While I was flipping through my Lonely Planet guide over breakfast, a guy in an old bright red MG drove over to my camp. I’d seen him drive in last night and saw him camped out in a sleeping bag, keen as mustard. Within minutes, it was obvious he’s a talker. He had so much to say he invited me to join him for a coffee (orange juice for me) at the Cracker Barrel. I had nowhere to be in any rush so I obliged. We ordered our drinks to go and took them out to the front porch where we sat on a couple of rocking chairs that formed a neat multi-coloured row.

Bernie is 76 years old, lives in Ohio but was down in Florida playing in a number of tennis tournaments, a very popular sport amongst retired men. He told me all about his life as a telemarketing consultant and a motivational trainer in attitude control. He’s an author and a keen reader of the type of books that teach you new ways of thought, the kind you need to re-read to really understand the message.

I soon lost track of the stories, none of them quite managing to reach conclusion, but instead causing a new tangent. It would have been frustrating if they weren’t interesting stories. I was quite happy rocking back and forth in my chair, sipping my orange juice as Bernie talked and we bantered the comers and goers of the restaurant.

After a while, we retreated back to our cars because it looked like rain and Bernia had left his windows down. Turns out it was a false alarm and we were soon getting too hot standing in the sun so Bernie suggested we drive our cars round the front and continue our rocking chair morning. Great idea! He got into his MG and drove off and I got into the Astro van and got the sound of the starter motor, nothing more. Hmmm. I tried again, the starter motor cranked and cranked and cranked, but no ignition. Haha, I wasn’t going anywhere! Bernie eventually sauntered back and found me looking under the bonnet. I knew I wasn’t going to find the problem there, I would have to take the tunnel out from the inside. I could smell petrol so I knew that was good, I assumed my compression was ok so knew it was the spark, probably because something had gone wrong when I changed out the ICM. I was furious that I would have to take everything out just to get to the stupid thing.

Bernie kept me company as I pulled all my camping and climbing stuff from behind the passnger seat, then removed the passenger seat, then the tunnel, then eventually the new ICM. When Bernie got tired of standing, I put the passenger seat on a milk crate for him so he could sit and talk with me while I worked. He just told me to ask if I needed help, but was satisfied I knew what I was doing so left me to it while he told me his stories, it was a nice distraction from the work in the heat. When I got to the ICM, I consulted my Haynes manual and checked the voltage at the positive terminal to find that it read 1V. The explanation in the Haynes manual was convoluted, so that didn’t really tell me much so I just took the new ICM out and put the old one back in. It started first time. Bernie’s face lit up with joy, but mine was more of a “typical” eye roll, knowing that my brand new part had failed me.

Just to be sure, I put the new ICM back in to make sure it was the actual fault and not just me moving wires around. Sure enough, she wouldn’t go with the new one and there was smoke coming out the bottom of it, so I’d definitely found the problem! Old one back in, that would have to do for now. I was fed up by the time I’d put everything back together, checking that the engine was starting at least three times before it was all done not wanting to have to do it all again. By the time I was done, it was nearly 1pm so most of the day was already gone. At some point, Bernie let me get a word in and I told him that I used to be quite a good tennis player. He was thoroughly excited to discover this and immediately convinced me we should go for a hit. We found some courts nearby and drove over to the public park. They weren’t clay as Bernie wanted, but they were free to use!

I got changed and we shared some fruit while we re-gripped one of his four racquets for me to use. On the court, we hit around for a while and everything but my forehand was completely useless. Bernie didn’t move around much, but his shots were well placed. When we started playing a match, I couldn’t stop hitting it to him and all the words of Dad and my coach came flooding back to me with every mistake I made. So frustrating to come back to something you were once really good at! Bernie was making me work while he hung out on the baseline, waiting for my shots to come to him. In the first set, I only got one first serve in. The score? 6-0 to the old man. He was so confident in the second set that he smoked a cigarette as we played and that gave me a window to win a few games. When we were at 4-4 he put the cigarette out and put and end to it. The match was over at 6-0, 6-4. We shook hands, but I was furious. It is not in my competitive nature to lose to a 76 year old man who smokes during play and doesn’t have 20-20-vision!

We finished play around 5pm and were keen to get out of the sun and go lie on a beach somewhere for a glass of wine and I was starving having not really had a proper lunch. I found us a place nearby in Venice (stupid name for America, I know) right on the pier so we drove over, Bernie following me in his MG. At the ocean, the breeze was more like wind and was cold! We donned long pants and jumpers and made it to the bar where Bernie ordered red and I ordered white. The loser paid for the first round. The bar had a beautiful outlook to the pier, but we meandered away to get out of the wind and found us some sweet lazy chairs on the sand where we could sip and watch the sunset.

The talking continued and not just between us. We commandeered a couple that had come onto the beach with the same idea as us and talked to them for a good half hour as the sky started getting dramatic. Eventually they managed to drag themselves away from Bernie’s incessant talk and strategically sit at least six chairs away so as to avoid further conversation. Bernie continued his denotations, pausing every now and then to point towards the gorgeous sky in front of us. I couldn’t tear my eyes away it was so beautiful.

With the sun behind the horizon, it was now thoroughly cold and without any food in my belly, I was still thoroughly hungry. We drove to a supermarket close to our Cracker Barrel camp for dinner. Bernie went inside and bought salad stuff while I heated up some left over pasta for the both of us. And so, I hosted my first ever dinner in the Astro van. Bernie had the comfortable seat and I sat cross-legged on the bed, shovelling food into my mouth. The salad was a nice touch to wash it all down. When I was done eating, I just lay back and listened to more of Bernie’s tales. We went back inside the supermarket and got doughnuts for desert (which I paid for because Bernie temporarily misplaced his wallet), then drove the five minutes back to last night’s Cracker Barrel. We set up camp next door to each other and I was asleep without much delay. All the activity of the day had worn me out!

Side note: After writing yesterday that I was apprehensive about being in a holding pattern, it is like some higher power sent Bernie to me, for which I am grateful. He is a rough diamond, an old soul and now a great friend.