I left Phoenix Arizona April 4, 2006 late in the day. I was on a solo drive back East to Eureka Springs Arkansas for their Diversity Weekend to meet up with an AB friend of mine, Heather (known to many in the community as "Little Miss Ruffles") and her Mommy.

Now, I don't know if an explanation is necessary, but for the benefit of the newer visitors who may not be aware of my lifestyle, I will explain. I am a 24/7 big baby girl. The only clothes I own or wear are the clothes which you would expect to see on a little toddler girl of two years old. I have no shorts, jogging suits, overalls, shortalls, or pants of any kind other than rubber/plastic or rhumba panties to wear over my dydees. On my solo trek to the Southeast USA , of course, my baby clothes were all I had to wear. Shortie baby doll dresses and sunsuits, which leave no doubt as to my diapered condition. My hair was done up either in pigtails or a "Tabitha" (as I call it, referring to the baby girl on the TV show "Bewitched" hairstyle). If I had a bad hair day or it was cold, I had a few assorted baby bonnets to cover my head. Also, for cold weather, I had a heavy white hooded ski type parka (short), pink knitted wool mittens, as well as a few pairs of rhumba tights to keep my leggy-weggs warm. I also had a pink fleece, hooded windbreaker for less cold conditions.

However, I did not encounter too many bad conditions along the way, so for most of the trip, these were not necessary. Flagstaff AZ. was the only place I encountered snow and ice and I only stopped there for a fish taco and a burger at Del Taco. And, to change my over-soaked dydees in their somewhat deserted car park there. (Brrrrr....!)

I had originally planned to make this a Rt. 66 (the Mother Road) tour, but I got a late start and was under the gun to make my hotel reservation date in Eureka Springs. 

 I decided to make a stop in Holbrook AZ., as it was getting rather late in the afternoon and stayed at the Wigwam Motel there. A classic Rt 66 motel. Those of you old enough to remember and made family trips through Arizona back in the 60s, no doubt can recall the cluster of teepee rooms at the side of the road through Holbrook. I always wanted to stay there, just once. But everytime we passed through Holbrook on our way to church camp in New Mexico, Mom just drove on by, despite my desperate pleas to stop for the night. I mean Holbrook, Winslow, Gallup? What's the diff? "C'mon Ma! We can touch Indians!"

 After all these years, I have to say, it was great. Everything I thought it would be. The teepee was very cozy and the Innkeeper most accomodating. An added bonus was the Santa Fe Railroad, hard by the side of the motel, rumbling by in the night, as I drifted into dreamland. It was wonderful! I would recommend it to any of you Rt. 66 nostalgic babies out there. The next day I departed Holbrook early and drove 18 hours straight through to Eureka Springs for Diversity Weekend, arriving there just as the sun was peeping up over the Ozarks. However, I did encounter some interesting episodes during those 18 hours....

When I left Holbrook, about 9 AM, I made a brief stop at the local Safeway down the street for some OJ, coffee and a Danish. (Continental) Talk about yer culture shock! But, they handled it well and about all the reaction I got were some hairy eyeballs from some of the older crowd hanging out there and smooth, professional service from the Safeway staff. The Native Americans, mostly Navajos, seemed somewhat in awe at my presence, reacting in a respectful, almost reverent way. I found that strange. But at the same time, wonderfully refreshing. I guess they'd never seen a white man totally out there, pushin' the edge of the envelope like that before. In person, anyway. 

I fueled up at a Minit-Mart, just off the on-ramp to I-40 and I was on the road again. I felt refreshed, rested and ready to assault the highway. Munching on my Danish and sipping coffee, I started to think about possible changing areas along the way. I had bathed and changed before I left Holbrook and I knew I wouldn't need a change for awhile, but you know what coffee can do. Anyway, I realized there are numerous reststops along the highway and didn't give it another thought. As I drove on east through the remainder of Arizona, close by RT 66, I was returned to an almost dreamlike state in which childhood memories of summer vacations and trips along the "Mother Road" flooded my conciousness. The spell was broken, intermittently, by the horns of passing cars. No doubt, those who had spied my license plate, "Diaper1". As they passed, most displayed the thumbs-up sign. At least, I hope that was the digit they were holding up. They were all smiling, at any rate. And, I'm sure the baby bonnet I was wearing was a bit of an eyecatcher, too...

As I had expected, the coffee had it's usual effect on me. I got caught up in roadside repair work being done on I-40 and it was slow and "go" (he,he) all the way into Gallup, N.M. Just before I hit Sanders, AZ. I was squirming and finally had to wet out my dydees shortly before entering New Mexico. There was no doubt, I would need a change soon. That did not deter me, in any way, of enjoying the sights along the way into Gallup. I was kind of in "squishy mode" and not really leaking yet, so I was not altogether uncomfortable. Still, I would have to find a suitable place to change, or things could get a bit dicey.

I made it into Gallup and immediately began scanning for a quiet, secluded place to change. Fat chance. I took Old 66 through town, like a fool, and the only places I saw that might have been private enough to publicly change, were some side streets. I decided to press on.

I continued on through Gallup and found a delightful little rest stop not too far out of town and decided this was the place. I pulled up to a "ramada" ( a roofed area with a big picnic table in the center) and began to lay out my change. There were a few other travelers around the rest stop there enjoying the day and the scenery, but I chose a spot well away from them. My diaper change proceeded without incident, although I must admit, I was constantly looking over my shoulder. It's tough when you're doing this solo.

Anyway,  I put the spent diapers in one of the plastic trash bag/"diaper pails" I brought along for just such an event and after doing a bit of hand cleaning ( I always keep a travel bottle of hand sanitizer in my purse for just such emergencies) and car cleaning and getting everything else squared away, I proceeded on down the road.

At this point, I began noticing signs along the road advertising the Acoma Casino. No stranger to nickel slots, I began to entertain thoughts of making a brief stop to put a couple twenties in the machine, to see if anything would fall out. I was changed, felt fresh and I had the feeling I might get lucky. I pulled off the interstate and into the casino parking lot, right next to some rock band's tour buses. There, I suppose, to bring the evening's entertainment to the vast hinterlands of New Mexico's talent starved desert denizens. 

I was surprised to see so many vehicles in the car park and reckoned a lot of travelers get the same notion as I did. "Let's stop and stretch our legs and see if we can't scare up a little action! Whadya say?"

As I twaddled in there were, of course, many sideways glances and whispered comments, but nothing I hadn't encountered before. Hell, I've been to Vegas and Laughlin like this, so I felt pretty sure I wouldn't be hassled. I sat me down at the first "Frog Prince" machine I could find. Which actually took some doing, not knowing the layout of the casino. But, I found one of the only ones they had there. An ancient model, compared to the machines I've been used to in the Native American casinos locally and the ones in Vegas and Laughlin.

I slid in a twenty and commenced to risk. Within five minutes I was up twenty bucks. This is on a nickel slot, folks. Anyway, I decided to cash out and try my luck on the quarter slots.

 Ooops! Old machine. Faulty. Glitched. The whole security staff, it seemed, descended on my position. I had done nothing wrong (except win) and now all this! They finally straightened it out and paid me (in nickels), but they really ought to switch to those ticket machines. You know, the vouchers.

I changed the nickels in and I moved to the quarter slots. Slipped another twenty down and just punched away.

That's what I love about slots. It's like baby gambling. Lights. Colors. Bells. Music. Cartoon characters. Hit the button, get some money. Or don't. Simple. Mindless. Fun. And somehow, deeply satisfying. Win or lose.

I wound up hitting the quarter slot for another 40 dollars in about five minutes and decided it was time to hit the road again. Sixty bucks in twenty minutes work. Not a bad day's take. I don't think the casinos are too worried about my system, though. They'll get it back. One way or the other. Bet on it.

On the road again...

I waddled out feeling pretty good about things, hopped in "Princess" (my car) and headed to Albuquerque. I have to say, that the staff at the casino were very nice and accomodating, as were most of the people I'd come in contact with in this adventure, so far.

Now, from here to Tulsa, OK , the trip was mostly uneventful. Save for the occasional fuel stop and diaper change outside Tucumcari, N.M. I hadn't pooped since I left Holbrook and I hoped the urge wouldn't strike at some inopportune moment. If it did, I guess I'd just have to deal with it. Cloth diapers are the best, but they can be inconvenient on the road.

I stopped at a Taco Bell/KFC in Santa Rosa for some food and as I was chowing down in the parking lot, a unit from the local police department pulled up next to me. Hard to say whether someone had called in a 911 (Help! There's a man dressed like a baby girl here! Send someone quick!) or the cops were just hungry. They checked me out and waved, but took no action. They just got out and headed into the store. I guess they were just hungry. Anyway, I finished my meal and continued on my merry way. I stopped to fill the tank before I left Santa Rosa in the sunset and realized there was a long stretch of road ahead if I expected to make Eureka Springs by morning.

I ignored Amarillo as I passed through using every ounce of discipline I could not to stop at "The Barn". This is a Texas steakhouse where if you can eat a 5 pound steak, you don't have to pay for it. I've always wanted to try, but I was behind schedule as it was. As I approached Groom TX, I needed another fill-up and beverage, so I stopped at a local convenience store just off the Interstate. I must've got there just before closing, but the woman at the store was very nice (if not amused) and she rang me up as if it were an everyday occurence in Groom. God, I love Texas. I asked her what the population was there and she replied, " 'Bout 316."

I thanked her and continued on, feeling an ever growing pressure down there. There was no holding it back and I had a gusher. Nothing I could do, except hope that my diaper would hold it all. It did and I breathed a thankful sigh of relief.

Outside of OKC, I decided to take the turnpike by-passing the city and shorten the time to Tulsa. This was a very challenging job of navigating, as I'd never gone this way before. And, it was pitch dark with many of the road signs poorly lit. I was soaked by now and I kept a sharp eye out for a good place to change. But, the darkness and unfamiliarity with the road was intimidating, so I decided to press on to Tulsa.

As I neared Tulsa, the signs became even more confusing. I was looking to stay on I-44 to get to US 412, which would take me all the way to Siloam Springs AR and from there catch the main road up to "Waltonsville" and then down to Eureka Springs. But, the tollroad ran out on me outside of Tulsa and I found myself totally disoriented (lost) and soaking wet at 2:30 AM on what looked to be the bad side of town. HEE! What an adventure! I meandered about the side streets, looking for a secluded spot to change, as this was a priority at this point. I finally found one in a Black Pentacostal church parking lot (thank you Jesus!), next to a Days Inn. I hurridly set out my change on the passenger side of the front. Tried as best as I could to keep myself covered as I removed my soaked, soggy didees. I tossed them in the plastic garbage bag with the others, cleaned myself up, got as decent a pin as could be expected under such circumstances and changed into a sunsuit, as the dress I was wearing had become soaked as well with the wetness wicking upwards. I thanked my good judgment for putting a changing pad underneath my butt back in Groom TX, or my car seat would have been thoroughly sopped. Now, how to get out of here was my next pressing concern...

The road I wanted to get on was right next to the access road that led me to the church parking lot where I changed. But there seemed to be no viable way to get back out there without taking some detours, which in an unknown place at 3 in the morning might be risky. I took an illegal turn and made it back to the access road without incident. I didn't know if road fatigue had set in, but it sure had started to look like it. Nevertheless, I decided to press on. At the light, I took a right turn, but not realizing the entrance ramp required a hairpin turn to get to it, I totally bypassed it. Drove right through to a strip mall across and under the interstate where there was a 24 hr. barbecue place and debated whether I should go in and ask directions or keep going on dead reckoning. I opted for the latter and wheeled around in the vacant parking lot to where I came in. I stopped to get the map out and looking at it I realized I may need some help. But, in my clothed condition, I realized it may be a bit chancey to ask a peace officer for directions. Then, a blackTulsa police officer came cruising into the empty mall parking lot (No doubt to check out the car that was driving up and down it at 3 in the morning.). I decided to flag him down. He took one look at me, with my ruffled straps from my sunsuit draped over my shoulders and my hair in pigtails with a tiny pink bow in each and asked, wide eyed, "What the hell are you doing here, boy? Do you know what part of town you're in?"

"I'm lost, officer. How can I get back on I-44?"

"Ok, ok," he chuckled. " Just take a U-turn up by the railroad tracks and follow the highway signs for I-44."

"Won't I be breaking the law by taking a you-ee up there? It says no u-turn."

"Don't worry 'bout it. Just follow me." As he peeled off, I couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking.

"That white boy must be crazy!"

He got me back on track, but Tulsa was still a conundrum for me. I ended up going by the downtown area and headed south, finally locating US 412. Whew! My eyesight seemed to be failing (or road signs, poorly lit) and road fatigue was definitely on my mind, but I pressed on. Destination: Siloam Springs AR and points beyond.

It was dark and scary through this part of the trip, but it wouldn't be an adventure if it wasn't just a little bit scary, now would it?

I made it to Siloam Springs and continued on to Springdale. I decided to take RT. 71 up to Rogers out of Springdale but was met with some severe road construction. I got back on the interstate. I wended my way through Bentonsville and made it to Rogers. The road construction was still going on there and it was another challenge in navigation to make it to Gateway AR and US 62 down to Eureka Springs. I arrived at the Cliff Cottage Inn Bed and Breakfast just as the sun was peeping over the Ozarks. But, it was only after negociating a twisty, windey, almost treacherous Hwy 62 into the town. I let out a huge sigh of relief as I pulled in. I felt as though I'd been rode hard and put up wet. Literally. 

I had the Sarah Bernhardt cottage reserved. It was everything the brochure had described and more. The innkeeper told me that if I arrived early morning, she would leave the key in the mailbox and just to let her know I had arrived. Breakfast would then be prepared. I called her and tried my best to keep my eyes open. Toothpicks would have helped. But, after I got all the bags in, got changed and settled in, I relaxed out on the front porch and soaked in the morning beauty. As it was early Spring, the dogwoods and redbuds were in full bloom and it kind of re-charged my batteries. The air was pristine and I felt like I was in heaven. When the "Elf" brought breakfast to me out on the porch, I knew I was.

The "Elf" I mention, is the proprietress and a gourmet chef. I pigged. I know it's not wise to eat a large meal before one goes to bed, but I couldn't help myself. It was truly sumptuous. Scrumpdellicious. I lingered for a time out on the porch after the meal, but finally succumbed to fatigue and crashed on the fluffy, king-sized bed in the luxuriously appointed bedroom. Ahhhhhh.... Baba's!

I was looking forward to meeting my web friend "Heather" and her mommy, so I didn't want to oversleep. I called and left a message on her cell phone to let her know I had arrived and took a well deserved nap-nap. We hooked up that first night and we had a great time. Unfortunately, I got a little more soaked than I was aware of ( memo: two beers ONLY, next time) and leaked on the furniture, leaving a couple of "rainbows" on the antique chair I was sitting on at the Bed and Breakfast they were staying at.  I should have brought a pad. My bad. I had hoped Heather and I could do the town the next day, but she vanished into the Ozark morning mountain mist, so I was left to my own devices from that point on. I tried to get in to the drag show across from the street from where I was staying that next night, but the queue was humungous. Stood in line for 20 mins., and decided I'd find entertainment elsewhere. Besides, I reckoned I'd seen dragshows in New York at the Blue Angel and I didn't think anything could top that. So, I mosied on down to the Wagon Wheel, the oldest redneck beer joint in Arkansas ( Lic# 30, you can look it up) which was a couple doors down. Met a few of the locals there who do not condone, support or in any way participate in the festivities of Diversity Week other than to "take the money and run", as it were. It's one of the biggest tourist draws they have all year and they make out like bandits. Somehow or other, I managed to get befriended by Brenda the bartender (tips will do that) and stay out of a fight. Just out of the blue, a fellow walks in and sits smack up, right next to me and buys me a beer. Bein's that it was Diversity Week and all, and him bein' an older man and rather friendly to me, and me dressed as I was, I thought he might have been lookin' to pick me up. But, as we talked, he told me his name was Parker and he was part-owner of the place. We made small talk, you know, where's the best fishin' at, what bait to use, presentation, that sort of thing and at one point I told him that I used to write songs in Nashville. He said there just happened to be a Songwriter's Night going on there that next evening and, "You bein' a veteran of the Nashville music scene like ye are, how can you refuse?" Indeed. How could I resist? I had brought my trusty guit-fiddle with me, just on the outside chance I'd find a place to do a little pickin'. So, I showed up that next night, to the great surprise of Parker, who showed up late and took a good deal of ribbing from the regulars at the beer joint who had never seen me before. I had told the MC of the show that Parker had invited me. After my performance (and encore), I sat back down at the bar and couldn't buy a beer. My money was no good. I had six beers backed up thanks to the good patrons of the "Wagon Wheel". I overheard the MC and a friend of his discussing my show. I don't know the exact question that was asked, but I heard the MC say, " I don't know what his deal is, but he's a damn good songwriter. " To make a long story short; I came, I sang, I conquered. Eureka
Springs will never be the same...

My next stop would be Panama City Beach to check out Spring Break. It was on a whim, really. I had planned to head back to Phoenix after Diversity Weekend in Eureka Springs, but I had never been to a Spring Break before and from what I had seen and heard about them, it seemed like it would be good fun. I made a reservation at the SunSpree Holiday Inn, in Panama City Beach. I left Eureka Springs AR early afternoon and drove some 14 hours straight through to get there. Took the scenic route down U.S. Rt 65 to Little Rock and along the way, witnessed a most amazing thing. At a roadside RV park in Clinton, there was a sizeable group of seniors frolicking on the playground equipment! Sliding on the slides, swinging on the swingsets, twirling on the merry-go-round. Playing in the sandbox! I was astounded! Enjoying their second childhood? Well, to my eye, this was pushing edge of the envelope. I mean, they were having a very large time. Romping and skipping around. Maybe folks are starting to get the message. It's okay to be a kid again. Even if others might think it odd, so what! Are they invited to your annual family 4th of July barbeque? Who gives a big whoop? Anyway, I wended my way to Memphis. Had a thought to stop there and visit Graceland and may on my next trip. (Elvis has been rumored to have been an AB, though I doubt there would be any memorabilia to indicate that at Graceland.) I continued through Memphis down U.S. 78 which will be Interstate eventually and saved a lot of time not having to drive up to Nashville and down I-65 to Huntsville AL. Besides, too many old memories on that route. Caught I-65 in Birmingham and drove to "Munt"gumery where I picked up U.S. 231 about 2 AM. I was thoroughly soaked at this juncture in the trip and was looking for a place to stop and change didees. But I thought better of it, as it might seem suspicious to any passing law enforcement officer on a lonely road at 2 in the morning, to see a motorist, parked at the roadside, bustling about the car, arranging things on the passenger side and half naked, scrunching down to change their diaper. OK, I chickened. I kept on driving to just outside Panama City when the situation became intolerable. I had pooped. It just happened without a warning. Well, maybe 2 seconds warning. And once it started, I couldn't stop it. Nothing else to do but change where ever seemed the best. I was not going to check in to the hotel with poop in my pants.  It was early morning anyway, the sun was out and I thought it would be less curious to anyone who might see me. The poop was the hardest part to deal with. I found an abandoned drive-thru hamburger stand that looked like it had been ravaged by the hurricanes last year. I was extremely embarassed but I did the best I could especially seeing as how I only use cloth diapers which always seem to make it more of a chore. ( but well worth it). I had brought along a good supply of baby wipes and hand sanitizer to clean up and trash bags to stash the dirty didees in till I could get to a laundry facility, so actually, the changing itself wasn't too much of a problem. I decided not to change out of the ruffled sunsuit I was wearing. Snap-crotches are great! So are "popper-panties" in this type of situation. 

Aside from the embarassment of knowing there were people likely watching and could see me and know exactly what I was doing, changing my dirty diapers in public went pretty smoothly. I did get a little bit lost once I hit Panama City proper, ( no doubt still a little bumfuzzled by the changing experience)
but a quick call to the hotel straightened me out and I arrived without further incident.

There was a considerable amount of damage to the hotel (no doubt from the hurricane season before), but the hotel staff was very accomodating and fed me my card key without question. I had to park "Princess" out in the  check-in area and the Hispanic workers doing repairs had quite a hoot when I exited the car and went to check in. No problem. It was then I learned I would have to park across the street, in the guest parking lot, that I started into a major blush.

The move required me to park across the street from the hotel. Luckily (though I did not know it at the time), there was an underground tunnel from one side of the street to the next. Although this meant a "no escape" situtation while committed to taking this route, I felt it was my best option. So, I took the major necessities out of the car, loaded them on a "buggy buddy" (one of those hotel carts with the brass rails) and wheeled it back into the lobby. It was then that I spied my first "Spring Break Babe". Wearing nothing but her bikini bottoms and a cut-off tee, the tall, busty, blond beauty with a racing cap on (No. 3), held the elevator door for me as I wheeled the cart into the lift. She was unfortunately accompanied by a large, definitely hetero-male, who had no qualms at all about making sport of my sissified condition. They had a time taking me to task on the way up to my floor. As luck would have it, we were camped on the same floor! They gave me no more grief, once we exited the lift, but I still hear her laughter in my dreams, now and again.

I made it to the room and unloaded. I pushed the cart out of the room and wondered if we would meet again. She was stunning. And they did not seem at all put off by my babyish condition. As a matter of fact, I could have sworn they enjoyed it....

The hotel was offering a free breakfast buffet to all the guests at the hotel (as consolation for all the re-construction going on there) and I decided to take full advantage of it. However, I was bone tired. I didn't know which end was up, or down, for that matter. Hunger beat out exhaustion, so I headed down to the hotel restaurant. There was a huge line of "Spring Breakers" there. I resigned myself to the fact I would have to endure some pretty severe razzing if I wanted to eat.

No matter. I got in line and was immediately propositioned by a group of young, surly, colligiate lads who wanted me to dance at their friend's birthday fete. Trouble. I humbly refused their request. They were offering good money, too. But, I was too shagged, fagged and fashed to think about such mercenary endeavors. I was HUNGRY! That's all I cared about at the time. So, I stood in line and endured their constant requests to change my mind.

I began to be aware that there was a noticeable lack of "babes" at the hotel. I would estimate ten guys for every girl. Which gave another pause as to whether I should take those guys up on their offer.

Good God, I'm old enough to be their father, for crying out loud!

And after all, I was strictly there as an observer. Not a reveler....

My name was called for a table and I was escorted by a real cutie named Lisa. She informed me as to the protocol of the buffet and asked if I wanted coffee. " Just OJ.", I replied. The last thing I needed at this point was something else to keep me alert. I just wanted some good "old fashioned" Southern fare for breakfast. And, from the look of it, that's exactly what was on hand. Grits, sausage, bacon, scrambled eggs, biscuits, gravy. I was in heaven. I did not give a care about whatever commotion I was causing. I was hungry. I then realized, as I sat down with my plates full of vittles, that I had forgotten to bring down my feeding bib with me. Drat! Fatigue was definitely becoming a factor here. I tried to be as careful as I tould not to th'pill and meth up my sthun-sthute.

"Here's your orange juice, darlin'.", said Lisa, in a sweet, southern drawl. "I think you're a real cutie-pie. Now, I don't mean to be rude, but (BUT. The quantifying word of all time.), why are you dressed like that?"

"Because, I'd get arrested if I went around here nekkid.", I replied. "This is how I dress all the time. I'm just a big baby girl at heart!"

"Kewl! You are a sweetheart." With that, she winked, blew me a kiss and went about her regular duties. Lord, I do miss the South.

I devoured the food with much relish, not aware of any comments or observations. I was hungry and tired. Time to head up to the room and lie down. I tipped the head waitress and asked that a portion of it go to the server who seated me. I hope that happened. Stuffed, weary and bleary, I headed back up to my room.

I waddled through the lobby area to the lift, not really paying any attention to the comments, stares and photos being taken. I was ready for bed. I made it to my room without incident and totally crashed. I was awakened a short time later by a sharp knock at the door...

"Yes?"

"Hotel security. We need to talk to you!"

I drowseled to the door, cracked it open and saw two burly men and a petite woman who appeared to be the leader of the group. They were armed and in a bad mood.. You'd have thought they were after Genghis Khan.

"I'm just now getting some sleep. I've been on the road for 16 some hours and I'm beat. What is this about?", I asked.

"We've had complaints about your way of dress. You'll have to put on some "normal" male clothes or check out! Unless you want to stay in your room the entire stay. We've got families staying here."

Me? A prisoner in a hotel room? I think not.

I replied, "My God, you've got half-naked women and men frollicking around the place in a drunken stupor in their "Speedos" and thong bikinis and you have the gall to ask me to leave? It's Spring Break. Get over it. Any parent who would bring their children down to this modern-day "Sodom and Gomorrah" should know what to expect! Give me another three hours rest and I'm outta here. But, not without a full refund and apology."

The burly boys stiffened and little miss priss started reaching for her pepper spray.

"We'll give you 30 minutes.", she replied.

" When I checked in, the desk clerks had no problem with me. This is a bunch of BS. ", I responded.

To make a long story short, I laid back down for another hour or two. Got up, after countless knocks at the door and got the hell out of Dodge. They gave me a full refund with an apology. But, I'll never stay in a Holiday Inn again.

Interesting side note. As I was loading up the car, a Panama City policeman was in the lobby and asked if he could have his picture taken with me. No doubt, he had been called to the scene to enforce my exit by hotel security. I said, "Sure!"

He handed his camera to the security "bitch" who was standing by the concierge desk and asked, "Would you mind?" I loved it. 

She begrudgingly snapped the photo as the cop put his arm around me, hugged me and gleefully exclaimed, "My wife won't believe this!"

As the photo was snapped, he and I both gave the thumbs up.

He added, as I was walking out, " If there's anything we can do?" I just winked and walked...

The Holiday Inn episode was the only negative experience in my whole trip. At any rate, I was on to Ft. Walton Beach...

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