I'm Baaaaaaaaccccckkkkkk..........

Whew .... vacation is EXHAUSTING!

I won't bore you with the blow-by-blow of every single thing we did in our three days (grumble, grumble, grumble) at the beach.

I will tell you, however, that taking my precious road bike was perhaps the BEST decision I ever made. Well, maybe not EVER. But at least the best one pertaining to this particular vacation.

Hubby and I have inexpensive little mountain bikes that we take with us on most RV trips. I don't do much mountain biking; the last time I tried, the trail nearest our house kicked. my. butt. But my road bike isn't good for riding around rugged campgrounds and on trails and sand, so I usually leave it at home. Hubby will RELUCTANTLY ride the mountain bikes around a campground, but he is afraid he can't ride as far or as fast as I do, so he makes excuses not to ride. The mountain bikes never left the RV rack this time.

This time I had looked at the map, though, and I realized there was a pretty nice road to and from the state park that should have only light traffic on it. I wish I could have made an entire day of riding, but I pictured Hubby sitting back at the RV pouting and missing me (more likely pouting just because I was enjoying myself), so I only rode 30 miles. I rode 15 miles out, turned around on a dime in the middle of a road, and headed back.

It was my favorite kind of ride. There was a headwind going out (there's ALWAYS wind at the beach, I reminded myself), but that turned into a sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeet tailwind coming back. I rode part of the way on a nice little bike path, and coming back I nearly blew an entire family off the path as I passed them.

This is not what I usually see from my bike. Attempting the Rozmo Method of Bicycle Photography, I snapped this WHILE I was riding. I am a professional; do not try this at home.

Here is a shot of the nice bike path. On a different stretch it actually had little white lines painted on it.

Some obligatory shots of the beach and all things beachy. (Shouldn't use the word "Beachy." I'm a little mad at him after last night's performance against the Rockies.)

The nice thing about staying at a state park was the fact that it was not crowded. Well, the campground was a little crowded, with campsites much closer together than we're used to, but the beach itself was pleasantly uncrowded.

We saw something I've never seen before, at least not live and in person. We saw actual dolphins surfacing (stop laughing at me, please), and late in the day there were a couple of them jumping out of the water, clearly showing off.

The following pictures are hereby offered into evidence as proof that National Geographic will NOT be calling me anytime soon. Note my expertise at photographing dolphins. (Or are they porpoises? I'm not sure what the difference is.) If you squint, turn your head sideways, use your imagination and perhaps a Sharpie, you MIGHT just be able to make out a faint dolphin tail. Or the splash he or she left behind.

And now if you don't mind, I think I'll go drink the two mini-bottles of wine I had left over and drown my sorrows at being such an awful nature photographer. Photographer of nature. Whatever.

Right after I change my desktop background to this.

What a Relief.......

Temperatures here in the sweltering South have been much milder these past two days, with highs in the 80's as opposed to the 90's. It was raining both this morning and yesterday morning when we got up, and we desperately need the rain. Yesterday it finally quit raining, but it stayed overcast for most of the day. It was a PERFECT day for riding my bike in the summertime.

So I sat inside and watched the British Open (which isn't really called the British Open anymore, but the Open Championship, which I think sounds pretty pretentious, but hey.... it's England!) and crocheted all day. I finished the baby afghan for Sweet Girl's friend, and I just realized I packed it and mailed it without so much as taking a picture of it. Arrrrgggghhhhhh!!!!! I have since started working on some placemats that I intend to put in the auction at our family reunion next year. Somebody better buy them.... I don't like the colors.

Today I ran a bazillion errands, mostly related to the RV trip to the beach (we're leaving tomorrow morning). When I got home, I told myself I couldn't possibly let two perfect riding days go to waste, so I called a halt to the errands and went for a bike ride. It was only 26 miles, but it beat sitting in the house. I rode some of my usual routes, then wandered around streets of town that I haven't ridden on before, and I wound up at the golf course so I could ride home with Hubby.

I'm excited about the trip, but not the seven-hour drive.

Walking on the Beach Part 2.....

When I was walking on the beach yesterday, I thought about a time roughly a hundred years ago, before I ever got married ..... the first time ..... when I went walking on the beach alone at night and wound up with blood poisoning.

Now that I've ruined the punch line, you don't have to read the rest of this if you don't want to.

I realize you don't have to read ANY of it if you don't want to.

Nurse Jane lived in a condo on Cocoa Beach, and I went to visit. I'm mildly surprised that I didn't just move in with her. It wouldn't be the first time I had done that. I mean, her building was RIGHT. ON. THE. BEACH. I'm sure that's what Heaven is like.

I went for a walk late one night, mainly because it just felt so RIGHT that I could merely walk out her door and be on the beach. Okay, down the hall and down the elevator and around the building, but you get the idea.

That was back in the day when I had no fear, and walking in the dark on the beach didn't faze me at all. I was striding along purposefully, probably contemplating all the strife and worries associated with being a 19-year-old college student. You know, what to wear to the first football game. Heavy stuff.

I stepped on something with the heel of my left foot. I distinctly remember there was a slight hesitation, then whatever it was punctured my heel (my feet were pretty tough back then). I sort of picked my foot up and shook it so that whatever it was came out. Then I continued down the beach. It wasn't gushing blood or anything, not that I could have seen it in the dark. But no sharks came strutting out of the ocean to make a meal out of my mangled heel, so I figured the injury wasn't too bad. I have no idea what I stepped on. It could have been a shell, a fishhook, a piece of glass, a beer can.

When I got back to Nurse Jane's condo, I decided I would continue my health-conscious ways (right before or after I smoked a cigarette, I'm sure) and walk up the stairs. I don't think I mentioned that she lived on the 17th floor. My foot didn't hurt terribly. And it wasn't bleeding.

Until the middle of the night. It throbbed. And ached. And throbbed some more.

The next morning, when I had slept very little and experienced a great deal of pain, Nurse Jane took me to the doctor. And I am almost positive she didn't have the money to do that. But because I was 19, I fully expected that someone would take care of me; it certainly wasn't MY responsibility.

At the doctor's office, they took down my information (I probably let Nurse Jane fill out the forms too, because I was self-absorbed like that) and took me back to an exam room. Nurse Jane waited in the ..... waiting room. That sounds so redundant.

After an hour or so of waiting for someone, anyone in a white coat to come through the door, I mustered all the 19-year-old righteous indignation I could, and I marched right out the door. I probably wasn't familiar with the concept of being worked into an afternoon of scheduled appointments. I probably wasn't familiar with anything that didn't fit nicely into my little world.

At any rate, we saved the money we would have spent at the doctor's office, because that was back in the day before they got smart and started making you pay before you even sit down in the waiting room.

I don't remember what we did the rest of that day, or even whether or not my foot bothered me. That evening, however, long after doctor's offices were closed for the day even if we HAD been able to find one that hadn't heard about the petulant patient with the punctured pad, I was sitting with my ankle crossed over my knee.

It looked like someone had taken a red felt-tip pen and drawn a crooked line from about the middle of my leg down to my ankle.

I asked Nurse Jane, who wasn't an official nurse at that time, but had nursed me and all the other family members as long as I can remember, "Does that look like a red streak to you?"

She responded, "Get in the car."

After several hours in the ER at Cape Canaveral Hospital and several injections, I went home all better. I'm a lot more careful about walking on the beach now, and the sun would have to go down about 6:00 PM for me to take a walk in the dark.

It would be nice, though, to know what it was I stepped on.

Walking on the Beach......

I went to Mayport Beach today while Sweet Girl was in class. I was a little apprehensive about doing that, since we were on the navy base, and the only place I could go WAS the beach. If the weather turned bad or I got too much sun, my only other alternative was to go sit in her car. For four hours.

In the absence of any other opportunity to exercise, I decided to spend at least a portion of my time taking a walk on the beach. I made deals with myself ..... I'm ALWAYS making deals with myself. I said if I walked for at least 20 minutes in one direction, then I could turn around and come back and have the YUMMY turkey sandwich I fixed at Sweet Girl's house this morning. And carrot sticks too. Oh boy. What a deal.


I took off walking at 1:25. One thing about walking on the beach, it's impossible to judge the distance. I walked and walked and walked and walked and walked and resisted the temptation to look at my cell phone for the time. I was afraid it was about 1:30. So I walked and walked and walked and walked and walked some more.

When I finally looked at the time, it was 2:06. Well you can't turn around at some kind of stupid time like 2:06, so I kept walking until 2:10. That meant I had been walking for 45 minutes.

It also meant that the only way to get back was to walk another 45 minutes.

I didn't know it was possible to wear blisters on the bottoms of your feet walking barefoot on the sand.

I walked so far that when I got back to my chair, I could tell it had rained a little where I had been. But not where I was. Isn't that weird?

Hubby tells me I take too many #$&! pictures of birds.

Right after I returned from my four-day walk, they came down the beach in a truck and announced they were closing the beach due to the lightning. They aren't fooling me ..... these are teenage lifeguards. Any strong wind would probably force them to close the beach. I thought, "Oh great. I guess I'll go sit in the car after all." I packed up my things, and just as I got to Sweet Girl's car, she sent me a text message that said, "I'm done." A whole hour early! What excellent timing.

When I left on my walk, I passed four or five young people, probably in their late teens or early twenties, working industriously on a sand castle. I wanted to stop and take a picture of it, but I didn't want to look like a nerd. Or give them the satisfaction. Isn't that mean?

When I came back, the sand castle was standing complete and all alone. Or so I thought. As I walked up to take a picture of the castle, a head popped up from inside it and scared the bejeezus out of me.



Her name was Kylie. Or Kylee. Or Cailie. Whatever.


She was adding sand to the interior walls, making sure they were sturdy enough. I think she had homesteading in mind.

Something I Learned About Hubby Today......

Just when I think I know everything there is to know about Hubby.

Today I learned that he can't open his eyes underwater.

That explains why he always sends ME to get the rocks, golf balls, hair thingies, and pool toys from the bottom of the pool.

We were talking about how pretty the beaches and the water are here [while we sat under a shelter and watched it rain into the Gulf of Mexico]. I was telling him that it didn't even burn to open your eyes underwater, which I normally wouldn't do in the ocean.

He said he has never opened his eyes underwater and won't ever. He's tried. They just won't open. Not even in the pool.

Huh.

I wonder if it has anything to do with a strange palsy-like affliction his uncle had one time. He couldn't open his eyes at all. Period. Until it finally went away, and then he could.

Nah, probably not. Although I think Hubby DID actually have a mild form of the same thing one time. I'd ask him, but he's already asleep.

And then at dinner Hubby went and ordered a baked potato with sour cream on it. He's never done that in the 12 years we've been married.

Wonder what surprises tomorrow will bring?