On the Road Again (to Santa Rosa Beach, FL)

Yesterday, a few minutes before 10 a.m., Jude, John Patrick and I pulled onto I-65 south, headed for a week's stay in a vacation home we'd rented in Santa Rose Beach, Fl. I was in the driver's seat in Jude's Honda Pilot, she was riding shotgun next to me and John Patrick was in the back, secure in his car seat. Off we went.

The first 2 1/2 hours of our trip were uneventful. Just outside of Birmingham, Al, we stopped at a Cracker Barrel restaurant to eat lunch and let John Patrick stretch his legs. Before we went inside, he entertained the people sitting in the rocking chairs outside the restaurant by running up and down the walkway, jabbering the entire time. As we walked inside, carrying his lunch, sippy cup and portable high chair, he grabbed the sippy cup and started chugging the milk in it. For just a brief second, I thought to myself, "maybe we shouldn't let him drink much milk, since we'll be strapping him back in his car seat and getting on the road again right after lunch." The thought was fleeting though, as I was more concerned about getting seated and ordering lunch.

That's called "foreshadowing."

As Jude and John Patrick finished lunch, I drove the Pilot to a gas station next door, filled up the gas tank, bought some ice for the cooler and slammed a bottle of "5 Hour Energy" (That stuff really does work, by the way. I was wired and not a bit sleepy the rest of the trip). I picked them up and off we went down the interstate toward Montgomery, Al, with Jude riding in the back, sitting next to John Patrick, to entertain him.

About 30 minutes later, predictably, John Patrick vomited, mostly all over himself, but also on his car seat. Of course, it only figures that were on what was probably the longest stretch of I-65 south in Alabama with no exits. Finally, we came to an exit and stopped at a gas station. Jude changed John Patrick's clothes, then pulled the car seat out of the Pilot so we could clean it. I went inside with John Patrick and scrounged up a couple rolls of paper towels, trash bags and baby wipes. John Patrick was content to play with his train and, for some reason, an unopened roll of paper towels, sitting in the grass while we cleaned up. He probably thought we were staying at the gas station all week. More than a few drivers gave us strange looks as they pulled out of the gas station.

Finally, we got back on the road again, still making pretty good time, all things considered. Past Montgomery, we got off the interstate and on to a series of 2 lane highways. Just past the Florida line, John Patrick got sick again, although by this time he really didn't have anything left to throw up. Plus, Jude had a plastic bag ready for him, which kept him (and the car seat) clean. A minute or two later, John Patrick was fine.

We arrived in Santa Rosa Beach, Fl, an hour later and found the house in which we're staying. After I unloaded the Pilot, Jude fed John Patrick dinner and put him down to bed. Then and only then did our vacation officially begin. I had a couple of beers, Jude went to bed and I started reading James Lee Burke's new novel, "Rain Gods."