If you have been following our adventures, please go to eppichriding.com as we continue the trip we began in 2019 that was cut short by the pandemic. We'll be riding up the east coast in April/May of 2022.
New Blog and New Adventure!
Most people study a road map to find the easiest way to get from here to there. I do that, too, but then I look at the places beyond here to there. I imagine what might be down the roads that go to all the out-of-the-way places and I have to travel those roads. On my bicycle.
On the Road Again (Finally!)
On Friday, September 24, Rob and I began our first bicycle tour since the pandemic began. We are cycling a loop from Philadelphia to Pittsburgh to DC and back to Philly. Sadly, I put off updating this blog too long and when I went to write something the night before we left I found out that the editing interface had changed out from under me. So I've started a new blog on WordPress. I'm still struggling to figure it out. You can at least follow our progress and hopefully I'll get some pictures up soon. My son has suggested that I bite the bullet and pay for a real website usiing SquareSpace and I think he's right but that won't happen until we are finished with this adventure. So, for now, check out eppichriding.com
Most people study a road map to find the easiest way to get from here to there. I do that, too, but then I look at the places beyond here to there. I imagine what might be down the roads that go to all the out-of-the-way places and I have to travel those roads. On my bicycle.
Cycling as a Way of Life
Covid has given me time to sort through everything, everywhere, in our house. In the basement are boxes of old letters and Christmas cards, mementos from my childhood, music and recital programs from my violin teaching days, old school papers. And a newspaper article from the Boulder Daily Camera, Friday, December 16, 1983: "The Stencil Man: Business is looking up for bicycling painter Larry Boyce."
June, 1980, I was less than a week into what would be a 3000-mile adventure from Boulder, Colorado, to San Francisco. I was traveling alone, and struggling. I'd blown out my knee trying to climb over Trail Ridge Road, in Rocky Mountain National Park, without training. I had to hitch a ride to the top. I'd already had a flat tire. I was carrying way too much stuff, including books for my entire summer's reading. I hitched a ride to meet a friend somewhere in Wyoming and took a day off to ice my knee. My friend dropped me off south of the Tetons.
When I got to Jackson Hole I met another cyclist. He told me where he was camping inside the national park and to look for the site with the bicyclists. I rode into the campground and easily found the group of cyclists who were all very welcoming. I probably had my tent set up when two other cyclists cruised in, one of them saying, very confidently, "Here are the cyclists." He had that air of the experienced cyclist and he captured the attention of all of us younger, less experienced riders.
He told us he was a traveling painter and his partner was a bicyclist who he had recently recruited to work with him because, "I got tired of partners who didn't want to bicycle with me so I decided to find a bicyclist who would paint with me." His partner was carrying a pot of beans that had been soaking all day on the back of his bike. And they both were riding while listening to music on their walkmans, a novelty in those days.
I don't know if I would have remembered this fellow's name if not for the newspaper article that I noticed several years later. And I don't remember his partner's name. But I always remembered Larry Boyce with his air of confidence and the pot of beans his partner carried on the back of his bike so they could cook them up for dinner that night.
I don't know why I saved that 1983 article, but so many years later I pulled it out to read, before putting it with so much else of what I had found in those boxes, in the trash. Then I thought, why not google Larry Boyce and see if he's still riding around the country painting Victorian houses?
Collector's Weekly, on Sept. 7, 2018, published an article on Larry Boyce, his work and his life. If you are an artist, a bicyclist, have an interest in home decor, or just like a good story, you'll enjoy this: https://www.collectorsweekly.com/articles/paint-pedaler/
Sadly, Larry Boyce passed away from AIDS in 1992.
Most people study a road map to find the easiest way to get from here to there. I do that, too, but then I look at the places beyond here to there. I imagine what might be down the roads that go to all the out-of-the-way places and I have to travel those roads. On my bicycle.
Fallen Leaves
Autumn in New England is arguably one of the most beautiful scenes anywhere in the world. Every year I feel like I’m seeing it for the first time. Walking in the woods, looking out my living room window, going for a bike ride, I am constantly bombarded with brilliant splashes of color that take my breath away. I never tire of it.
All too soon the leaves fall to the ground, get raked up and put onto compost piles, or noisy leaf blowers scatter them into the woods, leaving only barren, gray trees waiting for the first snow.
But, happily, there’s another stop along the way between the awe-inspiring artistry of a horizon resplendent with luminous red, yellow, orange, rust, and green, and the drab, neutral tones of approaching winter.
Last week, Rob and I were traveling along a two-lane highway through the New Hampshire countryside, on our way to buy a new car. Rob was driving; I was looking out the window. It was a cloudy day, past the peak of the foliage, and the deflected sunlight brought out the richness of the colors of the leaves still hanging on. But it was a tree with only a few remaining stragglers that caught my eye. Not the tree really, but the pile of leaves that lay in a circle underneath, leaves that still sparkled with brilliant colors. That barren tree overlooking a pile of myriad colors struck me as incredibly beautiful.
I said to Rob, “There has to be a metaphor in the beauty of the leaves sitting under that tree.”
Not surprisingly, I thought about death. Rob’s mother had passed away the previous week. Because of the pandemic, he was unable to visit her in Wisconsin, nor will he be able to go out for the burial of her ashes.
I said, “Each one of those leaves is like a memory of the person who died. You can pick one up and examine it and remember something special.”
That evening we were working in the kitchen together. I was preparing a roast chicken dinner and Rob was making apple crisp for the first time. He said, “My mother used to make apple crisp. I remember she would tap dance around the kitchen when she was cooking.”
I said, “You just picked up a leaf and found a memory in it.”
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| This isn't the tree I saw while we were driving, but hopefully I captured the idea. |
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| All these leaves come from one oak tree in our front yard. After I took this picture, Rob raked them all and the yard was clear. A week later it again looked just like this picture. |
I guessed that falling leaves can easily lead to a death metaphor. I wanted another one.
I said to Rob, "The tree with the leaves on the ground is our bike trip."
For many years our bike trip circling the United States was just an idea, a sapling that grew into a full-grown tree when we took off last June, heading west from New Hampshire, then south along the Pacific coast, and east to Florida, where, on St. Patrick's Day, the pandemic cut it short.
Something we’d looked forward to for so long, now completed, that tree has lost every one of its leaves. But there they are, lying on the ground still with all their brilliance, each one a story of an adventure we didn’t know we’d have.
The recent news of wildfires throughout California had us reliving our memories of three beautiful days in Mendocino. We had worried about wildfires, especially after our daughter was hiking on the Pacific Crest Trail in 2018, saw a fire start, and hiked off the trail to find herself in an evacuated area. But we were lucky. One fire inland from us and a shutdown of electricity in two counties left us stranded in Mendocino. We had plenty of food and a comfortable place to stay in a historic town with a stunning coastline.
Even this story has so many stories within it - how we found a place to stay; our dinner at a fine dining restaurant celebrating an anniversary when the generator failed; the woman at the bed and breakfast who Rob charmed - she gave us two bottles of wine; talking our way into the hot tub after the electricity went out only to have to share it with a very large man wearing nothing at all; Rob borrowing a guitar and the hummingbirds coming to listen while he played outside.
Since returning from our trip we've run into people who want to hear more about it and we tell them that we'll do a presentation once the pandemic is over and we can do it live. But how will we choose which stories to tell and which to leave out? The memories from Mendocino alone would take up at least a dozen of those fallen leaves. We'll have to pick just a handful of leaves out of that giant pile and say, "These are the stories we will share with you."
+ + +
When I was a young child, I remember picking up the most brilliantly colored and perfectly shaped leaves, taking them home and pressing them, in a book or between sheets of wax paper. Happily for us, we don't have to choose which "perfect" memories we'll save. They may fade over the years, but between Rob and I will hold onto at least as many stories from our trip as there are leaves under one of those trees.
After the leaves have been cleaned up, and winter has made the world outside go dormant, spring will come and new buds will form on the branches of our tree while we make plans for our next adventure.
Most people study a road map to find the easiest way to get from here to there. I do that, too, but then I look at the places beyond here to there. I imagine what might be down the roads that go to all the out-of-the-way places and I have to travel those roads. On my bicycle.
Circling the U.S. Chapter 81: Our End Date That Wasn't the End Date
Today was the day we should have finished our bicycle ride circumnavigating the continental United States. We were on track to do it, too, arriving in New Hampshire the way we left, by bicycle.
For months, then weeks, then days up until our departure date, even though we talked about it, and planned for it, we still didn’t believe it would happen. Bicycle for an entire year? No way. Something will go wrong. Rob has lung disease and heart disease. In January, 2019, his knee starting hurting and the orthopedist said he needed a knee replacement, but go ahead on your trip, bicycling is the best thing for it.
If some health problem didn’t do us in, something else would We didn’t know what; we just both had a sense of disbelief that we were actually going to make our dream happen.
If some health problem didn’t do us in, something else would We didn’t know what; we just both had a sense of disbelief that we were actually going to make our dream happen.
Then, on June 7, 2019, we got on our bikes and one day followed another. When we were in New York, on the Erie Canal, the west coast seemed so far away, San Diego even farther. Rob said, “I still can’t believe we’re doing this.” I felt the same way. After several months, Rob said, “I still can’t believe we’re doing this.” But by then we were on the west coast, thousands of miles behind us. We were doing it.
There were times when I thought about quitting but Rob never did. And there was always the next unknown adventure to look forward to.
Two days after leaving San Diego in early December, Rob had an episode of atrial fibrillation. He checked into a hospital, his heart rate returned to normal, a cardiologist prescribed some medication to keep his heart rate in check, and the next day he was back on his bike After Austin, Rob’s knee started hurting when he was riding. He kept going.
Two days after leaving San Diego in early December, Rob had an episode of atrial fibrillation. He checked into a hospital, his heart rate returned to normal, a cardiologist prescribed some medication to keep his heart rate in check, and the next day he was back on his bike After Austin, Rob’s knee started hurting when he was riding. He kept going.
Of all the things that could have forced us off our bikes, we thought it would be something that would happen to us – an injury, an accident, a stolen bicycle, some tragedy. But a pandemic? In the middle of March we arrived in Florida as the Covid-19 crisis hit full force. We rented a mini-van and drove home to New Hampshire.
But I’m a planner. I have to have hope. As we drove home, through Georgia, South Carolina, North Caroline, Virgina, Maryland, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, Connecticut, and Massachusetts, I thought, if this is resolved by May 1, we’ll take a train to somewhere in New Jersey and we’ll finish our trip, then do the missing piece in a couple years. I didn’t want to believe the news that we were heading for a new normal, that this wouldn’t be over in a couple weeks, or a couple months.
But here we are. After over two months we’ve settled back into our house, unpacked everything we stored away, cleaned up our yard, tried to find some routine with an uncertain future. We’ve revisited our favorite local bike rides along the coasts of Maine and New Hampshire and around nearby lakes. Instead of celebrating our anniversary on Nantucket which we'd hoped to do, we bicycled to Ogunquit, walked on the beach (the Maine beaches were open, not New Hampshire, and going into Maine we were supposed to self-quarantine for 14 days, so we probably broke the law), and cooked lobsters for dinner. Rob made chocolate chip cookies for the first time.
Today we drove north into the White Mountains and hiked along the Pemigewasset River to Franconia Falls for a picnic lunch. Rob ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I had cheese and crackers and dried fruit and peanuts and chocolate, all reminiscent of our lunches on the road. It was a beautiful drive and a peaceful hike; we passed few people, a young couple out backpacking, a family. three older women wearing masks. The trail is an old logging railroad bed; the ties are still there. It was wide enough to pass people safely..
We are making do, grateful to have our health and, for now, financial stability.
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| On Easter we rode into Maine. The beaches were closed; being on a bicycle we had unobstructed views. |
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| Several times we rode down the New Hampshire coastline. We stopped for lunch on one of these benches overlooking Wallis Sands State Park. The beaches were clearly closed and all parking was blocked off. But there wasn't a sign in front of these benches saying no trespassing. |
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| On one of our rides we stopped at Prescott Park in Portsmouth. The bridge connects Maine and New Hampshire, over the Piscataqua River. At night it's lit with colored lights. During the summer we enjoy musicals and concerts here, with the only cost a recommended donation. In 2017 they performed the new Mary Poppins musical. In was so good I saw it three times. All performances are cancelled this year. |
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| We've done a few jigsaw puzzles. In the past I'd always done them alone, The pandemic has given us something new that we share. I only tackle ones that are 500 pieces; this one is not as hard as it looks. I gave Rob another one for our anniversary, one of a lighthouse. It's turning out to be a challenge. |
Most people study a road map to find the easiest way to get from here to there. I do that, too, but then I look at the places beyond here to there. I imagine what might be down the roads that go to all the out-of-the-way places and I have to travel those roads. On my bicycle.
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.
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.
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.
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."
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.
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| Cedar Key is a charming historic town filled with tourists. We easily found a coffee shop with internet. |
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| 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. |
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. |
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| 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. |
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.
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| 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. |
Most people study a road map to find the easiest way to get from here to there. I do that, too, but then I look at the places beyond here to there. I imagine what might be down the roads that go to all the out-of-the-way places and I have to travel those roads. On my bicycle.
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.
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| 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.
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.
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| 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.
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| Manitee Spring is one of many natural springs in Florida that feed into larger rivers. |
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| Cypress knees are outgrowths from the roots of the cypress that help stabilize the tree growing in wet conditions. |
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| Some of the knees get really big. |
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| We came out of the spring into the Suwanee River. |
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| We saw wildlife upon our return to the spring. There's an alligator tucked into that tiny island. |
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| 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.
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| 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."
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.
I realized then that our trip was over.
Most people study a road map to find the easiest way to get from here to there. I do that, too, but then I look at the places beyond here to there. I imagine what might be down the roads that go to all the out-of-the-way places and I have to travel those roads. On my bicycle.
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.)
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.
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.)
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| 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. |
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| 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 |
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| 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.
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| 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. |
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| We began our journey heading downstream. |
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| Common Moorhen |
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| Anhigas |
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| Alligator, one of many |
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| White Ibis |
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| Another Anhigas |
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| Another Alligator |
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| Babies |
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| Some scenes from The Creature From the Black Lagoon were filmed here. |
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| 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. |
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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.
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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.
Most people study a road map to find the easiest way to get from here to there. I do that, too, but then I look at the places beyond here to there. I imagine what might be down the roads that go to all the out-of-the-way places and I have to travel those roads. On my bicycle.
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