Day 2 - How Much Longer?

Blargle. Morning.

Did I mention I am NOT a morning person?

But here I am, up at seven, showering to get yesterday’s driving stress off of me, ready to do battle with the Gods of The Asphalt Zoomies.

So, of course, surprisingly, there’s nothing untoward on the road between us and Florida. Was it lulling me into a false sense of security?

Interestingly enough, this is becoming the trip of All the Small Things Go Wrong, But All the Big Things Go Right. Leave a bit late? We miss the accident. Routed around said accident? How else would we spot a North Dakota plate?

(We play the license plate game, where we try to spot a plate from each state while on a trip. Some are fiendishly difficult, and North Dakota is one of the rarest.)

Well, we decided to take a bit of a side jaunt to get a squishie. I-10 in Florida is a bit… well, it’s an interesting road through the southern states anyways, but here, it’s definitely a secondary road. Not a big deal, but, well, Florida.

It has been nice, driving through the saw palmettos. Clouds keep building, but luckily, they’re heading east towards the coast, and not tracking us south. We were making good time when we pulled into White Springs for a squishie.

Coming from tourist-adjacent areas myself, I know the look of a place that time has passed by. Paint isn’t fresh, wood buildings are a bit shabby, everything’s a bit faded and overgrown. I like that look, because you won’t get many tourists poking around. The sulfur springs and walking trails are on the far end of town, so pulling in at a hardware store that looks like it should be in the middle of a Wild West set was a bit jarring.

I love old places. I love old, worn-down by time but still solid, still in business, still holding on places.

What I do NOT love is the gimlet glare we got for daring to have masks on.

Well, she took our money, and she didn’t know what to make of our compliments on the building itself. It was definitely a “kill them with kindness” situation, and she didn’t know what to do about it. No matter, they had Savannah Cinnamon Company products, I need to stock up for our asinine apocalypse. Knowing our gommit, they’ll find a way to slap a tariff on a Georgia product.

Now, a funny thing that happened in town: entering White Springs, we noticed that the trash had just been picked up. How? Because two trash cans had fallen over in such a configuration to heavily imply a Much Naughtier Activity. We giggled about it, wondering what the kids would look like. On the way out of town, later, there was a waste paper basket in the middle of the road! Ahh, Florida, you crazy weiner…

Back to the main story-

From there, we slammed into The Slog.

Taking I-75 to Gainesville? Not a problem, really, and it’s easy to avoid some gas stations because of a particularly offensive flag they’re flying. (Really, this SUV gets some phenomenal gas mileage!) But when you’re switching roads in Gainesville and the one squishie stop is Right In Front of You, you take it as A Sign and stop to get it! Thank you, Bass Pro Shops! And what was cool was the door greeter was very nice, didn’t even blink at our masks, and though we knew the machine might still be busted, directed us to where it should be. Heya, lookie what’s working! We gave her a thumbs-up as we left, and she was very relieved for us that it was working. Lovely customer service!

Ah, The Slog. You waited for us…

As soon as we got off I-75, we hit stop-and-go traffic. And variable speed limits. And lots of cops looking for scofflaws in tiny towns. And insane school zones. Believe me when I say I very much appreciated our Georgia plate through this area!

This is what we get for trying to avoid the Slog that’s attempting to get through Tampa on I-75 and I-275.

Well, we stopped. And we go’ed. Lather, rinse, repeat.

This is where my delightful hubs, in the navigator’s seat, dropped the ball on of of the little things that had the potential to turn into a Big Thing. He kept telling me it was a half-hour to go. Um, no, not really, not at all. It was a half-hour to Tarpon Springs, after which it would be ANOTHER HOUR to land at our friend’s house. So I was budgeting my last “deal”…

...that had to keep stretching in traffic…

Until the penny dropped, and I realized he meant “till the next directional,” without saying those words OUT LOUD.

Blargle!!!

Well, I said some words. They were short, sharp, words, deeply steeped in their Anglo-Saxon roots. Very graphic. Very descriptive.

I’m sure it was all the humidity and pressure buildup that led to my outburst. Yes, I’m sure of it. Mmm-hmm. Yep. Certain.

I was rather blurry when we landed.

But, hey, crock pot veggie lasagna when we landed!!

NOM. This is how good a cook our friend is: my hubby HATES the curcurbits, something about the bitter note that he can taste in triples. He ate seconds, and it had thinly-sliced zucchini all through it!

It was a NOM. We needed it.

We talked, we chatted, we watched the critters in the water. Some dolphins were cruising the channel, and of course the gulls and pelicans and chattery parakeets. There used to be a flock of the latter, but two direct hits from big hurricanes have cut the flock of dozens down to two.

It’s different here, that’s for certain. When we visited before, there was a vibrant community in the apartment complex. Then, Hurricanes Helene and Milton.

Now, the first floor of the complex is empty, and they’re all but condemned. And rumor has it that the owner submitted an insurance claim that was hard denied. I mean, the place is bleeping cement, how hard would it be to rip out the carpeting, get new fixtures, check the wiring, and open them up? So something’s more than a bit hinky – but in the meantime, we got an awesome parking space in the mostly-empty lot.

People on the second and third floors got heavy water damage, because the windows and sliding balcony doors were not properly installed and sealed. Um, whoopsie? Those tenants had to demand dehumidifiers to dry out, and the patches of mold and mildew that developed… were painted over. Oh, and a rent hike.

So those people are leaving too. Hmm, shock.

The community around them is a sea of signs – FOR SALE, FOR RENT, LOT ONLY, LONG TERM RENTAL. PODs dominate front yards. All the greenery, formerly packed with exotic imported flowers, are dead. Other plants are dying. Being flooded with surging saltwater really did a number. Some places are being rebuilt, but only a double handful. And believe me, they’re not being built up to code for more hurricane action.

We went to the Mobile area after Hurricane Katrina wiped it out. There’s a certain type of silence that comes from humans leaving due to disaster, and this place has it. Boats are now speeding up and down the channel like they know the police won’t ticket them, and to heck with the manatees that we see in the water.

Florida people…

Lovely sunset, and though my friend went to bed early, we stayed up for the launch:

But, yes, the day was catching up, and it was time to zonk out. We were supposed to have bed cots, but they never arrived, so I’m on two lounge chair pads on the floor, while hubby has the lone overstuffed recliner. It’s still a very small price to pay for being in Florida in these unsettled times.

Till tomorrow…