My family always spent our summer vacation in a small beachfront community called Navarre. When I was small, there was nothing there but the whitest sand in the world. It’s like sugar. And while I know that sounds like an exaggeration, it really isn’t.
My cousins from Colorado visited us one summer in June. Before they’d left on their drive from Colorado Springs, the city was hit by a large snowstorm delaying their arrival. My youngest cousin, Brad, had fallen asleep in the back of the family sedan as they approached the panhandle. He awoke at the beach house in Navarre, looked out the window, and sobbed, “Oh no! More snow!”
It’s that white.
Down the street there’s a house I’ve always found remarkable. It’s a house that we simple called the “Flying Saucer House,” for obvious reasons. I just had to snap a picture of the Brougham in front of that house–rockets and space ships together in one shot.
Mrs. Murphy and I continued our jaunt eastward. As we rolled into Destin, a beautiful green and gold hotrod pulled out into traffic. “Wow, he looks like he needs to be a member of Motorpool,” Mrs. Murphy said. The driver quickly caught up to us, waved, and I threw a Motorpool t-shirt through his open window.
The driver yelled back, “Follow me!”
Now, both Mrs. Murphy and I are anxious to get home. It’s been a long trip. The goal for tonight is Savannah, which is an eight-hour drive from here. Where could we be going. But word to the wise: a road trip is not a road trip unless you take the unexpected opportunities that come along. So we did as we were told and followed the custom car to the nearest parking lot.
The driver of the fabulous custom cruiser introduced himself as “Cadillac.” In fact, everyone in Destin calls John Entrekin “Cadillac.” Even his business card says “Cadillac.” So why is he driving a Chevy?
“I just haven’t found the right Cadillac yet,” John said.
He kindly invited Mrs. Murphy and I for lunch. Why not? We had some incredible food, ate a mountain of fried shrimp, and met some of John’s friends. All in all, it was a great time. (And here I have to thank John for mailing me my camera bag, which I mistakenly left on the back of my barstool.)
The drive to Savannah was long and slow–one of the longest of the trip. We finally arrived at midnight, pulling into the cha-cha Thunderbird Inn. It’s really not so much of an inn as a motel, but what a cool motel. And indeed, it’s a bargain in pricey Savannah.