April 4-5: Easy riding across the Panhandle -- until the T-Storms came

Enjoyable, unremarkable biking through small towns, each dominated by a courthouse and surrounded by correctional facilities (lots of state prisoners cleaning roadside debris).  Good flat conditions, mostly friendly people, more churches than people, it sometimes seems.  Most places are "dry" or "semi-dry"  (maybe beer and Boone's Farm,  no quality wine or booze),  a few Confederate flags over trailer homes.  Lots of pine woods and cattle or hay farms. 

On April 5 we passed over the Suwannee River, but after 65 miles ran into a cell of severe thunderstorms, and ducked for cover.  Since we were close to the end, we packed up the bikes and headed for the nearest motel -- just before the torrential rain hit. 

We were all humming "Old Folks at Home" as we crossed the river (a sign called the river "historical") but a little research reveals Foster was really singing about a river in South Carolina and he mispelled the name -- thus the enduring error.

April 7 -- St. Augustine, Florida

We set out in fog from Starke at 8:09 am and were stopped by a flat tire at 8:09:15.  After a switch of tire types, we set out again.  As we neared St. Augustine the traffic increased steadily until it was a constant roar past us. After 40 miles, Bruce, sagging, met us, having driven the van to our motel and then bicycling back to join us.  He rode the last 15 miles twice. 

Ironically, two of our closest calls occurred today. A Georgia driver trying to turn onto the interstate nearly clipped Bill, and then, in heavy traffic on US 1, Paul, trying to make a left turn across two lanes, caught a tire in a rut and fishtailed in front of rushing cars, barely managing to right himself and at the last second veering off into grass --a quarter mile from the finish. 

We rolled into the Castillo de San Marcos at 12:30.  Kevin, a Florida bicyclist who is about to move his family to Seattle to work for Boeing, came up (not realizing where we were from) and when he learned we had ridden from the Pacific, he was willing to take a bunch of pictures of us, a lengthy process.

After all those days, those 2,900 miles, each of us felt a pang of emotion now that we were done. We wished Bob could have joined us. Over lunch we discussed, and found we agreed about, how much we appreciated the support of our loved ones.  Also, the willingness of our fellow riders to overlook the inevitable rough spots in behalf of the greater good.  And finally, the good will of the many people we met along the way.
 

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