Driving past Atlanta the first day proved well worth the effort as we slept in and rested the next day. I suppose one decision presupposes the other but I suspect lolly gagging in the morning was inevitable regardless of the destination and in this way the magnificent lights of downtown Atlanta were a memory without the dread of it’s legendary morning traffic.
Finally, I am well and truly in Coca Cola territory, far from Pepsi drinkers. A beverage so vile even prisoners decline its barbaric bubbles and loathsome flavor. Driving through Georgia offers nothing but glorious Coca Cola plants wizzing past the windows like fortresses. Castles regaled in red reassuring me that searching for my beloved Diet Coke, giver of life will no longer return in vain! All hail the home of Coca Cola!
Fuel for both man and beast quickly developed a rhythm as the miles passed below the Honda and progress was measured in coffee cups gathered during our regular visits to Loves Travel Stops. Clean, friendly, efficient, and pet friendly, these stops offered an oasis that quickly became a regular part of the trip.
I immediately began the boat search upon entering Florida! Imagine motoring over swamps and lakes searching for all manner of aquatic creatures. Unfortunately, Shannon didn’t share my enthusiasm and gently suggested we continue looking for a sailboat.
Despite the many water craft breaking up the monotonous drive down America’s southeastern dangling geographical appendage, time slowed inversely to our anticipation and the miles of interstate 95 stretched infinitely like a roiling Saharan mirage.
When would this end?
Thank heavens we purchased those seat cushions for old people at the truck stop.
Like all Michael Bay movies that fade to black not when the story ends gracefully, but when the financing just disappears for senseless explosions with closeup running cut scenes, this highway simply dumped us onto a tourist strip with the biggest Ron Jon surf shop in the world and simply walked away without explanation.
We drove around the Port Canaveral terminals and headed south towards Cocoa Beach and our apartment. A quick drive around the building built anticipation for Sunday’s move-in day and parking in our assigned space only enhanced the feeling of accomplishment. Henry leapt from the car and quickly claimed the location as his own.
We crossed the street towards the mangroves where the sound of surf carried through a small path carved through the foliage and sand. Our steps hurried as the view began opening up through the verge but Henry had one more pit stop to make and I was never so happy for sand as a compliment to my green sanitary pet bag.
Alas, the Atlantic sea stood before us, gently caressing the shore, waiting for our toes.
The first moment of any beach creates this pause in my mind as it stands uniquely different from all the others. I don’t know how this may be, but I know it’s true in my mind. The combination of smell, sand granulation, wind and wave fetch, curvature, sun approach angle… so many other features that I suppose could be measured. Regardless, they all stand unique in my mind and this too was a remarkable reward for many miles of travel.
