On To St. George Island.......

Continued from (click here)

Fluffy Landing and other fine places........



We are approaching the Gulf of Mexico and it was time to take a left hand turn onto Florida State Highway 98 and head for Apalachicola. Gee…. That’s a fun word isn’t it? Our destination would be the State park campground on St. George Island just off the coast from Apalachicola.

Since we had all the time in the world and this was supposed to be an adventure, we decided to get off the main roads. Highway 98 runs all along the coast but does not always give us a view of the Gulf of Mexico. There were local roads on the computer map that would take us off the beaten track and promised an adventure. “Toots” the GPS unit was interfaced with the computer maps so we had nothing to fear…..

It was so enjoyable getting off the highway. A couple of miles down the road we came to a little town, I am not even sure if it was a town or just a widening of the road. There on the right hand side of the road was a ‘general store’. I could pull off and park less than a block away.

Now you have to understand that to me, shopping is going into a store, picking out the item, and proceeding to the check out as quickly as possible. That’s just the way men are wired. To Irene, shopping is entertainment. After all the years together I still cannot rap my mind around that one.

While walking up to the ‘general store’ I asked her what we needed. She replied
“I don’t know, but I will know it when I see it.”

The store was right out of an old movie complete with a covered porch and a couple of comfortable wicker ‘whittling chairs’. The owners lived upstairs and the store had been in the family for almost 100 years. Store hours posted in the window were “8 AM till whenever” Closed Sundays. It was dimly lit, especially in the back of the store, and it smelled of leather and baking spices and other wonderful smells right from my childhood memories. Up on one shelf there were kerosene lamps complete with white glass shades, there were large blue and white porcelain coated canning pots on another shelf. Of course there was every canning, pickling, and preserving spice imaginable. And boxes and boxes of canning jars and lids. The store also had an ample grocery selection with fresh and frozen meat and seafood.

You could buy wool blankets, bib overalls, straw hats, and baby shoes - and the list goes on. Hunting and fishing equipment was on display - the guns were not even under lock and key.

I walked around the end of one of the isles and found the hardware and automotive department, with anything you would need for minor repairs and oil changes. Another corner of the store was devoted to the farm items, including a selection of barbed wire and steel fence posts.
I am sure this is where Sam Walton got his inspiration for the Super Wal-Mart stores.

This was indeed, a ‘General Store’. I found it simply fascinating and Irene found just what she wanted, a genuine rag doll for her granddaughter. Upon checkout the owner rang up the sale on a cash register where he had to push the numbered buttons in unison. It sang out “ka-ching…. ka-ching…..” as the cash drawer opened. I guess shopping really can be entertainment after all. What a change from the more sophisticated stores that caters to life in the fast lane.

Back to the motor home, let Gizmo out to do her thing, and back on the road – looking forward to the next adventure.

“Toots” on the other hand, didn’t have the same sense of adventure as us and she was always trying to get us back on the designated route – Highway 98. She would say “Turn left in ½ mile.” When I would pass the turn she would say “Make the first legal U turn.” She sure was persistent and wanted to have things her way. I hate arguing with a machine…. I hate it even worse when I lose the argument.

OK… time to get back on Hwy 98. I thought I would get “Toots” off my back and I turned left to get back to Hwy 98. This road was going to take me through a residential area, but “Toots” seemed to think she knew what she was doing. I looked at the road in front of me. There was a double yellow ‘no passing’ line running down the center of the road, and the road seemed to disappear into a valley. It sure looked OK from where I sat.

I came to the crest of the hill and saw what every motor home driver fears most. Just a half block ahead the road came to a dead end. Why? I ask myself, would there be a double yellow no passing line on a dead end road? There surely was no traffic to pass. It must be some sort of conspiracy to see how many people get trapped. And now “Toots” tells me again to “Take the first legal U turn.”

“Hey Toots,……” remember that our total length – motor home and “Toad” (RV’ers talk for ‘towed vehicle’ – my Saturn Vue) is pushing 55 ft. I am about the same size of a semi truck and trailer. There is no way I can make a U turn on a narrow two lane road. A semi truck could have backed up the 2 ½ blocks. I cannot back up at all with the toad attached without damaging the tow bar or the steering on the car.

An old man in bib overalls and a straw hat came out of one of the houses to sit on his porch and watch. I can imagine what he was thinking….
“Who in his right mind would ever drive a motor home with a Toad down a dead end street?” “Oh….. Wisconsin plates….. That explains things…..”

I will have to unhook the Toad and back the motor home out while trying to look cool all the time.

Even after unhooking the car, things are still not easy. Irene can turn the car around in a driveway. I will not even attempt to turn a 37 foot motor home around in someone’s driveway. I will take my time and back up the 2 1/2 blocks to get to the main road. Not so bad, I have great mirrors on both sides and the backup camera monitor on the dash make it fairly simple – if it were not for…… Gizmo......

Gizmo, our Papillion mix, has been with us for 10 years now. She was just a little pocket pet when we brought her home. Her ears stood up just like the main character in the movie “Gremlins”. We just had to name her after that famous animated creature – thus her name, Gizmo.

I still don’t know if she is a Momma’s dog of a Daddy’s dog. I sit down in my lazy boy – she can hear me put the foot rest up all the way from the other end of the house and she comes running to jump up on my lap. Now this is not just a normal dog run – this is an all out gallop – I swear it is faster than when she chases a squirrel in the back yard. Nearing her target, with one gigantic leap she is airborne. Fourteen pounds of flying dog land squarely on my chest. It’s enough to take my breath away.

When I take a nap she is right up on the bed with me. Everywhere I go, Gizmo has to follow. For ten years now I have been trying unsuccessfully to break her of following me into the bathroom. I would definitely have to say that she is a Daddy’s dog.

So……

Irene gets in the car and I am in the motor home with Gizmo and the cats. This is when Gizmo decides she is a Momma’s dog. Believe me when I tell you that a full blown case of separation anxiety is no fun in a motor home.

She jumps up on the passenger seat, jumps down, runs around the motor home looking for Mom, whimpering and whining, panting heavily and drooling excessively. Her anxiety attack causes her to “blow her coat” and she starts to shed. She was losing her hair faster than me during my chemotherapy.

Now I am trying to back the motor home out of the dead end street and she has to Jump up on my lap, panting, whining, clawing at my chest and drooling all over me. In a flash my freshly laundered shirt is covered with dog hair and slobber. What’s worse is that for some reason Gizmo’s breath and her slobber smell horrible when she is having a panic attack. On the positive side, she has not peed on the floor….or my lap… yet…..



Stay tuned for the next stop and enjoy....

"Life in the Slow Lane......"