Day Fifty One: filling station, sand legs, allison inn

This morning I stopped on the Apalachicola river. The significance of this fact, other than having to check very carefully that I spelled it right, is that while standing strategically on the bridge I was able to spit at 11:21.07 and not have the spit land until 12:21.08, an hour later.

Yes, I'm crossing into the Eastern Time Zone. There's one thing about my temporal magic spit trick.... you would think that by now, after having a headwind almost the entire trip, I would've figured out what happens when you spit into the wind. In reality, it landed at 11:21.08, and barely missed my foot.

For lunch I stopped in Chattahoochie at the first place I saw. It was called The Filling Station, a cafe that has been converted from a defunct gas station. Jackie, the owner, had just opened five days ago and hadn't even had an "official" opening yet. She was just having a trial run to see how things were going to go. My turkey sandwich (not fried!) tasted great.

Jackie and Ann:

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As I was climbing onto my bike to leave a couple of gentlemen asked me some questions about my trip.

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Almost everyone I meet makes a comment like, "I couldn't ride my bike around the block!" My response is generally the same. "I couldn't either... at first. You just have to work up to it. I'm not a great athlete or anything - it's just a matter of sitting on the saddle and getting used to it."

The man on the right, 65 years old, bought a brand new bike several years ago. When he got home he climbed on it and pedaled a few miles down the road. His brother-in-law happened to be driving by and asked him if he wanted a ride. He threw the bike in the back of the truck and hasn't ridden it since. He said he's just waiting for his grandson to get old enough to ride it.

"I'm too old to ride," he complained, playing the age card. I rebutted with Susan and Hewes Agnew, telling him about what they're doing. Hewes is 71, and Susan is about 67. The guy was pretty impressed, thought about it a bit and, with some encouragement from his friend, decided to pull his bicycle out and start ridng again.

I continued riding, but for most of the day it felt like someone had filled my legs with wet sand.

Regardless of how I felt, the scenery was wonderful. Here are some pictures taken today.

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Geez... one wrong turn and see what happens???

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There are some magnificent massive trees here.

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I did a double take trying to figure out what the sign was for. From a distance it's harder to tell.

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Of course, today and always, there's the omnipresent headwind. My original plan was to ride 71 miles into Tallahassee today, but I changed my mind and decided to stop in Quincy instead.

When I called the three places in town, the cheapest place to stay also turned out to be the coolest... The Allison House B&B.

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When I arrived I was greeted by Stuart Johnson, who co-owns it with his wife, Eileen. According to Stuart, she "has a real job" while he gets to play around the house all day.

Stuart managed luxury hotels all over the country for about thirty years before retiring and buying the Allison House. He really loves being able to run his own B&B, although he has a couple of other hobbies: sailing and driving around in his 1965 MG.

The Allison House Inn was built in 1843 and converted to a bed and breakfast in 1990. It was built by A.K. Allison who, in 1865, became Governor of Florida. He was somewhat notorious in that he was one of the people who pushed for secession from the Union early on. He also signed the peace treaty, ending Florida's role in the Civil War. The Confedereate leaders were convicted for their part in the war but Allison didn't spend any time in prison for it. At least, not for THAT crime.

He was imprisoned a few months for "intimidating voters." Apparently, if you shoot and kill a black man in the South it's considered "intimidation" and you'll go to jail for a few months. At least, that's how it was in the 1800s. I'm not sure about now.

Originally, Allison's house was next door. When it was first built it was only one story. In the 1920s his house was picked up and placed on top of the house on this lot, making this a two-story house... Allison's house is actually the second story of the original house on this lot.

I enjoyed my evening there. Stuart offered free soft drinks and a half-full decanter of cognac. There were several books available to read, both in the breakfast room and on the back porch. I sat in the rocking chair on the back porch for a while.

My room was a little, uh, pink, but I slept great and, of course, the price was right.

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52.24 miles
11.9 average
27.4 maximum
4:22:45
2533.0 total

Day Fifty: worm fiddlin' , angel, neel

Frequently, when it's cold, my toes go numb, sometimes to the point of hurting. While riding in Texas, I found a Trick-or-Treat bag on the side of the road and used it to cover up my right foot. It worked so well that I found a Target bag for my left foot and just stuck them into my handlebar bag to use later. I used them today. Not only do they keep my feet warm, they're quite stylish.

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From mark on a bike 08 3

The roads are really nice today.

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From mark on a bike 08 3

As is the scenery...

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In Caryville, I saw this sign:

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I have no idea what "worm fiddlin" is but I'm sure it's illegal in most states.

Ater 35 miles I stopped in Chipley for lunch. I turned off the route and onto Main Street looking for a place to eat. When I didn't see anything for several blocks I asked a guy coming oat of an appliance store about a good place to eat.

After thinking for a second he mumbled something about one place being closed, then he pointed to a sidestreet and said more clearly, "There's a place down that street called Angel's. It's owned by some black people." Then, after realizing how that must've sounded, he added, "but I've eaten there."

I pedaled across the street and around the corner to Angel's, an all-you-can-eat buffet for $8.00.

After eating my eight dollars' worth, I moved over into the sun to warm up. There was only one other adult in the place, a woman. From fifty feet away she yelled, "Where'd you start?" We yelled back and forth for a couple of minutes until I finally got up and sat closer.

The woman's name is Tina, but everyone knows her as Angel. She had a lot of questions about my bike trip, and I asked her a few questions as well. I asked her what the farthest she's ever been from Chipley. She went on a cruise to the Bahamas once, but other than that she's never been more than a hundred miles from Chipley. She and her husband used to take a vacation every year, but they haven't been able to since they started being foster parents.

Angel has ten foster kids, ranging in age from sixteen months to sixteen years. No, that's not a typo. TEN kids.

She doesn't get paid for them, other than Medicaid, and each one has their own difficulties. The three-year-old, for example, showed what she learned from her mom: how to cut cocaine with a credit card and roll a dollar bill up for her mom so she can snort it. No, that's not a typo either... THREE years old.

She's been married nineteen years, but she and her husband have been together since elementary school. He works at the local prison and also works as a personal trainer on the side.

We talked a while about her medical problems. A doctor has recommended she have surgery, and she's not altogether sure she wants to have it done at this time.

As I was pedaling away, she yelled for me to stop and said the newspaper would probably want to interview me. Chipley is a small town with not much going on and they're always looking for a story. We walked next door to the newspaper office and she went inside while I waited outside. When she returned she told me that one of the reporters is out on a story and the other one is trying to finish writing a story before his deadline, which is in fifteen minutes. She said he'd come over to the cafe when he was done.

I waited for more than half an hour while Angel did some things in the back of the cafe. On one other occasion, in 1982, I waited on a reporter, and the wait was so long that it ended up being my shortest day ever (8 miles).

I left a note for Angel and took off.

It was almost 2:30 when I left. I had spent more than two hours at the cafe but didn't mind. I always enjoy meeting people like Angel - she comes by her nickname honestly.

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For the last twenty miles to Marianna I turned on some music and the time and the miles passed quickly.

Seems like a nice place to camp for the night....

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After checking into the hotel I talked to Heather, as I do almost every evening, then blogged for two hours until 8:10. Since I didn't see anything to eat within sight of the hotel I asked the hotel manager. He said all of the cafes close at 8:00. The only places to eat that are still open are the fast food chains.

Ten minutes later I was sitting in McDonald's. After dinner I walked across the street to the Shell convenience store to get some snacks for later.

I was wandering around the store trying to decide what I wanted when the guy behind the counter asked me if I needed some help. I said, "No, thanks. I'm just browsing." He wasn't familiar with the word and asked me to repeat it, then spell it. He wrote it down, then thanked me for helping him learn a new word.

I thought it was interesting that he's learning new words and improving his English skills when he already speaks better English than most of the customers coming in to buy beer or cigarettes.

We started talking a bit, and I learned his name is Neel, from India. He was pretty excited to find out I'm riding my bike across the country, and even more excited to learn that I'm blogging it. I gave him the URL of markonabike08 and asked him if I could take his picture... he readily agreed. He also paid for an ice cream bar that I had on the counter.

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On my way out of the store, he offered anything in the store... "Take anything you like!" I really wanted to hang out and talk some more... Neel seems like a nice guy with some good stories... but it was already late so I headed back to the hotel and fell asleep as soon as I climbed into bed.


57.01 miles
13.4 average
26.9 maximum
4:15:04
2480.8 total

Day Forty Nine: defuniak springs, edith, speared

I woke up earlier than I wanted so I went downstairs to eat breakfast and found Susan, Hewes, and Paul. I joined them for another meal before they left.

I took a few more pictures before saying goodbye.

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Hewes and Susan ride a tandem....

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Back upstairs, I blogged a while then fell asleep until noon.

DeFuniak Springs is an old town built around a small, almost perfectly-round lake which is fed by a spring. The name of the street circling the lake is, appropriately, Circle Drive.

Circle Drive is lined with many ancient trees and a large number of historic homes. I picked up a brochure which had a walking tour around the lake and a description of all of the homes. Some of the houses have interesting features... double wrap-around verandas, reverse mansard eaves, petronite construction, three-story square bay, and one even has an octagonal shape. I don't even know what some of those words mean.







This tree is the eighth largest magnolia in Florida. It has a spreading crown of 78 feet, is 60 feet tall, and has a trunk circumference of just under 14 feet. It's over a hundred years old.

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The public library is the second oldest in Florida, with St. Augustine being the only one that's older.

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On the way back I stopped for some barbecue then went back to my room.

That evening I ordered some pizza and had it delivered to the hotel. While I was waiting for it to be delivered the woman at the desk struck up a conversation with me.

Her name is Edith. She's 80 years old and her daughter owns the hotel and the restaurant (Bogey's). Edith was born in Scotland, but has been in America since her early twenties.

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She told me a lot of stories about her childhood, such as how she and her friend used to "borrow" bikes from the miners so they could ride into town.

In 1949 she enlisted in the military for four years, after which she moved to London for two years. A friend of hers moved to Boston and used to write her letters and send pictures about how wonderful the States were so she decided to move here. Her parents wouldn't let her come until AFTER the war because a German submarine had sunk a boat with civilians on it.

After moving here, she never saw her friend in Boston.

Upon her arrival in America, she worked as a nanny for a Jewish family in New York. She despised the parents and their bratty children, and left after six months by marrying her first husband, a Merchant Marine. He had actually heard of the small town where she grew up, and that was all it took for her to fall in love.

From New York, she moved to Florida, then Tulsa, New Jersy, and finally California. Edith told me she didn't see a dead person until she was 70.

At one point in her young working career she worked for a guy in the mafia, but made me promise never to repeat his name. I did a google search and found no mention of anyone with that name connected to the mafia. I did, however, find a minor league baseball pitcher (bats left, throws left), a columnist who writes about sports cars, and a professional photographer in Phoenix.

So far, I haven't met anyone who doesn't have an opinion on the election and Edith is no exception. She eventually got around to talking about Obama. She said she's afraid of him because of his friends. "My mother used to tell me, 'You can always tell what kind of person someone is by the friends they keep.'" I was never able to ascertain which friends she was talking about, just that they're Muslim.

Then, as an afterthought, her eyes got wide and she said, "You're not Muslim, are you?" Without waiting for an answer she said, "My daughter is always telling me not to talk about religion or politics, and I always tell her I won't." Then she gave me one of those disarming smiles she's been using on people for eighty years. She added that, at eighty years old, she feels entitled to talk about whatever she wants. If she says something silly or wrong, she just tells people she has Alzheimer's.

Just minutes before my pizza arrived Edith taught me a new word, "spearing." It's obtaining information about someone just by chatting, and she said she's pretty good at it. She said she's never met someone she didn't like, and they seem to open up to her. If she sits next to someone on a plane, for example, by the end of the trip she'll know just about everything there is to know about them.

After she told me what it meant, she paused, narrowed her eyes, and said, "You're from Idaho, aren't you?"

"Iowa."

"Right! I KNEW it!"

Yup, I guess I've been speared.


2.98 miles
5.2 average
23.6 maximum
0:34:18 time
2423.8 total

Day Forty Eight: joe/robin, tailwind, h & m, az friends

Yesterday, on the way to the hotel, I had passed a Waffle House. Since I'm still having visions of the breakfast I had in Jackson I decided to stop and have a hearty breakfast there this morning.

To get back on the ACA route I would have had to ride back in the direction I came, so instead I opted to slip onto 90, thereby saving a few miles. Bikers REALLY hate to go backwards. Also, getting on 90 instead of the ACA route will cut an additional ten miles off. Fortunately, the road was excellent, with a good, smooth shoulder and little traffic.

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I thought I might stop in Crestview for lunch, but was making such good time that I decided to keep going.

Just east of Crestview I met Joe and Robin, two bikers going from Florida to San Diego. They're originally from Ireland, and have the strong accent to prove it, but currently they're living in Chicago. Like Ari and Erin, they're riding for a cause, Juvenile Diabetes.

We only chatted briefly, and mainly about the route. They're considering getting off the ACA route and traveling along the coast to New Orleans. I talked to Klaus yesterday, and since he pedaled down to New Orleans to visit the city, I gave them his email address for more information about the route in case they decide to go that way.

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Today is the first day in which I've had a tailwind AND good weather. The skies are clear, and the temperature is in the low 70s. My average shows it.

Here's a town EVERYbody wants to live in.

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My stopping point for the day is DeFuniak Springs. I was too early to check into the hotel, so I went to a place recommended by the woman at the hotel desk, H & M Hot Dog.

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Walking into the place, I felt like I had stepped back into time by fifty years. For the first five minutes there was no place to sit. The counter, which is the only place to sit in the narrow building, has about ten seats.

You watch the short order cook as he fixes your meal. He's lightning fast, and doing ten things at once. The cashier said they cook about fifty pounds of hamburgers a day, but hot dogs are their real specialty.

A quick picture of the cook.

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When I was there at 2:45 it was really busy. The cashier said that it was actually slow for them.

There aren't many complaints about the place.

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Back at the hotel I checked in, showered, and blogged until time to eat again.

For dinner I went downstairs to eat at Bogey's. As I was being directed to my table I passed three people, two of whom looked familiar. I did a double take and realized I'd met them before - in Salome, Arizona... Susan and Hewes Agnew. Paul, the guy who had been sick, was also with them. It was kind of weird to meet them again after so long.

They invited me to join them so I sat down and we did some catching up.

We had a leisurely dinner together and, as the live music played and the octogenarians danced, we swapped stories of the road... where we've been staying, things that've happened to us.

I learned that the campground in Vancleave where I would've stayed if Jim hadn't picked me up was the worst one during the entire trip for them. I, in turn, shared my experiences about the Bamboo Motel in Mamou. Instead of pedaling across West Texas, they rented a car in El Paso and drove to Del Rio, skipping that entire section. I let them know how much fun they could've had picking pieces of West Texas out of their tires. Paul has been having some fun asking people who they voted for, and why. He's received some interesting "why" answers.

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Today has been a rest day for them. They arrived in DeFuniak Springs yesterday, and will be leaving in the morning.

I've been riding for six days, and I feel reslly fresh. After my ride yesterday I felt like I could've gone another sixty miles, even in the rain. Today, after riding almost that far I feel like I could ride forever.

I think I'll take tomorrow off.


58.19 miles
15.1 mph average speed (only with a tailwind!)
27.9 maximum
3:50:40 time
2420.8 total

Day Forty Seven: florida, rain, mike

The weather forecasters say it's supposed to rain today. They say there's a fifty percent chance. Should I believe them? These are the same guys who say things like "The low will be 30 and the high will be 45. The current temperature is 22." We'll see.

I'm almost hoping it does rain. I bought some new pannier bags this year. Last year I had some that are "water resistant." These are waterproof, and the manufacturer (German, as Klaus pointed out) brags in their ads that it's the only pannier bag in which you can take your goldfish with you on tour. You can actually fill them up with water and they won't leak.

I hope it doesn't come to that.

As I mentioned yesterday, since crossing the ferry yesterday, and also as I ride today, I would estimate that about one third to one half of the condos and houses are for sale. What's even more interesting is that there is an amazing amount of construction going on right now. They're building like crazy along here.

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Although it's not raining, the humidity is around 100%, and it's overcast. These patches of sand are so rare that they're actually picture-worthy. Everywhere else you look there's a 60-story building.

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There was a nice bike lane for most of the morning.

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You can tell which way the prevailing winds blow...

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Crossing over the Perdido Bay Bridge, I entered Florida... my last state.

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As I was crossing the bridge I noticed these gates every twenty feet or so. I thought it was odd. Why would you have a gate, albeit locked, way up on a bridge. There's nothing on the other side but air.

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In Pensacola, I accidentally got off the route. Sometimes, it's a matter of paying attention to the map or paying attention to traffic. I generally choose the latter. Since it was time for lunch anyway I just picked a place downtown. The place I went to, New York Nick's, looked like it had been in business for a long time. There were signed pictures of a lot of celebrities eating there.

I began riding again at 1:15. About half an hour later it started raining so I decided to pull over and see if it slacked up a bit. Ten minutes later it did, so I put on my rain pants and booties (er, I mean shoe covers) and started riding. There had been enough rain so that there were puddles, and everything below my knees was getting wet.

It rained intermittently, though not heavily, for about an hour. When I got to Pace it started raining pretty hard - hard enough so that it was difficult to ride because the rain was hitting me in the face. I stopped under an awning for another ten minutes and it lightened up a little, so I put on my rain jacket and started riding again. After another twenty minutes the rain started in earnest again. This time I just kept riding. This is the type of rain we used to describe as "a real gullywasher." I guess the weather reporters were half right today.

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Normally, as adults, we go to great lengths to avoid getting wet when it's raining. Today, however, I feel like a little kid outside playing during a rainstorm. There's something kind of fun about riding in the rain. Right now it just doesn't matter if I get wet. My gear is nice and dry, I'm not cold, so why not just enjoy it? Try it sometime. Maybe not on your way to work, but try it.

Pictures taken along the way....

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From mark on a bike 08 3

(I guess they keep the junky cars in the garage)


Not a drop of water around...

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This flag was on my right side.

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I started getting hungry again, so I stopped for a hamburger at Wendy's. While I was there I asked the cashier where the Red Carpet Inn was. She didn't know, and asked a couple of other people. Finally, a guy told me it was about five miles away - and in the direction from which I'd just come. I thought it seemed odd that the ACA list would have something that far off the route, so I thought I'd ask someone else before riding that far. As I was walking to the door the only other customer there asked me where I started. That's always the opening line.

From there, he told me that he'd like to hike from Mexico to Alaska next year. He's 64 and ready to retire, and has enough saved to be able to live comfortably. I bought a Frosty and sat down to join him. He would consider doing a bike trip, but "there are a lot of crazy people on the road."

His name is Mike. He lives in the area and is employed making airplanes for the government. He really likes his job and they treat him well, or he'd already be somewhere else by now. He said this is the longest he's ever lived in one place. "How long is that?" I asked. "Five years."

What he does is classified so he said, "If I told you I'd have to kill you." I laughed and said that I really didn't want to know that badly. He was able to get the job because of his previous classified clearance. He's worked with airplanes since he was in VietNam.

Mike did three tours in VietNam as a Marine. I asked, "So is it true? Once a Marine, always a Marine?" He pointed over to his truck outside and I noticed the Marines license plate, the Marines license plate holder, the Marine bumper stickers, and the POW/MIA magnetic stickers on it. He didn't need to say anything else about it.

After his first tour he asked to be retrained to do something else. Then, gazing out the rain-splattered window, he added, "I've done things I'm not really proud of... but someone had to do them."

"I had nightmares for four years," he added.

Then he came back to the present, smiled, and said "I learned to field strip an airplane and put it back together in half an hour." He's been working with aircraft since that time.

I asked him where the Red Carpet Inn was, and told him where the guy behind the counter had said it was. He said, "No... That's the Red Roof Inn," and gave me accurate directions.

Eventually, I found the motel. I'm feeling pretty good this evening. Even after riding for five days, I don't feel tired, and I don't have the normal aches and pains that accumulate over a few days riding, so I'm thinking of postponing my rest day.

I am hard.

Okay, maybe not... but perhaps hardening.

a picture of my very wet bike:

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But everything inside is dry!

60.18 miles
14.0 average
32 mph maximum
4:16:48 time
2362.6 total miles