Trip24

Tuesday.

We left. This morning was Pelicans in the Mist. Sea fog, swamp fog, then forest fog. The drive from St James Island to Apalachicola was wonderful.

The plan was to stop and visit with Shaffer in Ft Walton Beach. Problem is, we stalled so long with the birds, manatees, and pelicans, in lower Florida, we’re pretty much out of time. That and the fact that when we called from Ft Walton Beach, he and Jo answered from Panama City, an hour back to the east. We visited on the phone and drove on. We’re down to making miles. We’re not making miles like the Shaffers do. They drive this straight through in their motorhome. Come to think of it, why do they need a motorhome at all?

We drove dark to dark. We covered a fair amount of miles, but there were a lot of stops. Not stops to goof off, stops to do stuff. We stopped for gas and moved on. We stopped for lunch and to send a few emails. We stopped to talk to the office. We stopped for propane. We stopped after a few more miles and turned the propane back on. We stopped at five minutes after five at our favorite Louisiana yard statuary place that closes at five o’clock. Couldn’t see what we wanted through the fence anyway. We stopped for dinner in a restaurant, but it was too smoky. We stopped for the night and Judy made dinner. We stopped a lot.

Did I already rant about Florida being a tobacco state? Everywhere you go, seems like everyone is smoking. Either that, or it’s still 1950 here. Clearly, this is not Boulder. The non-smoking consciousness has had no impact here whatsoever. Well it’s not just in Florida. It’s everywhere down south. Go into a restaurant and ask for the nonsmoking section and you’re likely to get that Deliverance stare.

Found a shortcoming for the Brake Buddy. It is not good for use with tow cars that have sissy batteries, or gremlins in their electrical systems. Cars like, say, a 1999 Ford Windstar. The Brake Buddy plugs into the cigarette lighter of the car, and draws current to replenish the compressor when it brakes. So you have the ignition key on, the brake lights and turn signals flashing as appropriate, and the compressor recharging after it mashes on the brake pedal (at appropriate times). The weenie battery in the Windstar fades by the second or third day, the entire electrical system conks out, and after that, you’re towing a dead toad.

More than once, on other trips, we’ve ended up disconnecting, turning the motorhome around, and jumping the battery from the motorhome to the Windstar. That doesn’t feel quite right, turning the mother ship around to come back and fire up the dinghy. So we bought a Delco rechargeable jumper battery. It plugs into 120 volt, or 12 volt in the motorhome to recharge. When you need it, it delivers lots of amps for a quick start. So once a day, I’m out back, jumpstarting the dinghy, so everything will work right, at least for a while.

I think I like the sound of brother Bill’s system better. The compressor resides on the motorhome with his setup. All it sends to the car is compressed air. The compressed air ties into the hydraulics for his tow-car brakes. Everything is under the hood or under the motorhome.

Capitalism. Free enterprise. The American way. The billboards along the southern interstates are not our finest hour. There are, apparently, a lot of casinos along this southern corridor, and they are all, apparently, giving away free money.

We’re getting closer to home. We’re out of the Eastern Time Zone. It was fun being there for awhile. We’re only one hour away now, on Central Time.

I was surprised by a road sign today. It said turn on headlights when it’s raining. How could Florida take a chance like that? Just, turn on your headlights? Then I realized we were in Alabama, not Florida. I guess Alabama dares to live life on the edge.

Four hundred fifty miles. Baton Rouge. Leaving. Driving. Stopping. Driving. Stopping. Driving. No new birds. No drugs. No drooling.

Tomorrow. Louisiana, Texas, and Oklahoma.