You hear me and you push. You push me! Then you touch me. You touch me but I push back. I pushed back! Hard! I shoved my pole into the murky waters and hit the muddy bottom, and I pushed. Hard like Huck. Gentle like Jim. Until I was floating, softly spinning into your liquid brown eyes. Your eyes! I looked over the waterfall and into your eyes. Your eyes! And I jumped!
Which is the poetry slam way to say that a road trip well traveled is a thing of both careful planning and carefree spontaneity. Sometimes we have a destination and sometimes we just float around accidental-like on a breeze. Maybe we play it both ways at the same time. Maybe we have to. Maybe this is the only way to travel.
After our heroics at Cape Canaveral, for no particular reason we drove northward and lingered in the great little seaside tourist town of
The famed conquistador Ponce de Leon rolled ashore here a few generations back (in the year 1513), looking for the fabled Fountain of Youth. These days, $6 buys you admission to the fabled fountain, a
The waters must work because
Since the curative waters of The Fountain of Youth didn’t kill us, we tempted fate again by venturing upstream and inland into the dreaded
After a danger-filled morning, it so happened that our day was far from over! Just as we gained the high ground of
… that ended with a poetry slam...
... and a noisy night's sleep on the streets around
In the morning, we talked microbuses with the locals and rode our bikes to most of the 20 or so town squares. Like a box of chocolates, you never know which one you’ll like best.
But like a poet going on too long in front of an open-mic, the day didn’t end there. We consulted the map, changed our minds, changed then again, then, for no particular reason, we headed inland again to wander Georgia and South Carolina's farm roads...
... and small towns.
When we were hungry, we ate. When where tired, we slept.
Today, the trail ends in the olde-tyme resort town of
From here, it’s on to the