What was supposed to be four days of trucking south trying to get to the southern tip of mainland Florida has fortuitously turned out to be a weekend on Daytona Beach and two full days to cover the rest.
Switching modes, we shipped home clothes and conference goodies, headed over to the coast, and got to spend an evening walking Main Street, which we discovered to be closed off for Jeep week. A drink or two, and a reasonably early night, a day of work Friday, and in the hotel pool with a Mai Tai by 4:05 Friday.
Friday night on Main Street turned into another one of those stories. We had worked our way back to the far end and the Boot Hill Saloon, which has become Donna's favorite bar on Earth. The setup there is that it has its own little parking lot which becomes part of the scene, and on this particular evening, a'69 Coupe DeVille convertible gliding in silently in captures a glance.
I couldn't help but make a comment to the cool old cat and his cute younger wife as they made their way inside. Before you know it, we were buying rounds and telling tales over another great long-haired rock and roll band.
This would have made for a good story, except for what happened next. Before long, they asked us if we wanted to go for a ride and check out another place. A couple hours and 2 or 3 bars later, we opted out of breakfast at Perkins and stumbled back into the Fountain Beach Resort with plans for tomorrow seriously in question.
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