Murrs Across America

I woke up feeling like I’d slept in a muggy washing machine tumbling with Vaseline, elbows, knees, heads, and invasive little fingers. The kids smothered me all night. My benevolent husband gave me some time to myself in the tent after the inevitably early Brady wakeup at 5:50 with the time change. He is a wise (and wonderful) man.

We were on the 9:30 tour of the Florida State Caverns. They were beautiful. The kids especially enjoyed seeing the Eastern pipistrelle bats and splashing in the cave puddles, and I enjoyed the delicate cascading rim pool formations and the brief darkness allowed by our tour guide.

We ate lunch in Marianna at the Gazebo Coffee Shop and Deli courtesy of Larry O’Reilly’s friend and colleague, Walter Spence. Larry is a Springfieldian and an experienced cross-country bicyclist who has provided us with tremendous insight. Debbie from the Marianna post office enthusiastically contributed to our cause over lunch too, and she called Deborah at The Jackson County Floridian to set up an interview.

I am so thankful for the generosity of the people we meet; thankful that they understand we’re trying to be part of the solution for very pressing issues in this nation; thankful that they recognize the value of the experience we’re sharing as a family; thankful that they’re demonstrating to my children a great kindness I could never teach them alone.

We enjoyed visiting with Debora, and she wrote a really lovely article. I feel horrible for the negative comments my birthday blog post yielded in its remarks section. I changed the post as a result, and will be more mindful of the perception of my comments.

We rode in the rain from Marianna to Chipley and hunkered down at the Executive Inn. We walked in the rain to the Cancun Mexican Grill restaurant up the street, and the kids helped me make up a marching duck family song. On the walk back to the hotel a family in a car stopped and offered to give us a ride. People are so kind.

Our hotel room clotheslines dripped and we slept in beds, safe from the flooding streets.

The lady at Hardees thought we were nuts. And she told all her customers that too. But she let us fill up our water bottles with ice, and that was nice.

We biked in hills and wind over many dead snakes and dead butterflies. We were so tired that we all stopped for a Sunday afternoon nap under a tree. We have a speaker that plays music from Stuart’s phone and I remember drifting off under a cloud like a wave to the tune “Skylark”. Brady slept in the Burly, Jane and I on the shark towel that I brought at Brady’s behest and on the advice of Douglas Adams, and Stuart just slept on the hydration pack on his back and our stuff sack of pillows. (He’s hard core).

When we made it to Florida Caverns State Park, a kindly ranger warned us against pedaling two miles uphill on a bad road. We would have tried it without his advice: warm showers were at the end of that road! Instead we opted for the more accessible youth camp area with cold showers. We did have the campground to ourselves, so the kids stripped down and played in the hose and I made a yummy stir-fry that we had to march around to eat because we were attacked by swarms of bugs. The showers were cold, the bugs were intolerable, the ants were ruthless, but the bat and firefly show was fantastic. Also, we all slept very, very poorly.

Turns out Florida isn’t flat. The foothills of Appalachia start in Tallahassee, where bike lanes are scarce as whole wheat bread in a southern diner. We slowly made our way out of town, having bid farewell to our exceptional hosts, Ashleigh and Dustin, in their neighborhood full of “Max trees” that Brady said looked like they were straight from his favorite book, >Where the Wild Things Are.

Because we had a flat tire, and because our optimism was waning in the face of pulling our 100-pound loads up the first hills of our trip, we stopped for coffee. Then we stopped for gyros. Then we stopped for something else and something else.

Eventually, we made it to Quincy, where Quincyfest was underway. We met the gentleman in charge of biking for the Florida Department of Transportation and exchanged information. We waited in the hot sun for the kids to get painted by volunteers outside Quincy’s exceptional Gadsden Arts Center, and enjoyed the exhibits, air conditioning, and cool water fountains inside the historic building. Other children in line to be painted were curious about our bikes and clothes and asked us about our trip. They were amazed we were sleeping outside, and though they were nonplussed when we said we were headed to Oregon, it was really impressive to them that we were biking, that afternoon, all the way to Chatahoochee, which is apparently way far away.

Sporting fresh ink, we pedaled onward toward Chatahoochee, pausing briefly for Jane’s five star tantrum over a ripped sticker page.

Finally, we enjoyed a birthday feast at Jerry’s Restaurant, the only eatery in town, which was hosting its monthly gospel sing. The restaurant was homey, if, like Stuart’s Mema, you’re a fan of (lighted) Thomas Kinkade art and heart-shaped grapevine wreath decor. The cups were pretty filthy (but promptly replaced by an attentive waiter) and the Fried Calories were excellent. Plus, if an Elvis impersonator wasn’t going to sing me Happy Birthday (see the note for Brady’s birthday), at least I took tremendous pleasure in the local scene, which could have been one from my own home town. At one point, the gentleman who was singing about holding the hand of the Lord extended a trembling hand skyward and just missed whacking off some fingers in the supped up ceiling fan. I didn’t wish him any ill will, mind you, just I thought it was a funny scene, and I’m glad no one got hurt. The music was a treat. The day was a treat.

A kind Jerry’s patron gave us a recommendation for free camping, and we descended our last hill of the day to camp in frog and star song and to drink a bottle of BP’s finest draught.

(Photos to follow)

It rained. We rested. Stuart took the kids to the interactive children’s museum, where they saw “Big Robot Dinosaurs” and enjoyed themselves thoroughly. I caught up on blogs and made a few film clips for the Spring Out Springfield Family Jamboree and Brady’s third birthday. I also received my one-day-early birthday present: a massage by Eric at Artful Massage. It was heavenly.

Dustin made a feast for dinner: barbeque chicken, veggies, salad, and mashed potatoes. I made my favorite chocolate cake recipe and blew out a candle.

Actual conversation from Highway 27 on the way to Tallahassee:

Stu: Hey Katy, I made up a song.
Kate: Oh.
Stu: I can sing it for you!
Kate: OK
Stu: It’s great, it teaches math, and it can just keep going! OK. Ready?
Two dead possums on the road,
Two dead possums nowhere to go,
One was skinny, and one was fat,
Now all the possums are pancake flat.
Three possums on the road…
Kate: Got it.

Besides the possum song, Highway 27 into Tallahassee, a departure from our maps but the most direct and recommended route by the locals, was pretty unremarkable. However, we did stop beneath a huge live oak for a rest and ice cream. We navigated Tallahassee’s non-biker friendly streets to Mecca: showers, laundry, fantastic lasagna dinner, and new friends Ashleigh and Dustin.

We had met Ashleigh and her mom last year on the Katy Trail. They were headed west on the Trans American Trail across the country. She was one of our chief inspirations for making this journey, and for avoiding as much of Kentucky as possible. Over dinner she shared insights from her adventure and told stories of the kindness and oddities she had encountered.