2/11/26
Well, I had thought I was going to write about Tallahassee! After my long (4 hr and 20 min) Greyhound ride from Spring Hill, I did spend a rich two nights and one full day there, staying with my Servas hosts Tim and Regine. (Who had been specifically recommended to me, I should add, by my amazing Fresno Servas host from back in May, Carole.) I also met up with two friends of Tim and Regine’s, Tom and Ka—also Servas hosts—and also attended a dinner party hosted by another friend of theirs, where I met many interesting folks: musicians, activists, and the like.
But I neglected to take any photos! (Except for these two beautiful collages that Ka created; she sent me photos of them to support me in my journey. I love them!)
The good news is, I plan to pass back through Tallahassee in a few weeks, and I’m looking forward to spending time with several of these folks—and riding a new bike trail—plus meeting a few more. Stay tuned.
After my second night in Tallahassee, Tim dropped me off at the bus depot downtown, where I caught a bus that drove me for about an hour into Quincy, the small town where my father’s mother was born and raised. I did not have any time to spend there, unfortunately, but I hope to find some time to do that on my way back.
Instead, I set off on my bike toward the tiny town of Sneads, where I was to stay in a hotel for the night, followed by a half day of riding to the Florida State Caverns (pics to come in the next post) where I was to be met and picked up by my next host, Bonnie. But I won’t get ahead of myself.
Riding out of Quincy, through the tiny neighboring town of Gretna, I tried to imagine what it would have been like for my grandmother as a child. The area is still rather rural, with a lot of poverty.
I stopped to look at the old Baptist church in Gretna, wondering if my grandmother—raised as a Baptist—might have attended services or special events there at some point.
Across the street was the old school. I didn’t get a good pic of the school itself, but I wondered if, again, perhaps she and her family had attended plays or other events in that building at some point.
I pressed on.
Shortly before arriving in Sneads, I stopped for a few provisions in the small town of Chattahoochee. I was surprised and delighted to find a very new-looking small plaza there, complete with bike parking, benches, tables, outlets for electronic devices, and even restrooms.
Sadly, after talking to a local—from a nearby community, I gathered— who was using his laptop at the table, I learned that the restrooms were actually closed due to recent vandalism. We shared a very small-world moment, though, when I learned that this man—a hippie-ish looking fellow in his late 50s, I estimated—had previously worked the Oregon Country Fair one year, taking Amtrak out and back to do so!
I got back on the road, passing a local prison shortly before arriving at the very welcome Lake Seminole Inn.
This hotel was in the middle of nowhere. Without it, I don’t know how I could have made this journey. I was deeply grateful, and received a warm welcome from the man at the desk.
The next day of riding was a bit more difficult than I had anticipated.
Not long after I left the hotel, the bucolic riding environment abruptly turned into a straight-up dirt road.
Wow.
Several miles of this. I did my best to count my blessings: 1) the surface was pretty hard-packed and smooth. (Could have been a lot worse!) 2) It was not currently raining, and hadn’t rained recently enough for it to be muddy. 3) But it also wasn’t dry enough for it to be dusty, billowing clouds into my lungs as I pedaled. 4) There was almost no auto traffic.
Still, that is not my preferred riding surface. I was so relieved to see the pavement reappear!
But that relief was short-lived, as the asphalt soon gave way to sandy dirt again.
This back-and-forth happened several times, over a number of miles.
At one point on that long brown stretch, I saw in the distance what looked like a human figure standing next to a bicycle.
That couldn’t be, though, right?
Several minutes went by, and the shape grew slightly larger as I approached. At some point, I was able to see that yes, it actually was a man walking his bike.
Wow.
He was walking in my direction. I hoped he wasn’t having mechanical trouble—what a terrible place for that.
As we finally passed each other, I saw that he was a young man, probably in his early 20s. I smiled and said hello. He glanced in my direction—from ten feet away or so—but barely acknowledged me, and said nothing.
I found this very odd, but not unprecedented that day. There had been at least three locals I had seen, in their yards or whatnot, to whom I had smiled and said good morning, and been met with no response. I was a bit puzzled, thinking “Aren’t Southerners supposed to be friendly?”
It wasn’t a racial issue, of Black locals distrusting a white outsider; although that area has a high Black population (someone had told me that Quincy is currently 90% Black) these particular folks were all white. But maybe they had indeed clocked me as an outsider (because who rides a rig like that out there?) and therefore were suspicious or standoffish. I did find it odd, though, especially from that poor guy who had clearly been walking his bike for miles.
About an hour later, though, one guy did yell out to me from his yard, “Beautiful day to be ridin’!” I smiled and agreed.
Finally, the earth gave way to pavement for the last time, and I enjoyed the last few miles of the ride to the caverns. I even got to pass some more of that magical Florida water, right alongside the road.
Next up: the Florida State Caverns!
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