There are only a few things I remember from my first trip to central Florida. The year was 1966 or 1967, and there were six of us in the car - our Dad probably did all of the driving. The Florida turnpikes (I think that's what they were called) were newly opened, brand new, and there were entrance booths of some kind where you were expected to slow down and be welcomed. At each booth, we were given paper cups of fresh local orange juice. Florida and oranges. Like bacon and eggs or Laurel and Hardy, the words just went together. The roads must not have been crowded; there was never much of a wait onto the turnpike, and everyone was given free orange juice. We stayed at a town called Cocoa Beach which was not far from Cape Canaveral (I'm not sure if Cape Canaveral had been renamed Cape Kennedy at that point.) We spent the whole visit on the beach for the most part. One day, we were on the beach, a rocket was ignited, and we watched it spiral through the atmosphere and beyond. Above the ocean, a trail of white exhaust was left in the blue sky - a perfect question mark.