Daytona Beach sans kids!

About 2 weeks ago, Jeff informed me that he would be staying at the Hilton Beachside Resort in Daytona Beach, Florida for business, had two free days between meetings during which time it wouldn’t make sense to fly home, and invited me to come along.

It was an offer not to be refused, so I made a few phone calls (my parents are true rock stars) and tagged along.

It was a short but awesome mommy break. 

Jeff was gone the entirety of the first day and evening at meetings.  Since the weather was perfect, I bought a straw hat and soaked up the sun on the beach and by the pool while reading the book If You Lived Here, I’d Know Your Name by Heather Lende (a great read recommended by my sis-in-law Lindsey).

The next two days were too windy for the straw hat and the beach (except for a beautiful but chilly morning walk), so we spent time driving places, eating at local dives and getting a feel for the local color in and around “the world’s most famous beach.” 

It was fascinating.

We saw scores of Spring Breakers -- bikini-clad gals and board short-clad guys playing beach volleyball and prancing around on the beach and through the streets.  Among them were the “haves” (college kids staying at the Hilton) and the “have-nots” (the girls standing in front of me in line at Walgreens wearing Daisy Duke shorts, buying Ramen and paper bowls).  But they were all there to party.  Besides feeling old and cottage-cheesy around them, the mom in me wished they were home with their families.  I worried about them and wondered if their moms knew what they were up to.  I hoped they would stay safe.

Besides the expected convention-goers and families, there were hundreds of bikers (on Harleys mainly) arriving for the Daytona 200 (a huge biking event at the Daytona International Speedway – there were signs welcoming them right next to the signs reminding them to “Please Ride Quietly).

We saw luxury high-rise beach condos & hotels and old hotels painted pink with names like “Fresh Aire" and a “resort” with a Viking ship towering above its entrance featuring a sign that read “Poolside Bingo.”

And finally, for those travelers too weary to exit their vehicles or dismount their bikes, a drive-in Christian church.  A new twist on an old idea.

Following Trip Advisor leads, we ate the absolute best pizza I have ever, ever had (seriously!) at Bruno’s,

 the best breakfast (fresh apple fritters, Western omelet, chocolate chip banana waffle with whipped cream) we have ever, ever had (except for Jeff's) at The Cracked Egg Diner, 

and pretty darn good hand-made ice cream at Cow Lick’s.

We walked around the Daytona 500 international speedway and took pictures but not the expensive tour.

Ron Jon Surf shop is located in Cocoa Beach, a 73 mile drive from Daytona Beach (and only kind of on the way to the Orlando airport, where I needed to go).  Jeff visited Ron Jon’s once as a teenager and purchased a surfboard scraper key ring which he used all through college.  He was determined to replace that key ring on this trip (plus we thought the kids might dig having Ron Jon’s t-shirts) -- so we drove to Cocoa Beach.

It was a lovely drive (we passed Cape Canaveral on the way). We bought t-shirts for the kids.  Jeff’s key ring is no longer in production after 20 years – huge surprise -- so he settled on a different one.  It’s still pretty cool.

I’m on the plane now, heading home to the kids from whom I desperately needed a break.  I am now anxious to hug them.

That’s the beauty of mommy breaks.  It doesn’t even really matter where they are.  Daytona Beach was far from shabby, but a break’s a break.

Oh, and I forgot to pack a brush (Jeff uses his fingers and gel to style his hair, so I didn’t even have a comb).  It was well into the first day before I figured out I didn’t have one and I wasn’t anxious to overpay for something I already had at home, so I decided to prove to myself that it is actually possible to live (at least for a couple days) without a brush.

It just goes to show that really bad hair and a really good trip can indeed coexist.