One year ago today: October 27, 2018, last operational scooter photo.
Five years ago today: October 27, 2014, another batch of bestsellers.
Nine years ago today: October 27, 2010, police ignore bicycle theft.
Random years ago today: October 27, 2015, ammo cans.
If you are reading this, good, but no thanks to Google. Despite using familiar equipment, Google has again locked me out of this account. The problem being that the account was opened so long ago, nobody remembers the date it began or the password. The bottom line is, of course, that Google wants positive identification. Well, this blog has survived that pack of a-holes before. I’ve actually got an entire desktop computer that I lug along just to handle this situation. The pictures might be temporary, so enjoy. Here’s a cottonfield, a crop I did not know was still economical to grow in the USA.
8:00AM Left home for the first leg of this trip Athens, GA. This time, a leisurely trip along the old motorcycle route. First I had to get there, which means north on 301 to Coleman, then I-75 to Lakeland. A messy sky, and I took an extra 15 minutes to drive out to the road around Lakeland rather than waste 30 minutes driving through it. What a pity in this day and age.
9:00AM Still in the Florida woods, but making excellent time in light traffic. Spotty rainstorms off the Gulf. No radio stations, so I finished listening to “Saving the World”. I sould give it a bad book report. To much shallow interaction and that pesky AIDS theme constantly in the background. Plus, the story line plies that insulting “we’re all in this together” nonsense a little too far.
10:00AM A liesurely stop near Coleman. This isn’t much distance covered but by Florida standards we are flying along. Other than a few NPR fringe stations, we have silence in the car. Gives one time to clear the baffles, to focus on some important things. Like the way my bank jacked me around the last month. I left m y PA system at the club, so that means until late next month at least. It outclasses everything else on the stage. Still using my beautiful gear as a Karaoke tug means I owe it an apology.
This picture has history. On my first sidecar trip across the USA so many years ago, this is the abandoned staton on Route 441 just across teh Florida-Georgia line. On a motorcycle, you develop an eye for any place to duck under in a flash storm. This is the one that kept making the strange noises. It was pieces of the old asphalt shingles sluffing off in the rain. Here it is again, it’s become an institution to take a snap whenever possible. The shingles are still there after all this time.
11:00AM I’ve been millenialized. I disobeyed my own Freeway Travel Rule #1: no matter what the signs or the GPS tell you, do not pull off the road unless you can see the off ramp, the place you want to stop, and the on ramp. All three must be present. Alas, in strange towns, you don’t always have that great a view when you need it--it's almost as if they want you to strand you in their dumpy little area. My crappy Garmin GPS faked me out again. I trusted it when it said the store was 1.8 miles away. It was almost 10 miles.
One more annoyance on the Garmin is that there is no external kill button for that horrid female voice. There are a number of reasons you want her stifled while driving, but unless you pull over, the task involves a seris of button pushes you’d rather not do when driving. Like when a phone rings—for the passenger in your car, of course I mean. Here’s a picture of an increasingly common sight. Rows of vacant businesses on Main Streetl in town after town. The solution is one thing the landlords will not do. Lower the rent. I’ve witnesses this phenomenon most of my life. They’d rather take a loss and go bankrupt.
12:00PM Finally getting out of the Wal*mart, where I stopped for batteries and blank audio tapes, I decided to decompress at the nearby Goodwill. I was double millennialized when I found the battery display. I wanted some Aas only to find there were eight different makes and models, all making the claim to be longer-lasting. Damn generation, the best they can do is change the label and the pricing. The most expensive set on the rack were $18.
Goodwill has changed for the worse. The merchandise is overpriced, considering you get no warranty and cannot return anything. The only remaining good section is the books, and they’ve applied the “Borders” formula, where they stock only what is moving rather than a good variety.
At the skateboard factory.
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1:00PM I’m over the Georgia line near Fargo/Edith. Once more, smooth sailing but no bars and the Reb has an understanding that I call to check in. The only opportunity was a short window of service near Pearson, GA. But I could not hear her. Also, I like to snack on those pre-made veggie trays while in the car, you know, to avoid fast food. I could not find a market. In the end, I drove from Lake City, FL to Dublin, GA before I finally spotted a Kroger’s between a gap in the trees.
This strange situation, 180 miles without a grocery store. I was in the wilderness, but the farms that were around had cash crops, including cotton, which I did not know could still be grown economically in this area. That means the locals must buy their food somewhere. I’m used to things being within walking distance and I drove nearly four hours without seeing even a Publix. Hey, Publix is supposed to be everywhere.
2:00PM Just north of Dublin, GA we got cell service again. I know because JZ called in his usual disbelief that you can travel without having a thousand dollars on you. I got on his case for not visiting with Alaine at the Festival. He further does not believe I crash in the car, telling me to be sure the rednecks don’t set it on fire. This, coming from a guy who lives 800 yards from the Dadeland Mall.
Dublin was one of those unmarked intersections, I opted for the road most traffic was turning. Garmin is bad for that, with things like “proceed to marked route”. If I knew where the marked route was, would I need GPS. Another Garmin favorite, “Proceed to Oak Street”. Fine, if you know where Oak Street is. It would be an “assume” to think there are any road signs. And, if there are, they are usually the economy size that cannot be read from more than 20 feet at more than 20 mph.
3:00PM The chosen route, called the 441 Bypass resembles Florida Hwy 27. Smooth, well-maintained, but in the middle of nowhere. I know the era is over, but I miss how all the roadside diners are gone. Instead you get clusters of generic gas stations selling mostly over-priced jerky, it looks, and string cheese. The trip is wilderness.
It is covered with a smaller vine I’ve never seen before. It isn’t any kudzu I’ve ever seen. I’m approaching the long awaited frosty area where the leaves change color. I’ve waiting years to see that event. Both the Hoh and Everglades are evergreen, so it has been a really long time.
5:00PM I found a donut shop with great coffee. The Athens Dunkin. It must be near a campus, which I appreciate on a number of levels. One not present here was skinny college women, but I was okay just to spend nearly an hour over the coffee. Stopping on the road for this reason is also a lost situation. I used to love how one could stop for coffee and pie at some local diner anywhere before the franchises drove them into the dirt. I keep hoping things will revive, but if they do, it will cost you an hour’s wage for the pie & coffee.
6:00PM Getting too dark to travel, I found the local Wal*Mart Arms and checked in. Google has again locked me out of my own account. The same old dook that even though I know the password (which should be their only security measure—and don’t argue the point unless you can grasp it), they can’t “confirm” it is me. Like they have some ordained right to confirm anything.
7:00PM Then found the nearest pub with WiFi. Called Loco’s Bar & Grill, ii suspect I’m the only stranger they’ve had in months. Three dollar Buds and a skinny lady I was about to hit on when she left in a flash. A four-door flash. I would have crashed at her place. That’s a reminder that I’m still single. But if you must know, I would not have done her. She talked to too may barflies, checking them out, before spotting me on her way out the door.
