, but maybe I’m just getting use to the waves or something.” Smith was booking it on our wave runner to catch up with the asshat tour guides and I am certain in my fight to stay on the back of that thing that I pulled out several of his nut hairs.
The ocean was so volatile that we were hitting waves at about 60MPH then shooting up into the air and dropping at least 5 feet… every five seconds. Some swells going by made our view of the now grain-of-sand-sized tour dudes obsolete. Cheech eventually stopped about 25 minutes into the “tour with breathtaking views and vistas.” He addresses the group:
“Yeah so you guys need to go faster and keep up with me. It gets smoother if you go really fast. (Note: It does not.) Also it looks like we got some pretty severe weather happening right now that we didn’t know about when we left (even though EVERYONE was ASKING before we left) so make sure you avoid the lightning, and it’s probably gonna get pretty bad and… so let’s go!” That’s right, “avoid the lightning.” Because lighting is predictable as shit, said no one ever.
Just then a wave turns our wave runner over and we go flying unexpectedly through the deep silent abyss. When I make it to the surface all I hear is commotion and Cheech yelling “OMG ITS IN THE WATER!!! ITS IN THE WATER!!!” At which point I assume “it’s” a shark because the tour guide is screaming like a crazy person. “It” ended up being some sunglasses and if I hadn’t just been rocked to the core at the thought of being eaten alive I would have slapped this bitch like they used to slap women in the olden days to calm them down.
Smith talked me into getting back on the shit taco to finish the tour (I had already begun to swim the mile or so to shore after this fiasco). We rode for about ten minutes before we got trapped in a thick pocket of fog rolling in and had to drift in the stormy sea for about 30 minutes. You couldn’t see the shore or other boats or… anything but whoever was right next to you. For me that was a couple of Seadoos and a hand full of Smith’s nut hairs. It was during this time that I saw psycho tour guide’s assistant, Chong, floating around eating a muthafugging homemade sandwich. How the heck did he get that out there? AND WHY DIDN’T HE BRING ENOUGH FOR EVERYONE?!?!
End result is, we didn’t see anything scenic, and we feared for our lives for *three and a half* hours on our *two* hour tour. If you’re in the Keys, unless you KNOW it’s a beautiful calm day, SKIP THIS SHIT! Don’t listen to sweet-talking Irish guy. His pot-o-gold is full of lies!