[4 p.m.] In less than 12 hours, Naples went from being one of the most finely-manicured cities anywhere to one of the world’s largest brush and tree limb dumps. I didn’t see a single home in Naples or on its beach that didn’t lose at least one tree or bush. Some of the bigger trees broke water mains when their trunks toppled over and roots came to the surface. Tomorrow, Naples’ mayor has told all city employees to come in casual clothes because they’re likely going to lend a hand in cleaning up debris.

If you own a house here, you have some yard work to do. People who evacuated their homes will be allowed back into town Tuesday at 7 a.m. and the first thing facing them will be yard work. If there’s one thing I absolutely dread, it’s doing yard work in Florida. I’d rather change 20 messy baby diapers—maybe even adult diapers—than mow the lawn. If I owned a home here, I’d consider not returning just to avoid the yard work. When I was a kid, I couldn’t understand why people had yards filled with rocks. They were so ugly and uncomfortable for playing tackle football with your friends. Now a homeowner myself, I know why these people, usually retirees, had rock yards. Those people were BRILLIANT. They never had to fire up a lawn mower, buy all those other expensive tools and kill themselves in the heat. They just had to open a jug of weed killer and spray every inch of their rock yard.

Of course, these were the same people who poured their bacon grease down city sewers, buried used motor oil in their backyard and opened cans of freon just for laughs.

Down at the beach, the first human I saw was 23-year-old Blake Crawford of Naples. His mom lived on one end of the beach and his granmother lived on the other end. To get to his grandma’s today, Blake had taken one of his mom’s contour sheets from the linen closet and turned it into a sail for his skateboard. Man, I remember 23 and doing fun stuff like that. Then, one day, I woke up, my skateboard was gone, Stroh’s beer was no longer $1.99 a six pack at Albertsons, MASH had been canceled and, worse, I had a full-time job.

At the Naples Pier, Wilma and the storm’s tidal surge had done a number on the beach. In fact, when I went down there, there really wasn’t much of a beach. The tide had come right up to the sea grape plants and there was hardly any sand to walk on. Just yesterday afternoon, people were here laying on a beach that was at least 50 yards wide.

[4:30 p.m.] Along the beach, streets are flooded and flattened palm trees are everywhere. I was a little surprised that I didn’t see a single police officer or cruiser out here. I suppose they had more important things to do, like get traffic lights out of the street, report downed power lines and keep an eye on Blake and that contoured sheet contraption of his. Wind power - ha! Whatever made him think he could use wind for a source of power? Oh yea, the hurricane that just caused millions of dollars in damage to Naples.

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[2 p.m.] On the 17-mile drive from Bonita Springs to Naples Beach, I couldn’t believe the number of trees that had been uprooted or snapped like twigs by Wilma’s winds. They will be cleaning up this stretch of US 41 for months. It seemed to me that anything planted by man less than a few months ago—and down here, where there is loads of development, that’s a lot—had been sucked out of the ground by Wilma. I saw some people out on US 41 with their own chainsaws cleaning up debris.

These were clearly just Joe Citizens who decided to pitch in for the good of the neighborhood. You know these type of guys. They just love any excuse to use their chainsaw. Hedge need trimming? Use a chainsaw? Need to knock down an old wooden fence? Chainsaw? Unnecessary amputation? Chainsaw. Whatever the job, this guy will tell you the chainsaw is always the best tool. Every neighborhood needs at least one guy with a chainsaw, you know? Of course, if that guy is wearing a hockey mask with his chainsaw, avoid him.

What really bummed me out was seeing this grand old banyan tree toppled over near downtown Naples. The odd thng is that I was at this very spot yesterday, when I stopped to ask directions to the beach. I parked near this same tree of the church parking lot and walked across the street to the Holiday Inn to ask how to get to the pier. When you see a tree this big, you think nothing could destroy it. But here it is a day later, laying on its side with a huge chunk of concrete sidewalk lifted off the ground when the roots became exposed. It was like an old heavyweight fighter getting KO’d by some newcomer named Wilma.

There was also plenty of businesses who lost awnings, roof shingles and signs. In fact, hardly any business in Naples and Bonita Springs appeared to have escaped without some damage. Except the PF Chang. They came through this clean as a whistle. Yesterday, they claimed they will be open at 4 p.m. today for happy hour. I don’t know how happy it will be with no electricity to cool the beverages. Over at the Borders books, one of their employees, no doubt a yet-to-be-discovered brilliant artist, forgot to bring in the outdoor cafe tables before closing last night. The result: one of the poles for the umbrella was lodged in their steel storm shutters. Bummer, dude. At least none of the books appeared injured.

This is along US 41, well off the coastline. Here, entire parking lots were under water, traffic lights were knocked down and anything you didn’t anchor or bring inside during the storm was likely not here today. I can only imagine what it’s like down at the pier on Naples Beach.

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[10:30 a.m.] In Bonita Springs along US 41, there is debris literally everywhere – tree limbs, awnings, lumber, garbage, business signs and anything else that couldn’t handle Wilma’s wrath. Everywhere you look there are uprooted trees or recently-planted trees bent at dramatic angles. There is going to be a rat-load of cleaning up to do in this part of Florida the next few days.

There’s also been flooding, although not as much as I expected. I guess the speed at which Wilma blasted through here last night and this morning helped minimize that. But I’ve only just started down Tamiami Trail and as I head south, it could be worse.
One thing’s for sure. If you were planning on the all-you-can-eat lunch buffet at the Bonita Springs Pizza Hut, forget it. The place is accessible only by canoe right now. And the car wash/oil change store next door better have some good insurance. It took a pounding from the wind. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Coke machine blown over by a storm. It usually takes three frat guys rocking it back and forth to knock over a vending machine. Wilma appears to be as strong as a million frat boys, maybe even a million inebriated frat boys after an all-night kegger and angry that their football team got beat.

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[8:30 a.m.] People here at my hotel are doing the best they can without power. You need flashlights just to walk down the hall and stairwell. The wind was blowing so hard, it pushed off the plastic cover of my air conditioning unit. There’s still some hot water but the hotel manager says it’ll be gone in a heartbeat if everyone takes a shower this morning. Some people are just sitting in their rooms with the door open to the hallway, sitting in a chair and watching Wilma’s wrath outside from their window.

By the way, this morning, I saw the guy that walked into my room last night by mistake. He works for NPR, not the Weather Channel’s Web site, as I first thought. See if I give anything to NPR during the next pledge drive.

As I gathered my gear to head out into this sideways rain and wind, everyone milling in the lobby looked at me like I was nuts. “That’s what they pay me to do,” I told the hotel manager as he unlocked the front doors. To which someone replied “They pay you to do crazy things?”

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[7 a.m.] The power went out at 4:35 a.m. here at my hotel on US 41 in Bonita Springs and once it came light, you finally could see the incredible force Wilma is packing. We’re supposedly on the weaker, backside of this hurricane but you could have fooled me. Looking outside, you’d have to be absolutely nuts to try venturng 10 feet from your front door. The wind is blowing the rain completely horizontal and debris is flying everywhere—palm frons, building materials and anything lighter than a pound—seems to be going airborne as winds gust up to 80 mph. It seems faster but that’s what the weather station here is telling me on my little battery-operated TV. Guess people won’t be getting their local newspapers today. This is when you realize the advantage of immediate news over fish & chip papers.

So I’m totally on battery here and the hotel’s internet connection is down. Should I complain about that to the hotel manager? Wait, is the manager even here? If I was the manager, I’d be home with my family and tell the guests “Ok, I’ll be back soon. Sorry, no continental breakfast today. Of yea, no electricity, either. I’ll be back when this blows over. There’s Pop Tarts under the front desk. Be good now and no looting.”

So it’s down to this wireless card in my PC. Yestersay, I was saying how fairly useless this card is to transmit anything other than text. Now, I’m glad I have it or I’d be dictating stuff to an editor by phone. The crazy reporter in me wants to get out there and get into this stuff. Why else am I here? But I just saw a hunk of plywood fly by my window and I’m thinking twice. If I had to describe this scene to someone, I’d say “uh, picture Dorothy sitting on her bed in the Wizard of Oz as her house gets lifted up and spun around by the tornado.” I keep waiting for the Wicked Witch of the West to come pedaling her bike through the air past me. But her flying monkeys? Even they’re not crazy enough to take on Wilma. 

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[2:30 a.m.] OK, this was so weird, I had to share it with someone—like the entire world on the Internet. I’m sitting in my hotel room, in the middle of a hurricane, talking to an editor back at the Tribune. And into my room walks this young guy with his suitcase looking at me with this blank expression. Apparently, the brilliant and hard-working front desk staff (you know, the ones that work the graveyard shift at a budget hotel, then go work for NASA in the morning gluing thermal tiles to space shuttles) had given him the wrong key. When I say “key,” I mean those horrible plastic cards that work one of out seven attempts in a hotel door.

The guy, who I believe was here working for the Weather Channel’s Web site, was apologetic and seemed a bit embarrassed. I acted like it was no big deal. I was, after all, still wearing shorts and even had a shirt on. But then I thought of the “what ifs.” Like, what if I had been, uh, taking a shower. Or at that this time of night, sleeping. If I was one of those types that sleep with a gun beside their bed, I could have blown his head off. And I believe there’s a new law in Florida that gives me the right to do just that. So let this be a lesson to you. Whenever you stay at a hotel during a hurricane, always, always put that little latch thing across the door. And always, always, ask the front desk if they’ve been sniffing glue lately. You could save you and your would-be intruder from a very awkward situation. 

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[2 a.m.] After days of relative calm, Wilma is finally lashing us here in Bonita Springs in the early morning hours of Monday. We’re getting strong winds and heavy rain, just like they predicted for southwest Florida. But Wilma is so gargantuan that she’s blasting nearly the entire Florida peninsula. With winds gusting over 30 mph here, the rain sometimes looks like it’s coming down sideways in the lights by the pool. I feel pretty safe here in this three-story hotel near U.S. 41, where I’m n the top floor. But I keep thinking about the little beach towns I’ve visited and people I’ve met the past few days and wonder how they are doing. If I was staying on Sanibel or Captiva right now, I’d be very worried, especially if I was there with my children. Maybe dawn will break and it won’t look so bad, but I’m not counting on that. Wilma is expected to make landfall near high tide and that’s not good for anyone just a few feet above sea level. Since I’m going to get up at 6:30 a.m., I should get some sleep. But now that something is finally happening, it’s going to be difficult to go to sleep. And I’m still waiting for the power to go out. The lights just dimmed a bit, and that tells me I could be writing on battery soon…

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[11 p.m.] After spending the day in Naples, I’ve switched base camp to a hotel about 12 miles north in Bonita Springs. The place is booked solid with all sorts of people—locals, tourists, kids and even pets. I just switched on the Weather Channel and meteorologist Paul Goodloe looks a little stunned when they hand him the latest update on Wilma: she’s regained strength to become a Category 3 again, with winds at 115 mph. There’s lightning and tornadoes breaking out across the state and I’m wondering if Wilma will strengthen even more before tomorrow’s expected landfall. It just goes to show you that will the advances in weather forcasting the last 20 years, these killer storms always have a large measure of unpredictability.

I keep looking at the radar on TV and looking outside my window and the two just don’t jive. It should be coming down sideways in sheets, but it’s fairly calm here with only occasional light rain and breezes. I have a feeling that when things turn sour, it will happen in a hurry. I’m wondering what things will look like here early tomorrow morning—and if we’ll have power at this hotel.

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[5:30 p.m.] As Wilma finally picked up speed and made that long-awaited northeast turn toward Florida, many locals here in Naples have finally picked up the pace and seem to have a sense of urgency. It’s been a weird 12 hours or so here. The day started sunny and warm. People packed the beach and hung out. But now, Wilma is definitely headed this way and people are getting off the beach. Even if she’s a weaker storm than the one that slapped Cancun silly, 100-plus mph winds still sounds fast.

Late this afternoon, heavy clouds rolled in and ended the sunshine beachgoers enjoyed earlier in the day. Heck, it even rained briefly. But I put an immediate stop to that by taking out my $7 poncho from CVS and putting it on. That or my umbrella never fails to stop rain. Good thing it stopped raining because when you’ve got a poncho on, you never, ever, ever look cool. Have you ever seen James Bond wear a poncho in any of his movies? Heck, no. The only guy that can look cool in a poncho is Clint Eastwood, in one of his spaghetti Westerns—and even then he has to waste a bad guy while smoking a stogie. And his poncho was dirty burlap with a gun under it, not this cheap plastic kind.

But I digress. Most of the locals—except, of course, the surfers—are leaving the beach. And local park officials closed the pier. They did that by placing a small chain across the boardwalk, like the kind they use when they close a check-out lane at the grocery store. Hate to tell them this, but that would only work in some place where people are obedient, like Salt Lake City (the only place I’ve ever been where pedestrians wait for the light to turn green before crossing a street when there’s no cars anywhere in sight).
I talked to a 20-something Naples native, Harper Simpson, who was hanging out at the pier watching the surfers. He said last year, when Charley roared through, they came out to the pier and it was covered in water. Some of the boards even popped loose from waves pounding it. They hopped the little chain and went out on the pier, which extends 100 yards or so into the Gulf. Not sure if I would try that one unless I was 20-something again, too. And that ain’t happening.

[6:30 p.m.] What is it with people and cameras? Many don’t seem to know the difference between my still camera and one of those giant, Soviet-era television cameras you see being lugged around everywhere here by TV crews. I think what throws them off is when you put a still camera on a tripod. I walked around downown Naples and the beach today with my Canon on a tripod, so I could take some of these panoramic photos for this Web log. (If you haven’t seen them, got to the main page and check them out). Apparently, when you put a still camera on a tripod, it transforms it into a television camera. I never knew this until about a half dozen people yelled at me today “Hey, I want to be on TV!” Others just honked their car horms and practically hung out of their windows waving to me—like I was broadcasting live from Naples.

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[11:30 a.m.] So far on my journey down Florida’s west coast, I’ve been just about the only goober with cameras. But today in Naples, it appears I have hit the epicenter of the Hurricane Wilma action—well, at least in terms of how many TV trucks and cameras are here. Thing is, it’s partly sunny here on this Sunday morning and the beach is bustling with swimmers, sunbathers, surfers, skim boarders and, of course, THE MEDIA. I figure the ratio between beachgoers and media is about 5 to 1, which is better than the plastic surgeon-patient ratio of Beverly Hills. Gee wiz, who isn’t here? PBS? Telemundo? Discovery Channel?

I’ve also seen my first sign of fellow Media General journalists—the News Channel 8 team satellite truck! I’ve been waiting for this little eventuality, the point where we cross paths. To me, this means I need to sprint in the opposite direction. But before I go, I gotta make sure to let the air of their tires so they can’t follow me. This is like being at the Olympics and seeing one of your paper’s writers at the same event. The Olympics are so big with so many good stories, no two journalists from the same company should ever be in the same place at the same time.

I came down to the pier half hoping to see Florida State grad Stephanie Abrams, now a star at the Weather Channel. To me, that would mean I’m in the bowels of the storm coverage if I could just touch the hem of her Weather Channel-issued garment. She’s been broadcasting the last three days from the pier in Naples but when I got here, no Stephanie, no cameras, no lights, so sound guy, no makeup artist. What gives? Is she doing this like Rob Corddry of the Daily Show, where he pretends to be reporting from the White House or a mosque in Baghdad when he’s really just standing in front of a rear-screen projection in a New York studio? Believe me, I won’t rest until I get to the bottom of this important story. I could be on to some big cover-up here.

[12:15 p.m.] I just met a guy who went by the name of Ryan Pereira, who, when asked where he was from, made it sound like he didn’t live in any one place. CIA? Maybe. Actually, he once lived here in Naples—for nine years. He calls Miami his home base now but he still remembers a hurricane that threatened Naples after he had just moved here. He said the media made a big deal of the storm during the build-up coverage, then the storm weakened and all Naples got was some rain. Seeing how many media types are here, it’s easy to see why people would get worked up, rush out and stock up on non-perishables like canned food and Twinkies (seriously, have you ever eaten a stale Twinkie? No. That’s because they have so many preservatives and Polysorbate 80 in them they could last through several hurricane seasons).

[1 p.m.] Oddly enough, the surf doesn’t seem as good today as yesterday. The swells are not as consistent and they’re not as clean here at Naples’ pier. That may have something to do with the shoreline here compared to that of Wiggins Pass, just up the road. I couldn’t get over how many girls were surfing. Most were on the easier-to-ride longboards but I did meet one Naples girl on a short board who was a pretty darn good surfer. She once went to school at Flagler College in St. Augustine, where my surfing sister lives. She said she had to miss yesterday’s better waves because of work. She said she didn’t even allow herself to drive down to the beach and look at the waves because she knew she would get in the water. Bummer. Good waves here only come once every hurricane, which lately seems like every other week of the summer and fall in Florida.

[1:45 p.m.] Most of the businesses are boarded up, but I still see people with plywood in their trucks TODAY. Where’d the get plywood 24 hours before the storm’s scheduled arrival and why are they waiting until now to do this? The Home Depot I saw here still had some plywood piled up and there was no lines. I can remember last summer in Tampa, when hurricanes were seemingly everywhere on the west coast. They had to put security guards by the front door to monitor the lines in case it got violent over plywood. Not in Naples. People here seem to be a little more mellow. And from the looks of the homes along the beach, they can afford to be mellow—and have someone install their plywood for them. There are some grand old Florida homes here, mixed in with some McMansions. But for the most part, it’s pretty tasteful. It reminds me a bit of Pass--A-Grille on St. Pete Beach, only bigger and more expensive. And just like Pass-A-Grille, it would all be washed away if it took a hit from a serious hurricane. Everything here seems so low and so close to the water. Even downtown Naples is only about a mile from the nearest beach.

[2:10 p.m.] The city of Naples did something crazy here: they passed sign ordinances. Unlike Tampa’s 15-mile long eyesore, Dale Mabry, you can’t have business signs the size of Mount Rushmore along U.S. 41. From an esthetics point of view, that’s a great thing. But it also makes it hard to find anything, too because nearly every building on this road looks as if it came out of the same mold, all topped with mission-style tiles and all landscaped with the same hedges and lawns. It’s kinda creepy. Maybe one huge ugly road through your city is the better alternative. Of course, Tampa has more than one, if you count Fowler, Hillsborough, MLK, Bruce B. Downs…

Ok, gotta go file some photos for you from all this non-hurricane action...You Stay Classy, Naples.

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[5:30 p.m.] It’s not on any of my maps. I just stumbled upon Delnor-Wiggins Pass State Park on my way to Vanderbilt Beach near Naples. So I pulled in, paid my $3 to the park ranger and had a look around. After walking through 50 yards through dense sea grapes and pines, there it was: yet another unspoiled Florida beach with white sugar sand and only a handful of human beings. Of course, Wilma had a lot to do with the lack of crowds. In fact, the ranger told me the park will be closed Sunday as the county prepares for evacuation ahead of Wilma.

The park’s lone concession stand is named “Hurricane Charley’s Hideaway” and, not surprising, it was closed. But unlike Bonita Beach, where they were trying to discourage folks from coming to the oceanfront, at least the bathrooms at Delnor-Wiggins were open for business.

This park sits on a barrier island, separated from the mainland by swamps and creeks. There’s a wilderness hammock, viewing tower, bathhouses, changing stalls and outdor showers. Boats can launch from here, too. But the only craft I saw braving the four-foot waves were jet skis ridden by teenagers. These kids were getting some serious air motoring into the face of the waves and soaring straight up. Of course, it is a bit noisy. But the waves were breaking so loudly, you hardly noticed the jet skis.

[6:15 p.m.] Of course, I met more surfers here, including 38-year-old Neal Shaw or Orlando. He works for a construction business which, among other things, is helping rebuild Malfunction Junction in Tampa. Neal came out this morning to surf this break and he had stayed ALL DAY. He has come over to Florida’s west coast to surf the waves pumped in by hurricanes Rita and Katrina. And now, as a late-season bonus, he got waves from Wilma.

“I thought it [waves from hurricanes] was all over but I kept praying “please, let there be more,’ “ Neal said. “And then, out of nowhere comes Wilma. It’s just been great because all of those hurricanes made their best waves on the weekend, when I’ve had time off to surf.”

Neal said he came out this morning to Wiggins Pass and he couldn’t believe hs eyes. There was a favorable offshore breeze, the swells were glassy and, best of all, they were hundreds of yards long.

“You could just ride and ride,” Neal said.

Neal says he’s also an avid outdoorsman and was planning to camp overnight at Big Cypress National Preserve, then return in the morning for more waves. The park will be closed but Neal plans to walk down the mile-long beach from the public access spot to surf Wiggins pass again. With the water a comfy 81 degrees and no sign of the dangerous rip tide that plagues many of Florida’s best surfing spots on the east coast, I kept thinking “dude, I wanna dump all these cameras and get out there for some tasty waves.” Maybe I can find a surf shop to rent a stick, but I got a feeling today was the day to surf here. By Sunday, the waves and current might start geting a little dicey for an old man like me.

[7 p.m.] Ok, it’s time to prepare for a change of base camps, from Fort Myers to Bonita Springs. I’ve got to pack and get my cameras, computers and video gear ready for what we’ve all been waiting for: Wilma’s arrival. It’s hardly rained at all down here and I’ve already lost two pieces of equipment. The first was my prized fisheye lens, which fell out of my monster truck after I opened the door and hit the pavement. If it had dropped out of my Honda Civic, it probably wouldn’t have suffered much more than a scratch. I figure it’s payback karma for all the ozone I’ve killed with this 9 mile-per-gallon beast the last three days. And today, for some unexplained reason, my two-month-old Canon GL2 video camera decided to go heywire. What’s going to happen to these cameras when the downpour starts? Good thing I brought along backup equipment. But if that stuff goes, you folks are going to have to be satisfied with ye olde fashioned written word. And I don’t think anyones likes that idea.

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[1:30 p.m.] Diane Manchester moved to Bonita Springs just four days ago. She left her home in Rhode Island and bought a place in an over-55 mobile home park. She brought her 100-pound Labrador, Giallo, with her. Knowing they will likely have to evacuate her park, she’s already gotten a hotel room close by. Giallo’s back at the mobile home enjoying the air conditioning while Diane goes back and forth with personal items. Eventually, she’ll have to figure out where Giallo can go because most hotels don’t allow pets. Diane says she was getting pretty depressed about the situation last night until she saw people in her development that had nowhere to go, either because of age or infirmity.

“I don’t want to wish this storm on anyone, but if it has to go somewhere, I hope it goes to the Everglades,” Diane said. “I know there’s wildlife there, but animals know how to take care of themselves in the wild.”

I’m not so sure about that one. Like, where would a raccoon go in a hurricane? I’m normally not a big fan of AM radio—or any radio for that matter—but I happened to hear Rush Limbaugh talking about this same issue the other day while I was driving down here. He seemed to take issue with people who were concerned about wildlife during this hurricane. He said we should be worried about people in a hurricane. I’d like to think humans have enough compassion to be concerned about species who can’t build their own Motel 6.

[2:45 p.m.] I found Gail Ogle walking down the beach here with her niece, 12-year-old Christina Bailey, and her nephew, 6-year-old Robert Hall. Gail had something we’ve seen on beaches the last 30 years or so: metal detectors, aka “bits of worthless metal junk finder.” But it seemed fun for the kids, who manned the shovels everytime Gail heard a good beep.

Gail’s in her 40s and is a lifetime resident of this area—a Naples High grad—and she says she just doesn’t have that feeling in her gut like she did last year with other hurricanes, like Charley.

“If something’s coming, I get this feeling in the pit of my stomach,” Gail said. “But with this hurricane, I just don’t have that feeling, at least not yet.”

Gail and the kids were among the dozens of people on Bonita Beach today. Like so many other stops I’ve made along the way, there’s no signs of impending danger. The only hint of Wilma are these nice swells she is pumping on to the beaches the last two days. Here, surfers have turned up, mostly longboarders. I think the real serious surf dudes and dudettes are at some nearby jetty because I don’t see any Christian Slater types out here. I did meet one young surfer, T.J., a Fort Myers resident covered in tatoos, who was looking for better waves. He thinks the big stuff will be coming Sunday. After that, the surf might get too rough and choppy, not the tyoe that makes for long rides. For now, however, the waves are near-perfect—clean, long and packing a little power.

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[11 a.m.] There’s just something very trustworthy about Kelly Goernd. He’s got a straw hat, a firm handshake and he wears no-nonsense, straightleg Levis with work shoes. He’s here just south of Fort Myers selling generators for his Montana-based Al Pro Power Equipment (they’re even building themselves a dern-good Web site, http://www.allpropower.com). And despite his showroom being the side of the road on Tamiami Trail, I believe him when he says his generators are better built and will last longer than the ones you find at local mega-home improvements stores like Home Repo.

I must not be the only one who buys this story because just yesterday, Kelly sold 15 generators from this desolate spot and some of these babies cost close to $1,300. Whether anyone will actually need these generators is another story. Wilma appears to be weakening and some predict the storm could be a Category 1 storm by the time it gets here. Of course, if Fort Myers is anything like Tampa, where all it takes is a gentle breeze to knock out your power, folks might need Kelly’s dynamos. I’d buy one of these babies, but I don’t think there’s a line on my expense report for such items. Oh, wait, here it is: “Miscellaneous.”

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[8:30 a.m.] I don’t know about you, but the pace of Wilma is starting to make me feel like Bill Murray in “Groundhog Day.” It’s the same weather here in southwest Florida day after day—overcast, hot, humid and occasional light rain. Wilma, can we just get this over with? It’s like waiting your turn for the neighborhod bully to stomp you for your lunch money.

But if you think things are mind-numbingly repetitive for you, pitty those folks at the Weather Channel. They must want to run outside their studio and scream at the heavens. They have entire segments about Hurricane names and the Greek names they’ll have to use if we get beyond Hurricane Zelda. And how long can they give the same information on Wilma over and over keep Mike Seidel chained to a lamp post in Key West? That poor guy has been standing in the same spot for what, a week now? Occasionally, they fly in Jim Cantore to Key West, wearing his usual extra-small T-shirt and ball cap, to make it seem like Wilma is about to strike. But we all know he’s only there for a couple of margaritas and then it’s back to his private Lear Jet for the 50-minute flight to his mansion in Atlanta.

Hey, but to break up the monotony, the Weather Channel goes absolutely wild with its studio decor on the weekends by rolling out couches and comfy chairs for its anchors. And they apparently allow weekend anchors to go nutbar, too, with a relaxed dress code. For the guys, it’s no neckties and sport coats. For the ladies, it’s casual Ann Taylor pantsuits and dresses. But not for hurricane expert Dr. Steve Lyons. That dude has his game face “ON!” 24-7. He keeps the tie and stern voice every time he gives us his report, which is the only new information we ever get.

OK, time for me to do the same thing the Weather Channel does—tell you what’s going down here over and over. 

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[4 p.m.] As a fan of surfing, I’ve been waiting and waiting to see the first decent-sized swells from Wilma reach Florida’s southwest coast. Finally, on this way-off-the-beaten path near Captiva, the waves came. OK, they weren’t exactly the kind you find at Hawaii’s Pipeline. But when it comes to surf on the Gulf of Mexico, beggars can’t be choosers.

Despite the waves being just three to four feet, a crowd of a dozen or so surfers turned up here to take advantage of this rare opportunity. I half expected to see my hardcore surfing sister, Nancy, here shredding these waves. When we were kids in St. Pete, she would drive her Volkswagen Beetle ANYWHERE in Florida with less than 10 bucks for gas to get waves. Which is why she moved to St. Augustine. Upon further inspection, there was no sign of my sister but the sight of surfers always brings back good memories. Some people think they’re crazy to go out in the surf before a hurricane, but I understand their love of the sport—and their desparate desire for waves.

Meanwhile on the beach, tourists seemed oblivious to the surfers. They were more interested in the shells. And I have to admit that down here, you see the kind of shells you never see on Pinellas beaches or the East Coast of Florida. There are some amazing ones here, the kind you pay money for in a tourist shop on Corey Avenue in St. Pete.

[4:30 p.m.] Speaking of shell collectors, I met a 68-year-old one named John Malley. He’s from Simsbury, Connecticut, and came down here with his wife yesterday despite knowing full well there was a huge hurricane possibly headed this way. They come every year to Marco Island but since that spot has been evacuated, they went to stay in Fort Myers. If they have to leave their hotel there, Malley says they will go to a shelter. He, however, believes in what the experts at the National Weather Services in Miami are prediction might happen: Wilma’s slow progress could send it well south of its projected path, possibly across the Everglades.

[5 p.m.] I can’t get over the number of Brits here. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I was in Picadilly Circus in London. Well, a Picadilly Circus with bugs and humidity. You have to admire the English attitude. They know a storm could pummel their vacation destination. But until someone tells them they have to leave, they’re going to have a good time. I came across another British family cycling down all these miles of paved bike trails alongside the road here in Captiva and Sanibel. They were on rentals and essentially in the middle of nowhere. But there they were, pedaling away, laughing and looking like there was no looming danger.

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