Sunday, June 26, 2005
Orange Springs and Palatka
On Sunday morning, Eric cycled off early; it was his last big day of riding and it would be a very long day for him. He rode something like 130 miles that day. The final day he would only ride 40 miles or so, so we could get to his mom's down in West Palm Beach in time for dinner. Anyway, after Eric rode away, I got working on my conference paper once again and finished it up. I decided that I would drive to the Barnes and Noble in Gainesville, which was a about a half-hour away. I got there, felt uninspired, and went to Target instead, and was again uninspired there. So, my little shopping venture was fruitless so I cruised along towards Orange Springs, where Eric and I were scheduled to meet for lunch. The drive there was very pretty on that Sunday morning. There were lots of farms and I saw something I had noticed a lot in Florida: people were cruising around on the weekend in all kinds of classic cars. I saw many on that day.
I ended up passing Eric right before we were scheduled to have lunch and I pulled over on the side of the rode by a T intersection. I ended up throwing it in reverse and backing up really fast on the dirt shoulder, which was something of a trick driving move, of which I was proud. We decided we'd turn on the road we needed to head on and find somewhere to park the car and make some lunch. We found a gas station and parked right under a tree. Across the road from us was one of those signs with lights and letters that someone can change as needed, you know, the ones like with the blinking arrow. The sign was advertising a restaurant that purported to have the best food around, and it might have. Eric said he ran into another cyclist that day who lived around there and told him all about Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, author of The Yearling, who was from the area. This cyclist, who Eric described as a very friendly hippie riding a nice bike, was insistent that Eric visit the town where Rawlings was from because she was so important to the area, as the originator of what is called "cracker culture." That phrase was even used on a faded restaurant sign on the building adjacent to the field where we ended up eating lunch. Eric did not have time to go back and see Rawlings's town.
I went into the convenience store by the tree under which we were parked and I asked to use the bathroom. The woman behind the counter was eating something so she couldn't answer me right away. She did seem, however, to be in the middle of some kind of conversation with some customers whom she knew. One of them said to her "Whachu you eatin' that's so good you can't answer?" I don't remember what it was, but I eventually used the bathroom.
During lunch that day, Eric sat in the camp chair which had been tucked in the trunk since he left Albuquerque. We hadn't used it on the whole trip and he'd brought it for me to sit on. So, we finally busted it out and used it, sort of as a throne on his second-to-last riding day. Lunch in the shade that day was nice.
Eric in the camp chair and me happy it's the second-to-last day!
I drove along to Palatka and found our hotel, a Best Western. Many misadventures thereafter ensued. The hotel was nice enough, but I cannot say the same for Palatka. Like so many towns, its glory days were clearly in the past. They had so much misused waterfront, and again, that is reminiscent of my fair Detroit. Anyway, so I checked into the hotel and was feeling pretty pleased that I was there, that I would only have to lug our bags one more day, and that I could crack open my computer and work a little before Eric rode up. So I unpacked, opened my computer immediately, and then realized that their advertisement of free high-speed internet was erroneous. I called the front desk and the woman said, "Oh, the room you're in doesn't have it -- come back and I'll get you another room." So, I gritted my teeth, loaded the car back up again, drove to the reception area, and received the keys for another room. The woman said that that room would have wireless; it was in another building, so I figured this might be true. So, I unloaded again and opened my computer; the Airport icon did not illuminate like it should've had there been wireless. I called the front desk and she was like "Oh, ah, call the 1-800 number" -- so I did that. It turns out that wireless was not what was available, but just a high-speed connection. The cable was in the nightstand drawer and once the tech on the phone and I realized that, we both felt kind of dumb, so I plugged in and was on my way.
By this time, Eric had arrived and he took a nap and then we went to the hotel pool At the pool we met a family that had been living in the Best Western for a year. Their house had been ruined by the hurricane and their insurance was paying for them to stay in the hotel, or at least it had been until two months prior to when we were there. So the total amount that had been spent on the Best Western, between the family and their insurance company, was some insane figure like $140,000. So, a friend of this family was with them that day in the hot tub. I can't remember his name, but Eric socialized with him in the hot-tub for a while. He and his friend had just finished a bottle of Andre and the reason this man was in Palatka was because he had to come home to bury his father, who had just died. He had gone to three funerals that day. He had inherited some land in Alabama I think and he was very clear that he was going to use the land and the inheritance wisely, unlike what some of his friend had done. Eric really liked this guy and actually talked about him many times since. The guy had gold teeth.
That night Eric and I went in search of food. We went to a Golden Corral, because it suited the size of Eric's appetite and my need for salad, and I proceeded to watch Eric consume a great deal of food and nearly every dessert offering at the place. That Golden Corral happened to have THE nicest waitress, who was perhaps a manager. She was a 40-ish Asian lady who just appeared to be bending over backwards to make sure everyone was happy. She appeared to know almost everyone there too. She said to us, "You're not from here? I haven't seen you before. Come back and see me sometime!"
After the Golden Corral, we went to this park beneath a huge bridge in town. I will let the pictures of this do the describing. It offered a view of a nuclear power plant and the sky that night at dusk was the most amazing cloudy grey. There were people fishing on the rickety dock; looking out over the river was my most powerful memory of that day.
Power plant I believe owned by Seminole Electric
I ended up passing Eric right before we were scheduled to have lunch and I pulled over on the side of the rode by a T intersection. I ended up throwing it in reverse and backing up really fast on the dirt shoulder, which was something of a trick driving move, of which I was proud. We decided we'd turn on the road we needed to head on and find somewhere to park the car and make some lunch. We found a gas station and parked right under a tree. Across the road from us was one of those signs with lights and letters that someone can change as needed, you know, the ones like with the blinking arrow. The sign was advertising a restaurant that purported to have the best food around, and it might have. Eric said he ran into another cyclist that day who lived around there and told him all about Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, author of The Yearling, who was from the area. This cyclist, who Eric described as a very friendly hippie riding a nice bike, was insistent that Eric visit the town where Rawlings was from because she was so important to the area, as the originator of what is called "cracker culture." That phrase was even used on a faded restaurant sign on the building adjacent to the field where we ended up eating lunch. Eric did not have time to go back and see Rawlings's town.
I went into the convenience store by the tree under which we were parked and I asked to use the bathroom. The woman behind the counter was eating something so she couldn't answer me right away. She did seem, however, to be in the middle of some kind of conversation with some customers whom she knew. One of them said to her "Whachu you eatin' that's so good you can't answer?" I don't remember what it was, but I eventually used the bathroom.
During lunch that day, Eric sat in the camp chair which had been tucked in the trunk since he left Albuquerque. We hadn't used it on the whole trip and he'd brought it for me to sit on. So, we finally busted it out and used it, sort of as a throne on his second-to-last riding day. Lunch in the shade that day was nice.
Eric in the camp chair and me happy it's the second-to-last day!
I drove along to Palatka and found our hotel, a Best Western. Many misadventures thereafter ensued. The hotel was nice enough, but I cannot say the same for Palatka. Like so many towns, its glory days were clearly in the past. They had so much misused waterfront, and again, that is reminiscent of my fair Detroit. Anyway, so I checked into the hotel and was feeling pretty pleased that I was there, that I would only have to lug our bags one more day, and that I could crack open my computer and work a little before Eric rode up. So I unpacked, opened my computer immediately, and then realized that their advertisement of free high-speed internet was erroneous. I called the front desk and the woman said, "Oh, the room you're in doesn't have it -- come back and I'll get you another room." So, I gritted my teeth, loaded the car back up again, drove to the reception area, and received the keys for another room. The woman said that that room would have wireless; it was in another building, so I figured this might be true. So, I unloaded again and opened my computer; the Airport icon did not illuminate like it should've had there been wireless. I called the front desk and she was like "Oh, ah, call the 1-800 number" -- so I did that. It turns out that wireless was not what was available, but just a high-speed connection. The cable was in the nightstand drawer and once the tech on the phone and I realized that, we both felt kind of dumb, so I plugged in and was on my way.
By this time, Eric had arrived and he took a nap and then we went to the hotel pool At the pool we met a family that had been living in the Best Western for a year. Their house had been ruined by the hurricane and their insurance was paying for them to stay in the hotel, or at least it had been until two months prior to when we were there. So the total amount that had been spent on the Best Western, between the family and their insurance company, was some insane figure like $140,000. So, a friend of this family was with them that day in the hot tub. I can't remember his name, but Eric socialized with him in the hot-tub for a while. He and his friend had just finished a bottle of Andre and the reason this man was in Palatka was because he had to come home to bury his father, who had just died. He had gone to three funerals that day. He had inherited some land in Alabama I think and he was very clear that he was going to use the land and the inheritance wisely, unlike what some of his friend had done. Eric really liked this guy and actually talked about him many times since. The guy had gold teeth.
That night Eric and I went in search of food. We went to a Golden Corral, because it suited the size of Eric's appetite and my need for salad, and I proceeded to watch Eric consume a great deal of food and nearly every dessert offering at the place. That Golden Corral happened to have THE nicest waitress, who was perhaps a manager. She was a 40-ish Asian lady who just appeared to be bending over backwards to make sure everyone was happy. She appeared to know almost everyone there too. She said to us, "You're not from here? I haven't seen you before. Come back and see me sometime!"
After the Golden Corral, we went to this park beneath a huge bridge in town. I will let the pictures of this do the describing. It offered a view of a nuclear power plant and the sky that night at dusk was the most amazing cloudy grey. There were people fishing on the rickety dock; looking out over the river was my most powerful memory of that day.
Power plant I believe owned by Seminole Electric
# posted by jnewwave @ 8:44 AM 
