Veterans Memorial Park

A lovely morning greeted us last week at Veterans Memorial Park at the beginning of the Seven Mile Bridge. We weren't alone as there were already people sitting on their cars staring at the horizon.

They left so Rusty and I had the place to ourselves, the sun was up and the quality of the light mattered more to me than apparently to the sun worshippers.

Hurricane Irma has left it's mark still apparent:

The spoil islands left by Flagler's engineers who dug out the foundations of the bridge were washed away in part by the storm. The tired coconut palms are still flopping there:

Shipping is still out there, though in smaller numbers these days.

The porta-potties are not going to replaced soon. I met a former colleague who now works for the county and he told me the officials are studying what to do and what gets done is nothing. The toilets remain wrecked and unusable.

They mow the grass and keep the place looking good and Rusty was happy as he loves to roll in grass.

The sun was well up but the place was still looking good.

Setting fire to perfectly serviceable picnic tables seems particularly stupid but these people live among us, like it or not.

It's a nice spot and I had a rather photogenic dog with me.







Across the new (1982) Bahia Honda Bridge.

And so home.

Van Is Done

I used to ride a scooter, or to be more accurate I rode motorcycles and scooters for half a century. It didn't end well but those fifty years were packed with excitement and genuine adventures, the sort of situations with an outcome uncertain; but aside from all that drama I met people I quite like. Bill lives in Jacksonville and agreed to have lunch with me Tuesday before I picked up the van from the shop.   

Those regrets about not riding mostly centered  around the people I met and liked, so meeting Bill and spending an afternoon with him put Jacksonville high on my list of post-travel places to settle down. Imagine never having to drive I-95 again unless I felt like it (fat chance)? Imagine starting a road trip nine hours up the massive Florida peninsula. Pensacola, Hilton Head, Asheville are all destinations of interest put with a day's ride. I have a scooter riding friend in Virginia in the middle of some lovely riding country and he would be not too far from Jacksonville. I was told I'm not a planner. Obviously I'm trying to change that...

Meanwhile bill and I had to catch up and when I suggested an Italian lunch he took me to Maggiano's where we had a nice intimate lunch and as neither of us has been on a date for a good few years we took a booth to practice, because we will meet again. Bill has lived in Jacksonville all his life and he is the epitome of a conch, decades designing buildings, knows everyone everywhere in everything. I rather enjoyed following his lead.

He had chicken piccata and I countered with the item next to his favorite which was a chicken Frances, an extraordinary chicken breast fried in cheese. That was a new one on me and I really liked it.

We talked of this and that, as you do, and the effects of the virus were apparent to us especially to Bill who is used to a city far more vibrant in public places than it is now. It is a story familiar to us all, the effects of the virus, the shortage of workers, the lack of foot traffic, a local man who sees his city changing before his eyes.

We shared a dessert, something called a butter cake which took me back to my English childhood of sponge cake and treacle sticky and delicious as promised by the capable young woman taking our orders. I overheard her tell a nearby table she has already had the virus once but was only recently eligible to get her second shot and the tribulations of work. 

I was taken aback when I was told I was too healthy to get a Moderna booster and when I heard her talking I wondered one more time how it is to be young and healthy and unable to evade the virus. We old fogey seem to be the lucky generation as usual, not the greatest but perhaps the luckiest. To be a 20th century boomer- lucky us.

Bill had offered toggle me dignified transport in his truck but we settled for his 21 year old Miata deployed usually to participate in autocross competition and also dusted off for honored guests. It was great fun zipping around with the roof off and a manual gearbox at ear height. It put me in mind of a motorized wheelchair as pedestrians were visible from the knees down! Great fun.

I had the great pleasure of transporting Bill to a spot unknown to him. That dogs aren't allowed on the University of North Florida campus put the damper on the possibility of taking a walk here. Indeed I came here because Rusty was tucked up at home missing me horribly.

Bill took me to Freedom VanGo to pick up Gannet2 but the best part was when we pulled into the parking lot he exclaimed. HIs office is here? he said about an engineering firm next door to the van shop. I've worked with them a few times. Then as he drove off to leave me to deal with the details the youngsters started oohing over his sports car and it turns out they had their own souped up model and the conversation turned to convertible two seaters...He gets around down does the architect of Jax.

But we are here to ooh and ahh over my van. The bright yellow suspension is the sign I have aftermarket suspension supporting my heavy old van. The yellow one on the back is a Sumo Spring that supports the rebound weight of the van and is much larger than the original.

Obviously riding the freeway home isn't the best way to test new suspension but I will say the cornering on the ramps was fun and I think surprised a couple of sedans stuck behind the big gold box.  I picked out some potholes and took them at speed and was surprised the box didn't bottom out. I think I may have organized a good thing here. Testing on dirt roads will be in order soon.

Freedom VanGo also installed the. Van Compass winch on the front and they did a nice job. My wife decided they were the people to install the new front license plate and are it look nice. I have always liked the fact that Florida is a one tag state like so many in the south, so it pains me to have to feel like I should travel abroad with an extra tag on the front. It's not a legal requirement but experienced Overlanders say its a way to reduce roadside conversations explaining why, unlike the rest of the world you don't have the regulation front license plate. So here we are and t looks like it was always there. Thank you Ebay:

The other job was the installation of what is known as a skid plate, or if you are English, a bash plate. The idea is to protect the engine and transmission of the van from flying rocks on gravel roads and other off road obstructions. Its not designed as the maker told me to encourage serious off road driving with my home. I'm okay with that. It was designed around the Promaster and covers the extra alternator while offering easy access for fluid changes.

The suspension change included an alignment and after that I was on my way home. It occurred to me as I settled into the boredom of I-95 South that the van is done. We have taken care of the things that have occurred to us to take care of and I feel as ready as I can to go out and see what there is to see. The next year will see us testing the van, ourselves and the accessories to make sure we were right in our plans. 

"Piss Poor Planning Promotes Piss Poor Performance. Prior Preparation and Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance. Positive Pre-Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance."

I think the point of the saying is to avoid piss poor performance so we are doing our best to do our best and put the odds of a successful outcome in our favor. We met a lot of people over the years who do fine taking off and figuring it out as they go but we feel better about trying to get the basics right so we can enjoy the journey. When you go sailing the most important thing is to trust the integrity of your vessel and that lesson I learned well. It is no fun in foul weather wondering if your mast is going overboard soon.

Rusty was right there waiting for me to slide the side door open after I parked the van in the driveway at 4:25 am. That was always the hour we took neighborhood works before I left for my work shift so off we went down the street after he had smothered me for a few delicious minutes. Then I settled down on the bed aboard Gannet 2 to avoid waking my slumbering wife and Rusty curled up right next to me, as though he too is preparing for the new life that starts in 11 days. 

Clouds

I have come to expect interesting skies in the evenings when Rusty and I walk the mangroves, our alone time. This here is the turn off the Overseas Highway looking across the channel to the west.

We will be gone I think before the winter migration gets into full swing so these days I am grateful for the few permanent residents who fly around above us as we walk.

Our target date is the morning of the 25th and I want to get out of town at three in the morning as I prefer to avoid traffic. Layne will follow at a more civilized hour in the Fiat which she will be delivering to a friend at our first stop in familiar St Petersburg.

One thing we are having the hardest time shutting down is our Sirius satellite radio service. I've had it since it first appeared as I enjoy radio where I tolerate television. I used to work on the radio which I dare say informs my preference.

The trouble with autopay is I have no idea what my access codes are after a dozen years. The service works flawlessly but Layne isn't much of a fan and the time has come to shut down our subscription. Two calls and some research and all we have found is the credit card payment which is now stopped. Somehow this is unsatisfactory to me as I would rather stop the process properly but the operators at Sirius sound as helpless as me. I have given up hoping the hiring problems across this country won't affect me too.

With less than two weeks to go you know deadlines are running real close, but of course we have planned to handle our mail on the road (St Brendan's Isle) and we will be in the US for another six weeks probably so its not like its a hard deadline but I'd rather switch off the change of life button in my head and get on with the new/old nomad life instead.

Meanwhile the daylight ends in the company of Rusty who seems mostly unfazed by the chaos of vanishing furniture and ever larger empty spaces surrounding his bed, an isolated island of normal in a sea of change.

I will be curious to see how he reacts when we come back next winter after our circumnavigation of North America more or less. People who don't live with dogs wonder if they remember but anyone who has lived with them know they remember perfectly. He will be excited to be back and no doubt I shall be also.

I watched a video recently of a young couple who travel with huge smiles and genuine curiosity in a Promaster van with a cat and a dog. They chose to put their van in a container to ship it from Panama to Colombia. Another much older couple traveling near them had to ship their tall Sprinter in a merchant ship where they roll it on and off like a ferry. I wanted to compare experiences.

The older couple turn every setback into an ordeal where the youngsters laugh and smile and create an adventure, not a real adventure just a fun new experience. I stopped watching the gloomy older van travelers as their constant moaning and dire headlines were off putting. The Vandersons I enjoy greatly.

Layne and I had been talking about shipping our van from Florida to Colombia and flying with Rusty going as freight. However the Vandersons took an hour long flight and rode in three seats with their large dog on the floor between them. A laser light went off when I saw that and now the pendulum is swinging in favor of making the drive through Central America...I think Rusty will thank us.

We've been looking at old travel pictures and that has actually helped spark renewed interest in Central America. There is much to see we previously missed. And flying with Rusty will be quite enjoyable.

At the moment the glum older couple were still waiting for their van, in a luxury apartment in Cartagena de las Indias in Colombia when the youngsters dropped by on their way to meet their container. Waiting can be a nuisance but what else is there to do? Miss a deadline? I hope I never forget the privilege of my time being my own.

Wherever I am in the world I will remember these thunder heads and the sweeping sounds of storms rolling in unimpeded by mountains across a landscape as flat as the sea.

Winter brings clear blue skies along with the return of birds from all over the place. I wonder if it will get properly cold this winter? 

It will for us and we are ready to enjoy that challenge.  I have spent much of my life drifting through other people's lives, those settled and happy to be in one place. I envy people who stay put and sometimes I have tried to emulate them but it ends up not working. It's odd too because I am, as my wife likes to point out, a creature of habit. 

At a farewell dinner with friends Manfred looked at me while addressing Layne and said he doesn't like to plan does he? Manfred grew up in Europe and settled in South America where he got ousted by a coup and came to live in the US. Through it all the businessman made his plans and lives in a lovely home in the middle Keys, an enviable life. He thinks I am mad to consider driving Latin America, but is too polite to grab me by the scruff of the neck to shake sense into me. 

I asked Layne on the way home what he meant. I thought I was a massive planner especially considering all the details we have been micro managing together these past months. We sold our house and rented five years ago in anticipation of retirement and started pondering vehicles for our trip. We bought our converted Promaster two and a half years before liftoff, which date we brought forward from next April as originally planned. We talked of trucks and camper trailers, RVs and Jeeps with tents. We planned like nobody's business.

I got finally what Manfred meant. I make no plans beyond the next one. When I emigrated to the US I had no idea what I was going to do except escape from my family. I had an idea I would end up in Australia, the furthest point from Italy I could find. Even now I have no idea where my story ends, we could decide to settle in South America or somewhere else on the way. I have a vague idea of coming back to the US and living on a boat in St Petersburg ending the story where it began forty years ago. Maybe not.

One reason I am not a fan of comments was another nasty egg dropped by Anonymous who finds bravery I suppose in being snide while hiding. I am in for a rude awakening s/he said. I had thought the story of our sail through Central America would put to rest all the couch potato negative commentary but I guess there's always a hold out. Let me be clear.

I am not a Conch, I don't believe in the concept of fresh water Conchs because either you are or you aren't and I am not a native of these islands. They own them and they manage them and they let some of us live here which is a privilege I have respected and enjoyed. But it’s time for a difficult change. This page is advertising free, there are no pop ups  and I’m not selling anything least of all myself. I’ve paid my dues to not require Internet income, Patreon patrons or heaven forbid- sponsorship. Enjoy this little page for what it is but please express your negativity on Facebook which specializes  in promoting drama. I want none of that here.

I'd like to draw your attention to a traveler you've never heard of who just recently died after driving for a quarter of a century through 195 countries including I might add, North Korea.

Gunther Holthorf German Driver 

Then ask yourself why you've never heard of him. Odd that! He never even had a web page or a digital camera…