Last night, we checked in early at 9:30 p.m. this morning; we are leaving shortly after 6:00 and will soon be in Alabama. A misty gray sky lends mystery to the woods on the sides of the road where, in the distance, we can nearly make out the dueling banjos. “Was that a squealing pig I just heard?”

The sun breaks up the clouds and creeps over the Alabama horizon on Bayou La Batre.

It’s a stunning morning, yikes; it’s about to be stunning in another way to a giant turtle we just passed in the middle of the other lane. I turned the car around with my two passengers, oblivious as to what precisely I was doing. It seemed both were looking the other way, or maybe they were falling asleep.

This is one heavy-duty turtle, but even with its armor, it’s hardly a match for a speeding two-ton car, so we will move him off the road. Before that, though, I’ve got to get a photo of this guy. Down here, this is one mean-looking, razor-clawed, thick-leathered turtle, except for that optimistic sort of smile he has inadvertently going on. Laying in the street too now, I put the camera within inches of this face, and he seems to pose while I snap away; good thing he’s a slow-moving turtle.

Now before a car comes barreling down the road, it’s good deed time, and who should be selected to perform this? Caroline. She reaches down and gently starts to put her hands around his midsection when SNAP! Like lightning, a blur of dinosaur monster-turtle attempts to chomp off Caroline’s left arm with a single severing bite. Thanks to her ninja skills, she is able to save her limb in the nick of time by yanking her arm from the turtle’s jaws of death.

But now, HERE COMES A CAR! No fear, Jutta is here. Having quickly learned from the turtle’s stealth-like high-speed reflexes to attack her daughter, Jutta goes into high gear with Caroline and I standing in stunned awe by the following rapid chain of events. With a quick step right and a football-like snatch that would have had my mother-in-law drafted by the National Football League had they seen such skill, she swooped in for the grab, swing, and toss. The turtle disappeared off the road and was saved from certain death. I’d swear it was losing its breakfast over there in the grass from the motion sickness Jutta had inflicted. We made sure it was right-side up and doing well. With her newfound energy, Jutta sprinted back to the car, and we continued down the road.

The land is flat and wet with grasslands on our sides; we are driving through Heron Bay.

Too bad about all those hurricanes this coast is prone to, as it’s beautiful down here in the early morning quiet.

With the approach of the sea coming closer to the road, we soon cross the bridge to Dauphin Island. Dauphin Island is off the coast of Alabama and is in line with the Gulf Islands National Seashore.

We ferry across the waterway separating Mobile Bay from the Gulf of Mexico to join Route 180. Caroline and I could ride ferries all day while traveling over rivers and through wetlands and coastal areas. Approaching the other side, we spot some pelicans sitting on pilings. We are starting to feel a frenzied excitement, as these pelicans are an indicator that we are getting closer to our ultimate destination.

Welcome to Florida.

The gulf shore is an inviting spot to take a moment to dip your toes into the warm water. We walk along, looking for shells while strolling in and out of the calm surf. Although the sky is cloudy, the clouds part from time to time to give us a glimpse of blue sky that is like a smile from above.

This coast is flat as far as the eye can see. Compared to the 1400 miles of coast we’ve traveled along the western United States, where even while at the beaches, you can see mountains on the horizon, this land is flat in all directions.

Florida and the landscape appear to have changed again. Dunes, white sands, and clearing skies are as inviting as they look relaxing. As we drive along in the warmth of the clearing day, we are all getting a little drowsy. We stop for a rest with Jutta taking a short nap in the car while Caroline and I take a walk down by the bridge along the waterfront just before entering Fort Walton Beach.

On our way again, the roadside is a tropical paradise. Soon, we veer back out toward the ocean with Mexico Beach, bringing our attention to its pristine white sands. We zig instead of zagging back inland through a tropical forest off Point St. Joseph and are again ready for another stop, this one in Apalachicola.

In the old town section of Apalachicola, we take up our place sitting on the dock of Apalachicola Bay next to the fishing boats. It’s a beautiful sunny day with light clouds, a balmy 70 degrees, and a cool coastal breeze that feels perfect. Jutta takes a moment to write to her friend Renate; the two have known each other since University. The waters lapping the shore, the sounds of the breeze rustling the trees with birds in all directions singing and squawking, and not a car to be heard let us get lost here picturing fishermen in the early dawn light preparing these boats to head into the gulf. For nearly an hour, we drift here before we begin the drive south.

For Caroline and me, this area of northern Florida is the epitome of green, something a resident of the desert can truly appreciate, while for Jutta, this is the very essence of wild nature, something a resident of Europe’s accounted for and planned flora can easily appreciate. We scan every tree, shrub, and corner. We are looking for eagles, hawks, and squirrels; we look for gators, manatees, and turtles.

The sunlight and blue sky are reflected in still waters, with its edges cast in shadows, hiding communities of aquatic life just out of our view. Horizons disappear behind densities of plants that look impenetrable. In this watery world along the road, we cross the famous Suwannee River, immortalized by Robert Foster in the song ‘De Swanee’ more than 150 years ago. Someday, we’ll find our way up to its waters to their origins in the Okefenokee Swamp in Georgia.

The sun begins its routine of disappearance while the clouds moving back in overhead lend dramatic flair to our closing day.

With about 200 miles to go before reaching Ft. Myers for the night, this would be the last photo that punctuates the day. Tomorrow, we enter South Florida and the Everglades.