By PAT NEWMAN
pnewman@thecitizennews.com

There is no better time to go to the beach than spring break.

That first swim of the season is like a ritual cleansing, washing away the winter blahs and coating the skin with a salty film that rejuvenates the mind and the soul. But the real reason I go the beach is to party.

Since that first spring break trip to the Florida shores in college, I have religiously made the trek to the Atlantic or Gulf to pay homage to King Neptune in April. In some ways, nothing has changed since the 1970s when I drove to Daytona Beach with my college pal Donna Ladinig to celebrate the rites of spring.

Back then, I drove a Chevy Malibu station wagon minus hubcaps. Today, I drive a Ford Escort wagon minus hubcaps. My suitcase was packed with two teeny bikinis, Coppertone Oil with zero sunscreen, halter tops and tee shirts and cut off jeans. This time, my pull-along pilot bag is stuffed with one “slimsuit” and one of those numbers with the bathing suit top and built-in shorts, tee shirts and cutoffs and Lancome age-defying sunscreen with SPF 40 plus.

Back in the day, the cooler was chock full of Cokes, Buds and juice. Today, the cooler still has its Cokes and Buds, plus juice boxes, GoGhurts, cheese sticks, milk, and an assorted layer of real foods like peanut butter and jelly, sliced turkey, bread, bologna, etc. — just enough to get me and three kids from home to the first rest stop.

Instead of Allman Brothers eight-tracks, we have Less Than Jake and Britney Spears CD's. And of course, it takes at least two hours longer to get to point B from point A with the young passenger load and the need to adjust the junk bungee-corded to the roof of the car every 20 miles or so. That has got to be the biggest difference between then and now — the car ride.

Donna and I cruised along at 65, singing, smoking cigarettes and stopping occasionally to try free Peach wine at a roadside stand or buy tacky souvenirs at Stuckey's. This impending journey to the beach with my loved ones forced me into training two months ago.

Weight lifting has toughened up my upper body, allowing me to hoist adolescents into the back seat when found dawdling beside the car. Push-ups have strengthened my back to withstand the repetitive seat kicks from the rear. I have new glasses to scan the map and an upgraded prescription to temper my urge to emit primal screams after the first 50 miles.

Daily jogs have improved my circulation, allowing me to stay strapped in the driver's seat for at least two hours at a time, or a bathroom break, whichever comes first. I have purchased new crayons, reams of paper, ear phones for personal CD players, and enough junk food to stock a Quickie Mart. I am ready.

When we finally hit the beach, it will seem like 20 something years ago. Warm aqua water, blue sky, bright sun and hot sand. The only difference will be that the guys I used to scope out now look amazingly like my son.

Back to the Top of the PageBack to the Weekend Home Page