Days 38-40: The Fun Coast

Sections of coastal Florida compete for tourists through the use of various nicknames such as the "The Emerald Coast," "The Palm Coast," and the more direct "Fun Coast." St. Augustine is part of the "First Coast," as in the first coast you see when driving to Florida and also the earliest-settled coast. South of the First Coast is the Fun Coast. On the morning of Monday, October 5 I picked up my last map at the St. Augustine post office and set out for the Fun Coast. Family friends from Ann Arbor had invited me to stay at their part-time home in Flagler Beach, approximately 35 miles to the south, and have a look around.

The McCauleys' house is located less than one mile west of my bike route, across the Intracoastal Waterway. Complete with a screened-in backyard pool, it was built just yards from the waterway, where they see dolphins and manatees on a daily basis. I arrived early in the afternoon and stayed through the following day. Being extremely hospitable folk, they took me out to lunch at a delicious oceanview restaurant, let my grungy self swim in their pool, and gave me an educational tour of the local area that included the largest remaining southern live oak in the South: a gargantuan individual known as the Fairchild Oak, believed to be four centuries old (I'm pictured in front of it here). It's branches are so long and heavy that they drag along the ground. One branch is actually buried and resurfaces a few feet beyond.

Florida is experiencing a heat wave at the moment, and residents are complaining that it feels like August here. Each day this week came close to breaking temperature records for October, so I was lucky to spend one full day in the McCauleys' air conditioned home. Reluctantly, I left Flagler Beach on Wednesday, October 7, which ended up finally breaking the record with a high of 93 degrees. Around midday I hit Daytona Beach, which I was surprised to find has a really fun, retro feel and is populated by tiny 1- and 2-bedroom beach bungalows painted all different colors. Extensive beach erosion has caused the waves at Daytona to lick at the very toes of the high-rise waterfront condos and hotels, meaning I could see the waves crashing in between every block to my left as I was riding.

Leaving Daytona Beach I took a water taxi across a large inlet not spanned by bridges, as recommended by the McCauleys. Anything that gets me off of the bike saddle is a no-brainer for me, and given the heat it was a scenic and breezy way to eat up a few miles, despite the fact that at the pier I was subject to the most expensive ($6.50) root beer float yet. Bugger.

Days 37-39: St. Augustine, Florida

On Saturday, October 3rd I arrived in St. Augustine (City Hall pictured): the cycling crossroads of the South. The town marks the beginning (or end) of the Southern Tier cross-country bike route, which runs from Florida to San Diego, and the Atlantic Coast route I'm riding intersects here as well.

St. Augustine has several additional claims to fame for non-cyclists. It was established by the Spanish in 1565, making it one of the oldest cities in the U.S. In 1738 it hosted America's first free community of ex-slaves -- more than a century before slavery ended. And, to top it off, notorious jelly manufacturer S.B. Valls first brough the flavorful and exceptionally hot datil pepper here from Cuba in the 1800s.

I tried, but the truth is, I didn't much like St. Augustine. Although the city hosts many structures of historical significance including an old hotel, a very old cathedral, and an even older fort, they've been totally Disneyfied. Walking along the waterfront at night I saw lights shining from the windows, the outlines of palm trees lining the sidewalks and boats peacefully moored in the harbor, and I could almost believe I was in a real Spanish city. By day, however, tourist trolleys clang by every few minutes and any grandeur that was present is obscured by neon signs and informational plaques. It just felt sleazy.

Days 33-36: Arrival in Florida

On October 1, after one month on the road, I crossed the St. Mary's River and officially arrived in the Sunshine State. I spent the first night in Callahan, a town of 4,000 in Nassau County, the northeastern-most county in Florida. Here I met two bluegrass singers -- sister who had clearly once been the belles of the ball -- off to do a local festival that very evening. Yup, I was still in the South. However, the next morning I set off straight east to the coast, where I'll be all the way to Key West, and by mid-afternoon it seemed I had left the South behind, for good. The scenery around me had quietly morphed into the golf courses and pastel-colored villas of lore.

And I loved it! The hammocks in the front yard, starfish lawn ornaments, adobe siding -- maybe it's because my family never took beach vacations, always preferring to head for the ski slopes -- despite myself I fell head over heels for the beach kitsch and salt breezes. I felt that I was finally on vacation.

As several residents have noted to me, the north coast of Florida is the state's well-kept secret. Seaside towns here such as Fernandina Beach, Atlantic Beach and its next-door neighbor Neptune Beach (pictured) have not yet become overdeveloped strip mall meccas and miles of coastal dunes between them are protected as state parks. They've preserved their original shady, umbrella-like oak trees, and are real, year-round communities with schools and playgrounds, local restaurants, walkable zoning and average-sized houses placed cozily close together. My parents should totally retire here.

Days 31-32: Okefenokee National Wildlife Refuge

In the southeastern corner of Georgia lies fabled Okefenokee National Wildlife Refuge. At 1500 square kilometers it's the largest refuge east of the Mississippi and one of the largest remaining intact freshwater systems on the planet. A vast bog covered by unstable peat deposits 15 feet deep, it's name is derived from the Seminole word for "Land of the Trembling Earth."

I arrived at the refuge campground on Tuesday, September 29 and stayed until Thursday morning to explore. Nighttime temperatures through Georgia had been in the 70's but cooled rapidly to a low of 49 degrees on Tuesday night, cold enough that I could see my breath. Having only a polarfleece sleeping bag liner, I layered myself in all of the non-spandex clothing I owned and spent the coldest hours in the bathroom, which was outfitted with a glorious oil-filled radiator space heater. It goes without saying that I did not get to the swamp during the golden hour just after sunrise, when wildlife viewing is at its best, but rather arrived bedraggled at 10:30am and proceeded to eat my way through the next hour and a half at the visitors center cafe.

Despite the fact that the swamp supports one of the largest alligator populations in the U.S. it can be kayaked unguided, which was a thrill for someone like me who had never kayaked solo before. I spent the first two hours picking my way through a canoe trail so narrow I had to hold my paddle nearly vertical to fit it between the marshy banks, and saw the head and back of my first adult alligator swimming 20 feet ahead of my boat. On the return trip, I sidled over to the parallel Suwanee Canal (pictured), which was dredged during the 1890's by the Suwanee Canal Company in order to drain the swamp for agriculture. Fortunately, after three years of digging the company went bankrupt and left just this nice little paddling trail.

Days 29-30: I get by with a little help from new friends

On September 27, I arrived in the bucolic small town of Odum, Georgia, population 414, 70 miles south of Statesboro. Odum is a pleasant little town and residents seem proud to call it their own. One Methodist and one Baptist church face off across Church Street and an award-winning elementary school is tucked next door (As an aside, I may be getting old bc the swings made me slightly nauseated).

I had planned to stay at a campground just outside of town but discovered on arrival that it had closed two months ago. Gingerly, I approached Reverend Gabe Gill, pastor of the Odum Baptist Church (pictured), just after he completed his Sunday evening service, to see if he might allow me to unobtrusively pitch my tent out back. Having none of that, Reverend Gill offered me an air-conditioned building behind the church and unlocked church doors so I could use the washroom. He gave me a tour of the kitchen in case I wanted to use the microwave and have coffee in the morning and then left three phone numbers in case I had any problems. All this for a dirty, bedraggled stranger vouched for by no one. I also had the pleasure of meeting his lovely wife, Amy, and their three adorable kids, who were all curious about my bike trip and very welcoming. They embodied true southern hospitality and more.

I guess it's true what they say: when God closes a door (campground?), he opens a window.

As it happens, the next night's campground had closed its doors as well, so I stopped at a gas station in the town of Patterson for advice. It was recommended I should head to Nahunta (pronounced Nay-Hunna), as no area campgrounds were known but a small motel probably still existed there. Upon arriving in Nahunta three hours later, I found the Knox Motel darkened and locked. But two well-connected ladies at the Family Dollar assured me the owners were likely out for dinner, and went to work calling several friends and relatives. Not ten minutes later the owner was waiting for me at the motel, which, as it turns out, was really a very svelte little bed and breakfast outfitted with old, black and white family photographs and interesting antique knick-knacks. $55/night included a welcome bowl of freshly-sliced peaches and keys to the owners truck for errands.

Days 26-28: On breakfast...and Georgia

Just after noon and a delectable french toast breakfast on Thursday, September 24 I crossed the Savannah River into Georgia, and completed the 75 miles from Yemassee to Statesboro (pictured) before darkness fell. It was a vividly bright, hot day, with temperatures reaching the mid-90's, one of the hottest of the trip so far. Within hours of crossing the Georgia state line the scenery changed from South Carolina's endless highcountry pine plantations to what appeared to be the subtropics. 80-foot-tall rainforest-like trees, flat-topped with mottled white bark and greenery only at the tippy-tops, lined area creekbeds and hanging moss abounded. Here I saw my first armadillo (roadkill, unfortunately, and the first of many I've seen since), and pretty, old plantation-style properties were decorated not with cattle herds but goats and miniature horses. I liked Georgia immediately.

I stayed in Statesboro for two nights in order to collect a package from UPS. The city is home to Georgia Southern University and, at 27,000 people, is the largest city I'd see in Georgia. Incidentally, I also at the cheapest breakfast of my trip yet here, an egg and cheese biscuit with a side of raisin toast for $1.10, including tax, at Waffle House. Amazing.

Days 24-25: Life is beautiful

Leaving Charleston, I biked 55 miles inland to historic Walterboro, the seat of Colleton County. The days off had healed my saddle sores and faded the bruises on my hands and feet. I felt strong and fast again and remembered why I had once liked to ride bicycles. The first 11 miles out of Charleston took me on Ashley River Road, a National Scenic Byway, which passes three national historic landmarks: St. Andrew's Episcopal Church, and Drayton Hall and Middleton Place plantations (picture from Flickr). Ashley River Road is described on the National Scenic Byways official site as "a journey into the history, culture, and beauty of the South Carolina lowcountry. Ancient live oaks, Spanish moss stirring in a warm summer breeze, and elegant brick gates hinting at the architecture within hearken back to days gone by." It was lovely indeed and, on midday Tuesday, traffic on was light. If I'd had a wand I would have alighted Disney-style stardust on all the flowers and butterflies in my path -- that's how good I was feeling.

The next day I traveled from Walterboro to Yemassee, my last stop in South Carolina and came across the first (and still only) fellow traveling cyclists I've seen. Wendy and Leilani were on their way north to Boston after traveling cross-country east all the way from Tucson since the 4th of July. They had been baked to a deep brown color and gear was strapped to every available inch of their bicycles. Unfortunately, they were going in the opposite direction, but we stopped briefly to discuss saddle sores, the kindness of strangers, and why they loved riding through Texas. Good luck, Wendy and Leilani!