I followed Jaime
Nice to meet you Nebo!
Missy in MN
Hi Missy, nice to meetcha. Nice screen name, I almost took that one myself. It's amazing what you can use a Quija Board for isn't it?
Thank you one and all for posting and reading, hopefully we can keep the laughs flowing.
Perry, Ga:
Wednsday morning arrived with a groan. Groan on the inside, dark on the outside.
At six thirty in the morning, I'm really glad we pushed as far as we did yesterday. My back is killing me, as I knew it would be, but even if we pulled up a couple of hundred miles earlier, it wouldn't have made a difference to how I felt today. So at least today is a much shorter drive.
For those of you wondering, yes, Diane drives, she just doesn't drive on expressways or highways. She's a good driver otherwise, so I never push that issue. After loading up the car again, I pull it down to the lobby, and we go in for the delectable Hot continental breakfast that is also FREE!
However, I am confused.
It is still pitch black outside. This time of year in Carpentersville, it would be starting to be lighting outside. Let's see, the sun rises in the east, and in december, is in the southern hemisphere.
Hmm, we have driven towards the east, and are much further south now.
So, it should be getting light earlier, right?
But, then we lost an hour, time zone wise, and I guess we haven't made that whole hour up in our location. Geesh!
On arrival inside of the motel lounge, I immediately knew why they call it a "Continental Breakfast."
There were two hispanics, an Asian, and a guy that looked Pakistani already in there. And I'm not counting the hillbilly
Hey, we're an equal opportunity offender.
But not a donut or bagel in sight.
Here's the menu:
Fake cheerios, milk, coffee, frozen waffles, hard boiled eggs, bread and oatmeal. The closest thing to any kind of meat, was the dead cockroach in the corner. The only thing that came hot was the coffee, it was more of a, "You make it hot" continental breakfast.
I really didn't care, it's not like I was looking forward to a Cracker Barrel breakfast anyway, besides, yesterdays' memories are not that far removed.
I had coffee, a waffle I stuck in the toaster, and bread I stuck in the toaster.
Good enough for me. The last thing I wanted to do was turn this Continental Breakfast into something else.
Like an "In-Continental Breakfast", if you get my drift.
I was just thinking, there are a lot of newcomers here, but we have not begun to take any pictures as of yet. So just so you might have an idea of whom, or what you're reading, I'm posting a picture from my first trip report for the heck of it. This is from "If it's tuesday, this must be Epcot" and , if anything, it should thin out the readers a bit.
Anybody still there? Hello?
By the way, I'm the one in the middle.
On the way to the car, Smidgy notices that I'm already doing the Quasimodo walk, but there's not a thing I can do about it. I've already taken two aspirin and two profens, that's all my stomach can take for now.
And the Santa Fe is still the best vehicle I've ever driven down there in.
It's made in South Korea, and we bought it new in 03. The first time I turned on the radio, I couldn't understand a word they were saying.
But this small SUV isn't happy unless it's totally packed, and crossing many state line borders.
Did I mention that it's also built in Mexico?
(mom, I'm sorry about that last joke, really, I am)
By seven, we're back on the road, and I'm still looking for the sun.
And deer.
Finally, it starts getting light out, and I punch in 75 on the cruise.
I hardly ever push it too much, for one thing it cuts down on gas milage, and secondly, I don't have a radar detector. If you're constantly looking for cops, it takes away any relaxment you get from using the cruise, and adds stress to your body instead. This back doesn't need any more stress.
With the cruise control set at a meager 5 over, it took less than 5 minutes before the "nasty" signs reared their ugly heads.
And they progressively got meaner.
"Construction ahead 2 miles"
then
"Speed limit 50"
"Construction for the next 32 miles"
"Speed radar timed and enforced"
"SPEEDING FINES DOUBLED IN CONSTRUCTION ZONE"
it was the last one that got me to shut down the cruise though
"DID YOU EVER SEE, 'MACON COUNTY JAIL?"
Yep, that last one will do it. I HAVE seen Macon County Jail, and I'd like to remain a vir..... well, never mind.
I know one thing is going to have to change this day, compared to yesterday. If my back is going to make it, there will have to be plenty of stops. Luckily, this section of 75 has a few of them.
We turned into true believers of President Bush's policy of "No rest area left behind".
Pulled into the Tifton rest area, then about 50 miles later, had to stop again for gas, then hit the Florida welcom center. This normally totally goes against all my driving habits, where the only time we stop is for gas. I did notice something else I had forgotten about when we crossed the state line.
Our first trip down to Disney was in '92 with the kids. The first days' drive ended in a town just south of Atlanta called Stockbridge, and we ordered a pizza that night for dinner. The leftovers went in the cooler.
By the time we hit Florida, there was a terrible smell in the car, and when we got out at the welcome center, Diane and I thought it was from the pizza, and threw the rest of it out. Within 20 miles, the smell had gone away, and even though we didn't understand it, we were just relieved to have not saved it and eaten any the next day.
Until the return trip, home.
At right around the same area, the smell came back. I remember saying, "Either that pizza is still sitting in the garbage can over there, or we through out a perfectly good pizza for nothing."
Today, that smell is back. I have no idea where it comes from, but next time you drive the 75 route down, see if you notice it.
Ok, photo intermission time again. This time of Smidgy, same trip report.
Our last rest area not left behind was in Ocala, then we took the Florida Turnpike. The motel de jour was the only one I had made a ressie in advance, a Travelodge Suites, maingate, in Kissimee.
After exiting the turnpike, this motel can be a bit dodgy.
There are two of them on rt. 192, the Irlo Bronson Highway, and they are both named "Maingate". Only difference is the address, and one of them has the word, "orange" in parenthesis in the title.
Our ressies are for the not orange one.
Why book in advance you ask for an early december night in the middle of the week?
35 a night, that's why.
ANd, a suite! Never stayed in a suite before.
On the way to it, we passed the other one, and it looked really nice. So did that part of town, also, a real touristy look was everywhere.
Go karts, mini golf, ticket centers. Cool. Now I feel like I'm on vacation.
But our motel was still a couple miles down the road, and this area wasn't quite as "spiffy".
We checked in, got our ground floor room, but we had to walk around a corner from where the car was to where they hid the lousy smokers room in the back, where the lousy smokers belong.
That's ok, considering what I know is coming, I'm just glad to get a smoking room, period.
By the way, the definition of a suite?
A huge gigantic add-on to a regular room, that has a pull-out sofa in it.
I started laughing the second we opened the door. You could have put a pool table in there if you wanted it was so big.
Heck, you could have put a pool in there, but all there was was a sofa bed.
They did have a pool though, and since our summer tan has almost totally disappeared by now, I was changed and ready to check it out. That was the first time I met the stalker.
Diane was still unpacking and changing, so I said I'd meet her by the pool.
Wearing just a bathing suit and sneakers, a towel over my shoulder, and carrying a can of PBR and my trusty Uncle John's Bathroom Reader, you can picture what I looked like.
Through the parking lot, I passed a worker pushing a hopper of branches.
I did the polite head nod, which he countered with, "Heading out to the pool are ya?"
I wanted to say, "Nope, got a job interview, here's your sign."
Instead, I said, "Nope, the beach, which is warmer, the Gulf side or Atlantic?"
Yeah, I suppose that wasn't much nicer, what can I say?
At first he just looked at me, then he kind of laughed and went on his way.
It was not a pretty pool, plus it was right by the road with a lot of traffic noise. However, it is december, yesterday morning it was in the teens where I was, and now I'm sitting by a pool, and no airplanes where involved.
Later when Diane joined me, she said she just ran into the strangest man, I said hi to him, and he said "Go ahead, he's waiting for you." I had to laugh.
A short "aside" here. This is now our 12th time down to the world of Disney. Nine of those times, we drove. Part of that reason is the tinkerability factor, the other part is that it's still a bit cheaper to drive, and thirdly, I'm not crazy about flying.
Just don't like the helplessness feeling about being packed into an aluminum cookie dough tube with wings.
We flew down in september of '06 and it was not one of my shining moments. It was bad enough when I found out our flight number was 451, as in Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451, but the whole ordeal started out with a whimper when I saw this little gray haired old man get on the plane ahead of me.
Then found out he was the pilot.
I lovingly referred to him as Pontius, the Pilot. I went into great depth about this plane trip in my second trip report, Feeding Nebo and if anyone wants, I suppose I can find it in the archives and post a link to it.
At the pool, we have it all to ourselves, but after feeling the water, uh uh, no way I'm going in there. That's ok, I'm happy just to be here. To me this was just incredible, we knew coming down this time of year can be a bit dicey with the weather, and any pool time would be a plus. It was about 66 that day for a high, but as long as the sun was out, it felt great.
Two hours later we headed back to the room, but stopped by the car for a second to get some things.
Our buddy was there, too.
Looking into the mostly still packed Santa Fe, he said, "You guys must be on vacation."
Yeah, no getting one over on this guy.
"Nope, just taking our luggage for a drive."
As Bill Engvall would have said there just wasn't enough signs for this guy.
In the room, I am now in serious manhattan time. You know, for pain maintenance. Dinner plans were going to be to finish off the Popeye's chicken we brought with us, but instead we opted for the Mcdonalds' that was next door. After changing I wanted to get it when it was still light out and we could walk, even though we weren't ready to eat just yet. No problem, our room had a microwave.
Upon the return trip from Macdonalds, of course I'm carrying the big white bags with the big M on them.
Wanna guess what's coming up?
You got it!
"Hi again." "Went to the ol Mickeyds', huh?"
By now I'm thinking we are his sole entertainment in life.
"Nope,went to Microsoft, just had dinner with Bill Gates and he let us take home the leftovers."
Back in the room, I put the whole bag in the microwave. It stays pretty warm in there, and when it's all together, you only need to zap the whole bag for about 40 seconds.
One problem though.
It's not plugged in.
And the cord comes two feet short of the outlet.
Ok, I'll just move the microwave.
Uh uh. It is totally and completely bolted down to the top of the dresser.
Ok, I'll just pull the dresser over.
Uh uh. It is totally and completely bolted to the wall.
So, it boiled down to :
I can't heat the food, that's in the micro, that's bolted to the dresser, that's bolted to the wall, ,,,
That lived in the house that Jack, built.
The guy at the counter told us our room had a working microwave, so I didn't understand this, unless somebody stole the extension cord.
I explained the dilemma to Diane, and of course, she had to go and check out all the variables to see for herself, because, you know, I can't be trusted.
After she saw everything I said was true, she stood back and looked at it, then she solved the problem.
SHE RIPPED IT OFF THE TOP OF THE DRESSER!
I'm not kidding.
I looked again, and now it was two feet further down, bolts lying on the floor, and she has it humming happily away.
The moral of this story:
Never give a woman too much whiskey!
coming up, D-Day at last!
sweet dreams everybody,
Reminder to self (DO NOT DRINK ANYTHING WHILE PERUSING NEBO'S POSTS)
My younger sister Jaime will drive if I need to close my eyes for a while, but 99.9% of the time I do 100% of the driving. It's a good thing I like to drive.
