The weather is telling me I can no longer delay going north. I've decided I can make it to Savannah, Georgia today, up US-1 to Jacksonville, then following the coast on US-17. North out of Daytona beach, there it is:
[n1351] It says I've had my little holiday, and very enjoyable it was too, but this is the road home. This is wrapping things up, collecting my thoughts, preparing for re-entry. I need a demob suit, and counselling, but, as ever on this trip, I have to provide all that for myself.
In fact, fulfilling some perverse need to stay close to the Atlantic for a while, I'm not actually going to Savannah. I'm passing right through it, heading for a holiday resort called Hilton Head Island, where I've marked out a reasonably cheap motel.
It's an uneventful journey, except for the joy of ignoring Dulcie, whose Interstate obsession continues unabated. US-17 joins forces with I-95 for the trip through Savannah, allowing her a bit of relief, so I don't really get to see the place at all.
Later that night, I toddle off to look at the ocean again, but the journey had taken seven hours, which was way more than I expected. At these latitudes, night falls pretty abruptly, and the ocean is shrouded in darkness. I repair to the recommended bar (the recommendation came from the young man packing up the "tourist help" stand. He tells me it has "music and (here he gets excited) girls". I try to explain the concept of 'grown-up' but he happily tells me that's how he feels, because his lady-friend is all of 49. I tell him that's a very doubtful grown-up, and he looks confused). Once again, I'm confronted with a row of taps offering some of the best beers in America on draft, including no less than three from the wonderful Sweet Water Brewery in Atlanta, which I first encountered in Birmingham AL (that's me practicing some recall!). I enjoy the soda water instead. Well, I don't actually, but nevermind, eh?
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