As roadtrips go, it was a modest effort...Pt I

"That's It! I'm so Outta Here!" There I was, half an hour till I had to leave for work, throwing clothes in a bag, and talking with Judy on the phone.

"I'm leaving; I'll be back in time for work on Sunday."

"Where are you going?"

"Somewhere there's sea."

I made it to work on time, the shift was reasonably uneventful, and midnight came round soon enough... The car looks like a bomb exploded in it. I was in a tearing hurry to leave, and gave up on packing--took too long. So I threw all the stuff I thought I'd need in the car, and decided as long as I had a towel and a toothbrush, I could buy the rest.

I 95 southbound through Virginia has remarkably few well-lit rest areas. I drove longer than I wanted, listening to Diana Gabaldon's The Fiery Cross, and finally, just over the border into NC, found a rest stop. I woke at the first blush of dawn.

Whee! Did it! Now what am I going to do?

I did have a few goals;

Get as far South as I can before I have to turn around and come back to work.

Find a different pair of sandals.

Do my toenails.

See new places.

Collect hugs from friends.

Have an Adventure.

See the wildlife.

I started with the sandals. There was an outlet mega-mall nearby, which wasn't open yet, with several very large shoe stores. The first one I went into was good. The scent of new shoe leather, rows and rows of shoes, dance music from the 80's, and The Proprietress, who was fun, and funny, and a good saleswoman! I came away with two pairs of sandals, black, because I wear it a lot, and brown, because I've never gotten used to black-and-khaki as summerwear.

From the Proprietress, "I'm glad you've got class!"

--and directions to a nearby nail salon. The sandals were great, my toenails were appalling--and I just didn't want to wait till I stopped for the night to take care of them myself.

I opened the door, incurious faces glanced up, and a wave of solvent fumes nearly knocked me to the pavement. After three minutes breathing shallowly and waiting to get noticed, I decided to bolt. All my scientific training was rebelling "we'd be using fume hoods if this were the lab!" Good sense won out, but I was still on a mission. A couple of hours later, I saw another nail salon just off the highway in a strip mall and pulled over. Guys in the parking lot were doing business out of their trunks,

"Nice bat!"

"Yeh, its a beauty".

I wondered if I should worry about my new CD player,...and decided he had much nicer stuff in his trunk. 30 minutes later, relatively un-fumigated, I'm on my way. Deep pink toenails, and a clear manicure. The young Vietnamese technician had very politely asked me if I wanted a manicure. I looked at my hands; they were bad. African Violet juice is darn near as permanent as mendhi.

"They need to be bleached; this isn't going to come out without help." She very quietly let me come to the conclusion that A Manicure Was Necessary.

Asian ladies believe in looking their best, and can't believe any woman in her right mind wouldn't want to. The last time I put myself in the hands of the Asian ladies, I came away with my eyebrows waxed. NEVER AGAIN! My face felt naked for weeks. After lots of soaking, scrubbing, debriding, trimming, buffing, etc., I had a very neat, clear manicure, and the pedicure I went for. Ah, New Woman! Many Thanks, Best Wishes all round, and Back on the Road.

I passed signs for the Cape Hatteras seashore. Myrtle Beach. South of the Border... and kept going. Edisto Island went by on the left. Hilton Head. The turn-off for Savannah. Cumberland Island National Seashore. I started feeling like I was really headed in the right direction when I spotted the cattle egrets hunting in the long grasses. I do miss the Island... Jacksonville (not at rush hour, please!) And finally, St Augustine!

I took the back way in, and stopped at a "Historic Inn" Beautiful place, but no vacancies. The proprietress directed me on to the Monterey Inn. On the way I passed numerous establishments with lit "Vacancy" signs. Scary, spring break, beach-motel kinds of places. While I was mentally questioning myself for not checking into one of them, I kept going till I found the Monterey.

I cordially dislike motels. For the most part I find it impossible to really sleep in one. Thin walls, too many people, too close, strange-smelling rooms, plastic bedding, you name it. I object to them. With more forethought I'd have found a B & B. But, here I was, and the "Historic Inn" proprietress had sized me up rather sharply. It was all good! No bathtub, but a very nice tiled shower. No aggressively chemical cleanser smells. The room was a comfortable temperature, and the AC unit was quiet. A mini-fridge, coffee-maker, the usual amenities, and talented housekeeping staff. The towels and such were artfully folded , and there was a little animal made from rolled hand-towels on the foot of the bed. The bed was amazing! A new, firm, pillow-top mattress, lots of pillows, high thread count linens, and double-sheeting. I was almost tempted to go straight to bed.

Instead, on the recommendation of a friend, I went off to the Mill Top restaurant for "an adult beverage", and something to eat. It was a nice walk. A number of people out enjoying the night, the odd "pirate's ghost tour", carriages, and a temperate salt breeze. And no pressure to be anyone, or be nice to anyone, or... All the tight places in my mind were unwinding.

At the top of the landing, the door guy checked my ID, collected a cover charge, and sent me back to the bar. "The band is taking a break and will be back in 15" OK, fine, I wasn't really here for the music, but its all good. The bartender told me he wouldn't mind if I hung out with him at the bar, but it was likely to get loud. So I opted for a table on the railing, and settled in to wait for my roast-beef-and mozzarella sandwich with spicy dipping sauce(special of the night, highly recommended by the lively young waitress)

I'm sipping a margarita, deciding that I have to widen my mixed drinks repertoire, looking round at the people, and the place, and, just then, Missy Palm Rat cruises by under my stool. She's not in a hurry. Between the dim lighting and her coat color, she blends in nicely with the woodwork. "Oh how cool!" The analytical part of my brain starts commenting, "many women would be standing ON their stool just about now, shrieking their heads off!" Instead, here I am, thinking Missy is a beautiful sleek little creature with a nice glossy coat, good manners...and she's obviously a regular. The band started up, the holidaying couples, older,some clearly on honeymoon, get up and start dancing to the music, and Missy Palm Rat takes her bit of the night's special off. I like the low-key ambience, the wall murals are kind of neat, and the music is starting to get a bit loud. So I wandered off down the esplanade after complimenting the staff on their Very Cool place.

As I'm listening to the water lap, and thinking "this place feels a little like the Island", a guy comes along and starts chatting me up.

"A beautiful woman, with such a fine head of hair, all alone here? Its criminal!"

"No, its not. I'm having a wonderful time."

Hair fanciers. I used to find them totally unnerving. Now? Well, the world is made up of all kinds of people, and most of them are harmless. I declined an invitation to dinner and a "little something", and wrote it off as an amusing encounter, until I saw him again on the second floor balcony of my hotel. That was just a touch creepy. I made sure my door was secure, concluded that anyone coming in the window was going to make a LOT of noise, and went to bed.

Sheer Bliss! The only thing nicer than high thread count linens is.... waking at 4:30 AM, rolling over, and going back to sleep. It was quiet, peaceful, and utterly relaxing.