We bid farewell to the Deep South and onto Florida to stay with my cousin, Sharone, for four nights, which is sure to offer a different slant to what we’ve experienced so far this trip. We left Juliette faced with a ten-hour slog (including stops) to our destination.

However, not long after we set off, disaster struck, which threatened to derail the whole trip. I’ve always had a slightly weird phobia that something fictitious that I’ve written in either of my two novels would come to fruition, and it just so happens that a fear I mention on page one of ‘Lost in Manchester, Tourin America’ manifested itself.

I’m pushing the speed limit to 85mph, overtaking the slower drivers. I’ve almost overtaken a section of traffic so I can move over, and just as I do, I clock a sheriff’s car by the side of road and panic, hitting the break to take my speed down to 75mph in a matter of milli-seconds.

I looked in my rear-view mirror and see the car slowly pull out from his position and take to the road, but for the next minute or so, I see nothing, so think I’m safe. Part of me feels like coming off at the next junction just to be safe, but I resist, instead choosing to do about 65mph in the slow lane. The thought of outrunning him did cross my mind given my head start, but I didn’t think that would be the best idea. Another minute passes…and nothing, I’m surely safe. But then, I see a black vehicle creep up through the traffic and hover just behind me in the next lane. In the corner of my eye, I see it’s the sheriff’s car, but I don’t look over to make eye contact (like that’s going to change the outcome). Because his lights aren’t on, maybe he’s just sizing me up, or toying with me, or in all likelihood, running a check on my vehicle. Seconds later, he moves behind me, and lights are flashing. “FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!” I cry, and panic makes it way up my spine. My mind instantly wanders to every bad outcome this situation has presented in film/TV over the years. I fear I’m going to be on ‘Banged Up Abroad’ at some point, locked up with members of the cartel and fending for my life. I’ve definitely seen too many films.

The officer makes his way over and approaches the passenger side. Suze winds the window down and he speaks, ‘So, I’ve stopped you for two reasons.’ Two? I definitely know one. What lie has he concocted to do me twice just to make a point, I wonder. He tells me that I braked too hard with traffic around me (not actually for speeding), and that my windows are too tinted for Georgian law. He pointed out that he knew it was a hire car from Florida though, so the man had clearly done his homework before pulling me. Next he says magical words to my ear, ‘I’m not going to give you a ticket this time. I just wanted to let you know.’ My heart sinks and my mind is at rest. The relief in our car is palpable. Suze continues to try to diffuse the situation by explaining to the police officer that we’ve just been to the ‘Fried Green Tomatoes’ set, and we love the little town. Her lip was quivering worse than Elvis. It was hilarious.

After he lets us go, we laugh, albeit a nervous laugh, and I quote John Candy in ‘Planes, Trains and Automobiles’. ‘We can laugh about it now we’re ok.’ Once we’d calmed, and Suze has finished berating me, we’re back on track, entering the realms of Florida within ten minutes of being pulled… where the tinted windows wouldn’t have mattered.

It’s another splendid drive that’s easy on the eye, where the scenery becomes similar to our experience out of Orlando eleven nights earlier. The temperature is rising with every mile, and with that brings lush greenery surrounded by swamps and lakes. Traffic is relatively light too. The only issue being around Kissimmee, where Disney World is. Other than that, there are times where it feels we’re the only car on the road.

After filling up for the second time that day, we’re on the final two-hour leg to Deerfield. This part of the trip is completely unknown and unplanned. I’ve spent the previous month planning all aspects of our trip, but when we land at Sharone’s, we’re in her hands, letting her plan our remaining four days, and I’m excited to see what she has in store for us.

We arrive in Deerfield, and Sharone comes out to greet us. I’ve not seen her that many times in life, the last being just over four years ago, but there has always been a bond between us. Since my late teens, she’s always asked me to come and visit. At one point in my twenties, there was a possibility of moving over after university when she lived in Maryland. Life would’ve taken a very different direction if I’d accepted her offer back then.

She shows us to our room within her spacious ground floor, two-bedroom apartment, passing a swimming pool on the way within the complex. It’s a fantastic space that’s perfect for her to live in, and to have visitors come and stay over. She has lived here for the last two years or so, and by her own admission she wishes she moved here sooner. On first sight of her apartment, Deerfield and feeling the high temperature at 7:30pm in early March, you can see why.

Straight away we head into Deerfield, a short two-minute walk to a cluster of chilled bars and restaurants on two of the roads behind her apartment block. It’s also a two-minute walk in the opposite direction to the beach. There’s a lovely feel to Deerfield, and I immediately feel relaxed, and that it feels like I’m on holiday, and not on an adventure. The strip of bars are quite busy, evident by the fact that there is a wait for tables for food in the first two places Sharone tries to get us in. Third time lucky as we enter a quieter bar where a few of her friends are having drinks. She introduces us to them, and we’re instantly engaged in conversation as they ask about our trip so far. We have found on this trip that when we tell people what we’re doing, they look a little confused as to why we would embark on such a journey. Suze and I are equally bemused as to why you wouldn’t do this, but I suppose the reverse could be said about the UK. I wouldn’t do a road trip of multiple places back home, but that’s not to say some foreigners wouldn’t dream of such an adventure. After all, we do have a lot to offer with cosmopolitan cities, incredible culture, beautiful countryside, and a history that’s one of the most important in the story of life on Earth.

I’d never heard of Deerfield when it comes to Florida, and I ask Sharone whether a lot of Brits come here. As far as she knows not many do. It’s mainly ‘Snowbirds’ that make their way over, a term given to those flocking from the north during the winter months to spend time in the much warmer south to get away from the bad weather. I feel me and Suze are classed as the same given it’s pissing down and snowing in the UK.

We don’t overdo it in Deerfield after such a monstrous day of driving, so we call it an early night because Sharone has plans for us the following day to go to Fort Lauderdale… a place with a reputation for attracting Spring Breakers, and we’re about to land right in the heart of it in full swing.

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