I disliked Mobile. A few wide leafy boulevards. Smart Convention Centre. Well-kept. But surprisingly arrogant drivers. Two spotty young men in a pick-up shouting abuse. Tooting on the horn. All talk but no trousers. Children on a school bus tossing an apple out the window at me. Poor anticipation by other road users of my presence – tens of yards – amongst the worst I’ve ever seen. Hassled for directions by another motorist whilst clearly engrossed in conversation on my cell.
Seeking a short break from the frustrations of the road, I’d stopped at a gas station and ordered a freshly made sub. Clearly enunciated what I wanted. Slowly. But the sandwich artist wasn’t listening, too busy swapping tittle-tattle with her co-workers. Even when I repeated it, albeit with a few teasing changes. Live squid with petroleum jelly on Sourdough. Outside I sat watching cars come and go from the disabled bay. Profiling the occupants. Little evidence of physical impairment.
I’d left Dauphin Island after an early lunch. GulfView Cafe down on the golf course. One of just two such establishments open. And I’d visited the other the previous day. Bright day but strong winds. I’d waited to see if they’d subside a bit. Forlorn hope the ferry might run. But it hadn’t. Few oil rigs out in the bay. Gulf of Mexico. Some just miles away, others dots in the distance.
Retracing my steps off the island across the causeway hadn’t been as bad as I thought it might have been. Windy, but steady and on the port bow rather than the perfect cross wind I’d feared. Blowing across the carriage way afforded me some protection, and meant I’d not be pushed into the traffic if caught unawares.
