The pilot unloaded Marili’s and the other five passengers’ luggage directly onto the tarmac. Marili strapped her tent and art supply case to her bike, put on her overloaded backpack, balanced her suitcase on her handlebars, and headed west toward Route A1A for Kelly’s Cove Campgrounds. She reveled in the sun that glittered off the water, feeling the heat sinking into her pores, thawing her out, purging the frigid winter from her system. She smiled at walkers on the sun-bleached sidewalk as she traveled, her hair fluttering behind her. When she came upon some small islands of mangrove trees, she knew she was nearing Kelly’s Cove. She passed a thicker stand of mangroves, open water again, then tropical greenery that obscured the view of the water. Over a bridge, a mile or two more, and she was there.
