Last-minute planning and unexpected roadblocks can lead travel into interesting byways. While visiting the family in Florida this June, my husband and I found our well-laid plans ravaged by Mother Nature. Driving into Florida on I-95 wreaked havoc with respiratory problems: over thirty miles of solid smoke and terrible heat. While my parents lived beyond the danger zone, there were still days when the air filled with choking smoke, rainless days where we sat in the pool as the temperature passed 100 F. Not the best timing for a Florida vacation, as we and thousand s of other travelers discovered.

Still, to make the most of it, we tried day trips: Silver Springs, Homosassa Springs, Busch Gardens. The heat endured, making outdoor activity miserable. Since my husband and I wanted a getaway within a getaway, I flippantly suggested visiting Florida Caverns, up in the Panhandle. “Looks like a 200 mile drive,” I said, after measuring the map. It would be well out of the smoke zone, and we could drive in air-conditioned comfort!

After three hours of high-speed driving, we reached Tallahassee and took another look at the map. I’d miscalculated. We had another 80 miles to go, at least. We’d have to cross into the next time zone! Figuring an hour gained could be an hour spent, we dug through our pile of brochures and decided to stop at Torreya State Park. Its allure: the tallest bluff in Florida, along the Apalachicola River. Fourteen miles of backroad later, we looked off the bluff. Sure, you could see far, but there was nothing but forest to see. Less than a third of the height of Mt. Washington, but it was Florida’s highest cliff!

A half-hour later, we found our destination. Florida Caverns State Park sits just north of Marianna on I-10, not far from the Alabama border. It’s the only public cave tour in the state. Dating back to the 1930s, the trails are rustic. It was refreshing to vanish underground into the damp 60 F chambers. It was unlike any other show cave experience I’ve had: the ranger focused on geology, the lighting was dim,  and the ceilings were low. While visitors don’t get muddy, the tour is as close to a walk though a wild cave as most people will enjoy. Abundant formations delighted: flowstone, pools edged in rimstone, delicate white soda straws. Most peculiar were the catacombs,  a network of broad but low-ceilinged passages that led back to some of the more spectacular formations. The tour is linear, exiting out of the far side of the hill. The park itself is an amateur geologist’s delight: numerous caverns and sinkholes, a disappearing river, and beautiful blue springs. Abundant wildlife fills the forest; camping, swimming, canoeing, and picnicking are available.

With time to spare before dusk, I suggested we press onward and see “nearby” Falling Waters State Park, another 25 miles east. It contains Florida’s only significant natural waterfall, a stream dropping 67 feet into a steep-sided sinkhole. With the drought, it turned out, there was no waterfall to behold. But the vast collection of sinkholes was interesting.

Map out again, we plotted a scenic route back via the Gulf of Mexico. Never did a distance seem so excruciatingly long as the time it took to reach Panama City through the vast pine forests. At one point, we saw firefighters, police, and television crews chowing down by the side of the road. We later realized we’d skirted another wildfire zone. Our plan was to follow the scenic route – US 98 – along the coast until the sun faded. The sun dipped seaward as we finally found Florida’s “Forgotten Coast,” east of Mexico Beach. It’s tough to get to, but worthwhile. Sand dunes and scenic pulloffs abound as US 98 dances with the sea. We stopped for a walk on the beach, then cruised along as the golden rays spread across the water. Towns passed by, as did expansive tidal flats dotted with herons looking for a quick crab snack. As darkness crept in, civilization vanished. We’d skipped dinner to enjoy more daylight by the sea. Now, what to do?

Serendipity prevailed. It was nearly 10 PM when we crossed a bridge and saw lights reflected in the water. A beacon: Angelos Seafood Restaurant, with a Greek flair and the best grouper I’ve tasted. Fresh fish daily. We walked in just a few minutes before closing, but they stayed open for us. Was it karma? We dined, leisurely, relaxing in a fine meal. Bed was still several hours away. When it was all done, we’d road-tripped over 650 miles in a single day, following our whims on the highways of Florida. It was different from the usual travel experience. But if it weren’t for the curious quirks of our day, we would’ve never had dinner in Panacea, FL.

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