After four days at the marina in Titusville, we were ready, as they say, “to blow this popsicle stand” and headed north to the self-titled “Fun Coast.”  We were off the docks by 06:40 the morning of February 20^th headed for New Smyrna Beach. We headed north through the open NASA rail bridge on the Indian River, through the Hanover Canal, full of manatees, dolphins and birds, then into Mosquito Lagoon, which became the North Indian River at Oak Hill. The slips at Smyrna Yacht Club are located directly on the river, which has a ripping current. We thought we had timed our arrival for slack tide – that magical moment when the incoming tide switches to the outgoing tide, or vis-a-versa, meaning the current is at its weakest – but it turns out the tide table for the nearest inlet (Ponce De Leon Inlet) was an hour off the tides at the yacht club. Lesson learned: Always ask the destination marina for local tide knowledge particular to the marina’s location.

Holy moly (and Mary, mother of God), the current was stronger than either of us could have imagined. George made two passes at lining up with the slip, but each time we were swept away by the current. Austin, the most excellent and patient dockmaster, was hanging off the end of the slip giving us encouragement. The third time, George maneuvered upstream, then backed Assisted Living’s stern into the current until he could lay up and rotate against the outer piling to move us into the slip. We wasted no time pondering being traumatized by the current (although we would ruminate on it later), and instead quickly unloaded our bikes and set out to see what New Smyrna had to offer.

Apparently the area north of Titusville, and south of St. Augustine, is marketed as the “Fun Coast.” Just down from the yacht club, an arts festival was being set up, so we made note to try to stop there the following day. We biked further to the arts district along Canal St. and parked our bikes so we could go into the galleries and shops. From there, George talked Chris into biking across the ICW at the North Causeway Bridge over to New Smyrna Beach which he claimed was so we could see the beach and tourist areas along famous Flagler Avenue.  It just so happens that once we crossed the bridge, but were still a long way from Flagler Avenue, George “realized” that if we turned left  (instead of continuing on the Flagler Ave.) we could visit Smyrna Dunes Park, which was “only” two miles away.  He won’t admit it, but it was his plan all along to lure Chris into another George-cursion, by enticing her with promised festivities along Flagler Avenue. We did indeed make the trip to Smyrna Dunes Park, where we walked the expansive network of boardwalks and peered down at the brown sand and cars driving along the beach. George had to be satisfied with taking photos of the iconic lighthouse in the distance because when he suggested heading that way, Chris let him know she wasn’t falling for that again.

We were ultimately chased away by swarms of insects in the park, after which George led us along a circuitous route through the neighborhoods between the park and Flagler Avenue (Let’s just turn here so we can ride along the ocean, he says, turning a return two-mile journey into many more). Finally Atlantic Avenue led to Flagler Avenue, where we stopped at a historic tavern for a beer and people watching from the tavern’s porch overlooking the busy tourist district.

We decided on an early dinner at a restaurant that we would pass on our way back to the boat. It did not accept reservations, and everything online advised to be there when the doors opened at four if you wanted to get a table.  We arrived at The Garlic just after four in the afternoon, and before any of you judge us as seniors who have succumbed to an unnaturally early dinner hour (I am talking to you, niece Lauren Hart), keep in mind that we had not eaten all day. We prefer to think of it as “linner” – a combination of lunch and dinner. And it was fabulous. It is worth clicking on the link to their website just to see the magical setting. One of their signature items is oven roasted whole garlic bulbs, smashed to release the now tender pulp, drizzled with rich dark balsamic, and slathered on freshly baked bread.

We biked home across the elevated South Causeway Bridge (the one we bypassed on George’s route to secretly position us for a visit to Smyrna Dunes Park). George experienced a little karma when his electric bike started acting up again – it looked like the initial diagnosis and installation of new parts and wiring that he worked on back in Marco Island, had not completely addressed the problem with his bike. Sigh.

After about sixteen miles, as we approached the Daytona Beach Bridge, we took a hard left and approached the protected basin that housed the Halifax River Yacht Club (surprise, surprise, another FCYA club). We had decided that to truly appreciate the sites in and around Daytona, that we would need a rental car, so we headed to the airport to pick up a nifty little Kia. Our first stop was the Daytona International Speedway. Although we don’t consider ourselves fans of car racing, we figured when in Rome; and besides, our young grandson is crazy about Mario Kart so we thought it would be nice to send him photos of all the cool cars. We decided to forgo the big bucks experience of driving a NASCAR race car around the track and instead visited the history of racing museum and took the tram tour of the speedway facilities. George described the experience in the ship’s log: “A very different world! That includes the people we toured with.”

Next on the agenda was the Ormond Scenic Loop and Trail, a thirty-four mile loop of road along rivers, tidal creeks, marshes, dunes and wild unspoiled beaches. It was beautiful, but I must confess that driving the road covered over by canopies of gorgeous live oak trees draped with Spanish moss made my heart hurt. Sometimes I forget just how much Panama City and our neighborhood, the Cove, lost in Hurricane Michael. George’s video of this segment includes some beautiful footage of this scenic drive.

As we drove south from Ormond to Daytona Beach, we took advantage of having a rental car and stopped along the way to resupply the boat with food and libations. George was intent on visiting the Coquina Shell bandshell near the public pier in Daytona Beach, so we slowly made our way through the crazy traffic of Spring Break and Daytona Bike Week (yes, our timing could not have been worse). When planning our time in Daytona, we had reached out to a young man who grew up in Panama City and who had lived in the Daytona area for many years after college. The most pointed piece of advice that he gave us was to avoid at all costs the tourist area of Daytona Beach – he said it was sketchy and trashy. George could not be deterred. Guess what? The young man from Panama City/Daytona was right. After struggling for over half an hour to find a place to park and completing no less than a dozen trips driving around the same four block area, we finally found a place to leave the car and waded through hordes of drunk college students and some rather colorful bikers. George cringed at the unhealthy bodies overflowing unattractive bikinis, but I couldn’t help but marvel at their enviable self-confidence. We speed walked down the Daytona Beach boardwalk, glanced at the Coquina Shell bandstand, and checked that one off the list.

The next day it rained all morning as predicted, so we had a catch-up day doing laundry and trip planning. Every now and then it is nice to quit moving, so it seemed like a good idea to stay put on this rainy day. Later in the afternoon the rain cleared, so we wandered along a lovely riverfront park, then crossed the street to check out a few shops and restaurants.

George put together a video covering this leg of our journey along the “Fun Coast,” with beautiful footage of the scenic drives, a turtle burrowing at Smyrna Dunes Park, and some fast cars at Daytona Speedway.