Murrs Across America

We knew May 6 was the National Day of Prayer because signs every 20 feet along Highway 90 told us so. In a perhaps unrelated story, as I was donning my bike shorts this morning, I accidentally flashed the preacher.

Cursing (quietly), I pulled up my pajama pants and went to change clothes across the street at the filling station, which features outdoor bathrooms for which you don’t even need a key. There, the kids and I met Bicycle Tourist Paul, who gave Jane a Barbie doll (sans pants) he had picked up in Madison. She had been bungeed to his rear pannier because he said he couldn’t resist picking up a half-naked blonde. I think Paul will have a good trip, and as he headed west I reminded him that it was the National Day of Prayer.

Jane was delighted with her new friend, who she took for a dip in Blackwater River a few miles down the road. We had a picnic there and saw the funniest thing: a man paddling upriver whilst standing on a surfboard. The man made this feat look easy in the strong current, then he turned his odd vessel around, picked up a passenger couture life-vest-wearing dog, and continued to paddle his board downstream.

This day was not without hormonal raging for me, and I earned three stars easily with a fit that ensued after I fell off my stopped bike into the road after missing a turn. Of course this was Stuart’s fault, and so for a 5 mile trail stretch into Milton we rode separately and I had a small pity party during which I stormed ahead of my family and considered compiling graphic images of my bruises and scrapes in a photo album and presenting it to Stuart on our upcoming June 1 eighth wedding anniversary.

Fortunately, the fantastic Milton bike shop, Truly Spokin’, was right next door to a chocolate milkshake. Or a really neat place that serves chocolate milkshakes, Sherry’s Lunchbox. Don’t miss this efficient stop in Milton, dear bikers. Sherry will fill your bellies and Victor and T.K. at Truly Spokin’ will handle whatever ails your bike.

Audie (the father of our good friend Mr. Eric Street) picked us up at the bike shop and took us to his home in Pensacola where we met his lovely wife Vicki and cleaned up for dinner. We dinned on the beach at Flounders, an iconic Pensacola restaurant, where the kids played in the sand and where Brady learned to head bang.