The Van Goes to Mississippi

We leave Pensacola very sore and more than a little wary of swimming. This beach was one of our last opportunities to swim, and it may be a while before I feel comfortable dipping more than a toe into the ocean. New Orleans marks the first quarter of this road trip, and I am aiming to be there before the weekend. It is a long day in the van. We cross the border back into Alabama without incident. I breathe a sigh of relief upon entrance to Mississippi a short time later. We decide to give the van a rest at the Gulf Coast National Seashore Park of Mississippi. The park is full of RV’s. It seems that people must settle in this location for awhile. There are potted plants and garden gnomes adorning the front “walks” of the portable homes. We are, as usual, the youngest in the camp by at least 40 years. Our neighbors are eager to talk. They mostly come in pairs and have settled into the routine of a traveler’s life. The first question is always, “Where you from?” followed by “Where you heading?” We get a lot of information from these conversations. It is not often that there is a soul brave enough to travel alone. There was one in Carolina Beach State Park- his car had NY plates- but  he was on some spirit quest that required solitude so we merely exchange waves. Our neighbor at this park was one of those singles, although not by choice it seemed. He was an older man in a black conversion van. Grey haired and not quite clean shaven, he became very attached to my companion in a short time.He shares that he is on the road to find a place where he could breathe. Literally. It seems he was coming from Nevada, which he called the most polluted city in the United States, looking for a place where he can breathe untroubled by crippling allergies. After a time I join them at the picnic table where they were sitting. Nevada turned red and excuses himself. I want to invite him to share our supper but he has disappeared.