Start – 4860.2 km
Finish – 5262.0
——————-
401.8 km or 241.1 mi

Yesterday was driving. And driving. And driving.

As I mentioned in the last update, I was up before 5 in the morning. At 7am, I was on the road. Left Morgan City. It was interesting leaving because as I left the “campground” en route to Waffle House for coffee, I passed by my next door neighbor (inverse belly shirt guy), walking with solid determination, head down, to go find work that day. As I had been packing up camp, he was just leaving, arguing with his girlfriend. In a quiet forcefulness, “Don’t scream, woman! There’s people sleepin!”

At the Waffle House… travelers and locals. I’m a peculiarity to the diners and employees. After I drink my coffee and wake up, I go out to leave. The cook comes out to talk. Asked me if I was part of some show called “Characters?” Not sure of the name. Supposedly about photographers across the country taking photos of something or other. No clue. Don’t watch tv. Even the nights I’ve stayed in hotels, I don’t watch tv. Except for the one night. I cut on the tv to have some background noise, and there was a Charlie Chaplin/Buster Keaton marathon apparently. Cut the volume down low and was amused by the antics of Buster. I remember seeing some of his stuff when I was a kid and I always found something about his style captivating. The Buster Keaton flicks seem outside of the black and white/silent film genre. Not so much a fan of Charlie Chaplin.

Rap on the window. Head waitress signaling for the cook to get back inside. Well wishes, and I’m on the road. I had wanted to leave Louisiana. That was my goal. I knew I would drive to Lafayette, Louisiana and spend a fair amount of time there working and on the internet. And I did.

Drove until around mid-morning and stopped in Lafayette. Stayed much longer than I should have as the drive to get out of Texas was going to be long. I knew I could take 90 past Lake Charles, but then I would have to hop on a couple of other highways to get into Beaumont. It was around 2 or 2:30pm when I left Lafayette.

The drive to Lafayette was difficult. For the first time in a while, I felt the weight of the pack pulling on me. I’m not sure what the difference was but it was noticeable. All throughout the day, I was constantly adjusting the straps on my shoulders. My lower back hurt. My shoulders hurt. It’s interesting because every morning when I pack my backpack, everything goes in slightly differently. I try to keep the bulk of the weight as close to my back as possible. I think I was just really top-heavy yesterday which would account for the constant pull, even with the duct-taped block of cedar sticks. It really wasn’t the day for it to be pulling as I would drive farther and be on the road longer than any other day.

The drive itself was pretty. And pretty uneventful. Beaumont remained in my mind. And Lafayette. And Lake Charles. And Vinton where I would take a different highway shortly thereafter. Louisiana towns. Pickup trucks. Eighteen wheelers. SUVs. Passengers whipping by in their Chevrolet Caprice, the child in the backseat, hand in mouth, looking back at me. Car honk, something yelled. How many more miles until I get to that next destination? 22 more minutes and I’ll stop. All day.

After Lake Charles, I wound my way back through town to get back on 90. I see the turn for 90 and I take it. I realize as I make the left to get on 90 that 90 and I-10 join at that point. Crap. Crappity crap. Screw it.

I get on Hwy 90/I-10. Four lanes. 50mph limit? Huh? Light traffic. And there it is in front of me: a massive bridge. I can do nothing now; I’m on I-10. I push Scooter to his limits and hope for the best. Thankfully, just as I started the incline, a pickup truck pulling a trailer pulled up behind me. I don’t know whether he had his hazards on before he came up behind me or not, but he stayed right behind me to the top of the bridge, hazards on, following behind as I crept up to the apex at 30mph. As I make the descent, a state trooper has pulled someone over. I whip by going the posted speed limit of 50mph. The second exit after the bridge is Highway 90, splitting it off from I-10. I am grateful.

Vinton is somewhere ahead. Crap, the sun. I’ll never make it. I come into Vinton, a run-down shack of a town There’s my factory. Seems to be open still. At Highway 109, I’m to take a right to Starks and then take 12 down to Beaumont. A LONG way out of my way. Beaumont is not that far, I know. I see a gas station to the left heading back toward I-10; I head to the station.

“How far to Beaumont going down I-10 from here,” I ask the cashiers.
“Thirty-five miles,” comes the response.
Crap. Too far on the scooter. Crap. I could beat the sun. I could. Maybe.

“How far to Starks up 109,” I ask.
“Ten miles.”
Crap. I know it’s going to be at least 40 miles from Starks. Crap.

I go back outside. I rest for a moment. A guy comes out. Local. Questions about the scooter, the trip. He then says he’ll let me go so I can get to Beaumont. I say it doesn’t matter, I’m never going to beat the sun. We talk longer. Ex-trucker. Broke his back, ended that career. Lived in New Orleans. Saw an $80,000 ship about five feet in length made entirely of copper in an art gallery in New Orleans. Other details of a conversation long out of my mind now. He goes back inside finally and I’m left standing there, debating.

Damn it. Either way, I’m in the dark. Scooter and I head north to Starks. The sun is now down but it’s still light out. Country roads. Homes in big fields, homes by the road. Trailers. I’m instantly overcome with the sense that this is somehow like some part of my childhood. Some dark part that I can’t quite put my finger on. Somewhere, I was in a place just like this. Where was it? Do I remember it?

I get to Starks and turn left onto Highway 12. I follow it west and… at 8:32pm, I’m singing into my helmet: “The stars at night, they shine so bright…. Deep in the heart of Texas!” One more time, “The stars at night, they shine so bright…. Deep in the heart of Texas!” And on and on it goes. And I wonder if I have that one lyric right. And I wonder if there’s anything more to the song. I think there isn’t.

Finally. Woohoo! I made it to Texas. Cool road signs, Texas. Neato. And look at your shoulders! It’s a full extra lane over there!

And then? Wap! Ffffffffff-wap! Thack!

Ugh. I am grateful again for my helmet and even more grateful for the faceplate. Bugs. They are hitting my face, my chest, my arms. Twice I clear the bug juice from the plastic inches in front of my eyeballs. Ugh. That one hit my neck. Blech.

I come to Viro and follow 12 as far down as it will go. Back on the interstate, cross the bridge and I’m in Beaumont. Destination reached. A long day of driving and then it’s stretched out to find a place to stay. At 11:30pm, I am in a hotel room. Day 13 over.

Photos here.

Scott’s roadtrip across America is proudly sponsored by Miami Tour Company. For info on the best tours in Miami, visit MiamiTourCompany.com.

Start – 4695.3 km
Finish – 4860.2 km
——————-
164.9 km or 98.9 mi

Sensory overload. I can’t think of any other words for what I ran across in the 24 hours I spent with my cousin. I could’ve spent an entire month just simply photographing the inside of his place alone. But there was more. His entire neighborhood and every neighborhood surrounding it…. around every corner there was something there I had never seen. I mean, I HAD seen it, but it was every cliche in my mind.

Had never met my cousin (twenty years my senior) until we met at the hotel the morning before. We talked about it and we may have met at some family reunion a few years back, but obviously neither of us left a lasting impression on the other. Now, I have lasting impression. A good one. Roger (heyyyy, there you are!) has a good thing going on in New Orleans. A very cool, laidback musician’s lifestyle. Only…. it’s difficult to put into words, his world. And maybe it’s best that way. But it’s so uniquely different.

Roger moved to New Orleans around 1990 and has lived there ever since. He’s been in the music business his entire life, working for Allen Toussaint for decades, along with a long list of well-known (and not so well-known) musicians over the years. Roger was such a generous host and just a great guy to get to know. I’m glad we finally to got to really meet. And his world is just surreal. Very cool. I just don’t even know how to describe it. It had such a feeling about it. A vibe. Eh, I don’t know why I’m bothering trying to explain it. I can’t. Hopefully, I was able to capture some of it in the photos and the little bit of video I shot. (I won’t have that video ready for a while.) Roger would’ve let me stay for as long as I wanted, I think. But I knew if I stayed, I would stay there longer than I should. I had to get going.

The night I stayed, we went out for Chinese and then to pick up a friend of his, Sean, another musician. “You guys smell like a couple of fortune cookies,” he says as he gets in the truck. Sean was from the area, had moved out to LA, and had since come back. Great guy. “Since I’ve been back, I’ve been a recording engineer, a studio musician, worked in construction, busboy, electrician’s assistant…” he trails off. “New Orleans.” The whole night… the entire time I was there I stayed in a state of wonderment. I knew this lifestyle in my mind, but I hadn’t seen it. And now I have. Cool.

I don’t think I could really find myself living in New Orleans. I don’t think I could. But I could spend time there looking at it. Forget Bourbon Street, all of that. Down in the soul of New Orleans. It’s blood is rich, it’s heritage on the faces of the people and in the buildings and in the convoluted layout of the city. And let me say right now that New Orleans, hands down, has THE worst roads in the US. Probably. Horrible condition and not fun to drive on a scooter.

And while the internet at Starbucks there was interminably slow, the drivers made up for it on the road going out of New Orleans. I finally left my cousin’s place, took the ferry across the Mississippi River to Gretna, and got on Highway 90 to go to Morgan City where I was pretty sure there was a campground. My god, I thought my death was on that road. I didn’t want to die in Louisiana.

Well, I thought I might die on the road until I got to Morgan City. Then, I accepted the fact that I would die that night. However, as should be obvious by now, I didn’t. The first three people I met in Morgan City were missing one or both of their front teeth. The woman that I talked to in the gas station… I so badly wanted to ask her to just hold her mouth open so I could look at it. I had never seen a mouth like that and it took all I had to not stare at the bottom row of teeth. They looked liked scattered shark teeth. And then one gargantuan front tooth, not a second one to match. Unfortunate.

I got directions to a “campground” close by and as I pulled up, I realized, it’s just a park; a park like you would see in any town. Only at one end, they had RV camping, and at the other, 20 or so tent camp sites, about 1/3 full. My next door neighbors were living there.

“Hey man, you want something to eat,” he asks as he swings his left arm over the bags of food to show me the spread. “We just got back from the food bank.” Worker’s shirt. Unbuttoned. It looked like he had a tan from wearing a belly shirt, except one in reverse where it was covering only his beer belly, leaving his shoulders and upper chest exposed.

“Nah, I’m good, thanks. I just ate.”
“$16 a night to stay here. You can’t beat that,” he says. I do the calculations for monthly living in my head. In Morgan City, you probably COULD beat that. We didn’t discuss it.

I set up camp next to a tent that’s sitting there, flaps just blowing in the wind. Appears to be empty. I imagine someone will show up later and fill it. I imagine it is someone else living at this park. I’m a little nervous. I have an uneasy feeling about things. I’m certain I’ll be stabbed. Screw it. I pass out around 9pm, the earliest I’ve gone to sleep in years. I wake up at 4:50am. Sure enough, there is a pickup truck in front of the tent that sat alone. Embers burn in the fire circle. I get up (I don’t even shower) and I pack and leave. Go to Waffle House, get some coffee and get on the road. I decide I am leaving Louisiana today. Pretty state. But it irks me out and I want to get off of these roads. (No offense to the people of Louisiana, but your state… did you people JUST get cars here? What’s up with your driving abilities? Retake the test. All of you.)

I’m sure the roads are no better in Texas, but I gotta get into that state. I wanna be a cowboy, baby.

Photos here.

Scott’s roadtrip across America is proudly sponsored by Miami Tour Company. For info on the best tours in Miami, visit MiamiTourCompany.com.

Alright. I can’t get out of Louisiana fast enough. New Orleans and being there was a cool experience but this whole state freaks me out. And the roads and driving on Hwy 90 is killing me. I have neck cramps from turning my head to look in my rear view mirror non-stop. I’ve nearly been creamed once and ended up driving into the emergency lane to avoid getting rammed.

I’m in Lafayette, Louisiana right now, sitting at a Starbucks, downloading photos and video. I WILL have an update today. My body is tired, though and I’m in a decent spot here so I’m planning to be stay for a little bit to work on some things.

Scott’s roadtrip across America is proudly sponsored by Miami Tour Company. For info on the best tours in Miami, visit MiamiTourCompany.com.

In New Orleans still. Spent the night with family. Will be leaving today, I assume. It has been a surreal experience. More later. And photos. And video, although, I don’t know how I’m going to get to it all. I need to get on the road, but that won’t happen for a while now.

Scott’s roadtrip across America is proudly sponsored by Miami Tour Company. For info on the best tours in Miami, visit MiamiTourCompany.com.

Start – 4431.1 km
Finish – 4684.7
—————
253.6 km or 152.2 mi

In much the same way that I covered a lot of ground today, there’s a lot I’d like to cover topically. I left Gautier, Mississippi (west of Pascagoula) and pretty much blew through to Gulfport without much of an update. I did have more, however gripping it may or may not be.

I went to sleep last night at Shepard state park in Gautier at around 9pm, entirely beat from the day. And the sounds I fell asleep to in the campground could not have been more perfect: a hound dog howling from one campsite just over the sounds of bluegrass fiddle music coming from another. I actually busted out the video camera and walked down the lane to record the fiddle music and dog, but as I approached the campsite, I noticed a beatup pickup and a guy with the slumped shoulders of an ape (wearing a wifebeater and dirty ballcap no less), fooling around with cables. I just kept walking like I was going to the bathroom. You never know. Decent fellow, I’m sure. But he probably wouldn’t have taken kindly to me sitting there recording the lit-up campsite with bluegrass music playing.

Woke up around sunrise again this morning and the rabbit that had been playing around my site the night before was back foraging for food. Perhaps it was a different rabbit. They all look the same. Short. Brown. Fur. Rabbit ears. Hibbity-hobbiting. As I packed up the site, I went to go put on my helmet and noticed that it was covered in the fine sand that was in the cleared out area of the site. I suspected the rabbit, naturally. Rabbits are devious. Of course, all of my proof was circumstantial, but… it was the rabbit, I’m sure.

Spoke to the ranger as I was leaving the camp and he asked if I had hoped to avoid New Orleans on my route. Multiple people have asked if I was planning to do that. Not sure why. I had every intention of hitting New Orleans.

But let me back up to the night before as it somewhat set the mood for the day. As I was at the laundromat, an older woman (though not much older) was folding clothes there; ran the place. We began to talk over cigarettes as my clothes tumbled in the dryer. Katrina. Katrina redefined lives in this part of the country. You saw it on tv, you read about it online and in the papers. It’s still ever-present here along the gulf coast.

“My daughter came out better because of it,” she told me. A tornado had hit her daughter’s trailer home. Had flattened the walls out in the living room, the furniture within didn’t move an inch. The roof over the child’s bedroom was crushed, but items could still be retreived. The kitchen… there was no kitchen. Nothing there to identify that a kitchen was ever there. “Not a spoon, not a fork, I mean nothin’.”

The daughter and husband went to the church, left a note asking for help to get out of town, to go up north and try to start a new life near the husband’s family. The next day, an old woman came by from the congregation, asked them what they needed. New tires, money for gas to get there, and enough money for food. Done. The husband now works a job making twice what he had been making in Gautier, the daughter works in a hospital. They just put a down-payment down on a home with a fenced yard and two car garage. In 11 years, it’s paid for.

It was a nice story she told. Except for when she lamented that her “grandbabies were now all the way in Missouri” and not down the road in Gautier. Hadn’t seen them in two years. We talk about various facets of life here. “I never thought I’d be folding laundry 14 hours a day when I was a kid,” she said. She smokes another Doral, we sit and watch the cars go by on Gautier-Vancleeve Boulevard. My laundry has long since finished drying.
“I need to get going before the sun gets down,” I say. “Take care.”

As I left Gautier and started the drive toward Biloxi, I began to see the remnants of Katrina. I had seen them earlier, but they became more evident, the farther west you traveled. Empty lots where houses once stood were now vacant except for the foundations. Boats in impossible places, never moved. Buildings partially or entirely destroyed still and left to decay in their spot. All the way into New Orleans, this was the scene along Hwy 90. And all of this was in the midst of a beautifully scenic drive along the coast.

I stopped a lot along the way today to take pictures. After a while, I realized I just couldn’t photograph anymore destruction from a natural disaster that happened years ago. But the devastation is all around. And it’s still affecting lives.

Anyway.

Drove through Biloxi on Hwy 90. Through Gulfport on 90 and onward to New Orleans. There was a detour on 90 that took me through some small town that started with a P. Peachtree? No, that’s not it. Hold on. It’s google time!

Pearlington! Beatup Cadillacs with spinners. Pickup trucks. Children without shoes. It seemed as though every car in town had decided to boycott the car wash for the past few months.

And right about that time, I entered Louisiana. Bayous. Long and broken docks stretching out over water that’s now calm. Beautiful, to say the least. I wish I had been there at sundown, and not at 4:30 in the afternoon. I could’ve stayed on that road longer than I did. There was too much to see. And even there, maybe especially there, it was hard to not think about the destruction that swept through the region. RVs parked in empty home lots. Were they squatting? People pulled off the road, fishing. Of course, fishing has been the scene everywhere along this drive where there has been a body of water (even by small streams), only on these stretches of highway, you get the sense that lives depend more on the day’s catch.

Drove into New Orleans, was planning on staying the night with a family member, would call him after I came into town. Went down to Canal Street, traveled the length of Bourbon Street. I appeared to be some sort of novelty to a girl with a camera as she took my picture.

Guy on a scooter, no. 119. Triple-bonus: backpack, milk crate, video camera in hand.

Never was able to connect with my cousin so I stayed the night in a hotel in Metairie, Louisiana. Talked to him on the phone tonight after I checked in and we may meet up today.

Day 10 comes to a close.

Two other things:
1) I’ve been getting a lot of questions along the way about my itinerary. I really don’t have one. I haven’t had one from the beginning and I’m really enjoying NOT having one. That being said, I do have a rough plan: Get to LA.
Texas isn’t far now and I’ve been giving some thought to the state. I will most certainly be going through Houston. But I may go south. In fact, I’m certain I will go south before I come back north. I doubt I’ll go into Mexico, but I’ll come close, I’m sure.

2) I thought it might be of interest to know exactly what I’ve packed on this trip, as there is a certain economy to this life on the road. So here’s a list:

• Camera
• Video camera
• Laptop
• 500GB external harddrive
• Black camera bag full of lenses, cables, memory cards, card reader, cleaner, q-tips, etc
• 2-gallon can of gas
• 2 quarts of oil (two quarts already used)
• Tire-pressure gauge
• Small set of tools/tire repair kit for Scooter
• Heavy duty lock for Scooter (last night was actually the first time I’ve used it)
• Helmet
• Wallet, cellphone, cigarettes
• Camping/hiking backpack
• One-person tent
• Sleeping bag
• Three pairs of socks (down from four, as the sock monster claimed a solitary victim somewhere back in Florida)
• Five pair of underwear
• Seven or eight shirts, two long-sleeve
• One pair of jeans
• Four pairs of shorts
• Tennis shoes
• Toiletries, towel, wash cloth
• Pullover that perpetually smells like gasoline and oil (except on laundry day!)
• One bottle laundry detergent (doh!)
• Can of coins, map of Florida (can probably get rid of the map now)
• Lantern, hand-held fan
• Box of plastic spoons/forks/knives
• Three books, one journal
• Block of wood, and…
• Scooter

Photos here.

Scott’s roadtrip across America is proudly sponsored by Miami Tour Company. For info on the best tours in Miami, visit MiamiTourCompany.com.

Start – 4241.5km
Finish – 4431.1 km
—————
189.6 km or 113.8 mi

So I left that place known as Gulf Shores. Drove up Hwy 59 into Loxely. The roads started getting hilly. The foothills of Alabama, I suppose, one could call them. I can get Scooter up to 50 going downhill, although I keep him at 45 because 50 makes me nervous. Only in that I expect Scotty to scream in the background, “She’s breakin’ up, Cap’n!” Of course, I’m sure Scooter wouldn’t break up. But why chance it? I’m in no rush.

Got into Mobile, went through my first tunnel. That was kind of cool. Not so long. But cool, nonetheless. Let Scooter take a break, walked around downtown a little bit. Parked him in front of a Dixie Jazz band playing on the sidewalk. At that moment, a guy in full Redcoat attire walked by. Typical. Glad to see Mobile, Alabama was exactly as I imagined it. Banjos and Redcoats. Probably more to that place than what I imagined. Maybe.

Quaint town. There was a gay pride festival going on in the park downtown. Went over there, took some photos. Left.

Wanted to go to Biloxi, Mississippi for the night, but the closest state park was in a town called Gautier. Beautiful, beautiful state park. And the ranger was incredibly nice and helpful.

Did some laundry in Gautier, had a fascinating conversation with a woman there; a Katrina survivor. Fascinating conversations with the ranger. Fascinating all the way around, Mississippi. And clean.

Honestly, I’d type more right now, but I kind of want to get on the road. I’m at a Starbucks in Gulfport, Mississippi and I want to get to New Orleans today. I’ll type more later.

Photos here.

Scott’s roadtrip across America is proudly sponsored by Miami Tour Company. For info on the best tours in Miami, visit MiamiTourCompany.com.

Start – 4137.5 km
Finish – 4241.5 km
—————
104 km or 62.4 mi

My last day in Florida. Had no idea when I camped for the night that I was only about a mile from the state line. Had I known, I would’ve blown right through the state of Alabama. Certainly, I wouldn’t have stopped at Gulf Shores State Park. Ay Carumba!

The morning was a slow start. I take my time in the mornings and wait for the dew to clear off before I pack up the tent. I’ve really only noticed the dew getting heavier since Oklochonee or however it’s spelled. Anyway, got on the road, and was almost instantly in Alabama. Bridge to enter into the state and woohoo! Alabama.

There were a couple of photos that I really wish I had stopped to snap but as I passed them I thought, “Eh, I’ll see the exact same thing up ahead.” I didn’t. Clerks calling you “Honey.” Head nods. The accents became much thicker coming into Alabama. Also, true to southern hospitality, nearly every motorcycle rider waves in this state. You know, they stick their hand out to the side as they pass. Two fingers. I do the same thing. Because, you know… camaraderie.

Went through two towns, Lillian and Elberta (which has a fine-looking strip-mallish looking building with the sign “Elberta Social Club” atop. Was glad that my life didn’t consist of membership there. Maybe I AM snobby. But I can’t help that I’m better than most. I kid. Obviously.

Came to Foley and took Hwy 59 down to Gulf Shores. Driving and driving through chains of corporate entities…. home depot, lowes, burger king, o’charleys, etc… Finally got to Gulf Shores, and went to the state park. On the approach to the park, I became depressed looking at it over stripped woods. Barren. Flat. RVs. Nothing.

I pull up to the ranger station and go inside. There are a couple of older fellows there, retirees. The building reeks like a public school gym locker room. Ugh. I can’t breathe. I expect at any moment that I’m going to have to go outside and run through tires in full football gear and then drop and give someone twenty. I couldn’t get out of the building fast enough.

Get to the campsite and there is absolutely nothing. (The video does a swell job of explaining that.) Go into town to the public library. Find out inside that there’s a Starbucks back up in Foley so make the drive up there to smoke, drink, do some internet stuff.

Stay until 10 or so. There is nothing of interest in Gulf Shores to me. I’m ready to move on. Go back to the site and I change the batteries in my head lamp (the light that straps with a band onto my forehead) only to find that the light isn’t working. Damn. I JUST bought batteries to replace what I thought were dead ones. I set up camp with a small yellow lantern. Read for a little bit. Pass out. (Fooled around with the headlamp some this morning and got it working. Was a loose connection.)

All was just going fine, what with me sleeping and all, up until around 5:08am when garbage trucks decided to swing by and empty all 10 of the dumpsters in the campsite. You know, the ones right outside my tent. Whatever idiot in city hall decided that Saturday morning at 5:08am is the ideal time to pick up trash at the state park should be relieved of his duties. Seriously. Maybe even time behind bars. Or six weeks at Gulf Shores State Park.

Tried to go back to sleep, but by then it was too late. Got up and read some. Took my shower (again, the bathrooms have that gym locker smell to them, blech). Packed my bag, and headed out. Since I was AT the beach, I thought it might be good to actually go and see the water. There won’t be too many more days when I’m close to water’s edge.

Sitting in Foley now. Planning out the trip to Biloxi. I may hang out for a bit in Mobile for lunch. Blue skies right now. I hope they remain that way as both of my plastic ponchos are gone, destroyed by the wind. I don’t want to stop for a poncho.

Photos here.

Scott’s roadtrip across America is proudly sponsored by Miami Tour Company. For info on the best tours in Miami, visit MiamiTourCompany.com.

I’ve been shooting some footage while I’ve been on this trip. Nothing spectacular, to be sure. I was talking to my friend Gus today, though, and he thought it might be cool if I actually talked on camera about the trip and whatnot. Um… I really don’t like being in front of any kind of camera. At all. But Gus is almost always right. So here. Maybe you’ll like it. I don’t know. Yes? No? Granted, this first one is kind of, um… well, I’m not overly thrilled about the campsite.

Anyway, I’m going to try and be good about getting the videos up regularly along with the photos.

Here are all four of the videos I’ve put together so far:

Dawn, Grand Lagoon

I eat beanie wienies (don’t hassle me about the spelling or the incorrectness of it)

Gulf Shores, Alabama (I make a cameo on this trip)

Sunset, Marco Island (Day one, old stuff)

Scott’s roadtrip across America is proudly sponsored by Miami Tour Company. For info on the best tours in Miami, visit MiamiTourCompany.com.

Start – 3945.7 km
Finish – 4137.5 km
————————
191.8 km or 115.8 mi

Left Panama City Beach yesterday around 12 or 1 in the afternoon. Got back on 98 and headed west. Stopped at a gas station and filled my extra 2-gallon can and put a half-gallon in the tank to fill it up. That was my largest gas purchase on this trip to date. Altogether, I have probably spent less than $20 on gas this trip so far.

Changed the spark plug, filled my tires and got on the road. (Before I left, the guys at Beach Scooter gave me a box full of spark plugs for the trip in addition to oil, tools, etc; it’s helped put my mind at ease, having it all on hand.)

I kind of took my time yesterday because there was a huge bridge going into Pensacola that I was dreading. I kept looking at the map thinking that it was just going to suck to cross. No clue how high it was, no clue how busy it would be. All I knew was that it was long.

Drove through the white sand beach areas. Santa Rosa Beach. Navarre. Destin. Mary Esther. Nice areas. Large military installation in the area and was bummed out when I saw these great white dunes that I wanted to go to only to find out the area was off limits except by permission of the Installation Commander. Air force property. Weird scene, though. Various people in bathing suits sitting on this little outstretch of white beach running alongside a bridge with construction cranes looming overhead. I counted myself lucky that I have South Beach as home and didn’t have to settle for laying out under the shadow of a bridge.

When I stopped in Navarre for a break, the people were ridiculously friendly. Even the people just passing through. “Where you headin’?” “I’ve got a daughter that…” “Be safe.” “On that?!”

About 20 miles outside of Pensacola, I stopped at a Subway, the only thing in site for a while to grab a bite to eat. One lone fellow working there. Stout. Shaved head. Thick east European accent. Bulging in his green shirt. I eat. As I’m outside preparing to leave, he comes out to inspect.

Him: What kind of scooter is that?
Me: 50cc
Him: I mean to ask who makes it?
Me: Oh, it’s a Kymco People 50.
Him: It looks like a Yakov (or something-ov) they have in my country.
Me: Oh, really? Where are you from?
Him: Czech Republic.
Me: Neat. How far is it to Pensacola from here?
Him: It’s about 40-45 miles.

I get on my scooter and leave.The last sign I passed before I stopped to eat had said that Pensacola was 23 miles away. If there’s one thing to take away from this conversation it’s that the Czechs have no sense of distance. Or maybe just that guy. I’m surprised he doesn’t overshoot his drive to work every morning. Maybe he was talking in kilometers.

I’m on the approach to Pensacola and I decide to stop at a Starbucks before the bridge I know is ahead. I look at the people. They seem normal. Healthy. Maybe a little on the bohemian/artsy side. Read some email, get back on the scooter to make my way across the bridge and into Pensacola.

The bridge was nothing. Well, it was long. Long and straight and flat with the exception of one small hump on the north side. But I looked back and it can’t have been longer than MacArthur Causeway in Miami going into South Beach only there were no islands off to the side, no stop lights, no roads turning off of it. Just one long straight and narrow four-lane bridge. Worried for no reason.

Traffic had been really heavy and fast-moving from almost the moment I left Panama City Beach until I reached Pensacola. But as I crossed the bridge, the traffic seemed to lighten and I didn’t see heavy traffic again the rest of the drive.

Missed a turn (or took 98 Bus when I should’ve stayed on 98) and had to find 292 to head south to go to Big Lagoon State Park where I am now. Got directions, drove to the park. I had wanted to stay at Perdido Keys but the ranger at the station said they didn’t have camping except at the national park (which, I thought I was asking her about?) so I just stayed here. Woodsy. Long trails leading out to the water. Woodsy. Lots of critter noise. Birds and stuff. Nature!

Went out last night to grab some seafood since the entire time I’ve lived in Florida I haven’t eaten any (not counting the mounds of sushi Ava and I used to order). Ate at a place called the Shrimp Basket. All-you-can-eat-anything is never a good idea for me because I never finish the first plate. But it was tasty. Lots of drama going on while I was there. Police called out. Drunk guys handcuffed, put in a cruiser. I head back to camp and end another day.

Marsh Rabbit
A Short Story
Cute and furry Marsh Rabbit. Wearing his brown coat all day, and with his small stature he plays in the forest. Sometimes he pops his head out into the place where the humans are.

He had all day to run across that barely traveled paved road. All day he had to scamper across. Yet he waited until I came by on Scooter. He dashed in front of me in the glare of my headlamp as if to say, “Look at me! I am a Marsh Rabbit! Did you see me?”

I did see you, Marsh Rabbit. You were cute and furry and wearing your brown coat. You ran very fast.

But not fast enough. You made a delicious sandwich. A little gamey, though.

Nature: 0, Scooter: 1

(I kid. I didn’t hit the rabbit.)

Photos from the trip here.

Scott’s roadtrip across America is proudly sponsored by Miami Tour Company. For info on the best tours in Miami, visit MiamiTourCompany.com.

I’m spending the last of my minutes here in Panama City Beach, finishing up a little work at the local Starbucks at Pier Park. I’m heading to a campground southwest of Pensacola today and that will mark my last stay in this state until I return.

I don’t know why, of all places, I’m lounging in Panama City (or rather the beach). As I’m typing this, that 80s song “There’s something going on” by god knows who is playing in the background. Ironically, there is nothing going on.

Going to stop before I head out at a gas station and change my spark plug, and check my tire pressure. I’m thinking it’s getting a little low.

Also, my eight o’clock shadow turned into a sixteen o’clock shadow. I spoke with my good friend Fez last night and he advised I keep it. I was telling Fez that my chance to grow a beard and look like a possibly handsome and rugged man seems to have passed as a LOT of the hair on my face was snowy white. I looked like Grizzly Adams, only the later version; the one going to the K&W cafeteria at 4 in the afternoon for the early bird special.

Sorry, Fez, the beard got shaved.

Pensacola, here I come.

Scott’s roadtrip across America is proudly sponsored by Miami Tour Company. For info on the best tours in Miami, visit MiamiTourCompany.com.