So that's it! I've done my 20 Glasgows. Now for a bit of a holiday. I'm off to the Atlantic.
Heading across the Florida panhandle to the coast, Dulcie elects to use I-10, and I choose US-90. We bicker about it the whole way. I finally fall silent and enjoy the scenery, but she nags relentlessly at every junction, maintaining, all the time, an icy calm. 90 runs right onto US-1 at the coast, so I reckon I don't need her help anyway. My aim is to take 1 down to St Augustine (emphasis on the last syllable, which rhymes with "bean"), then onto Florida A1A which runs right down the Atlantic coast (Did I mention I was going to the International Speedway at Daytona Beach for my hols?).
It turns out I'm really quite anxious to see the ocean, 'cos I get quite miffed when I can't. This being America, prime real estate with ocean views is not free, and has been sold off for big houses, condos and hotels. After quite a long way, I do eventually get a glimpse:
[n1148]and somehow I'm filled with relief.
Dulcie is now determined on I-95, and is issuing directions coldly, calmly and relentlessly. I'm beginning to enjoy ignoring her. Could this be what freedom is about?
It's not as warm as yesterday, but, inside the car, it looks like a beautiful Summer's day. Being 20-odd degrees south of where I usually am, the sun is actually at the mid-summer height I'm used to.
It's Biker Week in Daytona Beach, and soon I am joined by swarms of motorbikes, some of astonishingly exotic design. When I finally turn inland on US-92, I can hardly see the road for bikes. In fact, as I pass the International Speedway, the sun is starting to get low, and I can hardly see anything at all for flashing chrome.
Later that night, I fell straight into bed, exhausted. Because of the route, and the beautiful day, I forgot to stop (except, of course, for traffic signals). And Dulcie's constant barracking was quite tiring too: if I'd got lost, I'd never have heard the end of it.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment