The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

The days at St. Joseph’s Peninsula passed by rapidly, yet leisurely too. During the second afternoon there, we talked about staying for one more day. However the neighborhood was in flux, it was Sunday afternoon, people were going, and new ones might be coming in. So we decided to wait ‘til the next morning to decide. We walked the beaches and nature trails along the bay, spoke with the folks in the Bambi (it was gorgeous, a 2007, 16 foot Airstream; but probably cost as much as our cottage, and weighed 3500 fully loaded), and had a long conversation with a couple from Wisconsin in an 86 GMC motor home. This was a beaut in a different way. Built when gas was cheap, America was on the road, and everyone wanted to get into the RV game. One of General Motors ventures (and there were several), it had a Toronado drive train with front wheel drive; and dual rear wheels, one in front of the other, with an air suspension system balancing the load between the two, and providing an oh so smooth ride (according to the owner). Inside, it was a little home, king sized bed across the back, full kitchen and bathroom, dining area with easy chairs, swivelling front seats. A place of comfort. It gets about 11 miles to the gallon, and they love and baby this gem. A real classic, it was only made for about five years, then gas prices and economic conditions in the late eighties caused the demise of this dream, and many others (Trilliums included). It was a wonderful example of American engineering in a time gone by, but it still works today, if you factor in comfort, and savings on lodgings and meals to compensate for greater fuel costs. We, however, are still pleased, for the most part, with Bucko and the Buug, our 14 year old, all wheel drive Aerostar, and our 31 year old Trillium.

That night we walked the boardwalk between the two campgrounds, to watch the sun set into the bay (twas gorgeous), check out the heated washrooms in the fancier campground (ours was unheated, and showering with a cold 25 knot wind blowing through was bracing), and look at the big rigs parked there. As we walked back, we saw billows of smoke coming from where our campsite was, so we knew either the trailer was on fire, or we had new neighbors. The lesser of two evils appeared as we got closer, and we saw two guys in a van, setting up their tents, drinking beers, and cursing at a fire that was more smoke than flame. This is a campgrounds, and people will have fires, but why they chose the site right next to ours when there were at least 25 others available, and why they were so inept at getting their fire going, only the gods know. So we resigned ourselves to eating in the trailer, and sleeping that night with most of the windows closed. Still, we awoke the next morning feeling and smelling like smoked meat, and Donna had a very sore throat for several days. We also took it as a definite sign that it was time to move on.

From St. Joe’s, we decided to head inland a ways, through Honeyville and Wewahitchka, then headed west to Callaway, a suburb of Panama City, to stock up on some groceries. Knowing what the coastal highway was like from there to Pensacola (imagine any coast in America, shopping malls, souvenir shops, high rise condos on the beach, the endless repetition of Burger Kings, MacD’s, Super 8’s, KFC’s,… almost bumper to bumper traffic), we again headed away from the coast to route 20, that runs parallel to the shore, but 15 miles inland The difference was phenomenal. The roads were abandoned, there were a few run down houses and shacks, the roads were lined either with pine forests ready to be logged, or recently logged, or halfway in between. In Ebro, a crossroads of two numbered highways, there was a motel trying to make a go of it, but without a car in the lot, a pizza place similarly empty, and a taxidermist. Just outside of town, after a long bridge over the Choctawhatchee River, there was a turn off to a public boat launch. Thinking what a nice quiet spot for a picnic lunch, we pulled in, not realizing what we would find. First a carcass of a small bear was lying just off the road, then down in the water was a severed deer’s head. The place was filthy, and we were sure that we heard a banjo playing, and a scene from Deliverance was about to happen. We quickly got back in the van, and back onto the highway; but we couldn’t shake the feeling of evil and death that permeated the stop. At the next crossroads, we turned back towards the coast, and in ten miles were back in the heart of high density Florida Coast schlock. It definitely was the Bad, and then the Ugly, but the ugly was familiar, and felt safe.

At Destin, we called ahead to Big Lagoon State Park (which was about 45 miles away), our intended destination for the evening. We were surprised when we were told that although they had plenty of room, we only had 90 minutes to sunset when the office closed for the day, and we probably wouldn’t make it. Thinking the Ranger was pessimistic, we thanked him and forged ahead, only to experience the late afternoon traffic along route 98. We reached the town of Mary Esther, and hit traffic that was so gridlocked, that in the last 45 minutes as we watched the sun fall to the horizon, we traveled five miles at the most. Just as dusk was falling, we saw a Wal-Mart in Navarre, and realized the highway gods had spoken. We could spend $40 in a public RV park, be jammed in with wall to wall big rigs; look for a motel at $50 for a place to sleep; or enjoy the relative space and quiet of the far end of the Wal-Mart parking lot for free (and also get in a bit of last minute shopping). During the night, it rained a bit, but that only added a layer of natural white noise which helped the ambiance, and we awoke refreshed and ready to carry on. During my pre-departure walkabout with the dawg, I also discovered the quaint little evangelical church next door, with the Ten Commandments hand lettered by the front door, and two sweet angels on the gate posts leading to the front steps. While stopped to take a photo, I was approached by a 60 year old couple in a old Ford Explorer that appeared from a little roadway behind the building. We chatted for a bit; I learned that the building the church is in was moved from down the road a piece, that the land was a bit of donated overgrown, scrubby area, and the congregation, Praise the Lord, was constantly growing, and necessitated the new white gravel parking lot they had just finished installing. Eventually, I found out I was speaking to Pastor Bob himself, and he extended an invitation to join them any Sunday that I was in the area. Thanking him, but saying we were heading on shortly, they wished me well, turned their vehicle around, and drove the 100 feet back to their home behind the church. It was a somewhat surreal start to the day, this humble little church, juxtaposed against the Wal-Mart Supercenter and parking lot, just on the other side of the wooden fence.

From there, we soon took the bridge over to Santa Rosa Island, and drove the length of the long narrow bit of land that lies just south of the mainland. There were miles of beach houses and large, high rise complexes, again with for sale sign after for sale sign; and then long stretches of totally isolated beach and dunes, the Gulf Island National Seashore. We ventured down to Fort Pickens, a historic landmark on one side of the entrance to Pensacola Bay, but decided to pass on stopping, as it was just recently reopened, and the weather, timing, and urge to get settled for the day pushed us on towards Big Lagoon. So we backtracked a bit, crossed into Pensacola, wound through a somewhat downtrodden part of town, and eventually made it to Perdido Key (after passing the large Pensacola Naval Air Station, home of the Blue Angels). Very soon, we were at the gates to Big Lagoon State Park, and soon had found a quiet site to our liking. We had spent several days here on our last trip, and both remembered it as different than it now was. It was more barren, with a number of dead and broken trees. They had recently had a controlled burn, but it seemed that something more catastrophic had happened. Still, it was quiet, and we were somewhat secluded, and we had power, and showers, and a place to stop and spread out and relax again for a day or two. The next morning, as I was doing some laundry in the sink at the shower house, I got into a long conversation with one of the Rangers, and heard the full story. 5 years ago, Hurricane Ivan had roared through here, and a thirty five foot high wall of water had crashed over the Key and Park. Three days later, when they could again approach the Park by boat, the water was still at the level of the window sill of the ranger station we checked in at. Now, five years later, most of the facilities have been rebuilt. The land itself is much the same, but the flora was impacted, with a number of trees either uprooted or killed by the salt water. But in general, the ecosystem kinda shrugged it off, said OK, things may look a little different, but life goes on, pretty much the same. The gators are there, the frogs and turtles and snakes, the armadillos and coons and polecats, the birds and bugs, and yes, even the campers and Rangers have returned.

We did our normal leisure activities: long walks with the dog around the trails (but never on the beaches, oh no); snooped and chatted with the neighbors and owners of various interesting rigs; took photos and did some writing; ate, slept, and ate some more. We saw a lovely new Airstream conversion van, 22 feet long on a Sprinter Frame and drive train. It was gorgeous, had the famous Mercedes five cylinder diesel engine that gets 22 or more miles to the gallon, and is really the state of the art for this type of vehicle. But they run $100 grand new, but deals (?!?) can be found for only $85,000. We also met and talked with a couple from Ontario who had a lovely old Itaska C-type Winnebago. It was short (20 feet) and wide and high, with a very nice lay-out: couch into bed at the back, full kitchen then tiny , clever full bath on one side; dining table that drops into another bed on the other, a third bed over the front seats, lots of storage over, under, and inside; and a good bit of comfort everywhere. It was an 86, and in excellent condition. Although it only gets half the mileage as the new Airstream Sprinter, it also only cost $8500; and you can buy a heck of a lot of gas for the difference in purchase price. Again, we were interested in what we saw, but for now were happy with what we have. We also saw a huge Freightliner motor home, and then another one that was the bigger brother. It was so big, it was both unbelievable and obscene. But I guess if you live in a million dollar home, with all the bells and whistles, your rig has a certain standard it has to live up too.

But really, the high point of the stay was the moonrise on both nights we were there. One of the walks goes over a series of boardwalks and bridges (for the safety of the animals below, and the humans above), and goes across a long body of water, appropriately called Long Pond. Having watched the moon wax over the past days, and noting where the sun was moving in the afternoon, I knew we were in for a magnificent moonrise over the small lake. The first night, we ate a quick dinner, then headed out the boardwalk to see what we would see. And there was the most beautiful moon, shining down the length of the pond. It, and the trees on the shore, and the white cranes on the small island in the midground, were all perfectly reflected in the calm surface of the water. It was breathtaking. And we were alone. At least 45 of the 65 sites were taken, and no one else either bothered to look, or figured out what might be happening, just a five minute stroll from theirs campers. When we finally returned home, we could see the blue glow of the TV’s in some of the big rigs along the way. My god, what’s wrong with these people. For us, one of the reasons to travel is to get away from the patterns and routines of everyday life, the weekly TV shows, the daily barrage of news and entertainment. But for some, going camping is taking the same old, same old, putting it on wheels, driving somewhere for a week or too, and doing what you always do, except maybe lighting a fire in the fire pit around dinner time. But then again, it was really sweet to be the only ones on the bench on the boardwalk, for the second night in a row, when the moon came up even bigger and oranger and more spectacular. I guess having a TV in all those big monsters really is a good idea after all.