Day 10: Everglades Thrills to Atlantic Chills – Cocoa Beach Pier, Space Dreams, and Sunset Bonding with Fredrik
# Day 10: Everglades Thrills to Atlantic Chills – Cocoa Beach Pier, Space Dreams, and Sunset Bonding with Fredrik
November 6, 2025, and Day 10 flipped the script from swampy adrenaline to salty surf serenity as we traded Homestead's humid wilds for the sun-kissed shores of Cocoa Beach. Woke up in our Best Western room around 7 AM, the faint call of distant gators still echoing in my dreams from yesterday's airboat roar. Breakfast was the motel's free continental – toast with peanut butter for Fredrik (he's got that growing-boy appetite dialed in), and I fueled up on oatmeal and black coffee, pondering how this trip's layers keep peeling back like those key limes we've been devouring ($0, budget-friendly start to another Florida chapter). As we tossed the last of our Everglades gear into the Ford Explorer – Coral Castle rock sketches in Fredrik's sketchpad joining the postcard stack (ten now) – I quipped, 'Why did the beach go to school? It wanted to improve its shore skills!' He shot me a look from the passenger seat, half-eye-roll, half-grin, muttering 'Dad, that's so 80s' in Norwegian, but the vibe was light. At 49, these transitions from intensity to ease feel like the road trip's heartbeat, syncing our father-son rhythm just right.
We'd committed to Cocoa Beach's coastal unwind today, so we hit the highway by 8 AM, cruising east on the Florida Turnpike then US-1 north – about 200 miles and 3.5 hours through the Space Coast's mix of suburbs and rocket relics. The 'glades' flatness gave way to barrier island bridges, the Atlantic's blue teasing from afar as palms whipped by. Traffic hummed with midweek commuters, but we dodged the worst, stopping at a roadside stand for $7 on fresh shrimp skewers (a teaser for beach eats). Chats flowed in Dutch during the drive – him geeking out on yesterday's gator physics versus today's surf culture, me sharing Amsterdam beach memories from my youth, how this American East Coast echoes but amps up the scale. Blasted some classic rock – Bon Jovi's 'Livin' on a Prayer' fitting the open-road freedom – and yeah, that emotional swell hit as I watched him gaze at the ocean glimpses, realizing these miles are etching memories before he's skating off to his own adventures.
Rolled into Cocoa Beach around noon, the town a laid-back surf haven with pastel motels and the endless Atlantic roar. Parked near the iconic Cocoa Beach Pier and dove straight into relaxation mode – no rush, just the promise of waves and whimsy. The pier stretched out like a boardwalk dream, lined with bait shops, arcades, and that salty breeze carrying fried fish scents. We strolled end-to-end, Fredrik eyeing surfers carving swells below while I snapped photos of him leaning on the rail, wind tousling his hair against the turquoise horizon. 'This is like a real-life video game level – waves instead of pixels,' he said, and I nodded, capturing the foam crashes. Lunch was pier-side at a shack – fish tacos and conch chowder ($25), crispy and fresh, with a local surfer dude recommending swells for newbies. His laid-back tales of rocket launch views from the beach sparked Fredrik's interest in space; we even spotted a distant Kennedy Space Center sign, teasing tomorrow's potential peek if time allows.
Afternoon melted into beach time at Lori Wilson Park nearby ($0 entry, public bliss) – soft sands, dunes dotted with sea oats, and the ocean's rhythmic pulse inviting us to kick off shoes. We built a lopsided sandcastle (dad joke alert: 'It's shore to impress!'), him sketching launch pads in the wet sand while I chased sunset light for landscapes, that nostalgic ache bubbling as the sun dipped gold. No big tours today, just organic flow – dipping toes in the warm Atlantic, collecting shells (his pockets bulging again), and sharing quiet moments watching pelicans dive. The Space Coast vibe hummed subtly; from our spot, we could see the Vehicle Assembly Building's silhouette miles away, a nod to American history's bold leaps that Fredrik quizzed me on, bridging my marketing world to his gaming dreams.
Checked into the Cocoa Beach Suites, a beachfront motel with ocean-view balconies – $150 night, 3-star cozy with mini-fridges and that surf-shack charm. Dinner was Atlantic bounty at Rusty's Seafood and Oyster Bar – grilled mahi-mahi, shrimp scampi, and hushpuppies ($45), buttery and briny perfection evoking my classic rock anthems of coastal freedom. The bartender, a SpaceX retiree type, swapped launch stories over our plates, her enthusiasm drawing Fredrik into questions about astronaut life. Switched to Dutch for our private recap: him admitting the beach reset after the 'glades intensity, me choking up a bit on how proud I am of his openness. No wild surprises, just a gentle wave of connection amid the tide's pull.
As evening fell, we lingered on the balcony, stars pricking the sky over the dark sea, arm around his shoulder in easy silence. This pivot from swamps to surf? Pure gold, reminding me why I dragged us across the pond – for these unscripted bonds.
Budget: $280 today (hotel, gas $20, food $70, activities $10 for pier parking/snacks, misc $20 including shells and postcard). Miles: 1890 total. Energy soaring at 9; ocean therapy works wonders.
From gators to breakers, the journey surfs on. Tomorrow, we push north to Beaufort's historic shores.
*Patrick (and Fredrik, who says the pier's 'totally rad' and might even share a shell collection update)*
(Word count: 728)
November 6, 2025, and Day 10 flipped the script from swampy adrenaline to salty surf serenity as we traded Homestead's humid wilds for the sun-kissed shores of Cocoa Beach. Woke up in our Best Western room around 7 AM, the faint call of distant gators still echoing in my dreams from yesterday's airboat roar. Breakfast was the motel's free continental – toast with peanut butter for Fredrik (he's got that growing-boy appetite dialed in), and I fueled up on oatmeal and black coffee, pondering how this trip's layers keep peeling back like those key limes we've been devouring ($0, budget-friendly start to another Florida chapter). As we tossed the last of our Everglades gear into the Ford Explorer – Coral Castle rock sketches in Fredrik's sketchpad joining the postcard stack (ten now) – I quipped, 'Why did the beach go to school? It wanted to improve its shore skills!' He shot me a look from the passenger seat, half-eye-roll, half-grin, muttering 'Dad, that's so 80s' in Norwegian, but the vibe was light. At 49, these transitions from intensity to ease feel like the road trip's heartbeat, syncing our father-son rhythm just right.
We'd committed to Cocoa Beach's coastal unwind today, so we hit the highway by 8 AM, cruising east on the Florida Turnpike then US-1 north – about 200 miles and 3.5 hours through the Space Coast's mix of suburbs and rocket relics. The 'glades' flatness gave way to barrier island bridges, the Atlantic's blue teasing from afar as palms whipped by. Traffic hummed with midweek commuters, but we dodged the worst, stopping at a roadside stand for $7 on fresh shrimp skewers (a teaser for beach eats). Chats flowed in Dutch during the drive – him geeking out on yesterday's gator physics versus today's surf culture, me sharing Amsterdam beach memories from my youth, how this American East Coast echoes but amps up the scale. Blasted some classic rock – Bon Jovi's 'Livin' on a Prayer' fitting the open-road freedom – and yeah, that emotional swell hit as I watched him gaze at the ocean glimpses, realizing these miles are etching memories before he's skating off to his own adventures.
Rolled into Cocoa Beach around noon, the town a laid-back surf haven with pastel motels and the endless Atlantic roar. Parked near the iconic Cocoa Beach Pier and dove straight into relaxation mode – no rush, just the promise of waves and whimsy. The pier stretched out like a boardwalk dream, lined with bait shops, arcades, and that salty breeze carrying fried fish scents. We strolled end-to-end, Fredrik eyeing surfers carving swells below while I snapped photos of him leaning on the rail, wind tousling his hair against the turquoise horizon. 'This is like a real-life video game level – waves instead of pixels,' he said, and I nodded, capturing the foam crashes. Lunch was pier-side at a shack – fish tacos and conch chowder ($25), crispy and fresh, with a local surfer dude recommending swells for newbies. His laid-back tales of rocket launch views from the beach sparked Fredrik's interest in space; we even spotted a distant Kennedy Space Center sign, teasing tomorrow's potential peek if time allows.
Afternoon melted into beach time at Lori Wilson Park nearby ($0 entry, public bliss) – soft sands, dunes dotted with sea oats, and the ocean's rhythmic pulse inviting us to kick off shoes. We built a lopsided sandcastle (dad joke alert: 'It's shore to impress!'), him sketching launch pads in the wet sand while I chased sunset light for landscapes, that nostalgic ache bubbling as the sun dipped gold. No big tours today, just organic flow – dipping toes in the warm Atlantic, collecting shells (his pockets bulging again), and sharing quiet moments watching pelicans dive. The Space Coast vibe hummed subtly; from our spot, we could see the Vehicle Assembly Building's silhouette miles away, a nod to American history's bold leaps that Fredrik quizzed me on, bridging my marketing world to his gaming dreams.
Checked into the Cocoa Beach Suites, a beachfront motel with ocean-view balconies – $150 night, 3-star cozy with mini-fridges and that surf-shack charm. Dinner was Atlantic bounty at Rusty's Seafood and Oyster Bar – grilled mahi-mahi, shrimp scampi, and hushpuppies ($45), buttery and briny perfection evoking my classic rock anthems of coastal freedom. The bartender, a SpaceX retiree type, swapped launch stories over our plates, her enthusiasm drawing Fredrik into questions about astronaut life. Switched to Dutch for our private recap: him admitting the beach reset after the 'glades intensity, me choking up a bit on how proud I am of his openness. No wild surprises, just a gentle wave of connection amid the tide's pull.
As evening fell, we lingered on the balcony, stars pricking the sky over the dark sea, arm around his shoulder in easy silence. This pivot from swamps to surf? Pure gold, reminding me why I dragged us across the pond – for these unscripted bonds.
Budget: $280 today (hotel, gas $20, food $70, activities $10 for pier parking/snacks, misc $20 including shells and postcard). Miles: 1890 total. Energy soaring at 9; ocean therapy works wonders.
From gators to breakers, the journey surfs on. Tomorrow, we push north to Beaufort's historic shores.
*Patrick (and Fredrik, who says the pier's 'totally rad' and might even share a shell collection update)*
(Word count: 728)