Circling the U.S. Chapter 80: The End (But Hopefully Not)

Sunday, March 15 - Thursday, March 19, 2020

First thing Sunday morning we rode ten miles into Cedar Key to see the town, find a coffee shop with wifi, and make a decision, whether or not to end our adventure. If we were going to quit riding, we had to have a plan for where to go. Our home in New Hampshire was rented until June 1, and our daughter was living in our Boulder condo.

Cedar Key is a charming historic town filled with tourists. We easily found a coffee shop with internet.

Our last shared breakfast on the road. The owner had a limited menu, even more limited on this Sunday morning because the day before had been so busy he'd run out of many key ingredients. (Pandemic, what pandemic? People in Florida were in full vacation mode as folks elsewhere around the country were hunkering down.) But he was able to put together a delicious omelette with a potato side dish for us. No one seemed concerned about socially distancing in line where we waited to put in our order. 

While Rob read the article Kylee had sent us the night before, I checked my email. I had one from our tenant in New Hampshire saying she could move out if we wanted to return home early.

Rob and I both realized we'd been putting off the inevitable. I said, "I think we have to go home," fighting back tears.

Rob said, "I agree."

We decided to go back to New Hampshire, where we could spend the extra time moving back into our house.

Two or, more likely, three days of riding would get us to Orlando. I looked up Amtrak schedules and sent an email to friends in Orlando letting them know we were on our way, hoping they'd be home. I called our kids to let them know our change of plan. Tim sounded relieved. "Mom, I know how much this trip means to you, but you've done so much, and it's better that you're safe."

We headed to Dunellon, 50 miles of hot, boring riding, nothing to see except Florida forests and the highway, with only an occasional convenience store along the way. It was beginning to feel like Texas with long stretches of nothing.

We had a pleasant dinner at the restaurant next to our motel where we overheard the coronavirus talked about as something in the news, something annoying, but not a worry. The server complained about having her kids home from school.

Then back at the motel we made plans for our return to New Hampshire. Amtrak, without a direct connection, wasn't going to work. Southwest Airlines had $54 one-way tickets from Orlando to Boston. That worked. We'd have to get our bikes boxed. And we'd have to stay healthy on the plane and in the airports. Up until now we had mostly not been in crowds (except for Mardi Gras, but that was over two weeks ago.)

On Monday, March 16, our plan was to get as close to Orlando as possible, about 90 miles away. With many towns dotting the map along our route we figured we'd have no trouble finding a cheap motel when we were ready to stop.

The day started out fine with 20 miles on the Withlacoochee State Trail. We passed waterways and birds and elderly cyclists on trikes. I thought it funny that cyclists are now ending their riding careers the way they started, on tricycles.

We saw dozens of recumbent three-wheelers on this bike path, but this one was the best. It reminded me of the children's book Mrs. Armitage and the Big Wave, by Quentin Blake, where this old lady (Mrs. Armitage) is on her surf board with her dog and while she's waiting for the big wave she makes one trip after another back to shore for an inflatable island for the dog, an umbrella, a drink, something to eat, etc, until she's surrounded by an entire flotilla of paraphernalia. Then the big wave comes.

The riding deteriorated after we got off the bike path. It was hot and boring with nothing other than desolate convenience stores. At one stop, we sat and ate lunch, sharing a table in the shade with a scruffy middle-aged man eating takeout. He said he worked the carnival circuit and they were hanging out in a nearby parking lot waiting to see what was going on with the coronavirus.

We had long stretches of not much except that we did see some patches of brilliant wildflowers.

As we got closer to the Orlando area we stopped at a McDonalds to look online for a motel. After 60 miles riding in the heat we were ready to stop. But the only thing that came up was a Rodeway Inn five miles out of our way. We had no choice but to go for it.

Some time earlier I had mentioned to Rob that I wondered where all the orange groves were. We found them on our way to the motel. When we arrived, it turned out that there was not a single restaurant or grocery store nearby. Fortunately, next to the television in our room, we saw a menu for a pizza place that delivered. We didn't have great expectations so we were pleasantly surprised when both the pizza and salad were delicious.

We firmed up our plans for our return to New Hampshire. Our friends in Orlando were out of town. Calls to Warm Showers people for help getting our bikes boxed and to the airport were fruitless, so I booked a rental van for one day. We figured we'd find a motel near the airport once we got there.

But I woke up at four o'clock Tuesday morning, March 17, stressing about our flight home. What if travel within the United States were shut down? What about keeping social distance on the plane? Would Southwest cancel flights because of too few passengers? As I lay in bed, not able to sleep, worrying, I had an idea. How about when we got to the Orlando airport, we just picked up a van, threw our bikes in, and drove to New Hampshire? We could maybe stop for the night at Rob's cousin's house just south of the Georgia border and then on Wednesday put the pedal to the metal.

I got up, took my tablet into the bathroom, looked up car rentals, and found a mini-van with Alamo that didn't have a drop-off fee, just charged $60 a day. It would cost us significantly more than flying, but the peace of mind would be priceless. I booked it and went back to bed. Rob was awake and I tried talking to him about my idea, but he didn't want to hear it. I was too wired to go back to sleep.

When Rob finally got up and listened to my idea, he agreed with me. He contacted his cousin, Larry, to see if we could spend the night. Larry and his wife Sue were totally fine with our change in plans, happy to have us. I give them a lot of credit for their flexibility. First we were going to visit at the end of the month, then not at all, then that evening. I'd only met Larry and Sue once many years ago, so it felt like we were having the opportunity to continue our adventure just a little longer, making yet two more new friends.

Starting out we had ten miles of pleasant riding on a bike path, then busy roads with lots of traffic as we got into the Orlando metro area.

We'd heard that Florida has the most bicycle fatalities of any state. People joke and say it's because of all the old people. I don't think so. I came very close to being hit by a young woman in a pickup truck. She started pulling out of a parking lot just as I was heading in front of her. I yelled. Had her window not been open, I would likely be dead.

Back roads with little traffic took us to the airport, past parking lots that weren't half full. After 44 miles we arrived around two o'clock, picked up a mini-van, and a couple hours later pulled into Larry and Sue's driveway in Fernandino Beach.

The first thing Larry said to us was, "The mayor just issued an order prohibiting out of town guests."

Yes, he was joking. Then he said, "You're allotted three squares of toilet paper."

Staying with this hospitable couple in their brand-new Florida home took a little of the sting out of having to end out trip early. Now we can look forward to seeing them again when we return in a few years to finish what we began last June.

Sue and Larry had only recently moved to Florida, choosing Fernandino Beach over other areas because of its northern location and three seasons of weather changes. Wednesday morning they took us on a tour of the community and we were able to walk on the beach that hadn't yet been closed.

We hit the road after lunch. The radio station was set to a Christian talk show. Rob wanted to change it, but I was intrigued and insisted we keep it on. The show was Let's Face the Issues hosted by Dr. Gene Youngblood. People were calling in saying how grateful they were for the coronavirus because it shows God is at work and if we turn our wicked ways he will heal our land. They said that this was God's way of punishing Democrats for trying to stand in the way of the work of Donald Trump. Nobody expressed any concern for the pandemic but rather had these things to say:

"This is time to praise God."

"We need to call upon the Lord in faith not fear."

"We're seeing the hand of the Lord at work."

"He's fully aware of all our needs in the midst of this coronavirus calamity."

[I doubt the families of the over one hundred thousand Americans who have died, or those who can't pay their or buy food, believe that God is doing a great job. But as I write this, on May 29, 64% of Republicans believe the threat of the coronavirus has been exaggerated.] 

Not expecting much traffic, we were surprised to hit one logjam after another. (That was after I took over the wheel.) Whenever we stopped, all food was takeout only. We were able to use a bathroom at a McDonalds but not at a Subway (where we picked up sandwiches for dinner). Exhaustion determined our stop in Weldon, North Carolina, just south of the Virginia border, where we saw that we would have a healthy selection of cheap motels. But the first one we stopped at had a long line in the lobby. At the next one, a Days Inn, I asked the young man at the desk why it was so busy. 

"Everyone from Canada is going home," he said. "Usually they go home through March and April, but now they're all going home in one week." The U.S. Canadian border was shutting down Friday at midnight.

In the morning we went to a Waffle House for breakfast. The day before, when we'd stopped for a cup of tea at one in Florida, they had every other table and stool closed off. At this one it was takeout only.

In Maryland, the flashing highway sign said, "Save Lives Now...Stay Home." That's exactly where we were headed.

Not the ending we had planned, but still, 9500 miles around three-quarters of the United States was a journey we'll hold onto for the rest of our lives. 

We'll return to complete our journey, someday.

Circling the U.S. Chapter 79: After Tallahassee

Thursday, March 12 - Sunday, March 15, 2020

After leaving Tallahassee the riding on Thursday, March 12, was easy, if a bit boring. No wind was a nice change; we had good shoulders and light traffic. But there was no place of interest to stop which made the day seem long without a good reason to take a relaxing break.

We'd heard about this bike path running about 20 miles from Tallahassee to St. Mark. It lived up to its reputation as a pleasant ride.  

I was aiming for a free camping spot next to a motorcycle shop past the town of Perry. Rob was aiming for a cheap motel in Perry. But we came to Rocky's RV Park and Campground first and found out it only cost $14, a nice change from our last camping night that had a price tag of $68. After 61 miles I was ready to stop. I said I was tired of cheap motels and the weather was pleasant enough to spend a couple hours relaxing outside. Rob, being the agreeable soul he is, gave in.

The only catch was we had nothing for dinner and we were in the middle of nowhere with nothing but a convenience store. They at least had salads, chicken wings, and fruit cups, so we made do with that. After dinner the bugs came out and sent Rob into the tent. Maybe next time he'll get his cheap motel.

Meanwhile, I was obsessed with the coronavirus news and stayed up glued to my tablet searching out whatever information I could find. I felt badly about all the events that were cancelled, events I knew my friends in Colorado and New Hampshire look forward to every year. When I read that the virus can lead to pneumonia followed by liver and kidney failure, I thought, that's how my mother died. I didn't want that to happen to Rob. He has lung disease. Every winter he gets sick, often with bronchitis, but not this year. So far. But I thought we were probably in the healthiest place, being away from crowds, pretty much in the middle of nowhere. And Florida had only seen a few cases.

Friday, March 13, we thought we'd start the day with a second breakfast in Perry. I'd done some research and we easily found the Backdoor Bistro and Coffee Shop. We were the only customers. We needed to charge our phones and my tablet so we found a table in the back with outlets nearby. There was music playing which I didn't pay much attention to as I worked on my blog while waiting for our food. But as we were eating, the words to the music rose to my consciousness and I realized we were in another "Christian" coffee shop.

When we were getting ready to leave, I was waiting for Rob to finish in the bathroom. The owner was sitting nearby, folding napkins. I said, "I couldn't help but notice that you are a Christian business. I've also seen a lot of Trump signs in this part of the country. Do you, as a Christian, support Trump?"

She said, "Oh, yes. I could never vote for a Democrat. We have to protect unborn babies."

"How do you feel about Trump's treatment of immigrants?"

"He's protecting my interests."

That was as far as the conversation went because Rob came out of the bathroom and we had many miles to cover. But obviously nothing I could have said would ever change this woman's vote.

The day's riding wasn’t challenging, just again long and boring. I had a sore butt and it was hot, in the eighties. We passed a baby alligator sunning itself on a cement culvert.

This was now a couple very hot days in a row. I couldn’t imagine doing this trip later in the spring. I was looking forward to starting to ride north in a couple weeks and watching spring unfold. Already we’d been enjoying lots of blooming azaleas and magnolia trees. The wildflowers alongside the road were multiplying, with colors of white, red, yellow, and purple.

Sixty-eight miles brought us to Fanning Springs State Park which turned out to be a real gem. Located on the Suwanee River, with no campgound, primitive camping is allowed for anyone arriving without a car - kayakers, hikers, and cyclists. The park ranger who checked us in said few people stay overnight. Once the park closed for the night we had it to ourselves. I especially appreciated not having internet access.

We set up our tent in a big field next to a band stand then went for a swim in the spring fed pool adjacent to the river.

Saturday, March 14, we had a beautiful morning. We rode about 10 miles to Manitee Springs State Park where we rented a canoe for a couple hours and headed out of the spring area to explore the Suwanee River. The river was much wider than I expected; we stayed close to the shore in the hopes of seeing wildlife. But it was back in the spring-fed area where we saw piles of turtles sunning themselves on a rock, a couple turtles swimming and a small alligator becoming one with the muddy island in the middle of the water.

Manitee Spring is one of many natural springs in Florida that feed into larger rivers.

Cypress knees are outgrowths from the roots of the cypress that help stabilize the tree growing in wet conditions.

Some of the knees get really big.

We came out of the spring into the Suwanee River.

 We saw wildlife upon our return to the spring. There's an alligator tucked into that tiny island.

Too many turtles to count.

Sadly the afternon was not nearly as pleasant as the morning. We headed to Cedar Key, another old fishing town that had been recommended to us. It was out of our way, but we figured it would be worth a detour on what looked to be quiet roads off the beaten path. But it was hot, the scenery was uninspiring, and there were again no places along the way to stop for a break. Then, it turned out that the campground Rob had picked out was not in Cedar Key as he'd thought, but about 10 miles before it. A couple phone calls told us that we probably wouldn’t be able to find an affordable room if we kept going into town. It was the beginning of spring break for the public schools; everything was booked. We wouldn't be able to spend the evening wandering around a quaint old fishing town as we'd hoped. We were disappointed but we knew we had no choice. We decided to check into the campground and spend the following morning exploring Cedar Key.

When we arrived at the campground it was full, but the manager found us a spot, asking a gentleman with a camper van if he wouldn’t mind sharing. He didn’t. The campground cost $10 but the manager wouldn't take any money from us, so we split the cost with the other fellow.

The campground sat right on the Gulf, a favorite spot for fishing and running noisy airboats. After dinner we found a short trail along the shoreline. We didn't realize when Rob took this picture that this would be our last night on the Gulf.

The campground was packed, large groups sharing campsites, kids running around, people gathered around barbecues. The manager told me he'd never seen it so busy. "The movie theaters are closed. Schools are closed. People have nowhere to take their kids."

I said, "This coronavirus is pretty scary."

"You can't believe everything you hear," he said. "The media is making the virus look worse than it is just to make Trump look bad."

After we were in our tent, Kylee called. "Mom, Boulder is shutting everything down. Libraries are closed. Denver schools are closed. CU is going online. People are working from home." 

She didn't suggest we quit, but she sent me an article that described what was going on in Italy, how they didn't have enough ventilators, and that was where the United States was heading. That scared me. Rob has two chronic lung diseases, pulmonary hypertension and asthma. He has heart disease. He's over sixty. For people like him the coronavirus can easily lead to pneumonia and organ failure and death. 

I realized then that our trip was over.

Circling the U.S. Chapter 78: Tallahasee

Tuesday, March 10 - Wednesday, March 11, 2020

We took a couple days off in Tallahassee, not so much because we needed the rest but because we wanted to take the opportunity to catch up with old friends. Rick and Rob were in graduate school together. When I met Rob, Rick and Linda were already a couple. As often happens with long distance friendships, after years of sending Christmas cards we'd eventually lost touch. But we ran into them a few years ago at a scientific conference and knew that Rick was still working at Florida State University.

Fortunately the timing worked out as Rick and Linda had been out of town until Monday night. We arrived at their home Tuesday morning and after a short visit Rob and I walked to the free Florida History Museum where we spent a couple hours being surprised by much of Florida's history. Spending most of our lives in the northeastern part of the country, Rob and I have a picture of U.S. history as beginning with English settlements, fighting against the British for independence and then everyone lived happily ever after. (Obviously neither of us are history buffs.) It has been fascinating for us as we travel around the country to learn about all the other influences on American history and how many of the states were bounced around from belonging to first one country, then another, and again another, before becoming part of the United States. (I still think the most fascinating piece of history was learning about the Pig War on San Juan Island.)

When I was growing up my family always vacationed at the same family resort in New Hampshire, only venturing as far south as Myrtle Beach one year during a spring break. I thought Florida only became famous as a tourist destination with the advent of air-conditioning and Disney World, so I was surprised to find out that Florida's tourism industry dates back to the earlier years of the last century.

The original RV was called the Tin Can Camper. Check out the pictures below to see how it opened up to include a bed that sat over the steering wheel

Rick and Linda took us out for a taco dinner Tuesday night at El Cocinero, a short walk from their house. They were truly generous hosts; it was amazing to find we had so much in common after so many years.

On Wednesday, March 11, we drove with Rick and Linda to Wakulla Springs State Park. Edward Ball purchased the springs in 1934 and developed it as a tourist destination with a lodge and swimming area. But he also had the foresight to preserve its natural beauty. The only boat allowed on the river is the tour boat which takes visitors downstream from the spring for about a mile and after that no boats are allowed for the next two miles. The boat ride and the guide were outstanding. We saw about 20 alligators, countless birds and turtles, and two manatees.

This swimming area is located at the beginning of the spring. Supposedly the alligators don't eat the swimmers. At least it hasn't happened yet.

We began our journey heading downstream.

Common Moorhen

Anhigas

Alligator, one of many

White Ibis

Another Anhigas

Another Alligator

Babies

Some scenes from The Creature From the Black Lagoon were filmed here.

We were lucky to see manatees. They generally hang out here in the winter because the water is a constant temperature of about 70 degrees, but in the spring they travel downstream to the Gulf.

The historic lodge. You can still book a room here if you'd like. Inside they have a snack bar with a very long marble counter.

Over dinner Wednesday night we talked about the coronavirus. Rick had gotten the word that once students left for spring break they wouldn't be allowed back on campus and classes would go online. Linda went to a meeting for a spring arts festival that hadn't yet been cancelled. We talked about the likelihood of it happening. [It was cancelled the next day.] Disneyland in California had closed. It still hadn't occurred to us to quit riding.

Circling the U.S. Chapter 77: The first week of Florida

Tuesday, March 3 - Monday, March 9, 2020

Following our ride through Gulf State Park we crossed the border into Florida.

We fairly flew through the miles on Tuesday, easily leaving Alabama behind and looking forward to a long stretch in Florida where we had friends and family to visit. Our plan was to follow the west coast down to the Keys, then begin the final leg of our journey north along the Atlantic Coast.

Every time I looked at my odometer it registered 12-15 mph, a good clip for us. With our usual short stops and two long ones it took us 8 1/2 hours to ride 69 miles. Rob asked me how I felt about the riding. I said, "We must have had a tailwind. I feel like we've been riding downhill all day. I'm hardly pedaling." He admitted that he was working hard to keep up with me, but keep up he did.

The scariest riding on our trip has to be bridges. You never know how they will accommodate cyclists. Is there a dedicated bike lane? Is there a shoulder? Are bicyclists even allowed? A bicyclist heading west warned us that the bridge from Pensacola to Gulf Breeze does not yet have its bike/pedestrian lane complete so we would have to ride in the emergency lane, in the center of the bridge, separated from the rest of the traffic only by orange posts.

We arrived at the bridge and didn't see any emergency lane. There was no shoulder and two lanes of traffic were moving at rush hour speeds, everyone eager to get home. We flagged down a construction worker coming by in a truck on the other side of the jersey barrier.

"How do we get across?" I yelled.

"You have to ride in the emergency lane."

"Where is it?"

He said, "It starts just ahead."

Too scared to ride, we walked our bikes and, just around a bend in the road we saw the emergency lane. There was no traffic light and no pedestrian crosswalk, no way to safely cross two lanes of speeding traffic to get to it.

Pressing ourselves tightly against the jersey barrier, we had no choice but to wait for a break in the traffic. We looked with pleading eyes at the driver of each car racing by. Finally, we must have looked desperate enough. A car in the closest lane stopped; then one in the inside lane gave us a break and we were able to cross over.

The emergency lane was filled with debris, perfect for a flat tire, but then it cleared up and the riding wasn't too bad. As I approached the top of the bridge, my single thought was, "I hope a car doesn't come flying down this lane right at us." But the only thing that came down the lane toward us was another bicyclist.

The next challenge was getting back across the two lanes of traffic, which we were able to do easily when there was a long enough break and a pullout on the other side. When we were safely across I said to Rob, "Well, that was fun."

Then we were in Gulf Breeze and on our way in search of the home of Emily, the older sister of one of Rob's closest high school friends. When we found her neighborhood we were stopped by a locked gate, a gated community with no gate keeper to let us in. We thought we'd have to call Emily for the key code, but then we realized, it's just a gate across the road and there was no fence. We got off our bikes and walked around the gate. Any burglar on a bicycle would have no problem here.

Every house in this part of the world has a hurricane story. Emily's parents once lived in a house right here, but it was destroyed in one of the hurricanes that came through around 2003. They sold the property but then Emily and her husband bought it back and built this house with an elevator so that her parents could live with them. (They are now deceased.) The elevator is in the center of the house. If a hurricane comes through, they would take their cars, leaving the garage door and the golf cart door on the opposite wall open. When a storm surge comes, it will push out the walls, leaving the house standing. The windows are all graded for 180 mph winds. Anything higher than that would blow off the roof. With all those protections Emily said their flood insurance is only $400 a year.

The forecast for Wednesday, March 4, called for rain and flooding so it made sense to take advantage of a beautiful place to stay and great company to wait out the bad weather. Emily was extraordinarily gracious, taking us on a driving tour into Pensacola and feeding us terrific food. Unfortunately, we didn't get to meet her husband, Larry who was out of town on business. It was nice to relax after three long riding days.

Emily is a professional pianist, making her living teaching and accompanying choruses. After dinner Rob dug through her piles of music and we sang old familiar songs. 

We woke to rain Thursday, March 5, so we hung out in the morning, waiting to leave until after noon. Even then, it was still foggy and a bit drizzly.

One high rise building after another towered over us on both sides of the highway as we shared the road with an abundant amount of traffic. Florida is making efforts to be bike friendly. We rode along for a good many miles with well-marked bike lanes. Still, it would help if the drivers were educated on both courtesy and appropriate passing distance. Cars and pickup trucks honked at us for no reason at all, many of them passing with only inches to spare.

Whenever a car passes too closely I try to make a mental note of it in case I can catch up and have a conversation with the driver. The opportunity presented itself when, at a stoplight, I caught up to just one of those. I knocked on the window, scaring the bejeezus out of the older woman at the wheel. She was alone. I said, very politely, “I know you didn’t mean to, but you passed me way too close back there.”

She replied, with a lovely southern accent, “Well, I got as far away as I could but there was a car on the other side. I had no choice.”

I said, “You could have held back and waited for a safe distance to pass.”

“Oh, but I had to go.” I can only hope that she’ll think about it when she next comes across a cyclist.

The riding was still terrific. We flew along, clocking 15 and 16 miles an hour. It must have been the tailwind. And there was not a single hill.

As we passed a small park in Fort Walton Beach some sculptures grabbed my attention. I had to stop and take some pictures.

Forty miles brought us to Henderson State Park in Dentin, and a "Campground Full" sign. But Rob had spoken to someone that morning who said we could camp in a primitive campsite and didn’t need a reservation. The staff on duty knew nothing about that. Did Rob remember the person’s name? No. The park ranger went off to make a phone call and came back to say they had a site for us but not to expect anything at other state parks. Which was a bummer because it was March, Spring Break Month, and crowds were packing the campgrounds.

For the record, the following states will not turn away bicyclists, even if they are full: Vermont, Michigan, Wisconsin, Washington, Oregon, and California. Other states don’t care. They’ll send you packing. Or you can beg and plead and they might find a spot for you.

As it turned out, the primitive campsite was perfect. It was the site of a former playground, a large open area covered in wood chips, right off a path to the beach. It even had a picnic table.

While we were registering for our campsite another cyclist rolled into the park, a young guy. I talked to him a bit. He was from Pennsylvania, had been on the road since the end of January but was planning to go back home in a few days because he wanted to see his grandmother. He was worried that she might get the coronavirus. I applauded him for being so caring, even as I thought he was being a little extreme in his concern.

We began the day on Friday, March 6, with a walk on the beach at Henderson State Park.

Because our mileage is often determined by lodging availability, we had a short, relaxing day on Friday, only 28 miles to our Warm Showers host in Seacrest. Our riding took us on an 18 mile bike path through very well-heeled waterfront communities where we bicycled past young retirees out for their morning stroll.

We spent almost two hours sitting outside a coffee shop trying to figure out lodging for the upcoming two nights along the way to Tallahassee. Just a few days into Florida it was beginning to look like finding affordable places to stay would be a challenge. Florida is definitely not a friendly place for budget travelers.

Allen Lake is one of 15 named coastal dune lakes along Route 30A in South Walton. Coastal dune lakes are only found in Madagascar, Australia, and South Walton. Located within two miles of a coastline, a special marine ecosystem forms as a result of the intermittent exchange of freshwater and saltwater that occurs when one of the lakes overflows.

We stopped for a picnic lunch on a beach and Rob went for a swim. Not being a particularly hot day I decided to pass, figuring I'd have plenty more opportunities to swim in the Gulf. If I'd seen into the future maybe I would have gone in with Rob. But then, who would have taken the following pictures?

It had been a very long time since either one of us had gone for a swim. Rob was a happy guy.

We know it's going to be a good night when, just after we arrive, our host asks us if we want a beer. Joey was hands down the friendliest Warm Shower dog we've met on this trip, jumped right into my lap and snuggled. We also enjoyed dinner and conversation with Marty, who invited us to join him and Joey for a short walk on the beach in the morning.

Saturday, March 7, we had 68 miles of pleasant riding on a state highway (98) that doesn't see much traffic as it winds through the Tyndall Airforce Base and along what is called the Forgotten Coast, with several small communities on the Gulf. We saw a dolphin swimming while we ate our lunch.

We passed fields of trees that had been mowed down by hurricane winds.

Who can remember all the hurricanes - sometimes several in one year - that have devastated parts of the Gulf and Atlantic Coast communities in this century alone? I know I can't. As we've been cycling through these areas and seen hurricane damage I've tried to figure out how long ago the last hurricane came through. In Mexico Beach there were many new homes built up on stilts. But there were also many destroyed buildings that hadn't yet been cleaned up. I said to Rob, "My guess is that this is from a hurricane in 2018."

"You think so?"

"I don't think the houses could have been built so quickly if it came through last fall, and the damage looks pretty recent. Besides, I don't remember hearing about any hurricanes this year."

I was right. Hurricane Michael hit the area hard in October, 2018.

We rode by a piece of beach front property with a for sale sign - $39,000. The building on it was a pile of lumber and what beach there was looked like it would be taken over by the ocean in a few years. I thought, "Good luck selling that."

The long day was determined, again, by lodging availability, and this time all we came up with was a very expensive campground, Presnell's Bayside Marina & RV Resort in Port St. Joe, costing $64. Rob tried to talk the owners down in price several times - all we had was a tent, after all - but they wouldn't budge. At least this campground was nicer than the equally expensive one we stayed at in Ontario back in July. The campsite was roomy and we had a view of the Gulf and the sunset.

We had stopped at a Piggly Wiggly to pick up something for dinner; they didn't sell beer and we were too tired to hunt down a liquor store. But, leave it to Rob, I came back from my shower to find four cans of Stella Artois, my favorite beer, sitting on the picnic table. He is not shy when it comes to asking our neighbors for beer. Rod and Annette - from Ontario - were spending the winter months in Texas, Louisiana, and Florida, They insisted we join them around their propane campfire after dinner.

Because we crossed over a time zone - our last one - and because we "sprang ahead" into daylight savings time overnight, we gained two more hours of daylight at the end of the day, when we need it most. To celebrate we went to sleep without setting an alarm. I didn't crawl out of my sleeping bag until eight o'clock the next morning.

Our next destination, on Sunday, March 8, was the old fishing community of Apalachicola, only 25 miles away. Emily, back in Gulf Breeze, had recommended that we stop there. Rob did the research and found us a place to stay right in town, the Coombs Inn and Suites. We looked forward to an easy morning. But we hadn't counted on an unrelenting headwind. Thankfully Rob was able to stay with me, but sometimes his nonsensical prattling got on my nerves as I was just barely holding on. I didn't even have the energy to tell him to shut up.

We arrived at the inn around one o'clock and they were nice enough to let us check in early. We had lunch on the porch, showered and relaxed, then set out to explore the town.

We stopped first at the John Gorrie Museum State Park located right next door. It turns out that John Gorrie was a pioneer in developing an air conditioning system; he received the first U.S. patent for mechanical refrigeration in 1851. We weren't that interested in spending four dollars to find out more about this particular history, but we were the only ones in the small museum and we got talking to Tom, the park ranger, asked him a few questions and he wound up giving us a 45-minute history lesson on this fellow who was a doctor interested in finding a way to keep patients cool in order to treat them for yellow fever. I'm not sure what impressed me more, the story or Tom's ability to tell it so well.

As so often has happened, we arrived in town on a day when most restaurants were closed. On a Sunday, no less. So as we wandered around town our mission included finding a satisfactory dining spot. Along the way we discovered The Old Time Soda Fountain serving ice cream sodas and milk shakes. Of course we had to indulge.

I neglected to take any pictures of downtown Apalachicola, but I did catch these fine pelicans as they hung out on the water.

We found a casual place for dinner, Up the Creek, where we sat at a wooden counter overlooking the water and enjoyed beer and flounder and crab cakes. As we were finishing up and Rob went to the rest room I began talking to an older woman sitting alone next to us. Rob came back as she was giving me advice on the best way to ride to Tallahassee and we all chatted a bit. We got ready to leave and she introduced herself as Karen and Rob said, "Karen Berkeley." She and I were both taken aback. Rob said, "I interviewed at Florida State back in the eighties. I remember you."

There are a couple of weird aspects of that chance meeting. One was that, as I was fighting the wind that morning, I happened to think that we were due for a another random meeting. The other is that these random meetings have happened in the corners of the country - the San Juan Islands (father of our son's baseball teammate), San Diego (graduate student from UNH), and now Florida. When I mentioned this to Rob he said, "Well, we're sure to meet someone we know in New Hampshire."

Monday, March 9, we had a hard riding day - 76 miles - into Tallahassee. Our route took us over a bridge from Apalachicola to Eastpoint lasting several miles with a relentless headwind which didn't die down as long as the road hugged the coast for the first 20 miles. We were able to maintain nine miles per hour, but we feared we would be struggling all day. I'm always doing the math in my head, and nine miles an hour meant over eight hours in the saddle, not a pleasant thought. But the wind died down when we turned inland, heading northeast, and we picked up our pace to 13-15 mph. We had a flat, decent shoulder riding through pine forests with glimpses of tiny purple and yellow wildflowers and giant violet thistles, some three feet tall with three or four flowers atop them.

No quaint little towns dot the landscape in this part of Florida. When we needed a break we stopped at a convenience store in Medart because that was all there was, but a diesel pickup truck was sitting outside with its engine running so we stayed just long enough to use the bathroom and share a chocolate milk. Six miles down the road was Crawfordville with nothing but a Hardee's. Rob wanted a strawberry shake and I wanted fries. When we got inside I decided I had to have a cheeseburger, too. Nine months on the road, and this was my first fast food cheeseburger; I just had to have one. I knew that as soon as I said I was having one then Rob would want one, too. And I was right. At least I didn't get a milkshake so I was one step healthier than Rob. I got iced tea. I like the southern sweet tea, but sometimes it's just too sweet, so I mix it with the regular.

Every time I eat trash food like this, I think how my son, Tim, would be thoroughly disgusted if he knew. But I thoroughly enjoyed every bite.

I was thrilled to arrive at our Warm Showers home where we were served a totally healthy vegan meal of a kale salad and chickpea/brocolli patties, the perfect antidote to our junk food binge.

Rob fell asleep easily while I stayed up following the news of the coronavirus on my tablet, finding emails about my adaptive ski program shutting down early and our chorus cancelling rehearsals and concerts. Nobody in Florida seemed concerned.