Life was a different experience as we became part of the small town locals surrounded by this peculiar population. Once our faces became familiar to the permanent residence, we were treated like family and warmly welcomed by name at the establishments we frequented. In contrast, we were free to indulge in the beauty and allure of the beaches that attracts so many visitors each year, as well as a chance to gab with people from so many diverse areas, experiences and backgrounds.	It was time to shed a little more of our lingering, conventional mannerisms and learn the life of a beach bum. We sailed up to Clearwater Beach for a nine month stretch, and docked within walking distance of powdery white shores. Life on the beach was an eclectic mix of indigenous islanders, weekend sun-seekers, wealthy retirees, dispossessed itinerants, nomadic northerners and the free-spirited performance artists, craftsmen and service oriented commuters that catered to their every dollar.
This mix of the migratory masses meant horrendous traffic and parking challenges, so we often rooted our car to what ever 1/100th acre of land we could find. Luckily, our new island location offered the benefit of being within walking distance of many of our needs, or a short dinghy ride to many others. This was our first opportunity to release our automotive affections and rely on more natural modes of transportation – our feet. Traveling by human power presents a unique view to one's surroundings. Just as we’d hoped – we’d departed the beaten path.
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