Saturday 6th March 2010 - The Climax of Bike Week

          It's Bike Week in Daytona Beach.   It's another beautiful day here, and Saturday is "Cruising on Main Street" day (nothing as organised as a parade for these guys).  I can take great pleasure in cared-for mechanical objects, so I just had to go hang out.

          I walked up-and-down Main Street, in and out of bars, enjoying the cameraderie and the machinery, till I could walk no further.

 

          There were aged rockers

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and aged bikes

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some, apparently, historic

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lady bikers

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some of whom might, just possibly, have been grown-up

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and some who clearly weren't

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There were helmets

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and a bemused cyclist, who had clearly misunderstood the event title (as I confess I did when I first heard it)

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And, of course, the stars of the show, exquisitely customised bikes

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and trikes

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one with what must be the ultimate acccessory

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And some people who had just come on their motorbike

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But all of it drowning in a shimmering sea of chrome

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          Later that night, once I'd uploaded, I just sat about enjoying the pictures.  If you're a glutton for punishment, they're all at

http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/sredir?uname=mvslavin&target=ALBUM&id=5445669545660236113&authkey=Gv1sRgCLP6lsmJmYLy5gE&invite=CIrTt5YM&feat=email , but be warned: there are about a hundred (one of the joys of digital photography is you can make as many attempts as you like at "getting the shot", and only have to worry about needing to stop to replace the battery).

 

Friday 5th March 2010 - Back to Nature

After getting a few things up-to-date, it was off to the National Wildlife Preserve at Lake Windrush.
Ever since they took me into the Mojave in their 4-wheel drive to visit Glasgow California, I've been a big fan of the Park Rangers. When people denigrate government (which is a very popular sport here) I like to point out that there's another side to it. And so it proved today.
I was told it might be a bit cold for the 'gators to be out-and-about, but I was hardly into my stride (this was essentially a walk to catch up on all the walks I've been missing for the last 10 months) when one popped up about twenty yards away. Actually, it was just sunning itself, the 'popping'as just my perception. I controlled my instinct to flee (and my bowels) and got a picture. It was sunny enough to avoid camera-shake

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After that acclimatisation the rangers went the whole hog (if you'll pardon the metaphor) and produced a big bull

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I also got an Anhinga, a turtle, an armadillo, a great heron (I think), a big bird of prey (an osprey?), and flocks of egrets.

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And, as if that wasn't enough exercise to be going on with, it was of to Lyonia in the afternoon. Lyonia is part of the county library. It is reconsituted Florida Scrubland, and the home of scrub jays. These are native to the Florida peninsula, and not found anywhere else. There are large and emphatic instructions not to feed them, but it is clear from their demeanor that they expect something, so the instructions must be being ignored.

When we disappointed them, one of them tried to eat me

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Thank goodness it wasn't an alligator. I hope I don't get ornithosis.

After another long trek, we repaired to the library cafeteria for a well-earned glass of water. After 10 months of practically no walking at all, today seemed to consist entirely of walking. I shall be stiff tomorrow.

Thursday 4th March 2010 - A Bit of the West Indies

          It being Bikers' Week, the the Daytona Beach News-Journal has a large coloured picture on the front page of, em, "Coleslaw Wrestling".  I suppose if I was the editor, I would have been unable to resist the temptation either.  The fourth place went to a grandmother from Virginia.  But she was only 42.  It's not just newspaper editors: even grandmothers aren't grown-up during Bikers' Week.

 

          Then it's off for some sightseeing.  There's a warm spring close by which attracts West Indian manatees at this time of year.  They're mammals, a bit like big (sometimes really big) fat seals.  They normally live in the river, but this spring delivers millions of gallons of warm water every day.  There is a Southern-Romantic backdrop of Live Oaks festooned with Spanish Moss.

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Like me, they just want to hang about in the sun.

          I also found the Fountain of Youth (don't tell the grown-up ladies!). 

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That Spanish ponce came here looking for it.  Of course, it's a big tourist attraction, so every town in Florida has one.

 

          During the afternoon, I'm priveleged to witness some commercial transactions at the local tire depot.  The tire man is unable just to sell tires, he has to explain all the options, and why he would choose what he wants the customer to choose.  I was sold.  I nearly bought a set, and I don't even have a car.

 

          Later that night, NASA, who live just down the road, called to say they were going to let of some fireworks in my honour.  It was really only one great big rocket 

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but they had put a weather satellite on top of it.  I expect all the Floridians watching were hoping this would appease the gods and bring some warmer weather (to my amazement, they think it's cold here).

Wednesday 3rd March 2010 - No More Glasgows

           So that's it!  I've done my 20 Glasgows.  Now for a bit of a holiday.  I'm off to the Atlantic.

 

          Heading across the Florida panhandle to the coast, Dulcie elects to use I-10, and I choose US-90.  We bicker about it the whole way.  I finally fall silent and enjoy the scenery, but she nags relentlessly at every junction, maintaining, all the time, an icy calm.  90 runs right onto US-1 at the coast, so I reckon I don't need her help anyway.  My aim is to take 1 down to St Augustine (emphasis on the last syllable, which rhymes with "bean"), then onto Florida A1A which runs right down the Atlantic coast (Did I mention I was going to the International Speedway at Daytona Beach for my hols?).

          It turns out I'm really quite anxious to see the ocean, 'cos I get quite miffed when I can't.  This being America, prime real estate with ocean views is not free, and has been sold off for big houses, condos and hotels.  After quite a long way, I do eventually get a glimpse:

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and somehow I'm filled with relief.

          Dulcie is now determined on I-95, and is issuing directions coldly, calmly and relentlessly.  I'm beginning to enjoy ignoring her.  Could this be what freedom is about?

          It's not as warm as yesterday, but, inside the car, it looks like a beautiful Summer's day.  Being 20-odd degrees south of where I usually am, the sun is actually at the mid-summer height I'm used to.

          It's Biker Week in Daytona Beach, and soon I am joined by swarms of motorbikes, some of astonishingly exotic design.  When I finally turn inland on US-92, I can hardly see the road for bikes.  In fact, as I pass the International Speedway, the sun is starting to get low, and I can hardly see anything at all for flashing chrome.

 

          Later that night, I fell straight into bed, exhausted.  Because of the route, and the beautiful day, I forgot to stop (except, of course, for traffic signals).  And Dulcie's constant barracking was quite tiring too: if I'd got lost, I'd never have heard the end of it.

Tuesday 2nd March 2010 - Way Back Then in the Land of Cotton

          I was going to miss out the Courthouse, because everything was already fairly clear.  But who am I to deny the fair grown-up ladies of Butler County Clerk's office their right to gaze upon my person?  So it was one final trip up 319 to Thomasville.

          To begin with, I couldn't make head nor tail of the computer Deed index.  But a grown-up gentleman took the trouble to help, and it soon became clear (because he told me) that this index only went back to 1985.  So it was looking through that awful writing again, for possible names.  I made a few guesses at what might be interesting names, but never found anything.  I found the map laying out the present plantation, and found some deed references for neighbouring land, but they went cold in two hops.  And since there was only a grown-up gentleman to help, I couldn't work up a lot of enthusiasm.

 

          I did bump into an interesting story on a page facing something that might have been interesting but wasn't (if you follow me).  Back in 1860, the widow of one Theoseus B Davis paid $2003 for a female negro slave (I didn't need to say negro, did I?) aged 22, and her two "Mulatto" children, a boy of 4 and a girl of 2, being sold as part of her husband's estate in open auction in front of the courthouse.  Now what do you make of that?   To keep it in context, I'm told a "prime field hand" cost around $1800 at that time.  The price, at the very least, indicates the widow was bidding hard against somebody, and determined to win.  Do you thing it possible that the widow knew the father?  Do you think there was any deathbed plea?  Who would bid that high against her: and why?

 

          Later that night I fell in with a nest of Englishmen.  They gather here because this bar shows English football on Sundays.  They fell into discussing the finer points of the beer, just to test my resolve.  Of course, I passed.  One of them showed me some college senior-year essays he was marking.  I don't know how typical they were, but they were, in both literacy and language terms, truly appalling.

Monday 1st March 2010 - Nothing New Under the Sun

           For the last two years or so, I have had a 'Google Alert' on the word "Glasgow".  That means I've asked Google to tell me every time it gets a mention on the internet.  I wonder, sometimes, if it's getting it right, but, in the end, I just have to accept what I get.  (It's a bit like when Google says, after a search, "here are the first ten pages out of ten million": how are you ever going to know if that's true?)

           Anyway, this morning one of the pages was entitled "Glasgow Middle School takes top honors at Louisiana Science and Engineering Fair"  Oh, no! Louisiana!  I have been relying on the United States Geological Survey's database, and, although it's all been fun, and I've had a real good time, this is not the moment to tell me I've missed one.

           So I drop everything and get Google proper to find me this school.  Which , I discover with great relief, is on Glasgow Avenue in Baton Rouge (the next avenue is called Edinburgh).  I don't think I could have taken another Glasgow at this stage.

 

          Today's mission is the Thomasville History Museum.  The duty grown-up lady is poised behind the door as I arrive.  She said they had been warned I was in town, and they had expected me on Saturday (I think I did tell her counterpart at the Genealogical Library that).  I hope she hadn't spent the entire weekend there, her little heart fluttering like mad.

          But there is nothing much new here (except a rather splendid Model-T Ford out in the garage, and, the house having been built by a lumber merchant, a very fine floor).  There appear to be three standard texts on the history of Thomas County, by William Warren Rodgers, who was professor of history at Florida State, in Tallahassee.  He is now, apparently, 80, and the grown-up lady is expecting him to visit next week.

 

          When I came out of the museum, the bank told me it was 71degrees.  So I thought a bit of tourism was in order.  Thomasville, as well as claiming to be the "city of roses", also boasts an enormous oak tree.

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It lives in a park donated by the lady who bought all the Glasgow farms.  She also donated the house the museum is in: one of the planter aristocracy.

 

          Later that night, the local bar is packed.  I'm introduced to a Mancunian, an archeomotrist from Florida State.  Roughly speaking, that's doing archeology by satellite.  That's one way to avoid the perils that befell Indiana Jones.

          I also met an English major, who promised to comment on the literary merits of my blog (and I volunteered for that while I was cold-stone sober).

Sunday 28th February 2010 - A Day of Rest

          I seem to have settled into Sunday being 'Roman Emperor' day.  It is, as a Roman Emperor himself might say, a forteriori, a 'Roman Emperor' day today, because this inexpensive Tallahassee motel has provided (as standard, I hasten to add) a faux-marble whirlpool bath.  After I have read a couple of chapters, sweated myself clean, and anointed those bits in need of anointing, I take a look at the day (this is the view out of the front door of my room, Live Oaks draped with Spanish Moss)

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          I drive downtown for a look about, but, as usual, I can't really find downtown, so I take a stroll in the local park.  The local park, as well as the usual quota of sweating girls, is full of dog-walkers.  Rather to my surprise, a very high proportion of the dogs are 'toy' sized: must be a local fashion.  Perhaps they are being walked for geriatric snowbirds.

          I find a heron, posing in a pond, trying to look like a 1960s table lamp

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(that's not the blue water of the Caribbean: I forgot to switch the white balance back to 'daylight', and, of course, the heron had no patience for amateurs)

Then I repair to a local hostelry for a leisurely lunch.  The Canadians are beating the USA at hockey.  They're not too fussed here, they don't really understand hockey.  Someone told me they used to have a minor hockey league down here, but it failed: they probably couldn't afford the ice.

 

          Later that night, I tout my story round the bar.  "Awesome", says one man, "awesome".  Then he apologises for his vocabulary: "I've got two teenage kids", he says, by way of explanation.