I was enjoying Hawaii, the beach at Waikiki was quite an experience. Pretty ladies everywhere, I just basked and took in the sights.
I quickly decided I wanted to see the rest of the islands, though, so I booked a flight to Kailua-kona on the big island.
I had a handful of brochures and a suitcase when the plane landed, that was it. I will always remember that landing, we hit so hard that the overhead doors popped open and bags went flying everywhere.
Just a bit harder and it would have had to have been called a crash landing. Lucky there was only a dozen of us on board, no one was hurt.
I walked over to where the car rentals were, a whole row of them to serve a dozen people. I got a beat up little Toyota and off I went to see the sights.
It was a couple of miles from the airport to the little town, this was about 1976 or so, the place was quiet back then.
"Sleepy little fishing village" the brochures said.
I pulled into the motel down by the seawall, got my room. I don't remember the name of it, it wasn't much. But it was right there on the ocean.
I settled in, looking sidelong at what was supposed to be a bed. I knew my 6'1" and 245# frame was going to be uncomfortable, but oh well.
Across the street was a bar, I wandered over and ordered a Ginger Ale. There was a few couples, some locals snuggled up to the bar drinking out of tiny little Miller's bottles.
I sat over in the corner by myself, just enjoying the warm weather, trying to figure out where to go and what to do next.