St. Augustine, Florida, is the oldest city in the United States, established 450 years ago, in 1565.  We planned to spend a day exploring the old city on foot before continuing north by bicycle.  An early morning stroll through the city gates and down St. George was pleasant with few others to block the view.

The highlight of the day was a tour of Castillo de San Marcos, the massive star fortress that protected the city from invasion under four different regimes:  built by the Spanish, it was ceded to the British, and became part of the United States and, briefly, the Confederate States.  The fort is now a National Monument and is in a continual state of refurbishment and upkeep.  I had foolishly left my Senior lifetime pass in our car, which is parked in our driveway in Shelton, so Judy finally got her own pass.

St. Augustine also figures into the history of the Florida Keys, which we toured by bicycle five years ago. We learned then of the legacy of Henry Flagler, who built the Ponce de Leon Hotel, now part of Flagler College, opening up Florida to tourism, which he expanded by building the overseas railway to Key West.

Early the next morning, we pushed and cycled over the bridge to the
barrier islands, taking the inland waterway side along the Halifax River, then finally out to the Atlantic shore at Flagler Beach, where we stayed at a small, somewhat dilapidated beachfront motel after a short battle against a strong headwind.  The next day, wind off our right quarter pushed us north.  In the afternoon, we got a respite from the highway traffic, following the road past the beach resorts, condos, and estates, effectively blocking view of the ocean for the remainder of the Florida coast.  At Jacksonville Beach, we joined the traffic briefly to grab coffee, then less busy roads west to Neptune Beach and a chain motel, for which we happen to have discount points.

Out again into a chilly morning and a brisk headwind, we pedaled north past the Mayport Naval Station, where I had visited on business twice in the late 1960s, once to catch a Navy shuttle flight to an aircraft carrier at sea.  After a brief wait, we boarded the St. John’s River ferry for the short crossing.  We bought a week’s supply of fresh roasted peanuts from a roadside vendor, then pedaled across the bridge to the Talbot Islands, where we discovered a paved bicycle trail that took us away from traffic for several kilometers.  Across the bridge to Amelia Island, there was another trail, that took us all the way into Fernandina Beach.

We stayed at an AirBnB in Fernandina Beach, affordable in the pricey resort area, as it was a fold-out sofa in a screened porch, but ideal for touring cyclists.  The next morning, we cycled downtown for breakfast at the coffee shop, prompting visits with the locals curious about our expedition.  A bit late, we finally broke away and cycled back streets to as close to the FL 200 bridge as we could get before joining the 4-lane highway traffic.

Once over the bridge, we found ourselves quickly in Yulee, and in the middle of road construction.  After a mile or so of “sharing the road” with a merged single lane of heavy car and truck traffic wedged between Jersey barriers, we turned off and talked to a few locals about the construction.  Checking our maps, we decided to abandon the Adventure Cycling route once again and head for Kingsland, Georgia, up US 17, which had been our original plan, anyway.  Arriving in Kingsland, hungry and tired, we headed east to I-95, where all the motels are located, checked in, and walked back under the freeway to a hot meal.

The next morning, we caught breakfast at a Waffle House, the ubiquitous breakfast place in the South, then west on GA 40 (no shoulder, heavy truck traffic) to Folkston, which was on the Adventure Cycling map.  Again, we arrived hungry and tired to find that the motel WiFi wasn’t working, and the breakfast/lunch café up the street was just closing.  We bought a few groceries and ordered a take-out pizza at the Pizza Hut kitchen next door to the grocery.  We ate our pizza on the smoker’s bench outside the Family Dollar store and retired for the evening, with rain forecast for evening and the next day.

At this  point, we decided that it was too dangerous to ride on the highways in the rain, with traffic and no shelter from predicted thunderstorms, so we spent a frustrating several hours on the phone arranging a rental truck to ferry us to Savannah.  We ended up with a 20-foot truck, the only one available locally.  The next morning, we rode 5 km north in light rain, after breakfast at the café up the street.  While waiting for the U-Haul agency to open, we took shelter from the heavy downpour under the canopy for the storage units on the property.  We finished the paperwork and loaded our bike and trailer in the cavernous truck and headed north.  Our choice became more and more confirmed as we proceeded along the route we would have cycled, busier roads with no shoulder or shoulder-wide rumble strips.

We refueled, bringing the rental cost up to nearly $250, about what we would have spent riding four days to arrive at the same place.  The 10 km from the U-Haul agency in Savannah to our motel in Garden City was an adventure, with an industrial road full of trucks and many rough railroad crossings bracketed on either end by busy 4-lane roads with no shoulders.

But, we had a nice room, and a shuttle to the historic district tour trolleys in the morning.  After a full day exploring Savannah’s historic district and lunch at a downtown coffee shop, we returned to the hotel for a light meal foraged at a nearby grocery.

With threat of rain (which didn’t materialize), we planned a short day, riding north through the container port district, among the trucks, and across the Savannah National Wildlife Refuge (known on the South Carolina side as “Alligator Alley”).  A short run on the shoulder-less 4-lane US17, we turned off on SC 170 east, then north to Hardeeville for a grocery stop and then northeast to the freeway interchange, where there are only motels and convenience stores.  For the past week, lunch has been nuts and snacks from convenience stores and supper largely from the produce and deli section of neighborhood groceries, with a few coffee shops and restaurants for “normal” meals.

So, after two weeks on the road, with various misadventures, we have logged 500 km (310 miles)  on the bicycle, bringing the 2016 total to almost exactly our 2015 total, 541 km.

After a week of visiting the Disney parks, courtesy of our niece’s family, all of whom work there in procurement, product design, or restaurateuring, and putting our bike together, we started our tour at last. In midweek, we did make a 25-km test run with the bike, sans trailer, to pick up some supplies. Within about 5 km, we nearly ended our tour before it started, discovering that Florida drivers don’t honor walk signals: we were in the process of pushing off in the pedestrian crosswalk when a white van cut in front of us at high speed. In the ensuing collision-avoidance maneuver, we ended up in a gear-up stop, crashing over to the right. Judy managed to brace herself and escaped unscathed (unlike the last time, that resulted in a concussion), but I caught my heel under the frame. It is still bandaged, but doesn’t interfere with riding.

As a result of our close encounter, we decided to be pedestrians when crossing streets, for better view of traffic. And, we could also separate so at least one of us might survive the crossing. So, when we did start out on our journey, getting out of the city was a slow ordeal of dismounting and walking the heavy (nearly 100kg) rig across intersections. We, of course, rode on the sometimes uneven and narrow sidewalks because the 4-lane high-speed roads had no shoulders and high curbs.

We also discovered that we had chosen a path that traversed what amounts to the central Florida mountain range, a series of low but sometimes steep hills that rise nearly 60 meters above sea level. We looked forward in anticipation to the Apopka Loop Trail, a hiking and biking trail that extends 15 km along the north shore of Lake Apopka. However, once on the trail, we discovered it was:

1) Rough, partially-solidified crushed limestone or packed gravel that kept us in the lowest gear for the entire 15 km.

2) Infested with large alligators, one of which was actually on the side of the trail but fled when we approached. We saw many, and heard the grunting mating calls of dozens more along the trail.

3) Nearly without shade, in the oppressive 30C heat and humidity.

So it went. When we finally emerged on a spur road, with 10 km yet to go, we called our Warm Showers host, Mike, to update him on our late arrival. He graciously offered to come pick up our 50 kg trailer to lighten our load. We pressed on, but slower and slower. Soon, the sun set and it began to rain. We were pushing the bike through sand around a bend in the road when a kind couple in a pickup truck stopped and offered to deliver us the last 4 km, which we gratefully accepted, guiding them to our host’s home with Judy’s cell phone, since our GPS batter had run down just before it started to rain, having lead us for the past 12 hours. So, we finished the first day with a GPS track of 67 km, but only rode 63 km., actually the longest distance we have ridden in a day in nearly 3 years.

Mike and Lucia, our hosts, offered to keep us for a second night, to wait out the thunderstorms that lasted until noon on Saturday. As it continued to rain off and on, we did venture out with them for a tour of the delightful town of Mt. Dora, named for the prominant hill above the town center, a hill we traversed three times before we finally headed to our next waypoint on Sunday morning. Sunday traffic was busy along SR 44 to Deland, but there was a new Publix market about halfway, to serve the growing golf community in that area. We also found a small drive-up restaurant in the village of Pine Ridge.

Again, the heat wore us down, and we stopped at every piece of shade along the road until we crossed the St. John River. We stopped at the park beside the bridge for a while, chatting with locals about our trip, before pressing on the last 5 km or so to our Warm Showers host, Dave, who was waiting for us with ice water and the very welcome warm shower. We slept that night in his motor home, after visiting with him and his wife Paula, also a quilter and a nurse, and their two teen-age sons, Jeremy and Josh, along with their three cats and large German Shepherd.

In the morning, Dave fed us enormous quantities of scrambled eggs, and he and I made a run to the local bike shop for needed supplies before we set out, with recommended directions, toward Ormond Beach. On the way, we stopped at a UPS Store and shipped 4 kg of extra clothing home, at exorbitant expense, but items we wanted to keep and were fairly new. Finally, we got most of our gear inside the trailer instead of stacked on top under the cargo net. The route out of town, on SR 11, was beautiful, with a wide shoulder. There was a lakeside park not far from SR 40, where we stopped for a rest and a snack.  We were already tired from the heat and struggling to push on,  having skipped our morning coffee.  A motorcyclist, Bob, and his wife stopped to chat and offered us a cold Diet Coke, which took care of the caffeine deficiency, and we continued on, though stopping frequently along busy SR 40 where tall trees provided a bit of shade.  The small settlement of Pine Ridge offered a take-out restaurant for lunch and conversation with locals before struggling on toward Ormand Beach, with many stops to rest from the heat.  Finally, we spotted a 7-11 convenience store ahead, only a short way from our destination, but a needed stop for juice and nuts to bolster us to handle the city traffic to get to our hotel, across the Interstate.  Dinner at Denny’s next door and a trip to Publix across the street prepared us for a quiet evening.

The next morning, we had the usual motel breakfast of yogurt and cold cereal, then stopped at Panera’s for coffee.  Judy had to instruct the barista on how to make an Americano (equal parts espresso and hot water).  Apparently they only ever serve lattes and other blended drinks.  The coffee delay got us started late, pushed a bit later by the disappearance of the bike lane in the older part of the city, putting us back on the sidewalk until the high bridge over the Halifax River, which we pushed up, in the bike lane, but stopping to chat with pedestrians over the walkway barrier.

Finally, a high-speed dive down the other side of the bridge and a one last walk across the light for a left turn onto John Anderson Drive, which followed the river past expensive waterfront homes for nearly 15 km.  Arriving at the High Bridge Road, we stopped at the boat ramp bait shop for a Gatorade and chat with a ‘bent trike-rider before pedaling over the dunes to finally reach the Atlantic Ocean.  The ride along the river was relatively free of wind, but now the full force of the relentless coastal wind made us struggle again the last few kilometers. We stopped for lunch at a beach-side restaurant that served only meat-based meals.  Protein-starved, I ordered a turkey sandwich and ate half, saving the other half for both of us to share for dinner.  Finally we arrived at our beach-front motel, a small, 10-unit mom-‘n-pop establishment, with peeling paint, torn screens, holes in the doors, and broken fixtures, but clean, with a comfortable bed and the surf across the road.

In the morning, we started out as the sun rose over the ocean, to find the wind had shifted to just off our right shoulders.  A short way up the beach we found a great breakfast café, then were off again with the wind for the first time on our tour.  We made it all the way to St. Augustine Beach by lunch time, stopping at the Wildflower Cafe, then on to St. Augustine, with a brief detour to the lighthouse, then passing the slow auto traffic between the parked cars and the traffic flow, until we reached the Bridge of the Lions, where we dismounted and walked the bike over the narrow pedestrian walkway, creating a small traffic jam of our own when meeting baby strollers and other bicycles.  Once over the bridge, we joined the flow on A1A, mindful that “Share the Road” means sprinting to keep moving in front of large trucks too big to pass in the two-way flow, and pulling over in no-parking zones.  And, so we survived the first week of bike travel, logging 259km (160 miles), not counting the 25km test run (or discounting the 4km sag lift).

Fortunately, our motel was close to downtown, so our day off was an easy walk to all the major tourist attractions, which we ignored, 1820enjoying the architecture and the Castillo before grabbing a light lunch at the Spanish Bakery (salad and turnovers).  For a change, we had dinner out, at the City Bistro and Coffee Shop across the street where we had breakfast.  It turned out that Thursday night was live music night at the Bistro, with Joe Mark, a singer-songwriter who also remembered the ’60s.  Then, back to the motel to pack for an early start to another week “on the road.”

With our bicycle and camping gear safely off to Florida, by FedEx truck (arranged by BikeFlights), we crammed the remaining gear (helmets, front panniers, and water bottles) into a  duffel, along with baby and graduation gifts (quilts and hand-wovens), and stuffed our backpacks with our “street” clothes.  At the end of two busy days getting our new hall windows installed and the yard cleaned up for spring, our son picked us up for an overnight at his house in Olympia.  The next morning, our daughter-in-law and grandsons drove us to SEA-TAC and we were off on the first leg of our adventure.

Arriving in Albuquerque, we encountered our first major hurdle to septuagenarian high adventure: we were assigned a rental car with keyless ignition.  After fumbling with various attempts to decipher the not-so-helpful hieroglyphics on the panel display, without success, in the desert heat, I finally, at the prodding of my overheated stoker, shuffled to the attendants kiosk and inquired as to where to insert the crank to turn over the engine on this horseless carriage.

Hieroglyphics explained, we were rewarded with the muted rumble of a surprisingly efficient internal combustion engine (yielding an average MPG almost as high as our new hybrid), and we were off to Santa Fe for a fun weekend visiting our granddaughter and the five great-grandchildren still living at home.  Our travels have become more convoluted as the family matures and scatters: retirement is necessary to have enough time to see everyone.  We also did get to take in, inadvertently, the Palm Sunday parade around the Plaza in Santa Fe, during our morning coffee run.

We headed south across the desert, bypassing the Monday morning traffic in Albuquerque for the quiet rural towns of Moriarty and Mountainair, re-joining the Interstate just north of Socorro, and leaving it again south of Truth or Consequences to travel the old road through Hatch and down the Rio Grande to Las Cruces.  Thanks to our youngest daughter, who arranged an impromptu family reunion at her new (to them) house, we saw most of the grandchildren and great-grandchildren Monday evening and made arrangements to visit more later in the week, along with those who couldn’t make it.

With the last of the Las Cruces family members imposed upon and gifts delivered, including  hand-woven baby blankets for our first great-great grandchild, due in August, and our latest great-grandchild (the 11th), born last month, we headed south to El Paso, Texas to visit our youngest granddaughter (27, but who has 2 brothers and 6 cousins younger) and youngest son (43, and youngest of 7 children as well), who live on opposite sides of the sprawling border city but cross paths each morning on the way to their respective workplaces.  They met us in the middle for an afternoon exploring the downtown cultural offerings, after which we checked out her new house and then into the sunset to our son’s house.

In the morning, we drove into the sunrise to the airport, where we again had to ask directions to the well-hidden return area for our rental car (Payless recently opened an agency at ELP, and was using the Avis facilities, something the agent at ABQ failed to tell us).   After coffee at Starbucks, which occupies most of which was the original terminal when I first arrived in El Paso 49 years ago, we whisked through security relatively painlessly and were on our way to the next phase of our adventure. The rest of the children and grandchildren are in Wisconsin and Iowa, and we will have to wait to see them at the end of our bicycle expedition, more than 100 days from now, if all goes well.  Oh, one more prodigal son, in Roswell, but too far off the path to visit this time, so we have yet another road trip to look forward to next year.

After surviving the usual plane change at DFW, which always involves the longest possible inter-terminal train ride, we enjoyed an afternoon tour of the lower Mississippi and New Orleans from FL290, detouring around the line of thunderstorms that are sweeping the East Coast this time of year (something not to look forward to on a bicycle).  Our niece was waiting at the airport (MCO–we think it stands for “Mickey’s  Castle – Orlando,” in honor of the major industry here, the four Disney theme parks), soon reuniting us with our ground transport, still in its shipping cases.

Saturday, we decompressed a bit from our time-zone hopping with a trip to Disney Springs, my first ever visit to one of the lands of the Mouse, having been taught from an early age (well, teenage, when the first one opened) that the Disney parks weren’t for us ordinary folk.  Surprisingly, it looked like everywhere else, just all crammed together in a small space, with restaurants and shops intermingled with movie merchandise stores and movie-themed entertainment. And lots and lots of people.  I’m sure we’ll see more later in the week, as our Orlando relatives all are in the “biz,” from restaurateuring to designing and overseeing the manufacture of the branded merchandise sold at the parks.  Getting a tour of the shops with an “insider” view of the process of getting quality products that showcase and respect the branding was fascinating–not unlike the technical and business processes for creating software and computers, with which I am familiar.  Indeed, one of my software design courses in grad school used movie-making as a model for the process.

The rest of this week will be spent in visiting with family, putting the bicycle together, arranging for Warm Showers hosts and/or campgrounds and motels to the north, and planning around predicted weather events, as well as getting used to the heat and humidity.