The Backstory…

Okeedoke—so where is this magical place my family and I went?

L.A., baby! That’s right, Lower Alabama.

Now some of you may wonder why this place in particular, but the Alabama Gulf Coast shares with Florida some of the most beautiful, blindingly white beaches in the world. The Florida side, on the panhandle from Destin down to Panama City has always been a real touristy place, while the Alabama side was not quite so built up. Or expensive. Hence the sobriquet “Redneck Riviera”.

Dauphin Island, on the west side of Mobile Bay, is still somewhat secluded but it along with everything from Fort Morgan to Gulf Shores to Orange Beach to Perdido is decidedly much more Riviera than redneck nowadays. The Alabama side is somewhat more family oriented, while the Florida end is more heavily trafficked by partying college kids, but all of it has gotten pretty high toned.

And manages to draw folks from pretty far away. Saw the normal bunch from Tennessee and Mississippi and Georgia, along with a goodly number of folks from the Midwestern I-states, and one intrepid couple who lashed two kayaks on the roof of their Nissan Pathfinder and drove all the way down from MAINE!

You know, you really have to want to go kayaking bad to do that.

There were a good many folks on motorcycles, but this being the 21st Century, they were wealthy enough to be able to buy the whole outlaw biker persona at the Harley shop. I did feel kind of sorry for one guy who came all the way from Mississippi on a mildly chopped solid-frame Harley. Hardtail, indeed. The big winner of the long distance award, however, goes to some guy in a Chevy C-1500 who drove in from Alaska. That's not a typo--ALASKA!

Hey, Gulf Shores is nice, but I don’t know that I would drive 3,000 miles to go see it.

Which leads us into our next topic of…VEHICULAR MAYHEM!!

As for our drive down, the Honda did just fine. It was very nice not to have to worry so much about the possibility of breaking down, and it performed like a champ even though it was loaded to the gills. Got a bit over 20 MPG, and the kids managed not to rip or tear anything.

Of course, being anesthetized by having along a little VCR/TV combo tended to mellow them out a bit. Some of you may decry the loss of wonderful childhood memories of Slug-A-Bug and License Plate Bingo and Count the Possum Road Kill, but having once been a child myself, and now having four with deafeningly loud whine buttons, having an gentle, habit-forming electronic narcotic is a blessing. We were able to pass by most of the rest stops and purveyors of boiled peanuts (and REAL BOLED PENUTS, and GENUINE BOILED P’NUTS, and Fresh hot boiled “PEANUTS” IN “SHELL”) and made pretty good time. The only gauge of a successful trip, by the way. “Yep, rained a bit, but we made good time.”

Speaking of roadkill, seems there was less this year. I’m not sure why, but I really doubt it was a general increased sense of tidiness by ALDOT. I speculate (wildly) that since we’ve had a lot of rain this year, the critters have not been so pressed to search around for water and thus were less inclined to play in the traffic. Last year, I counted over twenty hard possums and four soft, but this year there were only about 16 armadillos to one possum, along with a porcupine, three raccoons, assorted furry things, and oddly enough, two big birds.

Several kind and considerate drivers did all they could to make me part of the count. Almost to a vehicle, they came from one place—metro Atlanta. I don’t know what it is about driving in Atlanta—the short distances between exits, the congestion, the crystal meth—but without fail if there was a car which came screaming up on my rear end (even though it was obvious there was a line of cars in front of me going slow), or which tailgated, or cut someone off, or drove like they learned how in Bombay or Caracas, it was somebody from Atlanta. Next worse were the ones from metro Birmingham, particularly Shelby County. Rude, hyperaggressive, and fully deserving to star in one of those nice films they show you in driver’s ed about the dangers of driving while stupid. I don’t mind people who drive faster than I do—I drive fast sometimes, too. But there is a difference between being fast and being quick. Quick means you anticipate more than one car length ahead of you, and you leave yourself some room to maneuver, and you share nicely with the other children. ::sigh:: Morons.

Anyway, we arrived safe and sound Saturday afternoon at our lovely condominium, which will get full attention in our next installment in just a bit!
posted by Terry at 11:50:00 AM