Rain, Road Rage, and a Jaguar That Deserves a Medal.

Up early on departure day.

To leave with fanfare, 911 called to bid me adieu after I accidentally set off the Emergency alarm.

I had fallen, but I did get up.

Onward…We left Florida at 7 a.m. in full biblical rain. The vintage Jaguar handled it with quiet dignity. The other drivers? Let’s just say Darwin is taking notes.

There is something about an old car in bad weather that forces perspective. You are not rushing. You are negotiating with the road, the machine, and occasionally your sanity.

Of course, as with all road trips, the Sleek Beauty was in need of sustenance.  The pilot decided to take a gas break in Butt Crack, Florida.

He alights from the vintage Jag, hair slicked back with a rakish air. A local walks up to him, runs his hand slowly over the polished hood and looks my husband dead in the eye and inquires, “Are you James Bond?!”

A moment of levity under a leaden sky…if only we had access to a very cold, dry martini shaken not stirred.

Onward, once again.

One more heart stopping moment on the road. The alarm at our NY apartment informed us of an intruder.  What to do so far away?! Thankfully, the doorman and super entered armed with resolve and ascertained that a breaker tripped the lights and alarm. My thanks to our Courageous Coop Cohorts.

So after 4 hours of torrential rain and two that were a bit drier, like divine intervention without the sermon, we arrived in Savannah.

Sunshine. Civilization. Hope.

We checked into Hotel Bardo Savannah, formerly The Mansion, now redesigned with just enough polish to feel intentional without trying too hard.

Our room, naturally, was not ready. Timing remains a theoretical concept.

So we pivoted to the pool bar.

Pizza fungi—rich, indulgent, exactly what survival demands.

Mediterranean salad because one must pretend.

Fed and slightly restored, we wandered across Forsyth Park, past its impossibly photogenic fountain and into Savannah’s grid of historic squares, each one more charming than the last, like the city is quietly showing off without breaking a sweat.

We drifted toward the river through shaded paths and cobblestones that have clearly seen things. No rush, no agenda just that rare travel moment where you remember why you left home in the first place.

First leg takeaway:

Weather is temporary.

Bad drivers are forever.

And sometimes the win is simply arriving somewhere that asks nothing of you, except maybe to sit down and order another drink.

Next stop: Richmond, Virginia assuming the Jaguar and I remain in a committed, if slightly tense, relationship.