ON THE BEACH (296 Miles)

Feeling slightly like Douglas Fairbanks I left the Colony Hotel and went to their beach club. Delray Beach along with Boca Raton and seemingly quite a number of the towns on the east coast of Florida like to have their “exclusive” bits. Money talks. Being a guest in the hotel meant you had free access to their club a couple of miles away.
Found it. Signed in and was walking towards the beach when a suspicious staff member spotting a rather grimy unshaven looking bloke with food over his shirt asked.
“Can I help you?” With all the terrible subtext that that involved:
“What are you doing here? We don’t like your sort here. Looks to me like you area trouble maker or worse have no money and you re making the place look scruffy”.

“No I’m fine thanks”
“You signed in?”
“Yes I have actually giving him just a slight whiff of what my 1000 yards stare can do.
When I left the club an hour later I noticed that he had printed my name next to my signature. He obviously didn’t trust me and had phoned his bosses for orders.

I went and sat in a beach chair and watched the boats go by. I also decided to go for a swim. Alas I had forgotten to change before I left the hotel but thought never mind it is hot I will dry out. So went in with my shorts on anyway. The sea was dead calm and like a bath.
Lay on the beach for a while and then decided to head on up the coast.
On the way to Orlando I stopped off for something to eat at an independent chain and decided to plump for the “Coney Island Style Foot long” It was a hot dog and came with “slaw” which was terrific.
The waitress was chatty friendly and terrifyingly unaware.
“Where you from?
“England”
“I got Uncles and Aunts who live there”
“Oh really where abouts?”
“Uh no idea”
“Ah”
“I visited England once”
“Oh really. Where did you go?”
“Can’t remember”
“Ah”
“What’s your job?”
“I work for the BBC”
“Who are they?”
“You never heard of the British Broadcasting Corporation. You never watched BBC America?”
“No”
“You intending to stay in this town forever? “ I asked.
“No I just graduated from college and with the job I intend to do I can do it anywhere…I want to be a marine biologist”

WE ARE DOOMED!
Was making rather good time so didn’t want to arrive at Orlando airport with hours to kill before the Dark Lady Arrived at around midnight so I carried on along the coast until I reached Cocoa Beach.
This is a stones throw from the Kennedy Space Centre. So all the shops and the roads had a theme:
“Grissom Boulevard”. “Apollo Realty” “Minutemen Road”. You get the general idea.
I had dried out by now so it seemed a good idea to have another swim. Pulled of the highway at the 8th St entrance to the beach and noted a row of parking meters. No such thing as a free swim here.

Sea rougher and not quite as warm but still tepid. It was terrific with very few people about. Here I made a slight mistake.
I have been crowing about the “Acme box that hangs around your neck to keeps stuff in.
It did its job admirably once again. This time I left my sandals and my shirt etc in the car and just had the box with the car key in and my shorts on.

I had been regularly slathering on the factor 30 on my face and arms however had omitted to do my torso. Ten minutes in the sun and when I got undressed that evening I had the pattern of a box on a lanyard on my body where the skin had been protected. The rest of my body was red. Not burned but red. Just goes to show the power of the sun.
As I left after me swim and contributed once more to the “dune” of sand now growing in the foot well of the car I noticed a message from someone who obviously didn’t have the benefit of the “Acme box around you neck to hold stuff in”

I was about 40 or so miles from Orlando and the GPS managed to not only negotiate all the toll roads but even took me past Valet parking for the airport hotel and into the DIY cheap seats parking for guests which was only a few feet from the hotel entrance. As I mentioned in a previous blog. Due to the poor exchange rate. I am not living as high on the hog as I have done when £=$2.
A slight hiccup with the toll booth as I found myself without change in the “exact money” lane. Nothing for I with the traffic building behind me and that was to drive through. It was barrier less so I didn’t do the “Nazi Blitzkrieg sweeps into Poland” newsreel footage job. However. A fair few alarms went off as I gingerly drove past the stop sign and pulled up on the hard shoulder to let the traffic go.
Dodging the traffic I went to the only manned booth and asked the operator what to do. He gave me change. Walked back threw it into the hopper and drove off.
I am sure all this is on CCTV when the Florida Interstate authority tries to fine me for running a red light at the toll booth.

Mounting excitement and a bath and a shower later and I am checking the arrivals board every five minutes.
11.12pm half an hour early. The Dark Lady appeared. It was great to see her.
Judging by some of your comments on Twitter.
You can guess the rest.

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DERE’S WHERE DE OLD FOLKS STAY (220 Miles)

“What you havin’ hun?”

Said Rose.
I had left Key West an hour or so before and the mid-morning gripes were affecting my vitals.
The Blue Lagoon Motel Resort didn’t provide free breakfast so I decided to head out and stop en route somewhere.
The day was grey and a little overcast with the odd spot of rain.
Going back up the Keys I think the view was slightly better, even if the weather wasn’t. (see a map of my travels so far here)

Stopped at the Cracked Conch Café in Marathon about half way up. Three egg omelette with sea food. Not sure what was in it, though it did promise conch and shrimp and other seafood bits.
I enjoyed it with toast and home fries rather than fruit. Not keen on that whole sweet and savoury thing they do. That is why I have resisted pancakes with maple syrup so far on this trip.
Looking at the reviews of the place just before I sat down to write this, they are “mixed” to say the least.
The place has no air conditioning so all the doors and windows were wide open. This is a small source of irritation to me. Ever the anal retentive, if I am alone I love to read the paper as I eat.
The Miami Herald like many of the newspapers here is printed on very thin paper and it is in a broadsheet format. End result it is like a sail.
Also, for some reason American newspapers seem to spread the stories over different pages and different sections.
Probably harks back to the old cliff hanger days of the West or the western.
It has been a running gag for years in the show and on the blog about the dying cowboy expiring before he can tell where the gold is hidden. Still makes me chuckle.

In newspaper terms it would be:
“The gold is…is….. “(Cont’d Section B page 6)
So every time you try and read a story you have to do a lot of searching and a massive amount of folding in order to get the details.

“Gulf oil latest. BP today…” (State D5)
“Evangelicals frown on yoga…” (Lifestyle C6)
“Billionaire facing 30 years in jail over DUI death…” (National. B3)
Try doing this with a howling gale and a fork in one hand!
Rose was attentive and kindly.
“I’ll get to you before my big party arrives” she promised.
When I left half-an-hour later there was still no sign of any big party.
She was wearing a T-shirt exhorting you to vote for a political candidate. The back of the shirt said “VOTE”; the front told you for whom.
I am an old fashioned Englishman at large in a foreign country.
Rose was probably in her late 50’s.
No, this was not a branch of “Hooters” and no, I wasn’t going to stare at her front in an attempt to get all the details for this blog. Back to one of the T-shirts from yesterday:
“Please stop your breasts pointing at my eyes”
Full of conch, egg and other seafood-related stuff, I carried on north.

Today was going to be a dawdling day. I reckoned an easy drive would be to Boca Raton.
Fairly hellish on the interstate with traffic jams and about $6 worth of tolls to pay until I arrived.
I settled on this place as it resonated with me. I had heard of it but was not entirely sure why.
When I arrived, I knew immediately.
You need money to be here. A look at the Wikipedia (so not necessarily 100% accurate) list of its residents and you know why the seafront road seemed to be a mass of gated properties and “Clubs/Resorts”. Valet parking and uniformed flunkies and barriers and security were in evidence everywhere.
Jon Bon Jovi. Jason Bonham. Jennifer Capriati. Andy Roddick . Bernhard Langher and Chris Evert apparently live here. Ernie Wise had a place here too.
No point in stopping here, I thought, so a further eight or nine miles brought me to the comparatively downmarket town of Delray Beach.

Booked into the Colony Hotel built in 1926. It has an old fashioned feel to it and is not that expensive…on the surface
“Loretta will show you to your room” said Bill the rather camp receptionist.
I was on the first floor.
Loretta had already opened the gate to the rather rustic elevator.
I got in and said:
“My, this has a few years on it”
She said nothing.
One floor up. She pulled the gate back and said:
“Room 103 round the corner”.
I gave her a dollar. It seemed a lot for so little effort.
Tipping is endemic and I can understand the need for it, bearing in mind the paltry wages that are paid: $7.25 per hour around £5?
However, apparently if you are in a job where you get tips, the hourly rate falls to $4.19 per hour. Less than £3 per hour. With that in mind I hoped that Loretta had a busy day travelling between floors.
However, a walk up East Atlantic Avenue and it is obvious that everything is about money.
Nearly every restaurant boasts a greeter and valet parking. I felt very out of place.
My luck was in as there was “Big Al’s” which was a walk up sort of place with a few tables outside.

Philly Cheese Steak. Fab. When I had finished and was clearing the detritus away, I realised I had so much melted cheese down my front I was not really going to go anywhere after this without people pointing and laughing.

I paraded (in a rebellious student sort of fashion) up and down the street for a while allowing the “Preppies” and the “Princesses” to get a good look at this wild-haired unshaven food-stained man. Greeters didn’t greet and the valet parking guys ignored.
Back to the room with its “Key Largo” rotating ceiling fan and noticed a laminated sheet headed:
“Restore, Rejuvenate & Renew”. It was a flyer for Yoga classes. On the reverse was guide with photographs for a 5 to 10 minute workout described as “In Room Yoga”.
I just hope for their sakes no Evangelical Christians turn up.

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IT’S FIVE O’CLOCK SOMEWHERE (56 Miles)

Realised I have booked into another slightly sweaty-pillow Motel.
It is actually fine, although there is a slight odour. Since I started doing these trips, I have noticed the pong only on this one. (by the way, to see where a map of whre I have travelled so far on this trip, click here)
Is this due to the fact I am in hotter parts of the USA?
Is this due to that fact I am staying in cheaper places?
Is this due to the economic downturn and accommodation cutting costs?
At my age, my sense of smell has improved?
Well, in American adventure 1 I travelled across Death Valley where it was over 100F.
In Adventure 2, I was in the desert where it was over 100F
On this trip, I have not stayed in so many chain hotel/motels. This may indicate the “Mom and Pop”-run establishments have lower standards.
I stayed in a few before and they seemed fine, including the “Crossroads Motel” in Iola Kansas which was fine on both occasions.
So, as it was fine on both occasions, does that rule out a worsening of standards due to the economic downturn?
With this level of research I should be a politician. I can now make some sweeping judgements and the newspapers will lap it up:
“AMERICA 32% SWEATIER THAN 3 YEARS AGO”
“PERSPIRATION BLAMED ON IMMIGRANTS”
“CHURCH BLAMES SMELL ON NON-BELIEVERS”
“RADIO 2 DJ ADMITS ALL GLOBAL PROBLEMS HIS FAULT”
OK, in truth, I think I have just been slightly unluckier in my choices this time. I have tried to stay in the low-budget end as - like most people - I don’t have an unlimited amount of cash.
I didn’t go last year due to the economy and so I have been saving for this year. Budget is tight, hence some slightly less salubrious places. Far more importantly the Dark Lady is due in two days in Orlando and I am sure I am not going to skimp on the accommodation with her.
“Hi baby. Yeah the “Reeking Inn” sounds just the place for us! Pillows a bit pongy but you look great with this peg on your nose. Er, it was made by the Sioux. They do dream catchers as well.”
This morning it was up for breakfast steak (It is my one luxury, I have decided) and then out into the old part of town. This is also where the tourists are.
At first glance it was bad taste T-shirt central. The main drag had all those places you would expect from a tourist town.


There were bars and T-shirt shops. There were restaurants and T-shirt shops. There were art galleries and T-shirt shops. Being Key West, there were boating opportunities such as Jet Ski, glass-bottomed boat and Para-sailing and T-shirt shops.
It even had a couple of “Adult/Gentleman’s” clubs and T-shirt shops.
Of the 5 billion T-shirts (at a conservative estimate) that I saw today, only two made me laugh. The rest you will have seen already, most likely, perhaps with a different resort added to the slogan.
They were as follows:
“Too many right wing Christians…Not enough Lions”
“People say I have AAD...ooh a chicken!”
The last one I loved particularly as somewhat bizarrely, there are chickens roaming the streets down here, the legacy of its proximity to Cuba, which is only 90 miles away. Cubans - who arrived years ago to manufacture cigars - brought chickens. They may have gone, but the chickens haven’t.
The proximity to the Cubans and the distance from the rest of the US provides the kicker for the tourist industry. There are many cigar bars and shops where (I think this must be a legal loophole) cigars are locally made from Cuban tobacco. As a non-smoker, I must admit I was tempted.
The other is the fixation with Key West being the most southerly part of the US. I watched the tourists doing the equivalent of the “Lands End” thing that we do: a queue to have yourself photographed by the marker.

After a wander around and robustly rejecting any attempts to sell me a poor taste T-shirt, I fancied the beach. Key West is fabulous for water sports although its beaches are not exactly brilliant.
With that in mind, I decided to drive back up Highway 1 to find a beach. 20 miles in I realised this was ridiculous so turned round and came back.
Higgs Beach seemed ideal. Parking was free. Quick look at their AIDS memorial and then into the water. In I plunged. Then swam out. The water was practically bath water it was so warm. Out I swam towards the reef and the Pelicans sunning themselves on the poles by the breakwater and the reef. I then stood up. The water was still three foot deep.
NB: Mums, if you fancy somewhere safe and warm to teach your brood to swim. This the place.
No waves to speak of and no current.

I was also able to make use of a gizmo I bought in 2007 and have never had to use; the “Acme round the neck waterproof box for carrying stuff in”.
As I had no one to guard my belongings and, being paranoid about exiting the water to find my clothes, money and car gone - I bought this item. I put all my valuables in the boot of the car and put the car key in the box. I also put the spare car key in the boot. This may sound stupid but, as you know, car keys are not car keys any longer. They are multi-purpose and multi-function.
This one opens the driver’s door with one button. Press again and it unlocks the passenger side. It also has another button for opening the boot. A door lock button and a final button impressively in red which is marked “panic”. Not tried that one yet.
The downside is when you lock the door it sounds the horn.
This is common to many vehicles over here. One night earlier in the trip, there was a nightclub attached to the motel and it didn’t shut ‘til 2am. Alot of the patrons were staying. So as I drifted in and out of sleep I kept being woken by stray car horns.
”Guess I’ll turn in see y’all later. Jes’ get mah bag”
BEEP
“You stayin too?”
BEEP
“Shoot. Forgot something”
BEEP
“Well, time I was goin’….hell no, I’m good for another round”
BEEP
“Shoot. Forgot mah cigarettes”
BEEP
“And mah money”
BEEP
“Where’s mah lighter?”
BEEP
“Better let the dawg out for five minutes first”
BEEP

“Where did I put the leash?”
BEEP
And so it went on….

However, back to the story:

My rationale was that if the “Acme round the neck waterproof box for keeping your stuff in” was not as waterproof as it was supposed to be, I could use it as a key to open the boot and get the still functioning multi-function key out!
It worked like a dream, although I had to leave my sandals on the beach along with my shirt, so was concerned someone may half-inch the footwear and I would be condemned to another week and a half barefoot.
In Key West, I would not have looked massively out of place. It reminded me of Majorca in some ways when I went there as a kid. Hot seaside resorts attract people with no visible means of support. They make stuff out of bits and bobs and sell them to slightly drunk tourists in a good mood.
I saw guys making hats woven from the leaves of coconut palms. There were some terrible buskers often with dogs dressed up in hats and sunglasses. One guy was playing the sitar dressed as Spiderman. Not sure about him as it was difficult to see but all the others - because they spend possibly their whole lives outside - have been burned by the sun and are a very deep dark “vagrant brown”.
Two people I was not sure about though were a guy spinning two Frisbees and listening to music on headphones and another chap talking to himself as he examined his abs in the reflection from a glass door.
The town looks to the water and it is expensive; $30 buys you fifteen minutes on a jet ski. Half a day of fishing is $300.
I reckon you would probably be repeating yourself if you spent more than a week there.
With that in mind I resolved to head north again in the morning.
Orlando and the Dark Lady beckoned.

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EASED ON DOWN TO THE KEY (334 Miles)

Woke early mainly due to the promise of a decent free breakfast. Back at the same table as the evening before, looking out at the lake.

Most hotels provide a continental breakfast. This one did cooked food!

In an adjacent booth a number of soldiers in fatigues were choffing on their links.

Americans are very caring about their Veterans. There are memorials everywhere. They have a lot of discounts given to them in shops and restaurants. You can hear it and read it in the advertising.

Why not? We could take a leaf from their book; rather than organising a few parades, maybe some tax breaks and some discounts would not go amiss.

Perhaps there are some in place and I don’t know about them. However, I have never read or heard, for instance, an ad for a vehicle discount for servicemen. Correct me, if I am wrong.

Just before I came away I took my car to be serviced and, as I was waiting, I noticed a soldier also waiting. He was in a wheelchair and only had the one arm left. He had lost three limbs. I felt very small and humble.

It was about 7am. I was feeling mellow as I was just waking up and had ordered sausage hash browns and scrambled eggs, with coffee and Florida Orange juice, of course.

My reverie was broken when the plate arrived and the waitress said:

“THERE YOU GO!”

Wow! She was loud for first thing. Perhaps she was getting into Full Metal Jacket mode for the troops.

Chant: “Its breakfast time and what we want?

Sausages and coffee hot”

A-one, a-two, a-three, a-four!

When my heart rate had slowed and my ears had stopped ringing, I casually glanced out of the window. In the shallows of the lake shore, about twenty feet away, I noticed an alligator.

I looked at him and he looked at me. I am five foot 6 and half. He was probably two feet judging by the size of his head.

“If push comes to shove you can have one slice of wheat toast. Sausages you are going to have to fight me for.”

Finished up, showered, got into the car and headed south. (to see the map of my journey so far, click here)

The Everglades. I have read and heard so much about them.

There is an awful lot of stuff creeping and slithering around in there. You don’t want to mess with them. There are signs everywhere telling you what to watch out for. Just as signs and literature in Yellowstone and Yosemite tell you not to approach the animals. The same is true of the Everglades.

The visitor’s centres I visited. (Hell, that is why they call them that. Although, there were some signage problems later in the day so stay tuned). There, they show you pictures of the several types of brightly coloured venomous snakes and the one that isn’t. I bet the lone softy has esteem problems.

The difficulty with the chart in the window was that, either due to fading or the fact it was supposed to be like that, the pictures of the deadly serpents were in black and white!

Incidentally, stay at least five feet away from Alligators as they are “opportunistic feeders”.

FIVE FEET!!! Fifty yards more like.

In the local vernacular: “I ain’t lettin’ no ‘gator get all opportunistic on my ass!”

Some friends of mine told me of one man who was flying a light aircraft at night over the Everglades whilst on holiday from the UK. It developed engine trouble. So terrified was he that he was physically sick.

He knew what was down there and it was waiting for him.

The smells are interesting and, from time to time, the swamp opens out into rather ordinary country with the cattle . Plus, there are still plenty of orange groves.

People are out there kayaking . Hiking and going on airboat trips. I wonder what if must be like as a parent in this area when your kids want to go out to play.

We worry about traffic. They must worry about their kids being carried off by opportunistic Alligators!

A couple of hours of this and then it was time to brave the Keys; a load of small islands linked to each other via causeways. The sea is shallow and a wonderful blue. I will take some pictures so I can show you on the way back. I am now, as I write this, as far south in the US as it is possible to get, having travelled 5181 miles from Seattle albeit via a none-too-direct route.

Everywhere you looked there were boats and houses. If you are looking for peace and tranquillity this is not the place to be. Every Key/Cay was jammed with motels and boatyards. I was very envious of the boats, though, as I love being on the water.

Also the thought of being out all day fishing (even though I have never fished in my life) is very enticing.

I have been noticing, over the miles, the roadside memorials to accident victims. As I drove the 100 miles to Key West they seemed to be ever more abundant.

Either neat wooden crosses with names, or a small stake with a roundel with names and dates. I think the relatives maintain them as very often they are bedecked with fresh flowers.

This seems so much better than our practice of lashing some dying flowers in polythene to a lamppost along with a note that invariably reads: “Why?”.

Whilst musing on those I began to notice a few signs which, being a pedant and also showing how we are two nations divided by a common language, looked strange to my British eyes...

I enjoyed variously: “Camping site. No camping. Day only”.

A cab company called “Mom's Taxi”.

Also a shop which boasted: “Anthony’s Women’s Clothing”.

“See it all at Woody’s Gentleman’s Club”

I would have thought that you would not be a real gentleman if you were demanding to see “It all.”

Though you probably would be able to have a more thrilling time if you had visited “Doc Syn Laser Surgery” first.

Booked in to a Motel by the beach.

After I checked in I realised that everywhere is by the beach, it is just that some beaches are closer to the main drag than others.

This place isn’t. However, I don’t mind. I am going to sit here for a day or so.

Looking forward to meeting the Dark Lady in Orlando in three days time.

So in the words of the song that I will doubtless play for you as part of “Lester’s Library” when I return:

“No shirt. No shoes. No problem”

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BOOM BOOM OUT WENT THE LIGHTS (305 Miles)

My huff had abated slightly - but only slightly - when I stomped out of the motel the following morning.
Of the receptionist there was no sign. She may have been trying to work out what time to show up for work: “If the big hand is on the….” As we know, her grasp of time is not the best.
I had been looking at the map and decided against another day of coastal roads and headed inland down the spine of Florida. Here the traffic was lighter, although, compared to Wyoming and Montana it was like the M25.
I suppose after driving for half-an-hour and not seeing another vehicle, anything busier than that feels like the rush hour. At times on this trip I have encountered heavy traffic but have never been stationary for more than a few minutes.
As it was a Sunday, the radio was full of sermons and gospel music as well as “Christian Rock” which slightly defeats the object to me.
“Are you ready to rock? No? Let’s pray instead!” “For our next number “Highway to church”.
I thought the Bible belt was more towards Kansas and Kentucky. However, there were churches at every turn and yet more of the “Pro-Life” billboards I have mentioned many times in the past.
The roads were pretty much dead straight and tree-lined. At one point, a tortoise was trying to decide whether to cross or not. I hope discretion decided against.
I had missed breakfast so was beginning to feel rather peckish and - tapping “restaurants” into my GPS - it rewarded me by telling me everything was ten miles behind. I soldiered on and vowed that the first place I saw would be the place I stopped. It was lunchtime by the time a branch of “Hardees” came into view. One of you tweeted the other day to say that this chain is unequalled for biscuits and gravy. (By the way, to follow me on Twitter click here and to follow me on Audioboo, using the same login details, click here).
Frankly, after the disappointments of the last twenty-four hours I was not going to chance it. So yet another burger it was. It was terrific. Lot of beef. Little garnish and some very healthy looking and tasting fries. It was also wrapped in grease proof paper in a way that held it together when you ate, so it didn’t all collapse down your front much to the mirth of other customers. Particularly small children. There are certain things that reduce me to Mr Bean levels of incompetence. Eating is one of them. I could always do vegetables later.
I reckoned I should head for Sebring on Lake Sebring in my Chrysler Sebring. There was certain symmetry of thought and movement here. (And to see the map of my travels so far, click here).


As I had experienced in a number of places on this trip where the main drag was that was the place they put the toll roads. So did travel along part of the Florida Turnpike which cost me about $5 in total. At one toll booth the lady was so surprised when I thanked her that I thought she was about to faint.
The forest gave way to open pasture and cattle and then to orange groves. A truck laden with them answered my question. Yes, seems it’s about time to pick them.
The beard is coming on a treat. Decided to surprise the Dark Lady by showing her my rough tough manly hirsute side. So by the time we meet in Orlando. I may have a bit of Yosemite Sam going. I could tell it was coming on as I found some stray food in it. This is something I vaguely remember from the last time I decided to “beard up” some fifteen years ago. This one seems to a little greyer for some reason. By the time I have added the Factor 30 sun block I look like a ghost, albeit a rather greasy one.
About five o’clock I started looking for somewhere to stay. Clean, comfortable with a bar maybe, K?
Surely, not too much to ask for after a hot day at the wheel.


The previous night I had had to drive off into the woods to find somewhere to eat and because I was driving had one drink in a bar way off the main drag.
It was a low metal building with a drive-thru liquor store at the front. As I reached for the handle on the heavy metal door I read the sign which declared:
“NO WEAPONS ALLOWED INSIDE”
I think this is such a good rule, I really do.
Inside it was just as you see in a million TV shows and Clint Eastwood movies.
Woman behind the bar with a big butterfly tattoo on her back and a smaller one on her left breast. I didn’t stare too closely so could not tell you what it was. Couple of good ol' boys shooting pool and a sign “Dollar Drafts wensdeys”; I half expected to find a gang of white supremacists huddled together in the corner.
As I left, a woman getting into her car said
“Love your jacket, it so goes”
“Thank you”
“Oh, you have an accent too”
“So do you” (I think I have done this routine several times before, but it never ceases to wow ‘em)
“Yeah, that’s very good I do”
She shook my hand got into her station wagon and drove off.
She may have been visiting to replenish because stocks were getting low so may have had a head start.
Meanwhile back at today:
“Have mercy” I cried (It was Sunday, don’t forget)
Sebring is teeming with hotels and I drew up beside a very nice one which overlooked the lake and booked in.
“What time does your bar close?”
“2am”

Now this is more like it. I noticed that the place was covered in photographs of racing cars and also the restaurant was called, “Chicanes”.
This should have given me a clue.
Into the bar sat down and ordered a beer for $1; it was happy hour.
However, typically American $1 works out (in Florida anyway) at $1.07c due to local sales taxes.
It is impossible to give anyone the right change here, so I have given up. They could really do money so much better here if they put their minds to it. American bills are a disgrace. You feel you need to wash your hands after holding one. Also keep a sharp lookout in case you give someone more than you intended as they all look pretty much the same to me. No wonder Ray Charles insisted apparently in being paid in dollar bills. Which must have been a bit of a bind later in his career when he was earning thousands per performance.

It was happy hour and the bar had a Blues station on.
Fantastic. B.B King. Stevie Ray Vaughan. Buddy Guy. Sonny Terry and Brownie McGhee, until the barmaid said…
“It’s a bit blue for happy hour “
Then changed the station.
Time for food and into “Chicanes" where a very attentive waiter told me why there was all this car memorabilia lying around and the pictures.
“The Sebring 12 every fall”
It’s like the Le Mans 24 but shorter!
He also recommended I visited a local park early in the morning as he did when the animals were still rummaging about, as it would make me
“More centred and at one with it all”
Uh-Oh, still Sunday. Hope he wasn’t gearing up for a sermon.
I had chicken with lobster sauce and green beans. Very nice indeed.
The bread roll was in fact a “2 grain loaf” when it arrived so didn’t manage to finish it all.
“Dessert, sir?.....although by the look I would say no” He said.
Am still puzzling as to what he meant, although he was correct in his assumption. Raining hard outside as I ate and looked across the lake.


Came up here to write this blog, had typed the first sentence and all the lights went out!

Power outage.

It is now an hour-and-a-half later. I have been sitting perspiring in the dark as everything - air conditioning included - stops and despite it having rained it is still pretty warm.
No TV nothing. Only the darkness. As my room is at the bottom of a flight of two steps. The only entertainment is the sound of people missing their footing:
“Abner as I was saying only the other….thud”
“You OK Darle…eee.eeeeee nnnn whump a whump a crash?”

Hallelujah! (It is not 11.05pm so still technically Sunday)
Lights have been restored. Been peering out the window and being envious of people the other side of the lake. They have had electricity all the time. Typical. Some people just try and be flash!

SINGING MARGARITAVILLE AND MINDING MY OWN (281 Miles)

Not a good night’s sleep. Mainly due to the scuzzy nature of the Motel. The linen was clean just that the pillows themselves stank of stale sweat. There were cigarette burns everywhere including on the washbasin and the shower tray. Whoever occupied that room had a bad habit.

Not good. So I lay there tossing and turning, trying to blame it on the turnip greens I had had, along with an excellent steak in Fat Boys BBQ “Pig out” next door.

Americans are endlessly resourceful and will do anything they can in order to make a buck. I have often wondered why we don’t seem to be as good at it. It may be due to the fact there are a lot more of them so there are more people to sell to. So if you have a niche, it may be quite a lucrative niche. More people also makes for more competition so people have to try harder.

I pondered this as I waited for my rare steak and turnip greens, as I sat reading the table.

Yes the table. The furniture was covered in advertising. The trade off was that the company who did the advertising would give the furniture to the restaurant.

I have no idea if it meant that the tables were removed every month to be updated or what.

“Hey come on, I haven’t finished reading mine yet!”

“We can sell him dessert too, he is a slow reader.”

Decided to take the scenic route and was rewarded with a nice causeway over the water and some pretty impressive bridges. Florida is good for ribbons of concrete. As I drove, Pelicans wheeled around in the fairly stiff breeze. They are pretty graceful in the air. It is just on the ground that they look a little ungainly. Also saw Cormorants diving and Gannets too. In case you think I am bucking for a job on one of those TV naturalist type shows, I had to go on the internet to identify what I had seen. Tony Soper can rest easy.

Gradually the road moved closer to the sea shore and also dunes started to appear with remarkably white sand. However, as with many parts of the world with a large population and an eye to the main chance, I felt like I was driving through a combination of Benidorm and Blackpool. I lost count of the number of water parks and pirate-themed commercial outlets. Lot of places selling shells and driftwood. I wonder if perhaps there is a trick being missed here. Why not be a shell and driftwood wholesaler? Who is going to know where you got your dried-out bits of stick from? “All our wood is sourced from sustainable wrecks”. By the way, you can see a map of my travels so far by clicking here.

To most tourists (i.e. me) a shell is pretty much a shell. Can you tell a limpet from a whelk from a conch? OK, so the conch makes a noise when you blow in it. I seen Lord of the Flies (Piggy got the conch, remember, hefore he got his).

Sandwiched in between were hotels and condominiums. Stopped off at Santa Rosa Beach in order to have a paddle.

Decided to follow a “Scenic loop”; this just took me past more condominiums, driftwood shops and the odd housing estate which sported golf carts that the residents were using to get about. Not sure if it was a “Seniors” community, a phrase I loathe mainly because, looking at the menu in a fast food restaurant on my birthday, they gave “Seniors discounts”. A “Senior” was deemed to be 55 or over.

Well I am really going to be rushing back to take up the offer next year now, aren’t I? Its growing dark…..is that you Mother?

The journey was becoming a little frustrating as, due to the density of the buildings, there were traffic lights every few hundred yards so it became a stop go nightmare.

Condo condo lights. Condo condo driftwood shop lights. Driftwood shop driftwood shop lights. Pirates Water park lights shrimp restaurant boat chandlers lights.

At this rate I was going nowhere pretty fast.

However, past Panama City things began to ease slightly and I also began to enjoy the journey a lot more. Speed limits were mainly around 30 to 45 but I was driving along the shore or in and out of pine forests which reminded me a little of the South West of France.

Somehow Country radio seemed inappropriate so I retuned to “99 Rock” Fort Walton Beach. Aerosmith and Tom Petty provided a better soundtrack.

I was getting pretty hot so when a gap in the Condo’s opened up, I pulled over and went down to the beach.

More paddling ensued and was even tempted to have a swim but could not think of anywhere to safely store my car keys. I am such a "devil may care" character, aren’t I? Still, I had to be careful as there were signs warning of bears. These, however, are rather less dangerous black ones that tend to rummage around in dustbins rather than carrying off over curious tourists.

Following the coast: Mexico Beach, Port St Joe, Apalachicola, Carabelle, then I turned inland via Sopchoppy (honest) to Crawfordville looking for a berth for the night.

I make no secret of the fact that after a hot day in the car I like to settle down in a bar with a copy of the local paper, watch the sports on TV (even though it means nothing go myself), maybe chat with some of the good ol' boys, have a bite to eat and go to bed.

I should have noticed something was up by the huge number of churches there are in this part of the country. I tried to find a likely bar co-sited with a Motel but to no avail. Then I struck gold.

“The Inn at Wildwood. A Nature-based lodge”. This is apparently an eco friendly golf resort.

It is clean and comfortable and has working internet. It has solar panels and low energy bulbs and those notices in the bathroom asking you to use the towels more than once. To help save the planet we are told, although they don’t mention the other spin off: “So we don’t have to spend so much on laundry costs. “Save the planet and the bottom line”.

Parked up at about 5.30pm and noticed a large number of blokes in shorts who had been playing golf. I stayed at a similar place last time I think were the golfers spent much of the evening making sexist remarks to the waitress as Viagra ads played on the Golf channel.

The friendly helpful woman receptionist told me there were in fact two bars and a bistro which she heartily recommended. I joshed with her that as the bar and the bistro were in a different building, wasn’t she sending me to the competition?

“No, we are all part of the same complex" she laughed.

Went and found my room and freshened up and made a Skype call to the Dark Lady.

Back down into the lobby, beamed at the receptionist as I sauntered across the car park to the bar and bistro. They were closed. Oh well, just have to use the hotel bar. Wandered back into reception and said,

“It’s shut”

“Yes, both our bars and the bistro close at 6,” she said brightly.

ICILY POLITE: “I booked in at about 5.40. You recommended the bar and bistro. Why did you not mention they were about to close? Had I known this I would have gone somewhere else.”

Blank stare.

I think there was some energy saving under think going on there.

Hopefully tomorrow will be better.

If you miss hearing my oh-so English voice, fear not, I have recorded some Audioboos (basically, me talking "on location") and you can listen to them by clicking here. If you are glad of the break from my oh-so English voice but would still like to know what I am upto as and when it happens you can follow me on Twitter by clicking here. Both require the same login details, it's a sort of e-BOGOF.

JAMBALAYA. CRAWFISH PIE (198 Miles)

Oh wow! This is my kind of town. It was always on the list, as are Nashville, Memphis, Austin and Chicago for future non “American Adventure” type holidays, finances permitting.

This has worked out more expensive than the last two trips due to the exchange rate. In 2007, it was $2 to the £. Now it is around $1.50. Plus petrol has gone up considerably, although it is laughably cheap compared to the UK. The final blog of AA3 will be the stats where I will tell you how far I travelled, how many States I visited and how much money I spent on fuel, as well as all the songs featured in the titles (if you haven’t guessed them all already, that is). For the time being, to see a map of all the places I have travelled to so far, just click here.

Back to New Orleans. A stone's throw from the hotel on Canal Street was the French Quarter where the bars and the music and the wonderful architecture were...not that I saw any of that particularly as I was intoxicated by the atmosphere.

I recorded a walk up part of Bourbon Street as well as a street band I saw; you can hear them on Audioboo incidentally (get Audioboo easily by clicking here, and using the same details you can also follow me on Twitter by clicking here)

Like Broadway in Nashville, Bourbon Street is lined with bars all featuring live music. Because the competition is so fierce, it has to be good music. First stop was a Blues Bar where a 3-piece were playing. Some fine guitar work, as well as great version of “The Thrill is Gone” sung by a guest vocalist in blue work clothes, whilst the guitar player was a very cool looking middle-aged Eric Bibb look-alike with a suit and a trilby on, sat down at the side of the stage. He played the solo with his teeth!

Everything comes at a price so a can of very ordinary domestic light beer, which I have had in a sports bar for $1.25, was hiked (or gouged as they say here) to a rather impressive $5.25.

Further down the street, I walked past bar after bar with Jazz and Blues pouring from the open doors. People were wandering everywhere with drinks in plastic cups. You are allowed “drinks to go” here so you can wander the streets booze-in-hand providing, understandably, you finish it before you enter another bar.

Heard some amazing funk coming from one place so in I went. Sat on a stool and ordered a large domestic lite beer for $7.25 - gulp!

Onstage was a ten-piece band with a full horn section, a keyboard player, a fantastic bassist giving it the full “Chic” and “Sister Sledge”, as well as a tiny guy with dark glasses with a good voice and a very lithe woman with a slinky mini on undulating and singing. That may be singing and undulating.

Frankly, it probably depended on the song they were covering. From time to time she demurely pulled the hem down just in case she revealed a little too much flesh. Although, frankly, bearing in mind the number of “Titty bars” there are I don’t think she was giving them too much competition in that department. Near the end of the set the leader introduced the band and, as he got to the guitar player, he asked if we knew any blues players and shouted out various names to the crowd who responded with applause and cheers depending on the recognition factor.

“Buddy Guy?” Yeah whoop.

“Albert King?” Whoop yeah.

“B.B King?” Rooooarrr whhhoo yeeaahh!

“Freddie King?” ????? “Jolly good yes I think” Shouted a lone voice sounding suspiciously like my own.

“Hmm, no one remember Freddie? Shame he was good" said the little lead singer.

“Eric Clapton” “Rooarr whooop boom” as the lid was lifted off the place. I felt a bit sad that, in the home of the blues, an admittedly extremely talented musician but perhaps a bit of an imposter is cheered to the echo when the originals get second-billing. You can argue that without the British Blues boom and people like Eric Clapton, the blues and its originals may have been totally forgotten by now.

All the while this was going on, people were dancing and a selection of very beautiful, scantily-clad women were walking around with racks of brightly coloured shots in “test tubes”. If a guy bought one sometimes they would stick the rounded end in their mouth and, in a move as if to kiss him, would pour the drink into his. One tiny girl was storing the cash in her bra. By the end of the night unless she erm “downloaded” she would have made Dolly Parton or Chesty Morgan look rather under endowed. There was a lot of dirty dancing and rubbing up against people.

This is New Orleans and money has to be made!

When the band finished their set a woman was already on stage and she launched into a whole routine, with the DJ at the back of the room in order to keep the atmosphere cooking until the band returned.

She sang, she strutted, she heckled, she cajoled.

“How old are you?” she yelled at a middle-aged woman

“66”

“66..? I don’t believe you. You is lyin’. Look at her ladies and gentleman, 66. I’d better watch my man around you lady. You married?

“29 years”

“29, I can hardly keep a guy 29 days let along 29 years. You’d better tell me your secret, missy”.

She was fabulous and the joint was jumping.

There is quite a strong police presence. After all this was where Ray Davies of the Kinks was shot in the leg a few years back, as I recall.

As I walked in search of food a guy came up to me and said;

“Cocaine?”

“Awfully kind but not really my thing if it’s all the same to you. I am more of a beer man frankly”

You can take the Englishman out of England but etc.

I was hungry. Surprisingly by 10 a lot of the restaurants were closing. Eventually I found a relatively quiet bar/fast food type place that was still serving.

She was deep in conversation with a black guy on the next stool. They were talking tattoos and body art.

“You did that with a scalpel?”

“Yeah”

“Hurt?”

“Bit”

It must have been agony. He had a fairly intricate design over his upper chest and arms where the dark pigmented skin had been cut away to reveal the pink under layer.

Luckily I was not in a Kebab shop where they flay the “elephant’s leg” into half a pan then add it to your meal.

“What you havin'?” she asked, turning her attention to me.

“Scratchings”

“Whut?”

“Er, sorry, no, erm…”

I had said on the show in my phone call earlier to Tim Smith that I was on the lookout for some Gumbo.

I scanned the menu. They had a taster combo which gave the Cajun/Creole novice a chance to try some Louisiana cooking.

So, although I didn’t taste Gumbo, I had: Jambalaya. Red beans and rice and crawfish etouffe.

I have heard those phrases in a hundred songs over the years and here I was eating the stuff. Like the music, it didn’t disappoint.

Frustrating night in the expensive hotel. The Wi-Fi didn’t work properly so was unable to blog or email anyone. They had the audacity to charge $9.99 for the privilege which they did remove from the bill, I may add. So in the morning, I decided to have to retrace my steps and have some breakfast. In budget motels you get a continental breakfast thrown in. Not entirely sure but I think breakfast was an extra so my wallet decided it was a good idea to go check out some eateries elsewhere.

At 10am most places were shut. Presumably only just having closed. People were watering the hanging baskets and others were washing the pavements. It was early but already it was stifling.

Found the New Orleans version of a greasy spoon.

“How d’ya want your eggs?”

“Poached”

“We don’t poach. We only fry.”

“Fried?”

Chicken fried steak again and sure enough, the second knife came out.

Then it was back to the hotel and a shower as I was drenched due to the humidity.

Called the number I had been given for Valet parking and ten minutes later a bloke pulled up outside with my car. They had charged $30 for overnight parking and - as etiquette demands - I gave him a tip.

Put my bags in the “trunk”. Wound the top down and, drenched in sweat, set off for Florida.

I was soon out of Louisiana and into Mississippi. In the blink of an eye (by US standards) I was into Alabama.

You may remember in the previous entry, me telling you about the American Mid-Western Mindset.

Searching for a station I stumbled across a Christian radio station talk show. This is where the dark underbelly shows through.

I love America and Americans but I could never live here. Nor do I want to be an American; I have said this before on this blog. After a month away I am glad to get home. For all its own problems and limitations I like the UK. I am British and proud of it. It is a bit like supporting your football team. You do so through good and bad.

The topic under discussion was “Socialism”. Unlike our own talk shows where we strive to achieve a balance, here all that seems to happen is people phone-up to agree and denounce.

The host had an author as his guest and people phoned-up to say they agreed with him and it was all wrong. No one phoned to say they disagreed. Nor was any opposing view put forward.

One woman called to say that as the Bible says that the whole world will eventually be less than one government. What were we going to do to ensure it wasn’t “Communist”?

Admittedly it is a long time since Bible class at St Luke's in Walsall. I don’t for the life of me remember anything being thundered from the pulpit about “One World Government”. I am going to have to read the good book again.

The guest then asserted that, since the introduction of a limited Welfare system in the 60’s, black people had suddenly turned into shiftless idle criminals.

I was driving through the Deep South and I felt distinctly uncomfortable. So, being British I changed the station and accelerated.

Due to the previous days expenditure I needed something cheap and I found it. Boy was it cheap. It was the cheapest yet. Well, it was the Budget Motel in Pensacola Florida.

I checked in. Did the Wi-Fi work? No it didn’t really so I have to send this standing in the car park by the owner’s office. Once he had taken my details he saw my passport.

“UK?”

“Yes”

“I had one of those once”

“Really?”

“I was born in West Bromwich”