Sep 13, 2007

Slacking In Daytona Beach

Sometimes my day job requires me to suffer through "events" wherein I must represent the interests of my employer. Tonight I had to drive 80 minutes south on I-95 for a soiree of sorts in Daytona Beach. I stayed an hour, smiled and chatted, and then hopped into my sweet red convertible, dropped the top (on the car you pervs!), and cruised back up A1A on one of the last honest-ta-gawd stretches of Old Florida on the East Coast.

Lon Chaney's famous quote seems apt as I drive through the deserted main drag that parallels the world-famous beach of Daytona. "A clown at midnight," is exactly how it strikes me tonight just before the twilight descends. Sad and almost scary, filled with the icons of speed, auto performance shops, tattoo parlors, bars and old hotels with names like "Argosy" and "Corvette" and "Sun Deck." The empty town is still lit up like a bar-fly at last call, hoping someone will notice her and think, "what the hell..."

Slipping away in the twilight behind me, Daytona and Ormond give way to the sweetest thing you can imagine: miles of road running north with nothing but a sea of dark green palmettos on your left, and to the right, dark waves with luminescent tops not fifty feet away from the rocker panels of my Solara. It's almost like sailing. Not quite, but close enough for a work day. The sun peeks out under some lightning-strewn clouds and the day seems reluctant to leave me just yet.

Country chick music is on my CD player. Shut up, you, it's fun driving music: Gretchen Wilson, Bonnie Raitt, Trisha Yearwood. I belt out, "One Bud Wiser" as I cruise along, my hair flying around because I forgot a barrette. People stare and I don't care, I'll never see 'em again, and it feels good to have a voice again.

Low sand dunes seem blue in the gloaming moments just before the road takes a more sensible route a bit further from the coast and now it's all darkness and headlights and traffic and tired neon scribbles advertising seafood or rooms with AC.

But for 40 minutes or so, The Slack has never been so sweet, so good for the soul, so...mine.

8 comments:

Kim said...

Sounds divine.

Joan of Argghh! said...

It was. It felt good to feel good. And being alone and not lonely is always a nice place to be.

Gecko said...

Nothing better than hitting the road in a convertable: http://geckofeeder.blogspot.com
Glad you are all better!

Nonny said...

a red convertible and good weather tut tut i'm disgusted

pamibe said...

That sounds great...!

Jean said...

Well, dagnabbitt... I would have been glad to have met up with you anywhere in the area and chatted over dinner and/or a drink or two.

(Snack Jack's is nice.)

'mouse said...

Nice. Very nice. The scene and how you convey it.

Jimbo - PRS said...

Color me green (with envy, of course).