#1 Winner:  Sex on the Beach

When I was in high school, I went on vacation down to South Padre Island.  One night, I took a walk with a cute blond down to the beach for a romantic late night stroll.  As we walked, images of Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr in From Here To Eternity flashed through my mind’s eye as I pictured them kissing passionately in the surf.   Such are the things that romance, hormones and a sandy disposition can do.  I myself was not looking to make my own playtime in the sand a PG one.

The best kind of mouth to mouth resuscitation 

We began kissing when I picked her up and laid her down on the beach.  Call it high school hormones, the power of the tide or my love for a good judo move, but things escalated quickly after that.  All was going smoothly (and I say that with every pun intended) until she decided to put her hand down my pants and give me a pull in the right direction.  What was supposed to be a paradise of pleasure, quickly turned to a punishment in pain.

If you think of what a grain of sand is, it’s really like an extremely fine piece of glass.  Well hold that thought and follow me as I give you some basic math.  1+1=2, right?  And 4+3=7, yes?  Well hard cock+sand covered hand= this little piggy squealed all the way home.  My illusions of hot beach sex where dashed on the little rocks of the Gulf coast, as the only moans to escape my lips were those of agony, not ecstacy.  

   “Abort mission!!! Abort!!!”

Needless to say, I swore to myself I would have sex with a jackal long before I tried anything sexual on the beach unless I had a towel that stretched a mile in every direction.  You would have thought I would have stuck to my intention, convincing myself that some things on my bucket list were never meant to be attained.  But sometimes… life comes along and gives you a second chance.

Let’s get that dick out of the box

I’ve always considered myself a California boy in a Colorado body.  I love the majesty of the mountains, but being by the water has always held a powerful sway over me.  One night while in Pensacola, I went out with one of the locals.  After skipping around town and breathing in the wonderful sea air, she suggested that we make our way to the beach.  A tropical storm was at Florida’s doorstep and it was probably the only opportunity I was going to get to see it on this trip.  

As we talked about it, the discussion of having sex on the beach came up which naturally injected into my brain images of hacksaws, cows mulching cud, and kids being forced to sit through Church.  All painful pictures that I had no desire to put myself through.

“We’ve been here for two hours and God just finished creating the heavens and the earth!  If I don’t die of boredom before day 5, somebody shoot me.” 

I’m not a masochist, at least not in that fashion, so instict would say “run Forrest, run!!!”  Despite this, two things kept my interests peaked.  One, the places we were staying at were full, so there wasn’t any privacy for us.  Second, the power of the ocean was starting to call me again and for the first time in over ten years I thought to myself, maybe… just maybe this could work.

With that said, we decided to face the mighty sand monster and give sex on the beach the ol’ college try.  First we stopped at a gas station and picked up some protection, or what you might call a beach towel.  This thing was going to be the only thing standing between me and a million tiny pieces of glass all waiting to test my blood type.  

When we got to the beach I was immediately struck by how beautiful it was.  The sand looked practically white and the entire area was vacant of people as if the coming storm had scared them all off to their homes.  With the wind licking my hair entwined with the crashing sounds of the water, I stood and drank in the beauty of it all.  This was perfect.  

Just imagine this at night under the stars

After a short walk, we laid our stuff down.  It was time to face my demons and see if I had learned a thing or two after a decade’s worth of sexual promiscuity.  I shot up a prayer to the gods, gave my penis a pending apology for undeserved torture and faced one of the more apprehensive fucks I’ve ever had. 

Despite all my concerns I must say, there is something completely magical about having sex under the stars on a beach.  Forget screwing in the Tree of Life in New Orleans, or in the porno theaters of New York City (no I have not done that), beach sex, if done properly, is a tremendous shot of life.  Despite the risks of sand injury, we both looked at each other after we had finished and knew that it had been a very unique experience.  And that is why it snagged the #1 spot in my Top 3 list of Pensacola.  I have been to beaches all over the world and know that some beaches fair better than others.  Something about this one at night was simply amazing.   

Afterwards, as we lay there, breathing heavily, I all of a sudden was filled with a powerful energy.  I pulled out, threw off my condom and went bounding down the coast line naked, shouting and laughing.  I quickly turned and crashed into the surf.  It was so amazing.  A memory I will hold with a mischievous smile.  If much of human nature can be assessed by pursuing pleasure and avoiding pain, than sometimes, if you stack up enough pleasure, it can push you past some horrible past memories.   

A word of caution to all those reading this tale of obstacles overcome: if you decide to follow in my footsteps, be sure, I stress, be sure to bring a towel.  Pretend you’re a five year old playing and the sand is lava. You can’t touch lava, so don’t touch the sand.  Otherwise, I’ll get loads of angry emails telling me how Mr. Sandman, who was supposed to bring you a dream, brought you a nightmare and trip to the gynecologist for an emergency check up instead.

No extra motivational sayings needed

And there you have my top 3 favorite things to do in Pensacola, Fl.  At least for now.  Each new trip brings new experiences so when I visit again, who knows what new hot spots and experiences I’ll share with you.  All I can say is, keep reading, keep enjoying, and keeping living life.  It’s worth it.  

For #3 see:  http://wacsonwacsoff.tumblr.com/post/10055811764/sex-on-the-beach-and-my-top-3-spots-of-pensacola-fl

For #2 see:  http://wacsonwacsoff.tumblr.com/post/10088555361/top-3-things-to-do-in-pensacola-fl-2

#2:  Blazzues

After two full days of hitching, I found my last driver happened to be a salsa dancer who told me of a restaurant/bar called Blazzues that I just had to go to.  I was coming in on a Wednesday which he excitedly told me just happened to be their swing and blues night.  I took this piece of information with a a reluctant grin because after hitching for two days, dancing sounds nice but slipping into a coma sounds better.  However, I decided to suck it up and give it a shot come rain or come exhaustion.

 ”Just five more minutes ma”

Blazzues is a swank little place that hosts different types of live music from soul to funk, jazz to blues, and the occassional shitty band and indifferent sound technician that no restaurant is immune to having every once in awhile.

Be that as it may, whether you dance or not, you can come enjoy live music, wine tastings, BBQ, drunk people who don’t know any better when you hit on them, and nice bathrooms people don’t piss all over (trust me, travel like I do and you appreciate these things).

If you do dance, they have salsa, swing and blues.  For my swing and blues bretheren I want to call this place Blazzuestcoastswing because I walked in and immediately fell into a west coast swing trap where I was mauled to death by Westie dancers who had little sympathy for my lindy background. 

My personal recommendation when you go is to dance with Orion Hall and Jennifer Luke.  Two amazingly talented Westie dancers.

  Jennifer

“I’m working on my pistol fingers.”

  Orion - Always dance with a man who carries anti-shark spray 

Dancing with these two could be compared to a week at Oktoberfest with no hangovers and it should be required that you smoke a cigarette after every dance with them.

“I tickled that Elmo”

Honorable Mention:  Running The Train Tracks

One of my favorite things to do is run down train tracks.  You always get great out of the way scenery.  Though I didn’t put this into my top 3, Pensacola has an insane amount of train tracks that are great to run down.  If you enjoy long runs, walks or camping adventures to find the dead body of Ray Brower then exploring the tracks are something very worth doing.

For those of you who didn’t catch the reference

Thank God for no mosquitos…this time

I love seeing the worn down, dilapidated parts of American history.  These places evoke strong feelings of things in my own life that have come and gone.

Tune in next time for my number one spot as I tell you how I did the thing I swore I’d never do.

For my #3 Spot on Things To Do In Pensacola, FL: http://wacsonwacsoff.tumblr.com/post/10055811764/sex-on-the-beach-and-my-top-3-spots-of-pensacola-fl

If you find yourself in Pensacola, typically you have two options: keep driving till you hit a new city or find a spouse in the military, settle down and hope enough people fall into the same trap so that you develop a great social network.  But if being pumped by a Seaman isn’t your cup of tea, don’t fret.  There are many enjoyable aspects to Pensacola if you know where to look.  

Despite having most of my time taken up djing a large dance event the weekend I was down there, I found the space to visit a few local hot spots as well as bury the hatchet by doing something I swore to myself I would never do.  But that’s not till number one.  Till then, here is number three of my favorite things to do in Pensacola (at least from this trip.  This is definitely subject to change).

#3:  McGuire’s Irish Pub

 Their slogan is feasting, imbibery and debauchery .  A slogan that is the Vegas equivalent of a bright neon sign that says “come in and leave your soul and pants at the door.”   When I walked in I was immediately struck by the strange decoration choice they had.  The entire ceiling around this massive restaurant was strung with dollar bills, as if the building was an irish stripper who thought it was good luck not to change her panties and keep all the contents.    

Guess which dollar bill has chlamydia and you win a prize

 Anyone with a set of balls, a staple remover and a lot of free time could pay their kids way through college by “redecorating” this place.

“Why do they do this” you may be asking yourself.  The dollar bill tradition started with one of its original waitresses who signed her name to it and stapled it to the wall. Since then people have been following her footsteps and visibly mocking Jerry’s Kids by donating their dollars to a cause that benefits no one except the Staple Company. 

They claim over a million dollars paint the ceilings though, under the threat of being pistol whipped by a Sooper Trooper, I call shenanigans.  Anyone who had a million singles on the ceiling and didn’t do a thorough “spring cleaning” is simply two whiskey bottles short of a proper Irish breakfast.  

The food at McGuires was quite tasty and worth checking out if you like the brown food group.  It’s rich, heavy and will keep you filled till the return of Christ or the return of your triple bypass surgery. 

Delicious Irish Boxtys: garlic mashed potatoes that are breaded and flash fried

Along with the traditional Irish dishes (I highly recommend the Shepherd’s Pie), they have a wide array of unique burgers, one of which they’ve even named as the “Terrible Garbage Burger”.  

Inspired by such a burger, I wanted to make my own version with ground beef, a tire iron, some old yarn and a book on bass fishing.  I’ll call it the Boy Scout Burger, since it’s prepared for almost anything.  

Of course you can’t just eat at an Irish Pub.  You have to drink you pussy!  So to honor the power of the Irish Liver, I suggest getting the Irish Wake.  A powerful blend of rums and juices that have each been fucked by a leprechaun to give it that wonderful green color.  These drinks are limited to three for their potency.  

After three of these, straws wont be the only thing I’ll be sucking on

 SPOILER ALERT!!!  If you want to visit McGuiers and take your chances then skip over the next two paragraphs.  However, if you want to have a leg up on the other tourists and actually look like a local, read on.  When you decide to visit the bathrooms here, be sure to read the signs carefully.  

 Notice anything?

Like most people, we take a quick peak at the door sign and quickly come in.  The blatter and bowels wait for no man my four glasses of bear and six brans muffins used to say, so who has time to read signs?  But if you don’t read properly, you’ll make the same mistake I did. 

When I walked into the bathroom a woman sauntered right past me. I was more caught by her sexiness than I was the fact that there was a woman in the men’s room.  When I looked past her and saw another woman, it dawned on me.  I had been duped by the fifteenth oldest trick in the Irish handbook, right under River Lancing and chugging Irish Car Thongs.  

Sucker

Perhaps they did this as a joke.  Perhaps they did it as a means of giving drunk men an excuse to follow women into the bathroom.  But whatever the motive behind it is, consider yourself warned.

 Lastly, before you leave, it is imperative that you kiss the moose head. 

Like the Blarney Stone, kissing the moose head is a tradition considered lucky.  If you’re expecting the same kind of fireworks you’d get from kissing Leonardo DiCaprio or MeatLoaf, then you may want to suck down a few more Irish Wakes.  Everyone knows the Moose is nature’s Casanova, but a tongue the size of a hoagie roll is enough to intimidate even the most seasoned romantic.  

I had to climb over a family of six eating their dinner to do this, telling them I was part of the animal investigation bureau of cleanliness.  Did they buy it?  Being that my wallet is a ziplock bag, probably not, but damn it, that’s where we put our samples.  

There you have it folks!  Stayed tuned for number 2 and 1, where I will tell you the story of how I did something I swore I would never do.  

Bonjourno ladies and gentlemen!   As you know, when I travel I like to make food for those I’m staying with.  Sunday night, after the Pensacola Blues Exchange had wrapped up, I went back and cooked dinner for the after party.  It was a big hit that required some MacGuyver skills when I found they didn’t have all the equipment I needed.  That is something I continue to impress upon you as you travel: you have to be creative and make do with what you’ve got.  The following morning I wanted to do something special for everyone with something I almost never do: bake.

Being a chef, I dislike baking and its precise science.  I like grabbing shit and tossing it into a pan until it tastes like the aftermath of Green Eggs and Ham.  Baking rarely affords me such opportunities.  But I decided I would give this a go-go and take my chances with the sharks of the big white sea of flour, sugar and other ingredients.  What ended up happening pulled me right back into the arena of how I like to cook and tested my skills as a hack baker.

Here is Banana Experiment Bread, step by step:

1.  Gather your ingredients and measure them out properly

In a house of four roommates, you would have expected at least one measuring cup.  Nope.  My first strike on precision, I used this fancy measuring cup I’m sure you can pick up at your local William Sonomas.  I could make do with this as long as they had some decent measuring spoons.

Err… Strike two, I found this lovely plastic Asian soup spoon custom fit for the distinguished baker who likes to yell “ah fuck it, that looks like a teaspoon and a half”.

You then take all of the ingredients and measure them out using your sophisticated equipment that would be perfect for Iron Chef Kindergarten.  Uh oh… we have a problem

I don’t have enough bananas.  Kind of important when making something called Banana Bread!

  You dick!

Coming up a cup and a half short on bananas, I decided to do what I do best: wing it.  But with what?  I went to the trusty fridge and picked out whatever I thought might work.

Hmmm…

Sour cream?

Check

How about a random half cup of vegetable oil?

Check again

I think this bread is a little too sober for my liking.  How about some Malibu?

Check

Being that there was a Tropical Storm coming, perhaps I should use some of the Emergency Hurricane food.

Uncheck.  I’ve had bad luck with animated food.

Step 2: Mix it all together…

…and pray to God it comes out better than this guy’s hair

Step Three:  Ackowledge the local indigenous tribes to create good will and maybe earn access to a kitchen with actual equipment.

“I am Otter and I bring banana bread to your land in exchange for little mouths to lick off my paws.”

Step Four: Set oven to 350 F., cook for an hour and do the sacred banana bread dance for the gods.

A partner and rain gear are often times required.

Step Five: Give thanks that your experimental bread came out edible and delicious.

And there you have it folks.  How to make banana experiment bread.  Some of you may be asking, “but Wesley, how much of what do I use?”

Silly me.  I almost forgot to tell you.  The ratios for everything are set to random.  Might as well take a dart, throw it at a numbers board, and chances are you’ll have just as much of a chance as I did.  Will I be able to recreate this again in the future?  Not exactly.  But that’s the wonder of experiment bread.  It’s different every time.

Bon Appetite!

And now for the “to be continued” to be continued.

My last entry found me at a gas station around 9 PM getting ready to look for a bridge to sleep under.  I had very little luck with rides that day and night time had fallen.  If you think people are wary of hitchhikers already then take that, shoot it up with buffalo steroids and you’ll have a glimpse of how they feel about picking up hitchers after dark.  Corey Heart may have sung about wearing sunglasses at night, but the theme song in the heads of drivers when they see me after dusk falls along the lyrical lines of “that guy buries minivan drivers at night”.  

As of yet I have not had to sleep outside, but the idea of it doesn’t bother me.  I prefer not to have to strike up a tent at night because, unlike the blind Colonel Frank Slade who can put together a .45 while telling a woman she smells like peach seaweed, I’m short on practice with my ninja night tent assembly skills, and am still uncertain of the laws involving camping on the side of a highway. 

“Ooooh ahhhh, that was a mouth full”

Mostly though, my hesitation could be catalogued under a wariness that somewhere in the tall grasses of the Southern US lurks a coral snake/alligator/brown bear/mosquito hybrid that threatens to poison, drown, devour and make me itchy till death do us part.  Hence my desire to find a bridge that I could sleep under.  Pre-made shelter far away from Nature’s unique science experiments.

Pictures of this beast are classified until someone explains why oreos are so addicting

The only thing that discouraged me was that it was night time and I had made it all of 25 miles on a trip that was 442.  If my numbers were a movie star line up, Paris Hilton and Fran Drescher would be my headliners.  As I walked out of the Burger King that shared its wall with a gas station, I stared up into the night sky and prepared myself for a long walk under the stars.  I took a deep breath and began to walk forward when I noticed a man standing in front of a truck.  He was looking at me.  I turned and we locked eyes.  As a hitcher you live for the locked eyes because it means there is a chance this person might help you. 

The reason why Dracula was never an old souther black woman with one tooth and a book entitled Cigarette Seduction.

He then asked me where I was headed?  My sense of hope began to raise its head and I told him Birmingham.  Without a moments hesitation he said, “that’s where we’re going.  Hop in.” I let out a huge sigh of relief.  Birmingham was still about three hours away so this was a fantastic score.  He went inside and came out with a bottle of water and handed it to me.  “This is for you.”  I graciously accepted and threw my bag in the back and said a silent thank you to the Universe and promised to come back as a smore it could eat over Christmas in my next life.  

The Hungry Universe

Me As My Next Incarnation:  Dessert

The man’s name was DR and he was driving back to Alabama with his grandfather.  He was a wonderfully generous man and very good conversation for the three hour drive.  It’s interesting.  Being in the south, my brain has a tendency of assuming everyone is a red neck interested only in tractor pulls and mud rallies, so I am always curious when the conversations get going.  I never know what to expect. I guess it’s the same kind of curious expectations people have when picking up a hitcher.
 

As we drove he told me I was fortunate because they weren’t originally planning on coming my direction.  He didn’t realize I had turned on my lucky switch earlier that day.  It wasn’t until later that I realized just how much my lucky switch was working.

He asked me where my next destination was and I told him Pensacola.  Right after I said this he turns and says, “my grand dad is going down to Mobile tomorrow morning which is about an hour from Pensacola.  You can drive down with him.”  The jack pot sign was hitting all 7s and I was shooting fireworks silently out of my ass.  This would save me so much time.  The only thing I needed now was to find a place to sleep for the night.  I originally had a place lined up with a guy from couch surfing, but being that I was getting in so late, he was going to be hours into counting sheep. 

Once again, this problem was swiftly dealt with.

DR asks me where I was planning to sleep for the night.  I told him I wasn’t certain yet and that I’d probably just find a place outside to sleep when we got to Birmingham. Staying in the same vein of amazing generosity he tells me, “why don’t you stay at my place and get a hot shower and some food in you.”  If I was going to come back as an edible smore, than now I was going to have to bring some duck fat fries with me too.

I stayed the night at DR’s place.  It was huge and caught me by surprise.  He put me up in his living room and said “there’s food and drinks in the fridge.  Help yourself.”  That night I laid down with a big smile on my face not thinking of my sun scorched arms or my tired shoulders.  I simply lay in a state of gratitude at the wonderful surprises life can bring you.

Sometimes when things aren’t seeming to go the way you want, you just have to have faith that every thing’s going to work out just as it’s supposed to.  This was one of those instances.  There was a reason I didn’t catch many rides.  Getting to that Burger King when I did and having that conversation with the traveling couple positioned me exactly where I needed to be at the exact right time to meet DR.  And meeting him helped my journey more than I anticipated. 

 DR

The following morning I woke up and was surprised to see DR approach me with a rather interesting gift.  

“This was the survival knife they gave me when I was in the airforce.  I want you to have it.”  

I looked at it and thought, “that’s not a knife, that’s a fucking sword.”  I was amazed by this gift as it made me rest assure that if I ever ran into sasquatch or needed to cut down a Redwood, I’d be ok.  More than that, it gave me what I needed to get a leg up on the competition in the underground Lobster Knife Fighting circuit.  

Dollar bills, dollar bills, dollar bills!!!

I drove down to Mobile with DR’s granddad who started the trip by buying me breakfast.  He was a wonderful story teller who had worked as a state trooper.  Interesting fact, he was at the scene when famous actress Jayne Mansfield died in an autowreck. 

He filled in the details by saying when her car ran into the back of the truck it ripped off the top of her head, a detail wikipedia conveniently left out.  Anyone wanting to know how to get inside the head of this gorgeous buxom actress needed only talk to this man.

We got into Mobile about one and parted ways.  I found myself an on ramp and proceeded to make the final hump of my journey.  The first spot was a bust so I walked a few miles in the hot Ala-bammer sun to another area.  The neighborhoods I walked through were sketchy with a slight chance of lynching, so I debated with myself how quickly I could draw my new survival sword. When I got to my next destination, I was surprised to see the Matrix had been there and I had just missed it.

As I laid down my bag I repeated the mantra “there is no ride, there is no ride”

As I stood there trying to flag people down I saw a very curious site.  A car was slowly driving behind some trees towards me.  It was like a lion trying to stalk me hoping I didn’t notice it, inching bit by bit forward.  It finally came to a stop and just stood there.  I looked at the car and it looked right back at me.  It seemed a show down between Wesley and the mystery car was about to take place.  The muffler fight at the OK Corral.    

After a few minutes a man popped out of the car and stood in the trees.  He was looking in my direction, but only stood there.  What the fuck was this guy doing I thought.  He went into his trunk and came out with a bunch of orange traffic cones and proceeded to walk towards me.  When he got within about ten feet I asked him what he was doing.

“I’m just surveying an accident.”  Well that was a lot better than trying to pick up the main ingredient for white man meat loaf.  He looked down at my sign and said, “I’m going to Pensacola after this.  Want a ride?”  I laughed.  Wow.  Travels complete.

It was my original plan to stay in Nashville all of three days, but by the end of my journey there, I had stayed there almost two weeks.  It was a town that enchanted me and was hard to leave.  My fantastic host Christine Wheatley definitely made it possible for me to extend my trip, but my journey called me onwards and I had to get down to Pensacola, FL.

I began this trip with the belief that everything I needed would come to me.  As I journeyed onwards, I found this was a belief that was about to get tested. 

I left Tuesday early in the morning, but before getting out of Dodge, I was treated to a lovely breakfast at one of my jewels of Nashville: Provence.  They have been awarded best bread by their local paper and eating it I finally experienced why.  

If you’ve ever had a Grandmother and didn’t spontaneoulsy pop out of a hole in the ground, than chances are you had one that made delicious homemade bread just like mine did. There is something amazing that happens when you throw together flour, water, eggs, salt, yeast and cat nip.  For $3 at Provence, you can get shot put right back into such delicious childhood memories.  Quite the deal.

After taking a long nap in my friend Shante’s car (who treated me to this lovely smorgasbord of culinary goodness), I hit the road once again making my way towards Pensacola to dj their first ever blues dance event.  Because the distance was 442 miles, I planned on stopping part way in Birmingham, AL.  

It was going to be I-65 most of the way since I didn’t have a flying Delorean that “doesn’t need roads” nor a wild haired uncle willing who made it capable of flying.

Now I suspected that my first experience hitching seemed to flow so smoothly that it was probably the exception and not the rule.  When you’re gaining experience on the road you have to take things day by day and simply add them up until you have enough data to make a proper pie graph on the ratios of cars that stop to cars who see all hitchers as the scream killer. 

Mmmm…tastes like corn syrup.  Little do they understand that in the heat of the south, that uniform is just plain silly. 

I began soliticing myself to local traffic around 1 PM and after a dismal hour with no luck and a hue of remorse for not showing more leg, I picked up my bag and started walking down the highway, thumb out.  When I crossed this sign, I knew if I didn’t catch a ride I’d have a ways to walk.

Now hitching while walking on the highway went against the original suggestions given to me, but I soon found out you have to modifiy as you go in order for things to work.  After a few miles of walking I was picked up by a musician whose car looked as if a grocery store had exploded in it.  I didn’t care though.  He was a musician and was kind enough to give me a ride for a few miles to a truck stop where my luck might improve.  

When he dropped me off, he presented me with a tough choice that I had very little time to make a decision on.  I could either keep trying to hitch into the wee hours of night, though the later it gets the harder it gets to catch a ride.  Or, I could stay at his place and his wife would make us dinner and I could start again the following day.  Being that it was late and never wanting to turn down free food, I was very tempted. 

 So…tempting…must…resist

I considered it seriously for a moment, but then said “Nay!”  I had an event to get to, a deadline to meet and I was only about fifteen miles out of Nashville which was a dismal amount for being close to 6 PM.  I thanked him and turned down his offer.  Whether I was going to sleep under a roof with a bed or under a bridge with a troll I was going to forge ahead.

Walking along the highway is an interesting experience.  When you’re out in the middle of nowhere, not knowing where you’ll be that night or what will happen, there is a sense of freedom that is quite tangible.  A reality that sinks in that life is truly what you make it, and that there are more paths to take than meet the prescribed avenues society often lays out for us.  Thinking on all of this, I got to take in the beauty of the local scenery, watching a sunset over the hills.

There is something so relatable to Forest Gump when I watch a sunset in the middle of nowhere.  

After a few hours of walking, another car stopped and grabbed me.  My next ride again only took me a few exits, however when we got there he took me to a Burger King and bought me dinner.  A very kind and generous offer.  Being that I aim to eat healthy I looked over the menu, my mind going “no, no, no, no, no, no” till finally landing on a chicken sandwich in the style of grilled.  

While there, a couple overheard me talking about my travels.  They were probably in their 50’s or 60’s and were incredibly friendly.  They had been traveling for the past month, however their story was much different than mine.  Their son had just died, and though they were very vague, I took from what they had said that he had committed suicide.  Despite their good spirits and warmth towards me I could see the pain in their eyes and understood that being a parent is something very foreign to me. 

What amazed me though was that here, in the middle of a Burger King in po-dunk nowhere, Tennessee, I had a heart felt moment with these wonderful people who I had just met.  We hadn’t known each other for weeks, only a brief moment in time and yet here they were opening up their hearts to me and telling me what they were going through.  It’s touching to feel what you can share with people you consider complete strangers.  What can melt in just an instant.  

We shook hands and they left with the wish that they could give me a ride.  I decidely wanted that too, but we were heading in opposite directions.  After I finished my sandwich and talked with the cashier who snuck me out a free Sprite which I thanked her for and then threw away because I don’t drink soda, I packed up my stuff and faced the truth: it was late and I was going to be sleeping out tonight.

I had prepared myself for this, and had to admit that traveling like I do, sometimes you catch a ride and sometimes you don’t.  I walked out into the warm night, and looked at the highway wondering how long it would take me to find a bridge worth sleeping under that wasn’t infested with fairy tale trolls who have grievances about people klick-klacking over their homes.

 Nothing like getting “was grounded into jelly” in your obituary notice and I unfortunately was short on my troll mace.

Being that I was short on brothers who were meatier and tastier than I, my selection was crucial. That’s when something very interesting happened that I did not expect.  Something that changed the course of my journey that night.

Tune in next time to read about the rest of my travels to Pensacola.