After sampling New Orleans, I headed west, in search of the Atlantic Ocean. But I did not choose a direct route, which should come as a surprise to no one, I'm sure. I headed east out of Baton Rouge and entered Mississippi. Since I was in the extreme southern portion of that state, it was a quick journey. But I did take Highway 90 so I went through Gulfport, Biloxi and Pascagoula. Lots of shrimp boats around these areas.

I made it into Alabama unscathed. Here I was also in a skinny portion of the state. I trampled my way through Mobile and then got off the beaten track down old highway 98. This was suggested by Marie, and was a good bet. I even stopped in Fairhope, where Marie lived for a good stretch. It's a nice little town. I took a picture of the downtown area, which I'll send her!

I continued down Highway 98 through really pretty terrain. I arrived at the Gulf of Mexico in the Gulf Islands in a town named Gulf Shores in a campground called Gulf State Park. They're big on the Gulf down here, as you can see. There are good reasons for that. It is a fine area.

I went for a wonderful afternoon walk down along the Gulf. When I returned to the campsite, I heard a strange noise. Around the bend came a Park truck with a device in the back that was spraying out a fine mist into the air. My suspicions were aroused, then confirmed a short time later just before dusk when the most vicious horde of mosquitoes you could ever hope to see descended upon me, finding every tiny millimeter of uncovered flesh.

I am certain in my bones that not even those vile cigars the folks back in Louisiana used would work against these miniscule monsters. I retreated into the camper behind my secure screens, though I had to spend a while dealing with the ones that made it inside as I entered. Bad Bugs!

I proved to be a bad student when ordering breakfast the next morning in Alabama. Before I left Seattle, Elthea, Shawn and Marie patiently trained me in how to order Southern food so I do not come across as a hopeless Northerner.

But when I ordered "a mess of grits and a slab of cornbread", the look on the waitress' face told me I'd failed to benefit from the training given me in Seattle. She said, "You're not from around here, are you, Sugar?"

Now this is something I haven't quite gotten used to. Many women will address a perfect stranger such as myself as "Sugar" or "Honey". And the men invariably address me as "Sir", mistaking me for someone deserving of such a salutation.

Speaking of southern traditions, I decided to be a good tourist and try out a southern delicacy recommended by several locals. Boiled peanuts. Say what? After the first bite I decided it was an acquired taste. Acquired only in the womb. I forced myself to try a couple more just to assure myself I wasn't missing some reason why people would subject themselves to ingesting these vile things. Then I calmly and surreptitiously disposed of the remains in a place where no human being will ever find them. The world is safe again.

I followed Marie's great suggestion and stayed on Highway 98, which is a slower way to go, but the scenery more than makes up for it. Besides, who's in a hurry? This route took me through Pensacola, Fort Walton Beach, Panama City and Apalachicola, where I had a great lunch of fresh seafood, including a huge mound of shrimp only hours from the waters of the Gulf. I was assured by the waitress (who called me "darling") that the tradition down there is to "suck the heads off" and I did indeed see some other diners doing so with great gusto. I tried it, but failed to see the attraction. The sauce provided for the shrimp was spicy and hot enough to strip rust off chrome. But tasty!

By the time I reached Perry, Highway 98 went inland, so I headed north to my destination of the evening. The renowned Suwannee River! Yes, that's the correct spelling. And it is very picturesque, though I understand the only way to fully appreciate it is to take one of the small tour boats through its winding, twisting curves under trees draped with Spanish Moss.

I did take a great bike ride to the Stephen Foster Cultural Center, where I learned among other things that Mr. Foster had never even seen the Suwannee River when he wrote the song "Old Folks At Home". Guess it didn't matter...

The Suwannee River State Park where I camped was mercifully bug-free and extremely quiet. The humidity had lowered to a more comfortable point due to a low pressure ridge descending from the north (thank you, Weather Channel!). But that night it got COLD! I mean it got down to 65 degrees! I haven't experienced such bone-chilling weather in many weeks! J

The next day I struck out for the Atlantic Ocean. I wound up in very northern Florida on Talbot Island. It is a very nice area, with a salt-laden breeze keeping the campsite very comfortable.

The next day I took what turned out to be a fantastic ride south. I first took a ferry across the St. John's River, then hopped onto the A1A, the fabled Florida highway. Though it goes through some urban areas, most of it is right next to the ocean, with some great spots to pull off and do "ocean things". Speaking of which, the surf that day looked like it would provide a pretty tame experience if you happened to have a surfboard with you. Tom and Colin would have been bored to tears.

By mid-morning I arrived in St. Augustine. This is a very historic town among a lot of others in the East. Spain founded it in 1565, though they'd tried to settle there as early as 1513. From then until well after the Civil War the city went through numerous ups and downs. It was attacked and burned to the ground by Sir Francis Drake in 1586. The pirate Captain John Davis did the same about 80 years later. The English attacked the city several times during the 18^th century. They endured attacks by Native American tribes and a terrible outbreak of yellow fever. Then they endured the ravages of the Civil War. Jeez, what a life!

I continued down the A1A to Daytona Beach. This city gets invaded every March by Bike Week. This event brings tens of thousands of dirt bags and wannabe dirt bags on their thundering Harleys to wreak controlled mayhem and spend a ton of money. Things were much calmer during my visit.

Ominous thunderheads immediately to the south of Daytona ended my day's southerly ride. But the ride back was truly fine.

In fact, the rain to the south kind of made me change my itinerary. My loose plans had been to go to Southern Florida so I could bike out to Key West. But Southern Florida had been getting rained upon with a regular vengeance. The day before areas around Tampa Bay had gotten 4 1/2 inches of rain in one afternoon. So...

I headed up to Savannah, Georgia. Here's another town with a rich history. Founded in 1733 (long after St. Augustine!) by British General James Ogelthorpe. The General came up with a very creative layout for the city, with long, wide streets and featuring numerous public squares. I walked around for a while following a guide that leads you from square to square. Pretty fascinating.

But Savannah drivers and I were in strong disagreement about what constitutes safe, not to mention courteous driving. Perhaps it was just coincidence, but some of the worst and most insidious tailgaters I have ever experienced dogged my every move. These folks were so close behind me that if they had turned on their high beams they would have blistered the paint on the back of my bike. I got thoroughly tired of pulling to the side of the road to let these morons pass by.

And I was stunned by the sheer number of people making sudden lane switches without the benefit of something as simple as the use of their turn signals. After several scary near misses, I decided to let them fight it out among themselves without the benefit of me as a target. I headed for the boonies where my biggest fear is the unpredictable antics of Bambi.

I stayed at a State Park on Skidaway Island. Really nice park with great nature trails that wind through saltwater estuaries covered in saw grass.

The next morning I decided to begin my journey to Sturgis, South Dakota. Now, you might ask why on earth would I go all the way to Florida, as far from Seattle as you can possibly be and remain in the contiguous United States, then double back to within spitting distance of Seattle in South Dakota? Need you ask? In part, it is because there's just so much of this beautiful country to see. Also, it is just the way the summer's schedule works out.

Heading westward on the highway in Georgia I saw a sign that read:

I was taken aback that of all the items (and backup items) I brought along on this trip, I failed to anticipate the need for Caution Ripples. Actually, the sign should have read "grooved pavement", since that is what most normal states call the road condition ahead.

Saw another good bumper sticker: "If it wasn't for flashbacks, I wouldn't have anything to remember"

I decided that during this portion of the trip I would try to avoid the Interstates and wherever possible stick to State or County roads. It takes more time, but you generally have a better time.

I headed west in central Georgia through backwater towns you've never heard of. Nice terrain, gentle rolling hills and lots of live oak and pine trees. I saw a lot of houses that looked like they would be a pleasure to live in, featuring large covered porches with comfortable chairs for enjoying the evening. I also saw evidence of grinding poverty.

I made it through the state to the twin cities of Columbus, Georgia and Phenix (correct spelling), Alabama. The main attraction here seems to be auto racing. There are several dirt track speedways, some drag strips, and some "outlaw" tracks, the purpose of which escapes me. The Chattahoochee River splits the two towns, memorable if nothing else for a great name.

I wound up in Montgomery, Alabama, a town that is also rich in history. Certainly many of the key events in the Civil Rights movement happened here, and there are some Memorials to that effect within the downtown area. And what can you say about a city where the city's leader in named Mayor Bobby Joe Bright.

The only certain event on my immediate itinerary is a stop in Memphis, Tennessee. In part, this stop is to get some mail from home. Well, get some bills if the truth be told. Ever-dependable Deano (of Deano & Deano, Attorneys at Law) is collecting my mail for me. I called ahead to a known stopping point so he could forward the pile of mail to me.

I chose to have it sent to a particular place. See, when I'm looking for a place to camp, my first choice is a wide-open place like the Bureau of Land Management offers in the West. There aren't very many of those here in the east.

My second choice a State Park, many of which are top-notch. Ranking a distant third are RV campgrounds, which offer a haven from the highway and a safe place to camp. But they are often "wall-to-wall" or "awning-to-awning" campgrounds. Not particularly appealing to me.

I chose the "Kampground Of America" ("KOA") in Memphis with good reason. KOA's are like MacDonald's. At McD's, you know you will not be getting anything in the vicinity of a gourmet meal. But wherever you are in America, you KNOW WHAT YOU WILL BE GETTING.

Same with KOA. It may be far from the best camping in the world, but it will not be sub-standard nor will you have lowlifes for neighbors (present company excepted). And having a nationwide directory, I can call ahead to get their approval to have Deano send my mail to me at their address.

To top it off, this particular KOA is on ELVIS PRESLEY BOULEVARD! How can I go wrong with this? And it is within a short drive of Graceland, which I will definitely be visiting. While I never have been much of a fan of most of his music, I am utterly fascinated with the legend he has created. I look forward to seeing his legacy in Memphis. Long live the King!

So that's it for this one. More next week!