Murrs Across America

The plan was to leave Springfield after the Jordan Valley Park event to have family dinner with the Murrs in Cabool before setting out Sunday morning en route to St. Augustine. Here’s the short story on that: didn’t happen.

After the event, during which Jane and Brady ran and danced and splashed, the kids crashed for a nap whist I packed and Stuart cursed Sears for taking his magic locking lug nut or somesuch (he was attempting to change the breaks on the truck, our gallant pack mule).  Brady, didn’t wake up for dinner; slept 15 hours straight! Jane helped me make trail mix and deer jerky We decided to skip the dinner, let Brady sleep and pack well.

We left Springfield with a loose plan and a two-year-old in big boy pants. With pirate music blaring that we arrived in Cabool to pick up Stuart’s brother Mason, who would drive our truck back to Missouri after dropping us off at the beach in St. Augustine. Here’s the story on that: didn’t happen.

Mason decided not to go, so we decided to formulate an alternate solution on the road.  We drove, intermittently stopped for games of tag, made some phone calls, and by Birmingham, we had figured out what seemed to be a workable plan: Mel’s cousin Chris would host us overnight in Jacksonville, drive us to our St. Augustine starting point, and store the truck at his gated apartment or Orlando garage until someone could fly down and retrieve it.

We dined at a restaurant recommended by four out of four Adamsville cops and set up camp in the dark at Oak Mountain State Park in Pellham, AL. The kids excitedly flopped around in the tent, and Brady threw only one minor fit when I reclaimed my pillow. A neighbor owl asked questions while we slept.