Murrs Across America

Right out of the gates, Jane lay down in some gum that we had to cut out of her hair.  However, after we packed up camp and sent home our daily shipment of stuff edits, we pedaled to the beach, dipped our wheels, and officially began the biking portion of our adventure! (Note: The excitement wasn’t even thwarted by lugging our bikes through the sand.)

We traveled south for a ways, down A1A (I had assumed from the Vanilla Ice reference was in California) to 206 west, which was a fine road with a good shoulder. I saw one huge dead snake, lots of discarded CDs, and we had to dodge wood chips from the logging trucks. We stopped for a brilliant lunch a little way down the trail at a conservation area: deli cut Italian salami, baguette, cheese, tart granny smith apple, leftover cheese pizza.

The kids conked out in the trailer after lunch, and Stuart and I got some good pedaling in. Our route left the main road and went through a town entirely canopied by live oak and Spanish moss. Locals sauntered along the street, occasionally, and at one house a young girl belted out something that sounded holy, even if it wasn’t. Cabbage and potato fields lined the road. The sun felt just right.

We made it to East Palatka just in time for a blood sugar crash. I said something unkind to Stuart after he stopped quickly and I fell over (still getting used to the clipless pedals!) so we decided calories were the first order of business. Ahead, a Dairy Queen billboard beacon pointed us into Palatka. Fortunately, we saw Angel’s Diner first; Angel’s is the oldest diner in Florida, and the waitress crew is shown here. Tall milkshakes hit the spot, and we met a family preparing for an adventure to teach for a few years in Saudi Arabia. Caroline (7) showed Jane how to write her name in “Saudi Arabian” and the girls exchanged pictures and peacock feathers. Brady showed John (5) the gear in the bike, and Baby.

None of the locals at the diner, or our maps, had suggestions for places to stay on this side of town, so we pedaled downtown to the local bike shop for more direction. Dana suggested the Rice Creek conservation area 6 miles out of town on Highway 20, which he assured us had a bike lane. We headed that way, but I wasn’t seeing a bike lane and had a nervous feeling. I saw kids playing on the (huge) lawn of a church, so I decided to ask if we could pitch our tent in the church’s back yard.

The folks at the College Heights Baptist church were incredibly warm and hospitable. They invited us in for fried chicken dinner, put us on the prayer list, and let us camp out in their lawn and use their facilities. Brady even got to rock out on their drum set! One of the church members put in a call to Richard, who had toured the same cross country route a few years ago, and as we were settling in for the evening, Richard drove over to talk with us.  His advice and enthusiasm really hit the spot at the end of our first day on the road.

Thank you, Richard and College Heights Baptist church.

Our tour of St. Augustine, indeed our entire biking trek, began in the parking lot for the Castillo de San Juan National Monument. You’ll appreciate this photograph of Chris as he drove our truck away, after soliciting repeated assurances that we were ready, that we didn’t need the truck any more, that we were going. He helped us on our way and has been sending us encouraging text messages ever since we watched him drive away. We can not thank him enough for his flexibility and hospitality.

Nearly immediately we realized we had too much stuff. The bikes were heavy with our panieer set ups, and the Burleys were bulging. Both Stuart and I had works in progress on our personal computers, and though we had intended to ship them after we finished things up in a few days, it became obvious that they had to be shipped home rightthisinstantnow. We took some heroic photos at the historic fort and biked one block to Christy’s coffee shop where Stuart set up a computer lab. The kids and I stormed the citadel.

Oh the guns. Now. I grew up around guns. I earned my hunter safety education card when I was in the fourth grade. I’ve seen my dad shoot a black snake off a Purple Martin birdhouse pole in a lightening storm from a hundred yards. I know how to handle guns and I’m not afraid of them, necessarily, but it drives me pretty batty that my two-year-old son is completely obsessed with them. The fort had all manners of historic “shooting guns” and swords and probably a hundred cannons, all of which Brady loaded with imaginary “shooting gun balls” and “fire”. He shouted “Mommy, there are the pirates and these are my shooting guns…Two! Three! Four! Ready! Aim! FIRRRE!”

We enjoyed the fort, hooked back up with Stuart, then biked to a park to eat lunch. It frustrates me to no end to report that not a mile into the trip I had my first wreck and wound.  I caught the wheel of the over-heavy Burley on a curb, flipped it, and landed on the ground on my knees. I fixed a pretty good gusher with high-pressure water bottle irrigation, a tampon to clean out the sand, alcohol, Neosporin, butterfly Band-Aids, and a protective bandage. I did all this while Jane held my foot and said comforting words and while a school orchestra played ultimate Frisbee yards away.

I rested my knee and chatted with Chris, Gina’s daddy, while the kids played in the park and I worked up the gumption to get back on the bike. We biked to a shipping store to loose the computers and other weight, then on to the campground where Brady drove a golf cart into a deck railing, obliterating it. I was feet away at the time, so I grabbed him and he wasn’t hurt, but he was pretty shaken up.

The day looked better on the other side of some calories, and I walked to my tent from a big beer and a lovely cheeses pizza along A1A with a fresh baguette under one arm and the other one holding a sandy, stinky, wiggly boy who patted my back and sang a song to the beach.

A Purple Martin and Canada Goose alarm clock woke us up for luscious tent cuddles, a foggy lake morning hike, and dewy wildflowers. Jane is making a flower journal, in which she tapes flowers, leaves, and grasses. She is collecting small rocks, iridescent strands of Easter grass, and crayon rubbings of various textures. She scored big at Old Oak Lake.

I prepared coffee and oatmeal as Stu and the kids explored the lake, then we packed up camp and headed to Jacksonville. Most of the day was spent answering that we were not yet in Florida, not yet at the beach. And when we did arrive in Florida, there was an extended song in the back seat extolling the majesty of the beach along with a decimal shattering rendition of “Mommy says I can have my markers back and I love my markers,” (I had taken them away in Missouri after Jane’s full body tattoo incident.)

Our gracious host, Chris, met us near his apartment, drove us directly to his potty, and pointed us to the beach. The kids dug and rolled in the sand in the dark, and while Jane waded out a bit into the surf with us, Brady declined, saying there were whales and probably tree frogs (terrifying).

The plan was to leave Springfield after the Jordan Valley Park event to have family dinner with the Murrs in Cabool before setting out Sunday morning en route to St. Augustine. Here’s the short story on that: didn’t happen.

After the event, during which Jane and Brady ran and danced and splashed, the kids crashed for a nap whist I packed and Stuart cursed Sears for taking his magic locking lug nut or somesuch (he was attempting to change the breaks on the truck, our gallant pack mule).  Brady, didn’t wake up for dinner; slept 15 hours straight! Jane helped me make trail mix and deer jerky We decided to skip the dinner, let Brady sleep and pack well.

We left Springfield with a loose plan and a two-year-old in big boy pants. With pirate music blaring that we arrived in Cabool to pick up Stuart’s brother Mason, who would drive our truck back to Missouri after dropping us off at the beach in St. Augustine. Here’s the story on that: didn’t happen.

Mason decided not to go, so we decided to formulate an alternate solution on the road.  We drove, intermittently stopped for games of tag, made some phone calls, and by Birmingham, we had figured out what seemed to be a workable plan: Mel’s cousin Chris would host us overnight in Jacksonville, drive us to our St. Augustine starting point, and store the truck at his gated apartment or Orlando garage until someone could fly down and retrieve it.

We dined at a restaurant recommended by four out of four Adamsville cops and set up camp in the dark at Oak Mountain State Park in Pellham, AL. The kids excitedly flopped around in the tent, and Brady threw only one minor fit when I reclaimed my pillow. A neighbor owl asked questions while we slept.

We packed to the wee hours of the morning, and got up at 6am to prepare for a KY3 news interview and big day in the park. We were late for the interview, but Abby Wullner must have figured on that, because it turned out we showed up just in time for a short and sweet segment. The excitement of seeing how television is made was completely lost on the kids, who were enthralled by the huge bank of TVs playing pink and plastic Saturday morning commercials. The segment was short and Brady got a kick out of seeing Mommy on TV.

Amanda, Ryan, and Jeff and his amazing Springfield Greene County Parks Board team were completely rocking Jordan Valley Park by the time we arrived to set up for the event. Bruce, Loring, and other volunteers swarmed in to help. Tom Hutchison, host of Jazz Excursions on KSMU, introduced Teach to Inspire Yoga leader, Rod Buckner, who led the assembly in light stretching. The poker run ride was cancelled due to poor turn out, but about 25 people participated in the family ride. I’m pretty sure Clara would have won the event, had it been a race.  Once back at the park, participants enjoyed coffee brewed lovingly by Jason at The Hub, Panera bagels, and fruit from Mama Jeans. Parents as Teachers, the Springfield Greene County Park Board, Cox Health, the Watershed Committee of the Ozarks, and the Childhood Obesity Action Group held demonstrations and activities for kids, the fire truck arrived, then the music started. Members of Speakeasy, Member of Big Smith, (Jody Bilyeu), and The lowdown Fancy rocked out with cellos, mandolins, and guitars of FIRE, while more and more people trickled into the park to enjoy free Andy’s Custard, Chipotle burritos, and the brilliant music. Joe West and Jason performed various impressive bike tricks on a ramp, and at one point Brady took off his pants and streaked most of the way up the fountain “stream” that flows down to the park’s stage. To his credit, the pants were wet…

My parents, and even my grandmother and Bob, came up from Anderson for the event, and my friend Melinda Sampson drove all the way from Webster County. Tom raffled off sponsor donations and finally the Trek 7000 bicycle from A &B Cycle, which went to our good friend Rae of Rae and Jeffery, with whom I enjoyed a fantastic barefoot tango as Speakeasy played something bluesy.

Thanks to all who participated, donated, volunteered, and sponsored to help make this even a success.

Enjoy your local park today!