Published: July 18, 2008 12:03 am            

Column: Mike Reliford: Myrtle Beach Again

I thought I’d seen the last of the place a few years ago after Hurricane Floyd blew us out of town after just one day and night. We had nothing from that trip but a vacation picture.

But here I was, once more staring at the great Atlantic, listening to the breaking waves and the roar from the Grand Strand.

This was not the way it was meant to be.

The original plans for this holiday were this: Knowing that Wife wanted to go again, we had arranged for her, our son and daughter-in-law, and little Walree to make the trip. Our older grandson had turned down the invitation. I was to stay home in the Man Cave.

The Man Cave (my wood-paneled upstairs bedroom with a computer, TV, small fridge and other amenities) is pretty much where I spend most of my not-at-work time. I don’t like bothering folks with my on-the-hip Helios Plus oxygen provider (the puffing sound’s a little embarrassing), so I just stay in.

But, as time passed, Wife was worried about leaving “the old man” at home alone and I started worrying about sending my flock out to face the wolves without me.

So, “we” left in the dark Saturday morning and, using a computer map and directions, off we went. Everybody had overpacked, of course, and we were crammed into the mini-van.

Of course, it rained most of the way. And, of course, the map not being anything like my old route, we got lost. Somehow we turned this into about a 12-hour roadshow and things were, shall I say, tense when when our eagle finally landed.

But the week was great. There was a smattering of thunder showers, but overall everybody got what they wanted. They hit the beach every day and I slept, watched TV or hit the computer. I also did some reading and even got a little sun sitting on the balcony, perusing the scene from eight stories up. And I got the best sleep I’ve had in years, going under each night to the calming sounds of the ocean.

Each evening we went out for dinner. I drove. After dinner, I chauffered this crew wherever they wanted to go ... amusement park, aquariam, shopping ... and would sit in the van listening to the radio and playing Texas Hold ’Em on my cell phone.

Things went so well, we stayed an extra day. I used my time well, however. Using an Atlas and my memory for all the towns we used to go through — Florence, Darlington, McBee, Pageland — I created my own turn-by-turn directions for the return trip.

We left early Sunday for home. The trip was not as anticipated, even though the directions were perfect.

We were almost in a wreck, but escaped with some nifty (if I do say so myself) driving by me and the guy behind me. We were slowed to a crawl for miles because of a horrendous accident on I-77. And it poured the rain for all but the final two hours, slowing us considerably.

Dinner at a national chain restaurant made some of us queasy, causing an unplanned stop at a travel center. Walree, 2, was getting just a wee bit tired of being locked up in his little seat and kept wanting to go to Mommaw’s room (he thought we were still wherever and he was going back to the motel).

Home, blessed home, at last. It took almost an hour to fully unload at both houses and was going on midnight when I finally flipped the light on in my beloved Man Cave. I was dead tired.

Ahhh! I thought. And hit the bed, expecting to drop off immediately. But hours later I was pounding the pillows with my fist, trying to get comfortable, but knowing all along what was missing: That wonderful sound of the Atlantic lapping at the beach, the curtains moving aside gently to let the ocean breeze into the room.

That was days ago and I’m finally settling back into routine again. Vacations always end with a big dose of reality at the end. But that’s why we anticipate them so.

And right now, typing this, I can feel that ocean breeze and hear the majestic Atlantic beckoning me to return, as seductive as a Siren’s song. I think I might just keep a small bag packed.

MIKE RELIFORD can be reached at (606) 326-2647 or at mreliford@dailyindependent.com

        

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