Thursday, July 07, 2005
The Final Day -- To St. Augustine
Eric left the Best Western in Palatka for his final day of riding. I would not meet him for lunch on that day because it would only be a 42-mile ride. I didn't have very much time to fiddle around in Palatka because the ride was so short. I checked out of the hotel, after having breakfast with Eric and repacking the car, and drove on towards St. Augustine. Actually, I almost didn't have breakfast with Eric because even in the small space of the dining area at the Best Western, my bleary-eyed, tired self couldn't seem to find Eric, who merely was sitting at another table. It was odd. Then he was like, "are you planning on sitting with me?" And I was like, "Oh, well, yes -- I thought you'd gone to the bathroom."
My drive was relatively uneventful. Eric called me when I was about 10 minutes from where we were supposed to meet and I made my way to the central historic district in St. Augustine, which is a beautiful city by the ocean with a very elegant and old center of town. I parked right on the road by the intercoastal waterway and soon Eric rode up, hoisted his bike above his head, and then posed for some pictures at the finale of his ride. It was very exciting and I was so proud of him. Still am.
Eric lifts his bike aloft!
However, as soon as the ride and the picture-taking was done, we decided to tool around St. Augustine for a few hours, go to the beach, and then start the four-hour drive down to West Palm Beach to Eric's mom's place. In St. Augustine we walked toward Flagler College, but I really needed to use the bathroom so we ducked into an office building that claimed to have a coffee shop in the foyer. They had no bathroom for the public, according to a man flanked by his two young daughters. The man clearly worked in the building. But another business man chimed in, perhaps spurred by the intensity of my "I-have-to-pee" look, and said, "but there is one on the fifth floor," which he then took us to, to the seeming chagrin of the man with his daughters, who maybe thought we were riff-raff. The man who took us to the fifth floor had an office in that building and it was a beautiful old office building from perhaps the 1920s; it was undergoing remodeling. I used the men's bathroom; it had a heavy door and marble walls, like you see in some old schools in cities.
We went over to Flagler College after that and looked at the beautiful buildings and ceiling and overheard a student leading a tour. I wasn't jazzed enough about it to want to go on a tour, but I did recognize its uniqueness and appeal. We walked towards an old building further down that road, which was an exact replica of a Moorish castle in Spain. It has been build by some early tycoon in St. Augustine. Later it was used as some kind of hotel, but it didn't appear to be used for anything right now. At this point, I was very excited to get to the beach. But we did stop for coffee in a gorgeous hotel and the barrista was so impressed that Eric had ridden across the country, and had finished just then. I told everyone we encoutnered nearly of his accomplishment. I even had told the man who showed us to the forbidden bathroom in the office building. After I drank my coffee and bought some postcards, we headed to the beach. It was midday, sunny, warm, and the beach wasn't too crowded. We sat next to a couple celebrating their sixtieth wedding anniversary. They thought we were honeymooners. I think they thought that if we had been, we would've been fitting beach neighbors for them on that day. The water was very warm and had a current that was pretty strong; it scared me a little and really filled my bathing suit up with sand. I kept getting turned around and getting smacked in the back of the head with waves. I got out before too long and sat on the shore. I was a fun day though. The only not fun part of the beach jaunt was that it only lasted an hour and that getting out of my wet bathing suit, getting myself unsanded, and getting into dry clothes in the bathroom was a huge challenge. I wasn't very coordinated and it was hot and humid.
We drove down to West Palm Beach and made it in about four hours. Eric's mom was in her building's circular driveway when we pulled up and she told us where to put the car. Once we were up at her place, we celebrated Eric's accomplishment with a class of strawberry Andre and a huge salad. His mom was so happy to see us and was very relieved that we had made it safely all the way across the nation and didn't get swept away by an bad weather or other misfortunes. She was glad that Eric wasn't going to be on his bike the next day. That night we went to bed exhausted, both of us happy, with a sense that a challenging journey was complete.
Dorothy, me, and Eric -- cheers!
My drive was relatively uneventful. Eric called me when I was about 10 minutes from where we were supposed to meet and I made my way to the central historic district in St. Augustine, which is a beautiful city by the ocean with a very elegant and old center of town. I parked right on the road by the intercoastal waterway and soon Eric rode up, hoisted his bike above his head, and then posed for some pictures at the finale of his ride. It was very exciting and I was so proud of him. Still am.
Eric lifts his bike aloft!
However, as soon as the ride and the picture-taking was done, we decided to tool around St. Augustine for a few hours, go to the beach, and then start the four-hour drive down to West Palm Beach to Eric's mom's place. In St. Augustine we walked toward Flagler College, but I really needed to use the bathroom so we ducked into an office building that claimed to have a coffee shop in the foyer. They had no bathroom for the public, according to a man flanked by his two young daughters. The man clearly worked in the building. But another business man chimed in, perhaps spurred by the intensity of my "I-have-to-pee" look, and said, "but there is one on the fifth floor," which he then took us to, to the seeming chagrin of the man with his daughters, who maybe thought we were riff-raff. The man who took us to the fifth floor had an office in that building and it was a beautiful old office building from perhaps the 1920s; it was undergoing remodeling. I used the men's bathroom; it had a heavy door and marble walls, like you see in some old schools in cities.
We went over to Flagler College after that and looked at the beautiful buildings and ceiling and overheard a student leading a tour. I wasn't jazzed enough about it to want to go on a tour, but I did recognize its uniqueness and appeal. We walked towards an old building further down that road, which was an exact replica of a Moorish castle in Spain. It has been build by some early tycoon in St. Augustine. Later it was used as some kind of hotel, but it didn't appear to be used for anything right now. At this point, I was very excited to get to the beach. But we did stop for coffee in a gorgeous hotel and the barrista was so impressed that Eric had ridden across the country, and had finished just then. I told everyone we encoutnered nearly of his accomplishment. I even had told the man who showed us to the forbidden bathroom in the office building. After I drank my coffee and bought some postcards, we headed to the beach. It was midday, sunny, warm, and the beach wasn't too crowded. We sat next to a couple celebrating their sixtieth wedding anniversary. They thought we were honeymooners. I think they thought that if we had been, we would've been fitting beach neighbors for them on that day. The water was very warm and had a current that was pretty strong; it scared me a little and really filled my bathing suit up with sand. I kept getting turned around and getting smacked in the back of the head with waves. I got out before too long and sat on the shore. I was a fun day though. The only not fun part of the beach jaunt was that it only lasted an hour and that getting out of my wet bathing suit, getting myself unsanded, and getting into dry clothes in the bathroom was a huge challenge. I wasn't very coordinated and it was hot and humid.
We drove down to West Palm Beach and made it in about four hours. Eric's mom was in her building's circular driveway when we pulled up and she told us where to put the car. Once we were up at her place, we celebrated Eric's accomplishment with a class of strawberry Andre and a huge salad. His mom was so happy to see us and was very relieved that we had made it safely all the way across the nation and didn't get swept away by an bad weather or other misfortunes. She was glad that Eric wasn't going to be on his bike the next day. That night we went to bed exhausted, both of us happy, with a sense that a challenging journey was complete.
Dorothy, me, and Eric -- cheers!
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
High Springs and back-and-forth
When we awoke on Saturday, June 11th, it was indeed raining but there appeared to be no hurricane raging outside. There were, however, rambunctious boys running the halls of the Holiday Inn because their baseball tournament had been rained out. So, by 8 a.m., the boys were super-charged with sugar energy from the free cereal and cinnamon rolls at the Holiday Inn breakfast. This made for some tension on Eric's and my part because we were kind of tense as it was about how his riding was going to go that day.
Eric decided that we should drive to the next stop, High Springs, which was where his ride was to end that day. The reason for this was that if he had cycled in that direction not only would he have to deal with the rain pounding on him but he would have a 25-mile-per-hour headwind. So, riding with that caliber of wind in one's face would make for a very slow ride in what already were bad conditions. I was for taking that day off entirely, but we plodded ahead and arrived in High Springs at around 11 a.m. We swung by the hotel at which we'd be staying that night and I wouldn't be able to check in there for an hour. So we drove through the little downtown of High Springs and at this time it was actually pretty sunny outside and not really raining, so Eric made the most of it, hopped on his bike, and cycled off. I would pick him up back in Madison in about five hours; it was 85 miles away. So, needless-to-say, Eric had a big day of riding before him and I wasn't going to be meeting him halfway for lunch.
As you might have guessed, the prospect of driving back and forth to Madison again was not exactly pleasing to me, so I did what any girl in her right mind would do under such conditions -- I sought out the nearest reputable-looking salon and marched my butt in there and asked if they had time for a manicure, pedicure, and haircut for me. I was told that in fact they would, in an hour. So I did another thing that any self-respecting girl with a bad attitude would do, I went to the nearest coffee shop and got myself a tall one (and some cookies for Eric, because I really wasn't that ticked). I sipped my coffee in the cute little cafe and then walked around High Springs, talking to my mom on my cell phone, until my beautification time arrived.
The salon, The Hair and Nail Depot, was full of people who knew each other. It seemed like it would be a good subject for a sit-com. I got my hair cut my a young gal, blond, whose boyfriend and her were doing some home repairs and he called while she was trimming my bangs and they were making some decisions together about a purchase. She did a nice job on my hair and I was done in a flash. Then I hopped over to the manicurist's booth and she was lucky that she had her pedicure stuff with her because she'd taken it home not long ago to give her husband a pedicure, which never actually happened, and she wasn't sure if she still had her pedicure tools in the truck or whether they were in her house. She did, happily, have them with her. So, I had a nice long chat with her about her life in High Springs, her early years of traveling around, her time as a young (and I mean YOUNG) bride, the divorce that followed that, and her current marriage. She told me all about her daughter, her oldest one, who was a lot like her and who she didn't expect to stick around in High Springs for too long. But she was a very good kid, and from what she said, I believed it. She gave me her card when we were done and said that if I ever came back through and I wanted my nails done, to call her and if they said she was booked, she'd make room for me.
I went to the public library after my salon hour and cracked open my computer for a while before hitting the interstate (and thankfully there was an interstate I could use) back towards Madison. I arrived without much ado and found Eric on the porch of the B&B that the night before had had no room for us. He got in the driver's seat and off we went, back to High Springs. That night we crossed the main drag from our hotel to a chrome-exteriored diner, Floyd's, and we had quite a fine time there. Next to us at a table was a man named Jim, who commented on the proportions of the meal Eric ordered, and he said he was getting fat just watching Eric, ha ha. This man grew watermelon in Florida and Texas and had property all over and while he was hard to understand, because it was loud and he had a drawl of some kind, he was kind and loquacious as can be. His produce empire seemed to be treating him just fine.
Me outside of Floyd's Diner in High Springs, FL
The next night would be our last of the cycling part of our trip and we would reach Palatka, Florida.
Eric decided that we should drive to the next stop, High Springs, which was where his ride was to end that day. The reason for this was that if he had cycled in that direction not only would he have to deal with the rain pounding on him but he would have a 25-mile-per-hour headwind. So, riding with that caliber of wind in one's face would make for a very slow ride in what already were bad conditions. I was for taking that day off entirely, but we plodded ahead and arrived in High Springs at around 11 a.m. We swung by the hotel at which we'd be staying that night and I wouldn't be able to check in there for an hour. So we drove through the little downtown of High Springs and at this time it was actually pretty sunny outside and not really raining, so Eric made the most of it, hopped on his bike, and cycled off. I would pick him up back in Madison in about five hours; it was 85 miles away. So, needless-to-say, Eric had a big day of riding before him and I wasn't going to be meeting him halfway for lunch.
As you might have guessed, the prospect of driving back and forth to Madison again was not exactly pleasing to me, so I did what any girl in her right mind would do under such conditions -- I sought out the nearest reputable-looking salon and marched my butt in there and asked if they had time for a manicure, pedicure, and haircut for me. I was told that in fact they would, in an hour. So I did another thing that any self-respecting girl with a bad attitude would do, I went to the nearest coffee shop and got myself a tall one (and some cookies for Eric, because I really wasn't that ticked). I sipped my coffee in the cute little cafe and then walked around High Springs, talking to my mom on my cell phone, until my beautification time arrived.
The salon, The Hair and Nail Depot, was full of people who knew each other. It seemed like it would be a good subject for a sit-com. I got my hair cut my a young gal, blond, whose boyfriend and her were doing some home repairs and he called while she was trimming my bangs and they were making some decisions together about a purchase. She did a nice job on my hair and I was done in a flash. Then I hopped over to the manicurist's booth and she was lucky that she had her pedicure stuff with her because she'd taken it home not long ago to give her husband a pedicure, which never actually happened, and she wasn't sure if she still had her pedicure tools in the truck or whether they were in her house. She did, happily, have them with her. So, I had a nice long chat with her about her life in High Springs, her early years of traveling around, her time as a young (and I mean YOUNG) bride, the divorce that followed that, and her current marriage. She told me all about her daughter, her oldest one, who was a lot like her and who she didn't expect to stick around in High Springs for too long. But she was a very good kid, and from what she said, I believed it. She gave me her card when we were done and said that if I ever came back through and I wanted my nails done, to call her and if they said she was booked, she'd make room for me.
I went to the public library after my salon hour and cracked open my computer for a while before hitting the interstate (and thankfully there was an interstate I could use) back towards Madison. I arrived without much ado and found Eric on the porch of the B&B that the night before had had no room for us. He got in the driver's seat and off we went, back to High Springs. That night we crossed the main drag from our hotel to a chrome-exteriored diner, Floyd's, and we had quite a fine time there. Next to us at a table was a man named Jim, who commented on the proportions of the meal Eric ordered, and he said he was getting fat just watching Eric, ha ha. This man grew watermelon in Florida and Texas and had property all over and while he was hard to understand, because it was loud and he had a drawl of some kind, he was kind and loquacious as can be. His produce empire seemed to be treating him just fine.
Me outside of Floyd's Diner in High Springs, FL
The next night would be our last of the cycling part of our trip and we would reach Palatka, Florida.
