Day 28 -- Thonotosassa to Naples, Florida -- 170 Miles

Today it was Interstate 75 all the way until we rolled into Naples. We passed numerous park and nature preserve signs, but didn't see anything potentially exciting until we came across a sign for the Florida "Vietnam Veterans Memorial." That sounded like we should try and find the location so we exited the Interstate at the appropriate offramp and headed west.

Unfortunately, because Florida has lost a plethora of directional and other highway signs in the recent huricane, we did not see any brown point-of-interest signs as we traveled west into a residential neighborhood. Reversing direction we headed east, passed under the Interstate, and continued on for some miles. But again we saw nothing to indicate we were headed in the right direction.

Once again we reversed direction until we came upon a WinDixie grocery store. There we stopped, pulled into the parking lot, and found a nice spot away from the bulk of the parked cars. There were a couple of items I wanted, so while Concetta launched into lunch preparations, I went inside to see if I could locate a can of brake fluid, a box of cereal, and a couple of rolls of paper towels. The store had no brake fluid, but I did find my other two items.

Moments later I was back at the rig, only to find that while I was absent two large utility trucks had pulled up right next to us and were now just sitting there enthusiastically idling their motors. Well, as we've learned over the years, trying to have lunch while being serenaded by diesel engines and fumes is not very pleasant. So, I had to start our own engine and move the rig to a new location in the parking lot.

Once lunch was over, we were soon back on Interstate 75 and by 2:00 p.m. we were rolling through the front gate of our camp for the next three evenings. The camp we rented is one of those "upper crust" operations that charge a big pile of money and provide us with an absolutely immaculent pad for our RV. Everything in the park is either paving or layed out in gardens. All the RVs are kept clean and tidy, and I suspect that there's a park citizens group that does the policing if anyone dares to drop a candy wrapper somewhere.

Still, the park turned out to be just six miles from Concetta's sister, Phil's house, which should make it totally easy for Phil to pick us up and drive us to dinner or to visit other relatives.

There's only one problem with the whole idyllic picture: it's as hot here as the depths of the Amazon jungle. Even sitting in the rig with the air conditioner at max, the sweat was pouring off my face and dripping on my computer. I suspect that by the time three days go by, I will be five pounds lighter with all the moisture loss.

We did have one interesting experience just as we left camp in Thonotosassa this morning. I had asked at the camp office and been told that we could fill our propane tank just down the road at a local gas station. The directions were to "turn right out of the camp, turn right on Route 301 east, then turn left at the first light." Well, the first parts of the instructions were okay, but we needed another right to get to that gas station, not a left.

But once we had figured out that minor problem, we saw the gas station tank and drove over next to it. I jumped down and went into the mini mart to ask about a propane fill-up. That's when reality started to bend. The sign on the door said that Cuban cigars were available there, but the sign was in Spanish. When I entered the store, I knew immediately that I wasn't in Kansas. The whole atmosphere was decidely Latino. No problem, I decided, I spoke enough Spanish to get by.

I approached the counter behind which a very pregnant Latina girl was just having the best time talking and laughing with the customers as well as the other workers. Finally when I could get a word in edgewise, I asked if anyone was available to fill a propane tank. She sort of pondered the question for a moment, than at the top of her lungs bellowed out, the name "Mellita" and a series of Spanish words, few of which I recognized. I did however recognize the word "propane" as it came out in English.

With that, the Latina girl, who probaby was about 18 years old, went on laughing and yelling things at the other workers behind the counter while I stood there not really knowing what to do. Every once in a while she would bellow, "MELLITA" to someone unseen, then go right back to laughing and chatting.

I looked around at that point and sure enough an impatient-looking customer had come up behind me and stood waiting there for his turn. Finally, after the Latina girl had bellowed "MELLITA" for about the fifth time, a diminutive middle-aged woman appeared with a very young teenager in tow and headed for the door. Though I couldn't be sure, I think she signaled to me to follow

Once the three of us reached the rig, I could see that the middle-aged woman had the teenager in tow so she could teach her how to fill a propane tank. To say I was a little bit nervous is decidedly an understatement. Never before had I seen a female take on the difficult task of working with propane. But to see that same female attempt to teach a teenager using our rig as a training device had me holding my breath at times.

After I had watched the two of them try to attach the hose nozzle to our tank filler neck without success, I asked them if I could show them how it should be done. Our tank has a slightly uplifted input neck that almost always gives propane attendants trouble. Once I had the nozzle attached properly, both women thanked me, then they went on to accomplish a proper filling.

The tank filled, I dashed into the store, paid the bill, and was on my way out when I came across a bedraggled young black boy, in filthy sweatshirt and jeans, leaning against the wall of the store. Remembering that I had seen him in the store earlier counting out enough change for a vaping device, I fished five dollars out of my wallet and went over to him. The boy looked like he hadn't eaten in days, so I handed him the fiver, put my hand on his shoulder, told him to go inside and get something to eat. The tiny store also served up cooked food, and I thought the fried chicken looked pretty good. The boy mumbled something I didn't get, but the look in his eyes was plain enough.

And that's the end of the story. I probably won't be doing much blog writing while we're here schmoozing with relatives, so you may have to wait until we hit the road again on November 1st. So this may be "hasta la vista" for now, or I may think of something to tell you about. Who knows. But here's wishing you many exciting adventures of your own. Ciao!