It feels good to be going to Tampa during spring break. Scores of college kids stroll through Newark Airport, all in a good mood, smiles on their faces, some already tan from the salons in preparation of sun exposure in the Sunshine State. I�ve already seen one woman in a green IRISH pullover windbreaker, but that�s a little confusing � or more likely she�s not a student � because ND�s spring break starts today. Why is she here now, apparently heading for the departing gates?

So my plane is late � they tell me it�s over at customs after arriving from Cancun, no doubt with a load of kids returning from a wild spring break � and my flight is delayed 45 minutes until 1:30. So here I am in the Budweiser bar with the old car. Out the window I can see my gate, so I can stay until my plane arrives if I wish � though that�s unlikely with �Yankees Magazine� on the TVs in the bar despite the fact that it�s Championship Week on ESPN and I know there is a game on that started at noon. Out the window above the terminal and my Gate 90, I can see the planes as they take off into the clear, cloud-dotted NJ sky.

I return to the waiting area by the gate to ... well, wait ... and look across the the chairs at the passengers. Middle-aged to older folks heading south to get a head start on the warmth make up about half the group; college women the other half. I notice very few college guys. One or two are there with girlfriends, but that�s it. I guess the groups of guys go more to places like Cancun and Vegas and Panama City. And for a split second as I look out at the crowd, I wonder how many of those women are going to have sex in the next week with guys they�ve just met.

On the plane in row 16 on the aisle, I sit alone until two girls I�d noticed in the terminal place their bags above and sit next to me. One, I�d noticed, wears a Cornell t-shirt, but I get the impression they�re not up for chit-chat. Besides, I think I�d feel old asking if they�re going on spring break and then having to reveal in the ensuing conversation that I get to go to Clearwater for work. They spoke little to one another, the one next to me telling the other that she might take a shower before they go out tonight. But for the duration of the flight, all three of us take advantage of the free headphones that are supposed to make up for our now one-hour delay in departing.

In Tampa, a plane with half its occupants young spring breakers exits into a terminal filled with gray-haired retirees in shorts and black socks pulled up to the knees or pastel colored outfits, all awaiting offspring, grandchildren and other snowbird friends. They stand in a warm, humid, musty terminal smelling of old carpet and ointments. It�s like walking into my grandfather�s house in South River 15 years ago.

I get my bag and secure my rental car, wishing I had my own with me here. At the very least, I long for September, when I turn 25 and no longer have to deal with daily surcharges added to the fees for being a young rentor. Then I could�ve rented a Grand Am and felt comfortable. I�m always uneasy in rental cars. As I leave the airport and head west on Florida 60, I can�t help but smile. The sun pokes through the clouds, but even when it doesn�t, it�s a bright overcast as I cruise along the bay toward Clearwater. Along the causeway, a bike/jogging/blading path runs along the water, and I wonder if I should�ve dug my Rollerblades out of the basement for this trip. And then I�m a little surprised to discover the path is not off-limits to vehicular traffic � a white Mustang with the top down crawls along at the posted 15 mph along the path. The strip of land is barely wide enough for the four-lane highway, the grass shoulders and the path adjacent to the waterline. I wish I had a convertible, because I belong in one down here. It�s March but it�s warm. I should have the wind in my hair and the sun on my face, but instead I�m trapped inside a brown (I didn�t even know cars still came in brown) Plymouth Neon, a car I loathe for its ugliness.

Palm trees line the pavement, and although I do not know if I�ve ridden this route on my one previous trip to Florida � a visit with Mom and Jess to see Mom�s aunt and uncle in Sarasota � we must�ve driven a similar road. That was in 1982 � I think � the year before Epcot opened.

My directions say my hotel is on U.S. 19, just south of Gulf-to-Bay Blvd., aka Florida 60. I come to the turn for 19 South and take it, seeing the access road for Druid Road, also mentioned in the directions. I miss the Quality Inn sign tucked behind another and after riding south on 19 through a few stoplights, I turn around and see it off to the left, right on the service road where I�d had a feeling it would be. Another u-turn � which I was able to make without a jughandle (OK, I�ve found one thing better in Florida) � and I pulled into the parking lot. It was a relief to check into my room and relax after a hectic week. I didn�t even have a chance to relax this morning before my 12:45 flight � I woke up at 9 a.m. to try for Dave Matthews tickets at Giants Stadium in June and it paid off with floor seats for the first show, which sold out before I got in the shower.

OH MY GOD. I�m watching �Michael� on TNT in my Clearwater hotel room, and right at the end before William Hurt and Andie MacDowell get back together, Hurt is off in a restaurant ordering dinner alone and the clean-shaven, balding waiter speaking in some kind of Greek or Italian accent is Toby (Richard Schiff) from �The West Wing.� I love finding actors we recognize so easily now in bit parts from a few years ago.

When the hotel cable went out for a while, taking away the end of the Duke-Maryland, I made a few phone calls � my parents, Brian in Orlando, (he�s a high school friend now working with the animals at an interactive theme park there), and Dave, the photographer down here shooting pics for the team I�m here to cover. I stepped out to a supermarket for some hotel room essentials � snack food, soda and beer � and then settled in for a quiet, relaxing Saturday night, something relatively foreign to me. I ordered pizza and have been channel surfing ever since.

�Michael� is over, but �As Good As It Gets� is on next. Maybe I�ll catch �Saturday Night Live� even. I love it.

Tomorrow, off to practice.