We journeyed further south, to Pompano Beach, just north of Miami. Our motel was the Seahorse, privately owned and operated. The room has no heat, but the outdoor pool is bathtub warm. It is a bit of an anachronism among the towering corporate condos that surround it. Soon after we arrived, we walked the beach, which is huge, both in length and breath. I can assure you readers that Anne has her bikini on underneath her outer layers. You’ll just have to take my word on it.
Earlier, before we departed St. Augustine, we toured the Castillo de San Marcos, a former Spanish fort that is now a national monument. The reenactors that were performing there mentioned Ponce de Leon’s fountain of youth, which was just behind our Ho-Jos. Time constraints and its $15 fee dissuaded us from visiting this sight. We were lucky that we didn’t visit it, because we learned from the 1740 reenactors at the fort, now 375 years-old that one visit entails a lifetime of daily repeat visits, sometime twice a day, just to maintain the status quo.
Driving I-95 south, many of the LED billboards were dedicated to an ongoing silver alert. A few years ago, we forgot to tell our boys that we had arrived safely at our driving destination. They trolled us mercilessly, with talk of calling off the FBI and canceling the silver alert, when we fessed up. At the time, we thought that the silver alert was a rather droll twist on an amber alert for missing children. Imagine our chagrin, when we learned that silver alerts are a thing.