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| Burning Cane Field |
The ashes from the cane fields were falling gently this morning all over the campground, like the first snow of the winter. But we have miles to go before we sleep, so after sticking my head out the door for a quick gator check, we unhooked the shore power, detached the water hose, upped stabilizers, latched, locked, and moved ‘em out. Yippee kii yea!
Not too long after hitting the main road, we got a great view of a burning cane field from overhead while traversing a bridge. Unfortunately, by the time I got my window down, and camera aimed, I was just about a half second too slow on the shutter before the trees got in the way. So you get to see half a frame of burning cane field, poorly composed, and a half a frame of blurry branches. The whole shot looks like it was taken as an afterthought from a moving vehicle, which actually it was. Sorry about that. They can’t all be Pulitzer Prize winners.
We had the address for Anastasia SP plugged into the GPS, and I was really hoping that she would route us through Yeehaw Junction. Yes, that is a real town. I had no reason to go there, don’t even know what’s there; I just wanted to say I’d been there so I could tell some stories that start out "once, when I was in Yeehaw Junction …" Unfortunately, once we got around the east end of the lake, she skewhawed us off on a diagonal toward I-95 before we got that far north. When I say "she" I am talking about our GPS. We have a female nickname for our GPS because it has a female voice. Beth’s friend calls her sultry sounding car GPS "Destiny". That’s nice. However, I can’t repeat our GPS unit’s nickname here because it’s not nice. But she earned it.
On the way up 95 to St. Augustine I saw a billboard for a Stuckey’s, the first one I’ve seen on this trip. Now, the reason this is significant, at least to me, is that when my grandparents first retired decades ago and started traveling back and forth from MI to FL in their motor home, they always stayed overnight at Stuckey’s. My grandpa pronounced it "Stuke-ees", and I don’t really know if this is correct or not. But it doesn’t really matter, because I’ll never pronounce it any other way, anyway. Also, when Beth was a kid, she made the road trip from MI to FL several times, and she remembers the wonderful pecan logs they used to get there. It seemed like they were everywhere up and down the highway when we were kids, parking lot always full of Winnebagos and idling semis (knights of the road, you know, taking a break from helping stranded motorists change flat tires.) So since we needed gas, and we were both ready for some lunch, we pulled into the Stuckey’s Travel Center (Busses Welcome).
Lo, how the mighty have fallen. It looked just like any other gas station inside, selling sunglasses and sodas and cellophane wrapped slop. But there was one shelf that had a few modest stacks of canned pecan goodies, a shadow of the former Stuckey’s selection, almost apologetic it was so meager. They also had some small pecan logs, so we bought one. Later that evening around the campfire we split it, and while staring at the flames, we silently cherished our memories.
Okay, enough of that. Time marches on. Snap out of it.
Earlier that afternoon when we checked in, we asked the poor overworked ranger there to see if we could extend our stay a few days. We know how popular the park is and figured our chances were slim. He gave it the old college try, but between working the computer, answering the phone, assisting his colleagues, and trying to help us, he came up empty handed. No spots. He did suggest we come back in the morning to see if anything had changed. Once we got camp set up, we hopped on our bikes, made a partial tour of the park, and even managed to walk the beach before it got too late. Later that evening we went to Island Joe’s, the camp store with free WiFi, and wonder of wonders, by going online through Reserve America, we were able to find the one remaining vacant RV spot in the park for the days we wanted. So even though we’ll have to move campsites halfway through our stay, we were able to extend it two more days. Yea baby!
Later that night while sitting around the fire, we kept hearing an occasional loud hissing noise. We looked at each other; what the heck was that? Was it some sort of large lizard? An enormous snake, maybe? Well, funny story, actually. It turns out the noise actually comes from the super high-powered hand dryers in the nearby shower building. Must be we’re still spooked from all the alligator warning signs at our last stop.
We had the address for Anastasia SP plugged into the GPS, and I was really hoping that she would route us through Yeehaw Junction. Yes, that is a real town. I had no reason to go there, don’t even know what’s there; I just wanted to say I’d been there so I could tell some stories that start out "once, when I was in Yeehaw Junction …" Unfortunately, once we got around the east end of the lake, she skewhawed us off on a diagonal toward I-95 before we got that far north. When I say "she" I am talking about our GPS. We have a female nickname for our GPS because it has a female voice. Beth’s friend calls her sultry sounding car GPS "Destiny". That’s nice. However, I can’t repeat our GPS unit’s nickname here because it’s not nice. But she earned it.
On the way up 95 to St. Augustine I saw a billboard for a Stuckey’s, the first one I’ve seen on this trip. Now, the reason this is significant, at least to me, is that when my grandparents first retired decades ago and started traveling back and forth from MI to FL in their motor home, they always stayed overnight at Stuckey’s. My grandpa pronounced it "Stuke-ees", and I don’t really know if this is correct or not. But it doesn’t really matter, because I’ll never pronounce it any other way, anyway. Also, when Beth was a kid, she made the road trip from MI to FL several times, and she remembers the wonderful pecan logs they used to get there. It seemed like they were everywhere up and down the highway when we were kids, parking lot always full of Winnebagos and idling semis (knights of the road, you know, taking a break from helping stranded motorists change flat tires.) So since we needed gas, and we were both ready for some lunch, we pulled into the Stuckey’s Travel Center (Busses Welcome).
Lo, how the mighty have fallen. It looked just like any other gas station inside, selling sunglasses and sodas and cellophane wrapped slop. But there was one shelf that had a few modest stacks of canned pecan goodies, a shadow of the former Stuckey’s selection, almost apologetic it was so meager. They also had some small pecan logs, so we bought one. Later that evening around the campfire we split it, and while staring at the flames, we silently cherished our memories.
Okay, enough of that. Time marches on. Snap out of it.
Earlier that afternoon when we checked in, we asked the poor overworked ranger there to see if we could extend our stay a few days. We know how popular the park is and figured our chances were slim. He gave it the old college try, but between working the computer, answering the phone, assisting his colleagues, and trying to help us, he came up empty handed. No spots. He did suggest we come back in the morning to see if anything had changed. Once we got camp set up, we hopped on our bikes, made a partial tour of the park, and even managed to walk the beach before it got too late. Later that evening we went to Island Joe’s, the camp store with free WiFi, and wonder of wonders, by going online through Reserve America, we were able to find the one remaining vacant RV spot in the park for the days we wanted. So even though we’ll have to move campsites halfway through our stay, we were able to extend it two more days. Yea baby!
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| Anastasia SP Beach, St. Augustine |
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