Gulf Coast Getaway, Day 4

Coastal Ways
Wednesday May 26, 2010
Copyright(c) 2010, Jim Beachy

"Life is full of important choices" announces my t-shirt today. On the back are 18 different bass guitars. My choice today is to hug the coast, mostly on US 98, until we either reach Panama City or run out of time. It's a beautiful, cloudless morning, the first such on our trip. The temperature is a bit cool, with heat creeping around the edges of the day. This is differentiated from a warm morning with coolness creeping around the edges.

We ride out of Tallahassee through a park, and immediately stop to take some pictures of the Spanish moss draped over the live oak trees. A guy comes out of a house to walk his dog. "I guess this is just what you see every day," I say, "but to us it really looks exotic."

"The leaves are the biggest problem," he complains.

The GPS route calls for five hours of riding time, to which I estimate we will add three hours of poke-around time, for a total of a moderate eight hours to our destination. There are six state parks potentially on the itinerary for the day.

After a brief unsuccessful detour to the Leon Sinks Geological Area (unsuccessful because seeing the sinkholes involved several miles of trails and we aren't in the mood for that much walking today), we ride the periphery of Edward Ball Wakulla State Park, to which, interestingly enough, we never really find the entrance. The first real stop is St. Mark's National Wildlife Refuge, about 25 miles south. We fill out the paperwork and leave $5.00 in the envelope on the honor system. There's a road to the lighthouse, 7 miles farther south, which the GPS lists as "unpaved." But the park attendant assures us it's paved and we ride slowly to the lighthouse flanked by vast expanses of marshes and pools. At the lighthouse we walk along the levee and take pictures of the pelicans and cormorants sitting atop each available wooden pole from an old decrepit dock. I suppose it's like musical chairs: odd-bird-out.

Leaving the park, I realize we've already used up two hours of our poke-around time but then remember that we'll "gain" an hour today as we cross into the Central Time Zone at Appalachicola. We stop to use the rest rooms as we leave the park entrance, and Kitty keeps her helmet on. Walking back to the bike, she suddenly says "I hear that noise again!"

"You mean the buzzing?"

"No, it's kind of like a snapping or rattling sound."

She moves her head around and suddenly says "It's coming from somewhere in my skeletal system! That's what I was hearing on the bike yesterday!"

"Hmmm. We'll have you inspected for loose parts when we get home!" I say helpfully.

We leave US 98 west for US 319 for a while and ride to the entrance of Ochlockonee State Park but pass it up. After rejoining US 98 west as we travel toward Carrabelle, the highway is ruler-straight and lined with pine trees, a very pleasant if unassuming little ride.

Onward toward St. George Island State Park, where less tree cover exposes large expanses of the sparkling Gulf waters. The houses here are virtually all built on stilts, sometimes sitting impossibly tall and straight, small houses on tall stilts, others so large as to seem ungainly for stilt construction. "It seems like a hurricane would carry them away," says Kitty. One house seems certain of its foundation: Built of solid block, it sports a sign in the sandy lawn that says "Hurricane-proof!"

The bridge over Apalachicola Bay to St. George Island is four and a half miles long and curves gracefully over the dappled waters of the bay. We ride to the park and learn from the attendant at the entrance gate that there are eight miles of beach but only four and a half miles of paved roads. A great place I'm sure, but on a Gold Wing, not so much, so we retrace our steps through the brightly colored stilted houses set amid the shrub-covered sand dunes.
In Apalachicola we decide to stop for our impromptu lunch and the GPS routes us to a tiny park that's closed on Wednesday. It has a picnic bench under a live oak tree, though, and other than the ants that take over the picnic table, it's a great place for our little picnic. The temperature has been warm, mid-eighties, but the occasional cloud cover has kept us very comfortable.
Running west of Apalachicola, US 98 is once again straight and tree-lined on both sides. A seawall of large rocks greets our entrance to the peninsula that terminates in St. Joseph State Park. At the park entrance we ask the ranger what to expect. "Beaches, fishing, camping, boating," he replies.

"We do none of those things on our Gold Wing!" I laugh. So we circle around and retrace our route. The sand dunes here are more pronounced and larger than at any point on our trip.

On our way to the town of Port St. Joe we see a mama duck and her five baby ducklings crossing the road. In Port St. Joe we see a church sign that might qualify for our son Kevin's pantheon of Worst Church Signs: "Hang out with Jesus. He hung out for you." We stop for a rest room break and I find Kitty longingly eyeing a display of Klondike bars. "Stop it!" I say. "Do not waste your ice cream allotment on something as prosaic as Klondike bars! Use your allotment on special ice cream!"

Running northwest on the straightest stretch of road yet, mile after mile, we eventually run onto the southern reaches of Tyndall Air Force Base and are treated to several fighter jets doing aerial maneuvers and the thunderous roar of another lifting off from a runway near the highway.

From Mexico Beach to Tyndall AFB to Panama City, I begin to realize I'm in some trouble. It's a 35-mile 4-lane stretch of shopping malls and car dealers, red lights and traffic. Each time we stop at a red light, I can feel Kitty's heel thumping on her foot rest: Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. From all the miles we've ridden, I know this is not a good sign.

But we do finally arrive at the Hampton Inn in Panama City Beach. Kitty flops face-down on the luxurious bed and gives me the corner of her eye. "You were in violation during the last hour!" she says seriously. I knew it! I just knew this was coming! A quick mental review of Kitty's Kardinal Rules for every motorcycle trip instantly reveals the problem: No snakes. No cities. No traffic. I have clearly violated Rule #3 and I have no defense!

Then her face dissolves into a big grin. "But it's nothing a nice dinner and a little ice cream couldn't fix!"

So I set about atoning for my sins. Normally we try to eat healthily and sparingly on our trips, but sometimes a man just has to do what a man has to do! We start by having a dozen raw oysters at Billy's, just a short walk from the hotel. They serve them New Orleans-style: Freshly shucked, little tins of cocktail sauce and horseradish, and with a plentiful supply of saltines. Break out a saltine, dip the oyster in a little cocktail sauce and a lot of horseradish, put it all on the saltine, and smush the whole thing down in one bite! Oh, yeah, oysters just don't get any better than this! We can't get oysters like this in Washington DC!

Next we walk a little farther to Capt. Anderson's Seafood Restaurant. The captain always abbreviates his title as "Capt." and operates a marina that features evening boat cruises on a large three-story vessel. After being seated by a perfect little table overlooking the marina, we both opt for charcoal-grilled amberjack, which is served with just the right amount of charring and is a feast for the taste buds. It's a memorable evening as the sun sets behind us and the lights come on in the marina and the hotels across the bay.

"Would you care for dessert?" asks David the waiter.

"Well, here's my situation," I say, and explain my predicament. "Is there an ice cream place we can walk to?" The nearest is Brewster's, he explains, but it's nearly a mile from here and there's no sidewalk.

"I can help!" David says. "Let me bring the dessert tray."

And indeed he can! Kitty selects a decadent nut-crusted chocolate-caramel-cake goopy thing with two scoops of ice cream, and we eat it all.

Back at the hotel, I ask if my transgressions have been atoned for.

"Quite!" she says with a contented little grin on her face.

By tomorrow night we should be seeing our grandbabies in Gulfport!

GPS Track Day 4