Students tell Scene about their spring break trips and the interesting people and events they encountered on their jaunts across the continent
Jacqueline Browder
Assistant Scene Editor
It was a blustery South Bend morning as we prepared to embark on our first-ever college Spring Break. There were nine girls and five boys heading for our destination of Jack-sonville, Fla. — 14 pale, overexerted freshmen, packed into three SUVs, and ready for an adventure in the Sunshine State. My car was one of the three in our caravan, and for the first hour of our trip down 31, all was well. I was jamming away to my new Backstreet Boys CD (and, consequently, annoying everyone else in the car) and watching cornfield after cornfield go by. We even had a frisky couple in the backseat of the car providing an extra-friendly atmosphere and, consequently, entertaining us all for the majority of the trip. Then the rain started.
"No problem," I thought, as I turned on my windshield wipers. "This will pass. It's just a front" Then came the snow. "Just a little reminder of what we're leaving behind." I confidently told my car, as my knuckles were turning white from gripping the steering wheel a bit tighter. When, the sleet began to pound on my window and icicles were forming on my wipers, however, I began to get a little nervous. Contrary to what the commercials tell you, a 4x4 vehicle isn't stellar on icy roads.
Then, looking in my rearview mirror, I realized that the third car wasn't behind us anymore. We hadn't even reached Indianapolis yet, and we were already separated. (It wouldn't be until the Tennessee state line when they would catch up to us.) But, I was determined to brave the elements. Nothing was going to stop my car from getting to Florida. Not rain, sleet, hail, ice or an absent vehicle. Never have I felt more like the post office.
Once we left Indiana, the weather started to perk up, and the rest of our drive was rather uneventful. Well, except for the large Billy Blanks poster that I swiped from a Subway in Ohio. (It's quite a prize, really, and is hanging up outside of my dorm room if you'd like to see it.) To break up the trip, we stayed the night in my beautiful hometown of Knoxville, Tenn. My mother was certainly thrilled with the 13 extra guests, but we didn't extend our welcome — we were up and out on the open road by 5 a.m.
Although we encountered a few flurries in the Carolina mountains, the weather was good for the rest of our trip down. I had a bit of trouble obeying the "stay off median" signs we passed along the way. There was one death-defying encounter with the grassy null separating the lanes while reaching back to open a diet coke. That aside, we breezed into Florida without any major setbacks.
We arrived in Jacksonville Beach earlier than expected, and once at our hotel, we immediately stripped down and headed to the beach. The weather was beautiful, and the beach had all the qualities of a scenic postcard, beseeching you to visit all the splendor of the white sand and blue water.
We spent our days at the beach, and our nights exploring the Jacksonville nightlife. Our stretch of beach was small and peaceful; a perfect place to relax, read, throw the Frisbee around, and forget about that biology test looming in the near future. We went out most nights and spent one very interesting evening at a techno club named H20. But, we decided we needed one absolutely wild night of untamed adventure, so one morning we packed our duffel bags, piled into two cars and headed to Daytona Beach.
Daytona, I've decided, was built for college students. Rows upon rows of hotels line the beaches, the alcohol flows freely and clothing is at a minimum. It's a co-ed's paradise. We all had a great day, tanning (and ultimately, burning), acquiring a ton of free promotional stuff and, of course, checking out the locals. By the time dusk was settling over the horizon we were ready to see what the Daytona nightlife had to offer. Campus favorite Stroke 9 was performing at one of the nearby hotels, so we decided to go.
The concert was great fun; the audience was lively, the music was great and a good time was had by all. After the final encore, however, it was after midnight, and everyone in our group was tired, inebriated, sunburned and ready to get back to Jacksonville. While we were deciding who was going to ride in what car, however, we realized that we were a party of 11. Looking back, we realized that we hadn't seen those three since midway through the concert.
We couldn't leave three people in the wildest city south of the Mason-Dixon Line, so a compromise was reached. Two people would stay and search for our missing friends, and everyone else would go back to Jacksonville. Just my luck, I was one of the chosen. After waving the rest of our friends off, we began our search. There we were, amid thousands of drunken teenagers, looking for three in particular.
We combed the beaches, searched the hotel, the pool, the shops, even the club down the street. They were nowhere to be found, and the clock was approaching 2 a.m. Finally, we spotted one of our friends wandering around on the street, presumably, looking for us. One down, two to go. We kept searching, but it was to no avail. As we were making one final check outside of the hotel, we walked directly into the beginning of a knife fight. As one of the nearby bouncers beat the tar out of the offenders, we decided that our time in Daytona was spent, so we got in the car and left. Immediately, we decided that wherever our friends were, they could stay there until the morning, and we would deal with it then.
We were so tired and anxious to get back that we broke every major speeding law ever passed trying to make it before dawn. We must have cut the two-hour trip in half. We were less than two miles from our hotel when I looked in my rearview mirror and saw two flashing blue lights signaling me to pull over. As it turns out, I was hauling 75 mph in a 35 mph zone. As I pulled over, I almost broke down in tears in front of the officer. He asked me if there was any reason for my haste in returning home. So, I told him the entire sweeping story of our Daytona experience and he let me off with a warning (most likely to shut me up, but, whatever it was, it worked). As it turns out, our missing friends had spent the night in a Daytona hotel room and caught a bus home the next afternoon. I spent the day recuperating on the beach and trying to find the humor in the previous night's activities, as everyone else seemed to be doing. Daytona is certainly a place I'll remember well.
The rest of our trip was uneventful, but I didn't mind. I had achieved all of my goals for the week; I got a tan, had some fun and came back with some good stories. Overall, it was a great way to spend a week away from school — with good friends and in a beautiful place. As we made our way back to South Bend, we were greeted by rainy, cold weather, but we were glad to be home. We were all happy, sunburned, exhausted and most importantly, all accounted for.
The opinions expressed in this column are those of the author and not necessarily those of The Observer.
All Scene Stories for Friday, March 31, 2000
