Miami Beach
After checking out, I wandered across the street and onto the crest of the dune which marked the beginning of the beach. Even though it was only just after 9 am, the white lounge chairs were filling with sun worshipers. Back on the street side of the dune, people were taking breakfast at the cafes, bistros and restaurants. Joggers lumbered along and small groups of roller-bladers glided effortlessly by. Both the car and people traffic was extremely low compared to last night. I wandered down the beach for a while and then back via the street. The large Art Deco temperature gauge was being used heavily by tourists as a prop for photos. It already read ninety-one degrees. The humidity was rising as well. It had certainly been far more pleasant on the beach, where a slight breeze fanned you.
The streets were quite all over Miami Beach. There was just so much Art Deco, and all of it was so well maintained. It gave me an inkling of what the rest of the world was trying to achieve during the 1920s. In most other cases, what is left of that period has been watered down to a dull set of architectural white-elephants. Here they still have an exciting energy, paying homage to an optimistic age where mankind felt he could achieve anything.
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Key West – Down Town
Key West marked the farthest point South in the USA, and the farthest point away from San Francisco. But I was not considering my outward bound trip complete until I reached Miami. When I awoke, I had to fight back the desire to jump straight in to the car and drive back up Route 1 to Miami, and to the turning point in my trip. A mental, calm and rational voice chipped in and first suggested, and then reiterated, that this may be the only time that I would ever be in Key West. Eventually,the rumbling in my stomach won over all else, and drove me to the nearest breakfast emporium. Thankfully this was next-door to my lodgings. As I filled in my diary, I momentarily reflected on the four-thousand plus miles that I had covered to date, and the twists of fate that had made the trip possible. I HAD to look around this key.
My mind made up, I slouched back in my chair and troweled the hash, eggs, sausage and OJ down my throat. I had twelve minutes before the next tour tram left.
The Everglades
Towards the end of yesterday’s drive, two weeks of almost continual driving started to take their toll on me. I pulled a muscle that made my shoulder and neck feel like a hot steel bar was being driven through them. The only time that I have ever experienced such intense pain was when I came off a bike and dislocated my shoulder. This may go some way to explaining why I was not so enthusiastic about the miles of countryside I had covered.
Today I awoke after a largely sleepless night. But thankfully, some of the fire had been extinguished in my left shoulder. I clambered in to the car, took a deep breath and set off.
I had arrived in Bradenton when it was almost dark and as a result had not seen the local vegetation. Now that I did, I realised that the area had a far more tropical look to it than the costline at my entry point to the state. There were palms, fig trees and banana plants. As I neared Port Charlotte I started getting a little frustrated at the Sunday Drivers. Gradually I noticed that the worst of them were actually quite senior in their years … And then I started to recall all the Retirement Resorts and Homes For The Elderly that I had driven by, between Panama City and this point. How come it did not strike me as unusual yesterday? There must be literally hundreds of them! Is this the Florida equivalent of the Elephant’s Graveyard?
Bradenton Beach
Landing in Bradenton marks the end of a rather long, rather uneventful, day of driving. It started on Panama City Beach – miles of white sand beaches, framing the Gulf of Mexico. It ended on Bradenton Beach – miles of white sand beaches, framing the Gulf of Mexico. Okay, there are more rolling dunes here and this area is a little busier. But the only real difference is that it is nearly twelve hours drive further down the road.
Before I left the Panama City area, I dropped by a Wal*Mart (US supermarket franchise) to pick up some toiletries. I found my dental floss, turned right at the bottom of the isle and stopped stock still, as my mouth fell open. Panama City’s Wal*Mart has one side of one isle dedicated to sun lotion (aka tanning cream, sun cream, etc.)!!!! I rallied, and attempted to look like I had just recognised some one I knew on the opposite side of the isle. Unfortunately my tortured mind was then confronted with the dietary aids isle. It was much smaller, but I was unaware that there were so many different chemically enhanced ways of burning fat. Slim Fast to bikinis is evidently the equivalent of honey to bees. A swarm or stylishly anorexic beach-babes devoured the shelf-stock. Wal*Mart evidently not only fills all your desires but you inadequacies too.
Back on the road, it was only a short time before I entered a forested area. This remained with me for the rest of the trip, broken only intermittently by marsh, scrub and what were labeled as glades (though I am pretty sure this has little to do with air freshener). Yes, the grass was green, the trees tall, the sky blue … but after the first five hours, it started wearing thin. This route is imaginatively named something like, “The Natural Wonder Route”. I would have been a little more enthusiastic, if I was walking through this area and had time to commune with Mother Nature. But I was not. Even the way that derelict road-side buildings had been consumed by the surrounding forest, only momentarily entertained me.
Panama City Beach
Today was a laundry day. This would not have warranted a mention, if it was not for the fact that, as my machine went into its spin cycle, the car’s alarm went off. This happens a lot. It goes off if you just lean on the trunk. But people were gathered by the window, looking out at the parking lot and shaking their heads. So, I got worried. When I got outside I saw that some guy in a cream van with wood-effect paneling had reversed into my car! A moment later a squad car arrived. The officer had been across the street when he saw it happen. My car’s driver side wing was a mangled mess. The van was unscathed. In many ways I was lucky because some how he had missed the wheel, the door and the lights. So, the car still works. I was also lucky that the police were there to control the situation, take information from us and fill out an official report. After a short time the original squad car was called away and another arrived to finish up the work. The man made some feeble attempt at pointing the blame at me but shut up when he saw the look on both the officer’s and my own faces. After the forms were filled out, the man and the squad car left, I put my washing in the dryer and started calling around to get the insurance claim on the way. Everyone was incredibly helpful. The other customers made reassuring comments and offered help. Even so it took a few hours before I could leave.
I felt like a nervous basket case and just wanted to get the hell away from Biloxi.
I10 over Swamp
The dark static of my mind flinched to the pulsing of the alarm clock. I sat bolt upright at the sound of the aforementioned clock hitting the opposite wall. Something deep in the sub levels of my mind must have been pretty desperate to keep the higher ones in the dark. Half an hour later, I was swilling down copious amounts of coffee in a feeble attempt to clear the fuzz from my head and the fur from my tongue.
A glance at the clock told me it was time to check out of The Prince Conti. Well, we can add New Orleans to my short list of places to visit again. One day was barely enough to scratch and sniff.
Destrehan Plantation Home
Another half hour past and I was lost in a concrete maze of roads trying to find the Route 48. A cunning plan surfaced through the mental-haze, and after only another twenty minutes I had rapidly eliminated two of my road maps as inaccurate and found the 48. When will the publishers of tourism maps stop printing these esthetically pleasing maps, which have no bearing on reality?!
Paddle Steamer
I was excited. An entire day of no driving and exploring New Orleans. I dressed so fast that Batman and Robin would have been put to shame, and then was about to bypass The Prince Conti’s Continental Breakfast, but the aroma of a fresh brew dragged me into the breakfast area. A pain au chocolate, three coffees and an OJ (sem Simpson) later and I was zig-zagging my way through the French Quarter streets on my way to Jackson Square and the Mississippi. It was magnificent. Other tourists wandered about, but I was pleasantly surprised at the number of people who appeared to live and work in the area. Most of the far right third of The Quarter is mainly residential and there were offices, shops and children playing in school yards. There was also live music on the streets and in the cafes. However, the main streets for night happenings were mainly shut and being hosed down in preparation for the coming evening.
At the Tolouse Street Wharf I watched real paddle steamers come and go with their burden of tourists. The riverfront Street Car trundled by and I decided that I was having fun. I tried desperately to pretend that I had not seen the Planet Hollywood and Hard Rock Cafe eateries, built into the Jackson Brewery building. But I failed. What is the point of being able to show people T-shirts proving that you have eaten the same burger all over the world?
Rayne home
It is a miracle. Today, I was on the road before 10 am! At the Northern tip of Galveston Island, I caught the free ferry to Port Bolivar. Despite the cloud cover, the air was warm. Hundreds of black-headed gulls skillfully swooped and dived over the stern as three young children threw balls of bread into the air. I stood on the public observation deck and watched this while Galveston shrank into the distance.
Last night its attractive mix of Victorian and Art Deco buildings – and the over priced souvenir shops and restaurants that they housed – where largely closed, waiting for the end of the month. Then the place is meant to become a world of crazy youth. From the few pictures I saw of previous seasons, I am thankful that I missed that craziness.
It was a very short trip, and on the other side I set off along Route 87. Today I was determined to follow the same strategy as on Monday; I would keep off the main Interstates as much as I could. I had purchased a more detailed atlas to help me in this quest. Most of the trip along the Bolivar Peninsula was through sandy wild life reserves and small, quite resort towns. I had brunch in Bridge City. Gary’s Family Diner was surrounded by pickup trucks and I drew some unusual looks as I walked through its clientele of “Good Old Boys”, on my way to an empty table. I was the only one not wearing a base-ball cap. My waitress had these incredibly long fake pink nails too. The chicken fried stake was pretty good though.
The USS Lexington
Today started out with an emergency dash to a pharmacist. I awoke with a bad case of gumbo-tum (the gumbo version of curry-tum – where the heat of the spices can be felt more potently on their way out than on their way in). I decided that it would be prudent to seek a cure prior to attempting any driving. I initially passed through the down-town area of Corpus Christi, but came up empty handed. I then tried the Cross City Freeway. This proved to be a success. It also explained the run-down state of the down-town area. This major thoroughfare is lined by every American chain and franchise. So it is likely that this area ceased much of the traditional down-town trade.
After getting the necessary tablets for my stomach, I headed back to the USS Lexington. It took me a good two hours, or so, to take the self guided tour. This air craft carrier came into service during the Second World War and was remained one of the US Navie’s heavy-weight work-horses until late into the 1980s. It survived suicide air raids, torpedo strikes and the longest sustained air bombardment. The elevators that take the aircraft from the hanger to the surface could comfortably accommodate the average home. I am quite sure that it is the largest ocean going vessel that I have been aboard.
The Alamo’s Chapel
Today was perhaps the easiest so far. My motel was already on the South-bound I35. I was fairly happy to leave this place. The pastel shades of pink made me feel like I had spent the night in a sensory deprivation chamber.
For the first time since my trip started, I was joined on the road by large numbers of other vehicles. Even though this meant that there was much jostling for position, the traffic still flowed at a very reasonable pace.
The blanket of yellow and purple flowers were still with me, only now they were joined by patches of crimson and the grass was fresh spring-green.
The weather has changed from clear blue skies with temperatures in the nineties, to overcast and perhaps sixty degrees. This is a bit of a relief.
I got off the Interstate in San Antonio, at Commerce, and headed straight for the Alamo. If it was not for the fact that a Mexican band were playing in the center of Alamo Plaza, I would have gone straight by. I found parking and then walked back. For some reason, I had thought that more of the original mission still stood. Instead, only the Long Barracks and Chapel survive with a number of original walls. What was once the drill area, is now the plaza area with souvenir and apartment stores. The Chapel and Long Barracks are beautifully preserved and house exhibits describing the development of the Alamo from early 1700s Spanish mission, to destruction during battle. I, like many of the other visitors, walked around in semi-silence. My mind was full of the stories I had heard about the heroic figures that gave their lives here for Texas. I was also rewarded with a display of David Crockett’s rifle. The legends surrounding the Alamo are as great as those of Greek and Roman times. But in this case we still have artifacts that can be proven to have belonged to the real people that became these myths.
