“The Wheels on the Road go...to Florida”

By Kevin Huelsmann 

Eighteen hours is a long time to spend in a car. When you’re 6’4” it gets even longer. You have to twist your body into positions that a contortionist would envy. One leg bent across the seat, one bent underneath, your torso twisted to get your head to the pillow propped on the window and your hands just lay wherever there is any room left. Then, once your body is folded into place, your head bounces against the pillow while you try to sleep. 

It sounds bleak, but the destination makes everything a lot more bearable. In my case it was Seacrest; a small town about 20 miles west of Panama City. The next closest town is Seaside, where “The Truman Show” was filmed; if that tells you anything about the area. In Seacrest the houses all resemble each other; with finely manicured lawns, colorful paint jobs and ever-smiling occupants. 

Joggers and bikers litter the streets and the town square is filled with little shops and restaurants. The last night I was there an old Western movie was even playing in an open grassy area in the middle of the shops. 

The whole town seemed like it was participating in some choreographed routine, like a play put on for the enjoyment of tourists (It reminded me of the end of “Funny Farm”). Everything seems too good to be true. It’s actually very charming, but spend a day too long and it starts to pick at you. Why are these people always smiling? Why is everything so cute? Maybe I’m very cynical or negative, but I need some unhappiness to balance me out. Much of my vacation was not spent in the town though. 

Me and my girlfriend’s family (mom and dad, brother, sister, and their spouses) stayed in a house about 15 min. east of Seaside. Much of our time was spent by the water; either the ocean or the pool. We would leave at about 10:00 a.m., come back for lunch and then go back until 5 or 6 in the evening. One day was devoted to a bike ride, and another day we went to an outlet mall (it had rained that day). 

The rest of our time was spent lounging in the sun, on the sacred beach chairs. These hunks of plastic were coveted with such hunger and lust that a homicide wouldn’t have been surprising. People stalk the beach and pool areas for these chairs; hovering around to see if anyone looks even remotely close to moving their butt even an inch. 

“Are you leaving? Can I have your chair?” they would ask with their eyes burning a hole in the prey’s forehead. 

Once you have safely found a chair, it’s fun to watch the other vultures circling around. People watching is a great way to spend time laying around on the beach. People of all ages join in the parade that marches across the beach all day. Everyone struts across the sand in bathing suits that either hide or show off their bodies. I’d say that 40 percent of my time on the beach was spent in this fashion. It puts you in a trance. You just stare at the people and the next thing you know twenty minutes have passed and there’s a little line of drool escaping out of the corner of your mouth. 

Other than people-watching, my beach time was divided between reading, swimming and a few sports. The group would get to the beach and set up our little camp. Then everyone would get out their books and read until boredom began to set in; one by one the books would be abandoned to the sand for some activity. Either Frisbee (ultimate or regular), a walk, a swim or just to eat a sandwich. Laziness definitely ruled our little beach community.
Our night life was limited by the fact that we had all been out in the sun for the day. After supper (each couple took turns making food) we would just hang out and play games. We played the games that you see at adult parties when everyone is done eating and there really isn’t anything else to do: Catchphrase, Taboo and Cranium. Before the week started, I harbored a strong hatred for these games. When I heard that the games were traveling with us I thought that I would just have to drag myself through the nights and play them. But as the week passed I definitely warmed up to the games and started actually enjoying them; yelling out words to describe line-dancing and penguins, without actually saying the words. 

Most nights were spent with the games; everyone huddled around the living room sizing up the competition. We would yell out answers and clues and, a few times, insults at one another. No one got too upset and everyone was usually in bed by ten o’clock—no all-night booze-fests. But by that time everyone was really tired.

I stayed in a little room on the third floor. Besides a closet or two, mine was the sole room atop a winding case of stairs. It had a pullout bed and a walkout porch that overlooked the rest of the houses next to us. I had been hoping for an ocean view, but I was just along for the ride so I can’t complain. At night I would lay on the porch with some thick headphones and stare at the stars. As the Postal Service or the Flaming Lips floated through my head, I would search the sky for constellations. I wish I would’ve actually known some constellations because I could’ve found thousands of them. 

The ride home went by a lot faster, mostly because I slept a good portion of the way. I would wake up for bathroom stops and food. Other than that I was out. I had seen the landscape on the way there and just wanted the trip to go as quickly as possible. 

I don’t get to travel too often, either because of lack of time or money (many times both). The problem with this is that I really enjoy traveling. The trips I do get to go on are practically sacred to me. This one was no different. Any time I can spend a week on the beach with my girlfriend, I’m not doing too bad at all. It was one of the most relaxing weeks I’ve had in a long time.

When it was all said and done it was good to get back to the rude, impolite people that actually exist. I’m still pretty sure that all the people down there are just illusions, part of an oasis from the long drive. 

I went back to work (I’m a teller at a bank) a day or two later and it seemed like I had been gone for months and months. People came in and complained about this fee and that policy and why they couldn’t do this or that. The sun wasn’t shining and the heat was unbearably humid—I knew I was back home.