Southward Bound

No matter how many times we drive to Florida, there is always a special anticipation of the trip. Even before the trip, we've destroyed the car - packing it full of junk food, fruit, drinks, suitcases, pillows, CDs. The drive is full of reliable markers that we can always use to gauge our progress. Who needs a GPS? We know where we are when we pass the Little Pee Dee River, Francis Marion "the Swamp Fox", the wonderful "Pedro sez" signs (even though they seemed fewer in number this year), the Sabatier outlet, Cafe Risque, all the McDonald's and Cracker Barrels we've visited over the years and, of course, South of the Border. As soon as we see the South of the Border compound, we know we've made incredible progress on our journey. This year we left at 1:45 A.M. in a thick fog that lasted until North Carolina. We were in a steady convoy of cars from New York, New Jersey and Canada, passing and being passed by the same cars and trucks over and over. The after-Christmas migration south had begun.