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.