Monday and Tuesday, September 7th and 8th, 2013
It rained in the early morning hours, as threats of Tropical Storm Karen were dissipating. It was warm and sultry, with a light wind. After coffee and packing up Henry David, I hugged Jack and Mary and set out for the road again. The next two days were patched with rain but were actually pretty mild with weather. Roads were favorable and the Georgia police kept their eyes on me. I had never seen so many police officers in my life. But I got waves and one policeman even took photos while I cycled by. I spent Monday night in Richmond Hill and Tuesday at the Microtel motel in north Brunswick, Georgia. Tired and aching, I was in a fast track to the 4th corner of my trip--on to Jacksonville, Florida.
Wednesday, Oct 9th, 2013.
After a small continental breakfast at Microtel, where all secrets are miniscule and of no consequence, I headed out on hwy 25 in Brunswick, Georgia. Once HD and I connected to the combined highway of 17 and 25, we rode on for a few more miles and then crossed the Brunswick River. When the road turned west after crossing the river, it was rough riding for about 5-7 miles. Small road signs listed this as a double bike approved highway--10 west and 95 south. This must be some sort of numbering system for the bike roads. So, there was a nice little shoulder, just the right size for HD. He would have been very happy, but the DOT laid those nasty ribs all the way across the entire shoulder section. Therefore, when the traffic approached from behind, HD and I braved the brain rattling shoulder. When the traffic passed, we went into the road, while I kept my eyes peeled onto the rearview mirror.
After turning south at Waverly, it was a pretty nice road for the rest of the day. The weather was cloudy and cool most of the day until the mid afternoon, when patchy clouds allowed the sun to peek through, warming up the air. After Brunswick, the largest town was Woodbine, with a whopping population of 1300. I stopped at the post office in that venerable town, hoping to pick up postcard stamps. I was out of luck, as the service desk was closed. When I exited the post office door, I was greeted with a hug by Joe Jackson, longterm resident of Woodbine.
Joe had just driven up to the PO to post a letter and saw Henry David parked under the eaves at the same time as I came out of the door. He put trike and rider together and that warranted a warm hello and a hug from this sweet, friendly man. He then told me bits and pieces of his own special story.
Joe’s dad owned both the local grocery store and theater in town and Joe, himself, ran the movie projector at the theater from age 9 to 18. Dad also serviced a paper route and a milk route. The work ethic was very strong in the family and Joe helped his dad in all the various jobs until he graduated from high school and was sent off to Viet Nam. He spent a few decades in the military, got a bachelors degree in a field similar to political science, and returned home to Woodbine. He has been married twice and has a few kids. He spent 5 years in Jerusalem teaching the 6th grade to Palestinian Muslims at “The Jerusalem School”. This school was owned and managed by the Assemblies of God Missions. Joe said that, when he agreed to take the job, he was given 3 rules by which he must abide, or he would be in danger and, basically, on his own.
- Never say anything about Mohammed.
- Never proseletyze any student about Christianity.
- Never tell a student he or she must accept Jesus as their Saviour or they would go to hell.
Joe said he followed the rules and had a meaningful time in Jerusalem. He said that he would go to west Jerusalem to post his mail and for some of his personal shopping needs. He said the Israelis could spot an American a mile away, so he was often questioned why he was there. When he told them he taught at “the Jerusalem School”, they knew that meant he was on the east side working with the Muslim children. The Israelis would warn him “to be careful, don’t you know they will kill you?” The Palestinians would warm him the same thing about the Jewish Israelis, “be careful, don’t you know they will kill you?”
Needless to say, he remained a peaceful teacher and no one killed him.
Joe told me about his senior year in high school. I had asked him about his support of the local football team as he was wearing a baseball cap with an embroidered football and emblazoned with “Camden Wildcats” across the front. Yes, indeed, Joe had played football when there were only 500 students in the school and it was located right there in Woodbine. In his senior year, their team, a B team, went to the state finals---the first time ever. They won the regional championship on November 15, 1963. Later that week, they played their first state playoff game and lost. Then, a few days later, that terrible bloody day came when President John Fitzgerald Kennedy was assasinated, November 22, 1963. Joe said that, as a high school senior, this was a tragic event for him. Joe says he believes that JFK was assassinated, in part, because the President wanted to get out of Viet Nam. Well, Joe was sent there after graduation, within a year of the assassination.
Now Joe lives back in Woodbine. He appears to know everyone in town and his hugs are well known to the locals. He cares deeply for his neighbors and has enough love to spare for the cyclists that pass through his town. May God bless him.
Although Joe invited me to stop by his house for a rest and a cool drink, I thanked him and proceeded to Kingsland. The day was waning and I still had about 12 miles to go and a place to find. The campground was 10 miles east of Kingsland and I figured I had cycled enough for the day.
When HD and I approached Kingsland, where you will be greeted with “royal hospitality” (so says the welcome sign), I saw warning signs that the hwy 17 bridge was under repair and traffic would be detoured to the I-95 bridge. I stopped just past the main intersection in the downtown area and pulled over to look at my lodging options on the iPhone. The study would include comparing available motel rooms with the hotel coupon book that I had picked up at a store the day before. As soon as I pulled over, the owner of a little, downtown antique shop came outside to talk to me. This was Eberhart, who goes by “Ebbie”. He warned me about the bridge and said the next highway crossing was about 25 miles away.
Bummer.
We discussed my dilemma. I would call the Florida DOT in the morning to see if the bridge was fully out or if they would let me pass. If not, the only other viable option would be to cross the interstate bridge. Or drive the 25 miles out of the way--that was not an option in my mind. Ebbie offered to drive me over the river on the interstate bridge around 10 am, when he opens his shop.
Then he invited me into his store.
Ebbie is an avid cyclist. He is from Germany but moved here about 45 years ago, when he was a young man. He came to visit his sister (was she in Tennessee?) and planned to stay one year. He came with a green card, quickly got a job, and decided to stick around, eventually landing in Kingsland. He used to compete in cycling races and showed me about 2 dozen cycles in his shop, which were all leaning against each other in various little rooms of his labyrinthine shop. He has not parted with any of them and I have no idea if they are even for sale.
This little store was like an oddity shop. There were prices on some things, but there were so many things in this shop that he collected over the years that I had no idea if he was really trying to sell any of it.
His hobby is building furniture. There were benches and chairs and tables that he had made, shoved next to antique furniture of all kinds. There were thingamajigs and thingamabobs and doohickies and bric-a-brac under layers of dust. This was his personal haven. He had so much stuff in his home that the city managers asked him if he wanted to open up a shop downtown in one of the many empty storefronts. So, he did. And he is now the official character in town.
I loved Ebbie. We talked economy, world issues, politics, history, and America. He showed me all around his shop. He uses a hand lathe and carving tools to make his furniture. He and his wife and daughter all paint. His own paintings were often quite humorous. He copies pictures in books and magazines and sometimes struggles with proportions. For example, he tried to paint a baby face. Instead, it looked like a pig lady and he has named it “The Schweinn”. Hahaha! There was a face of a lady with a shocked expression on her face and her hair sticking out in all directions. He said the name of that painting was “Oh Shit!”. I pointed to another painting of a man’s face and he said that was “The Shit Meister”, the husband of the shocked lady.
Then he showed me old humorous political buttons. He had me laughing, this one did.
I pulled myself away after several halfhearted attempts to leave Ebbie and his little curiosity shop. He kept saying, “Oh, but you need to see this first”. He was so engaging that I happily complied. But then, it was getting later and I still didn’t have a place to stay for the night, so I thanked him for his helpful offer and took my leave.
HD and I headed east on hwy 40, toward the interstate, where all the lodging was located. There were a good half dozen or more motels at the Kinglsland intersection of hwy 40 and I-95. I had a coupon for a room for $39 for a sweet little motel. It was the Magnolia Inn---I scored a clean motel room with a big tv, internet, and located close to Dunkin Donuts coffee and several restaurants. After a hot shower and a few texts to family, I walked across the street to Ruby Tuesdays and got the salad bar at 10% off---another perk of staying at the Magnolia Inn.
This is a town that I think may have seen some better days but is holding on valiantly, hoping the business will pick up. However, it is only about 35 miles from Jacksonville, FL. I suppose tourists may choose the lower rates here instead of staying in Jacksonville. But how will they know how inexpensive it is here?
Oh yeah. The internet. Dumb question.
Tomorrow, HD and I cross into Florida.
Georgia: beautiful trees, rivers, marshes, lakes, peaches. Friendly people.
I think this country is full of them!
Thursday, October 10th.
I called the Flordia DOT at 8 am and got sent here and there on the phone without resolution. Therefore, I packed up Henry David and we hit the interstate as close to St Mary’s River as we could get. We crossed the river and into Florida without an issue, even though we passed several police cars parked at the truck weighing and inspection stations. We took the first turnoff to hwy 17 and then sailed happily along the wide Florida version of this highway.
The Florida sun was out in good form, having chased away Karen’s clouds and leaving a sapphire blue sky. I even got a little sunburned today! I was a bit surprised because my tan is fairly dark and I thought I was passed the burning stage. It was very mild, but I pulled out the sunscreen for tomorrow.
I stopped at the Minit Mart near Yulee for a little break. I met the friendly owner who was working the cash register and cheerfully reminding his regular customers that the fresh sandwiches were just displayed and were hot and ready. He and his wife moved to this rural area from Brunswick about 10 years ago to open this little store. There wasn’t any other nearby competition so he had the local business on this lonely stretch of hwy 17. He had seen me pull up on HD and he told me that, 2 years ago, he met a family on a long cycling trek.
This is where it gets interesting. This family consisted of husband and wife and 3 daughters, between the ages of 6 and 10. They were riding a single bicycle---with 5 seats! They cycled from Florida to Baja California to Alaska and it took a full year.
Can you imagine the memories this trip must have created for this family? Talk about adventure---going camping for a weekend with the kiddies is an adventure. Trekking several thousand miles on a single bicycle with THREE kids--now that is EPIC!
Well, after sharing my amazement at this fantastic feat, I got back on the road on my trike. This seemed like an easy ride compared to what this family must have faced! Shut up aching thighs and get on with it!!
I cycled into Jacksonville in the afternoon and stopped at the intersection of hwy 17 and hwy 90. This was my “tag” corner. Hwy 90 meant I would be turning west---this was the fourth corner of this trip. Now I would be heading toward “home”.
TAG!!!
While I stood there and picked up my iphone to see if I wanted to travel further or find a place in jacksonville, a thin young man came literally bouncing around the corner, waving two blackened wood drumsticks in his hands and singing about how lucky he was to find these two drumsticks in perfect condition. He saw me as he bounded around the palm trees and I smiled at him, commenting that yes, indeed, he had found a treasure.
He waved the sticks in the air and did a bit of fancy twirling before sliding them into his pockets. I asked him if he knew how to play the drums. He answered that he certainly could. So, of course, I then requested a demonstration. He looked around at the half dozen palm trees gracing the corner spot, with a brick wall backdrop. So, he danced around the trees, tapping fun rhythms on the trees and then on the brick wall and then reaching behind his back to continue his artful percussions, like an acrobatic musician. I laughed and clapped and then he asked a few questions about where I was headed. He has been homeless for a few weeks and wanders the streets till about 4 am, where he finds a spot near the Wells Fargo Bank downtown to crash in a quiet corner. The security guard lets him stay there. The young man told me he knows every hole in Jacksonhole, including the dark holes where you don’t want to go. I was welcome to join him for the night and a quick rest under the eaves of the bank. I thanked him and wished him well and told him I needed to keep traveling.
After cycling to the west part of Jacksonville, I pulled into a Burger King for a drink and serious consideration of my next move. I decided to go ahead and go to Baldwin, adding another 20 miles to the day. I pulled into the motel close to 6 pm and had a quiet evening in a clean room. After doing my exercises and eating bananas with peanut butter and trail mix for dinner, I watched a single episode of the new series Once Upon A Time in Wonderland. I’ve been watching Netflix reruns of the series Once Upon A Time. Apparently, it was such a big success, they added a series based on Alice in Wonderland. It was ok---I liked the original series better.
After communicating with loved ones, I crashed around midnight.
I had tagged my corner. Now it was time to go home...
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