On to Flamingo

It was late morning before I left Robbie Kennedy and his alligator friend's and began my crossing of the everglades. In actual fact, at this point, Highway 41 crosses the everglades through Big Cypress National Preserve. However, "Big Cypress" seems like a huge misnomer, the scenery more crossly reflects the Everglades

National Park than it does any "Big" Cypress.

Although, officially the Everglades were still a few miles the south, it was already difficult to discern the point at which the everglades truly begin.

I had been told to look for Krome Avenue and then turn south toward Homestead. Surprisingly, the directions proved good and shortly after making the turn I found myself in Homestead.

It was again decision time, I needed to decide whether to travel south for Key West or turn west once again, and travel the short distance to Flamingo. Actually, although I had been told that there was nothing to see there, I knew that it would be impossible for me to not make the trip to Flamingo.

The rode to Flamingo takes you through the heart of the everglades, where the "River of Grass" (as the Everglades is often called) truly comes into its own.

Perhaps, once again due to the fact that it is in the midst of the slowest tourist season of the year, that the traffic is almost non-existent. There are, however, numerous turnoffs to various ponds and sites along the way. Despite the fact that the area is bounded on both of the two lane highway with the ubiquitous "river of grass" there are also ever-changing stands of dwarf cypress and other areas of dense foliage.

At the information center to the Everglades National Park, I picked up valuable information about the "must see" areas of the park, and also, learn that the park rangers are resentful of any disparaging references to the everglades as a "swampland" (trust me, "River of Grass" is the more respectful term).

With over 360 recorded species of birds in the everglades it is impossible to not be impressed, and is further, quite difficult if not impossible to not try to capture that one great photo.

After taking numerous diversions, I arrived at the Flamingo campground at approximately 5:00 PM, just in time to set up camp for the night.

For the first time I was pleasantly surprised to see that there were more tent campers than RV's, but still, mine was the sole motorcycle.

It was too late to do anything more than just set up tent; and although it was December, the mosquitoes didn't seem to take heed.

Therefore, after a short "evening meal" at the marina (the sole option), I took an early refuge from the mosquitoes, climbed into the sleeping bag and went to sleep out of shear boredom.

Everglades City

Riding west out of Belle Glade towards Clewiston, massive Lake Okeechobee remains hidden from view behind the 10-12 foot high dike that surrounds the lake and affords flood control. The dike, but for its somewhat larger size, resembles a raised railroad bed.

North of Clewiston, I road atop the dike expecting to see the Lake clearly visible; it was, but not like I had expected. Instead there were what appeared to be miles of river canals before one would be able to say that they were truly on the lake. Astride my Harley, I would never be afforded that view.

A short distance west of Clewiston, the sugerlands disappeared as I turned south, passing west of Big Cypress National Preserve and arrived in Everglades City just as the sun began to set. There was little time for anything, save a quick photo shot of the setting sun, before my mission turned to finding a motel. A campsite would have been preferred, of course, but having passed several - Panther Crossing - signs and knowing that "gators" lived here too, I questioned the wisdom camping in the Everglades. Too much television, I am sure!

Nonetheless, I told myself (correctly), that there was too little time to begin a search for a campsite at this hour. The motel would clearly blow my make shift budget, but the choice had already been made.

Quaint isn't the apt description for Everglades City, but it perhaps comes closer than any other word that comes to mind. It certainly is a peaceful and pleasant little city (at least at this time of year), but it would be a stretch of the definition to say it is - "strange in an interesting way." There is just something about the city that I really like; perhaps, it is the slower pace and peaceful atmosphere. If that was, in fact, the attraction, I realized that it would very likely wear off rather quickly.

For all of its virtues, Everglades City, is relatively speaking, quite expensive. It was already clear to me that the City was not a place where one could easily conserve dollars. There was a limited set of options available in the small community and, therefore, I was forced take what was there.

Later that evening, in a nearby restaurant, as I set out to further blow my budget, I was engaged in conversation with one of the local residents. Robbie Kennedy, advise me that the road out of Everglades city ended quite abruptly, just five miles to the south. (I knew that with the "end of the road" so close at hand, that I would surely make the short excursion}.

Before the evening was concluded Robbie informed me that he worked for the nearby alligator farm and invited me to visit the "gator" farm, which was right along my scheduled route of travel to Key West (that too, became a part of my next day's agenda.)

The nest day, as intended I rode the five mile long causeway to Chokoloskee, the southern most point of highway on the Gulf side of the state of Florida. The causeway separates the Everglades from Chokoloskee Bay and together with Everglades City provides another point of access to Florida's 10,000 Islands and the angler's paradise for Tarpon, Snook, Redfish and more.

Chokoloskee appears to be composed of mostly prominently of mobile homes and RV Parks. The 2000 census recorded 404 residents for Chokoloskee, as compared to 479 for Everglades City (although Everglade City certainly appears to have a larger business base.)

Before departing the area, I made a final stop to see the alligators and Robbie Kennedy. Robbie greeted me amicably and led me along the boardwalk past a large Florida crocodile, a Florida Panther and even a Bengal Tiger (an unwanted refugee from an American Zoo.)

Robbie had told me that there were more that 80 gators caged in the "pond," but I wasn't prepared for what the royal reception we received as we approach the cage. The sound and sight of a cage full of "bellowing gators" with their huge gapping mouths raised skyward like howling wolves or bugling elk, was a sight and sound that I won't soon forget (I, in fact, never even new that alligators "bellowed" at all.)

My first thought was that the "gators" were somehow intimidated by our presence (yea, right), but Robbie informed me that they were in fact "forecasting" the weather. At the time the barometric pressure was dropping fast as a weather of threatening showers was advancing from the west. They are, Robbie proclaimed, "our best weather forecasters."

My thanks to Robbie Kennedy for a great experience.

Into the Sugar Lands

With the intent of leaving before the wicked landlord arrived, I left out Fort Pierce early in the morning. My intent was to make my way to just south of West Palm Beach and turn west, crossing the state just south of Lake Okeechobee.

A few miles to the west of West Palm Beach the sugar cane fields start and line both sides of the highway as far as the eye can see. Like most visitors to the state, I had never seen Florida's sugar lands before and was unaware that such a vast farm industry as this even existed. There are a few intermittent fields of cabbage and various citrus fruits, but the predominant crop, by far, is sugar.

Sugar cane is a major issue of concern for the Florida Everglades. Sugar cane requires vast quantities of fertilizer, the main component of which is phosphorous. Phosphorous in turn produces algae blooms which choke off the oxygen in the marine ecosystem.

Hosted by environmentalists, in an effort to "save the everglades;" there is a strong political movement that is pushing to have the state of Florida to buy back 1.7 million acres of Florida sugar land. At issue are the 2000 jobs that sugar land agriculturists say would be lost. There are no easy answers. (The links provided give some of the pros and cons.)

My ride through the sugar lands took me to Belle Glade. It was past sunset by the time I arrived in Belle Glade and found what can, quite fairly, be described as a "flea-bag" motel.

Belle Glade is, likely, not a location that you will want to put on you list of places you - "Must See Before You Die". Most likely the town father's would proclaim that Belle Glade has many redeeming qualities, but if it does - they are well hidden.

However, in all fairness, I was only in Belle Glade overnight and for part of the next day. Given the city's location, it is at least deserving of the title - "Gateway to the Everglades."

Back on the Road - Fort Pierce

Realizing that I had probably been camping illegally, and not wishing to push my luck, and get in trouble for trespassing, I got up early and abandon my habitat.

The days were now disappearing fast and I was beginning to fear that it would not be possible to make the entire loop, from Daytona to Key West, through the Everglades National Park and on to New Orleans, prior to the 16th of December (the date of the scheduled flight back to Michigan).

A plan was needed, but "planning" was not part of my plan. Discovering things along the way that you never expected, is what makes traveling exciting.

On the other hand, despite my above comment, I've sometimes regretted my lack of planning (or at least a failure to research ahead of time) which has caused me to miss things that should not have been missed.

In spite of the need to pick up the pace, it seemed foolish to just drive pass by the Cape Canaveral National Seashore and Merit Island without having a look. To at least get a peak, from a distance, at the launch pad at the Kennedy Space Center, that alone would seem to make it worth the effort.

Merit Island is mostly a bird watcher's paradise, but as much as I like wildlife, that's just not my forte.

Perhaps because there is a toll to get to the beach, Cape Canaveral, was pretty desolate. Save a few shore fisherman spread out along the way, the beach was deserted.

As expected, the launch pad was clearly visible and actually closer than anticipated. Surprisingly, with no visible signs of security save a fence across the road and no trespassing signs, it appeared as though one could quite easily sneak right up the facility. I could only hope that I was badly mistaken. At the Merit Island Welcome Center they had said that when they were launching, "it wasn't possible to get even within a few miles of the launch pad."

Nonetheless, it would seem that the security would be tighter - "at all times".

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I don't understand how camping came to be regarded as meaning a - Motor home, Fifth-Wheel, Bumper-Tow Camper or "parish the thought" a Pop-Up Camper. Whatever happened to the tent, sleeping bag, log fire and warmed over "road-kill" (just kidding on that last one - of course!).

It isn't easy to find primitive (tent) campsite facilities, and when you do - you pay nearly the same as the RV'er. That's despite the fact that you're not using any electricity and you don't require a dump station. The tent camper only requires the use of the shower and bathroom facilities. For the tent camper to pay nearly the same RV'er, "It Just Ain't Fair".

To add to that, all too often (especially in the case of state and national parks) they close the gate at sundown.

I have four little questions for the state and national campground officials. Why do the campgrounds close down so early? Why should there be a gate at all? Why, do some of the parks not even allow tent camping? After all, isn't that what "true" camping is all about? Just asking!

As case in point, with some difficulty, I finally found Fort Pierce Inlet State Park, but it was closed and according to local authorities, they don't allow primitive camping anyway.

Faced with no other alternative, I stopped at a motel where (although it was only about 7:30) they were closed. Fortunately, (you may question this), one of the renter's in this the small complex of 5-6 motel units, was desperate for money and offered to "sub-let" their couch and use of bathroom facilities. John and Tricia were renting an apartment unit by the week for $175, but their check had not come through and they needed the money. For $20, it was a bargain. Their only request - don't tell their landlord.

When on the road, you do what you have to do - I rented the couch for the night.

Bruce Rossmeyer's Harley Davidson and the Boozefighter's Motorcycle Club

Before leaving Daytona, I wanted to visit Bruce Rossmeyer's Harley Davidson - world's largest Harley Davidson dealership. My reason for the visit was two-fold. In addition to wanting to see the dealership, I had lost my Harley key and was hoping to get a new one, or at least some provision for locking the motorcycle.

Unfortunately, they couldn't make a new key, and I wasn't interested in any of their alternative locks.

Even so, it was well worth seeing the Bruce Rossmeyer dealership; now owned by the family, after Bruce was tragically killed in a motorcycle accident while attending the annual Sturgis Black

Hills Rally in Sturgis, South Dakota.

It is a huge complex, featuring eateries, bars, a tattoo parlors, accessory shops, clothing outlets and even a hotel. And they also sell motorcycles! In fact, if they don't have it here, among their more than 800 models on the floor (and more in the warehouse), it probably isn't made.

It was 2:00 PM when I left Rossmeyer's, and headed south via highway A1A. With the late start, after only a few miles, it was necessary to start looking for a campground .

Just south of Edgewater, I found what was an "assumed" State Campground. It was assumed,

due to the fact that, despite not finding any evidence of at least an official campsite or any office in which to register, there were bathrooms and shower facilities. That was good enough for me. I made my own campsite, set up the tent and headed down the road for a beer.

Just before seeing the sign for the campground, I had passed a bar with several Harley's parked out front. I thought, at the time, that it would have been nice to stop, but decided that my first priority was to find a campsite. Now however, having set up the tent, it was time to check it out.

Much to my dismay, the sign on the door to the "All-American Club" said, "Members Only". Just as I was getting back on my Harley and thinking to myself, "How Un-American of the All-American Club"; a burly tattooed (obvious biker) appeared in the doorway and asked, "where you going"? To which I replied, "the sign says - Members Only".

He motioned me over, introduced himself as "Frostbite", asked my name and said, "Now your my guest - come on in!". An hour and a half and three beers later, I bowed out of any impending disaster and returned my campsite.

Before leaving, I did learn that the real name of the All-American Club was - The Boozefighter's Motorcycle Club. They proudly claimed to have club facilities (bars) in all most every state.

My later research uncovered that they do indeed have (at least) 101 chapters both nationally and internationally. The club has been in existence for over six decades, since it was first founded at the All-American Club in Los Angeles, California in 1946. The link provided is great piece of photo-journalism - check it out!

Summary: Before leaving Daytona, I wanted to visit Bruce Rossmeyer's Harley Davidson - world's largest Harley Davidson dealership

Daytona Beach Turkey Run

Before leaving Greg and Emily's, we made plans to try and meet up again in Daytona Beach for the Daytona Beach Turkey Run and Swap Meet (held annually over Thanksgiving weekend).

As it turned out, arrangements were not necessary. While driving Main Street in Daytona Saturday morning, looking for a restaurant, I stopped at the traffic light, and there was Greg standing on the gesturing to me. They had been sitting in a restaurant when Emily saw me passing by - Greg ran me down! Strange how things happen that way.

The Daytona Beach Turkey Run is a car lovers dream. While the main event and swap meet is

located at Daytona International Speedway, the cars move back and forth between the race track and down parking lots, where they are displayed nightly.

There hundreds of cars on display from: street rods, sport cars, customs and even rat rods.

Seeing the rat rods was a new experience for me. I still don't understand the mentality that

would possess someone to want to dedicate their time, energy, engineering skill and knowledge into making a "piece of trash". That is exactly what they aspire too do - the "trashier" the better.

Rat rod normally have no door panels and one even featured what may be called, the original "bucket seat" - a tractor seat and a plywood backrest!

Top honors. in my opinion, go to the owner or new Dodge Magnum, outfitted with "suicide

doors", and lovingly painted to look like it was covered with rust. The owner must have spent thousands of dollars in an effort to make his new car look like trash! To each his own!

Resources:

Rex Putnam is a Michigan based freelance writer specializing in Internet Marketing. To learn his powerful techniques on how to improve your Internet Marketing business, click on this link =>http://www.fast-track-startup-internet-business.com or email him at: jusrex@hughes.net

Summary: The Daytona Beach Turkey Run is a car lovers dream. While the main event and swap meet is located at Daytona International Speedway, the cars move back and forth between the race track and down parking lots, where they are displayed nightly.

St. Augustine and Castillo de San Marcos

Left Greg and Emily's for St. Augustine Friday morning and arrived in St. Augustine about noon. Not knowing much more than the fact that I wanted to visit the fort, I turned at the first visible sign advertising a fort. It was, in fact, the site of the old Spanish Fort Mose.

For brief period (1738-1752) runaway black slaves lived in what has come to be known as the first Fort Mose. Here the blacks were given their freedom in exchange for their allegiance Catholicism and the Spanish government.

Today there is nothing left of either of the two forts that were once here, they have been swallowed up by the waters of the everglade. A testimony to the every changing environment.

St. Augustine is the oldest continuously occupied city in America, and is most famously represented as such by Castillo de San Marcos, the Spanish fort that was built over a 23 period that began in 1672.

The beautifully preserved fort open daily for visitors to walk over, around and throughout the entire fort. Castillo de San Marcos (and the entire city of St. Augustine) is a great family vacation day.

The Thanksgiving Dinner

From Savannah I had planned ride to south of Jacksonville, Florida and stop to visit my nephew Greg and his Wife Emily.

However, Greg's job high security

aircraft mechanic, requires him to travel to distant parts of the world for weeks at a time, and he would be departing shortly. Perhaps, another time.

Dusk was fast approaching as I passed though Tybee Island headed for Brunswick, Georgia or as far south I could get before total darkness. Scenic highway 17 is somewhat desolate and I knew the deer would be running, but with little traffic I could run, much of the time, with my bright lights on.

Fortunately, although it was dark by the time I reached Brunswick, I made it safely. The temperature had remained in the low 60's all day, but when the sun went down it turned it, quite literally, into a very cool ride. I stopped to get warm up, grab a bite to eat and ponder my next move.

It Wednesday the day before Thanksgiving. Normally, I would probably be out shopping for second need, in preparation for the big day. Now I was considering trying to find a shelter or halfway house, just to - feel the experience. Perhaps, I thought I could volunteer to work on the food line.

Checking my cell phone's voice mail, I discovered a message from Greg and Emily. Greg would not be leaving so soon after all, and they were asking me join them Thanksgiving dinner. Sure beats the Soup Line!

I called and talked to Greg and told him that I was still in Brunswick, Georgia. He advised me that I was only about 45 minutes to an hour from his house and advised me to continue on.

In deference to the deer and in effort to speed things up, I headed south on I-95. As it turned out, a few minutes later, I found myself snarled in traffic and moving at crawling pace (and sometimes not moving at all) for some, still, unknown reason. The delay was probably more than 30 minutes. And so my expected 9-9:30 arrival, turned out to be 10:30 PM.

Greg and Emily showed me around the house and I marveled all the things that Greg had accumulated in his travels and at just how tastefully they were displayed.

Being the great hosts that they are, they offered me a beer, and another, and .... It was after 2:00 AM when we finally expired - Great Fun!

__________________________________________

In the morning Greg showed me his, "pride and joy," a 1975 BMW that he has restored to "like new" condition, and even better - given the redone interior.

I am still amazed at how, seemingly, effortlessly Emily prepared the FEAST! I'm sure she would probably confess that is was not really all that easy, but she made it look easy. I graciously devoured everything, but the tablecloth.

Many thanks to Greg and Emily.

Day Two in Savannah

With the weather continuing to clear, I decided to a leisurely walk through Savannah and see a few of the 21 Squares. All of Savannah's Squares are located with a 1 mile square area and in a 2-3 mile walk you can see not only most of them, but the best of them.

The squares are dominated by the presence of the sprawling live oaks. Laden with Spanish moss they loom over the walkways crisscrossing the squares.

In addition to the 21 squares, it would nearly impossible to miss the Colonial Cemetery. It is the final resting place of the original signers of the Declaration Independence, Button Gwinnett, and more than 700 victims of Savannah's Yellow Fever epidemic of 1820, are buried there.

There are several large bed-like crypts (complete with a pseudo headboard), in which entire families have been laid to rest - one atop the other.

The cemetery was closed to further burials prior the start of the Civil War; and therefore, all of the tombs cover its 103 year history from 1750-1853.

My walk included a stop McDonough's for a cold beer. McDonough's is the one top "Watering Holes" for celebrants of the Savannah's St. Patrick's Day Parade. The parade is said to be

second only to New York in size - topping even Boston in grandeur.

To complete my city tour, drove the streets, stopping as frequently as required to photograph the beautiful homes of Savannah.

Resources:

Rex Putnam is a Michigan based freelance writer specializing in Internet Marketing. To learn his powerful techniques on how to improve your Internet Marketing business, click on this link =>http://www.fast-track-startup-internet-business.com or email him at: jusrex@hughes.net

Summary: Walk through Savannah's 21 squares and the Colonial cemetery

Savannah at Last

True their word, the team at Suzuki of Dublin finished the clutch work shortly after lunch. Many thanks to Wade, Dewey the others.

The day was sunny and clear, but the forecast was not. On my previous stay in Savannah, I discovered an Econo Travel Lodge with rooms for little more than the cost of campsite (and they had WiFi). With rain in site, it was clearly the way to go.

As expected it rained all day Sunday, but the weather cleared Monday (though still cloudy and

gloomy).

Being in Savannah, it was hard to avoid exploring the Civil War.

Therefore, in order to give meaning to the pictures (Fort McAllister and Fort Pulaski); what follows is a very brief recount of Savannah's place in the Civil War.

One the first successes of the Union Army was the capture of Fort Pulaski in Savannah. With the start of the Civil War the Confederacy had easily taken possession of Fort Pulaski which at that time was only occupied by a singe "overseer".

At that time the newly completed fort, with eleven foot thick brick walls was considered virtually impenetrable. However, when it was built, they did not recognize the fire power of rifled cannon artillery.

On the morning of April 10, 1862, nearly a year to the day from the Confederate capture of Fort Sumpter, General David Hunter, commander of the union garrison, launch a 30 hour attach on Fort Pulaski. The attack breached the walls of the fort and threatened the main powder magazine. To prevent the senseless loss of lives, General Charles H. Olmstead commander of the Confederate garrison, issued the order to surrender.

With the victory, the Union effectively blocked European shipment to the port of Savannah.

Despite the capture of Fort Pulaski early on the war, Savannah itself was protected by the earthen ramparts of Fort McAllister which provided virtually impenetrable to Union artillery.

Under the protection of Fort McAllister, Fort Jackson, further up river, afforded the city of Savannah from onslaught for most of the Civil War. It wasn't until December of 1864, with General Tecumseh Sherman's "March to the Sea", that Savannah succumbed to Union forces.

Although, Fort McAllister effectively staved off artillery attack, the small garrison of only 236 men was no match for the Unions 4000 troops who stormed Fort McAllister.

With the loss of Fort McAllister, the Confederacy knew they were no match of Sharman's total army of more then soldiers. General Hardee, in charge of the Confederate garrison vacated the Fort

Jackson and city of Savannah.

Today, all three fort can be visited and you can put your own vision to work when exploring the sites.

Trouble on The Road

Spent the day at Andersonville and traveled east towards Savannah before stopping for the night at a campground about 60 miles southeast of Andersonville.

With laundry to contend with, it was late morning before I departed the campground and began the route to Savannah. It should have been a comfortable and leisurely ride. It should have been!

One of the things the Harley dealership in Newnan had wanted to check out was, an expressed concern for how hard it was to pull the clutch lever. It was just one of the, seemingly minor, things that I chose ignore. Bad move!

About an hour out of Andersonville, as I was cruising the side streets of Milan, for no apparent reason (the town just seemed worthy of a closer look). Suddenly, when I pulled the clutch lever and down shifted at the traffic light, my clutch lever SNAPPED! The cable had busted and I had no clutch. I shouted at a couple of pedestrians while turning right onto a side street - "Hey, is there a motorcycle dealer around here?" They just looked at me, seemingly stupefied!

Ever ride a Harley without a clutch? Not Fun! Shifting gears was no problem, but stopping was another matter.

I managed to get out of town with little difficulty, but, at this point, I still hadn't tried to stop and wasn't sure if I could keep the bike upright when it eventually came time to do so. If I could manage to find neutral, I could just cruise to safe stop. Without a clutch, however, finding neutral was no easy thing to do.

Surprisingly, I made it to the next town and into the nearest gas station, herking and jerking, chugging and weaving, I somehow managed to keep the bike upright (surprising even myself). While fuel was an issue, by this time, my immediate concern was what to do about the clutch.

After inquiring around I learned that the only sort of a dealer around was a Suzuki dealer, about 35 miles away in Dublin, Georgia.

By telephone, an arrangement was made with the dealer to pick up a new clutch cable. He said, that, with that being done, he could have me back on the road tomorrow afternoon. Now all had to do was get to Dublin - Without a Clutch!

With the cycle in neutral and rolling at walking pace, I pressed and held the starter down while simultaneously shifting into second gear . The bike sputtered, jerked, wavered and fired. With the starter still giving an assisting boost, I was on the road.

Missed the turn to Dublin and the 30 minute ride was closer to an hour. Fortunate for me Dublin has round-about which enabled me to make my turn off without stopping. Unfortunately, I chose the wrong turn off!

Trying to u-turn, to correct my error, I found myself stalled in the middle of the right hand lane of the four lane highway. I had, however, managed to keep the bike upright - Almost!

Actually, I was leaning too far over to pick the bike straight up and also, too far over to try to start it. A bit of a quagmire!

It's always surprising to me, to see just how many people will drive by and ignore someone in obvious distress.

Finally, however, a concerned citizen came to my rescue and helped me to get back on road.

Through the round-about for a second time, I was able to find the correct exit. There were still four lanes traffic to contend with and the traffic was now heavier. The Suzuki dealer I was looking for was across the highway. It should have been no problem, if only I had a CLUTCH!

I spied my target Suzuki dealer, but was unable cross over the oncoming lanes of traffic in time to make the exit. With the traffic cleared, I tried make legal u-turn, but at the slow speed the engine sputtered and jerked to a stopped before I could get completely through the turn.

Must have been my lucky day! Sitting in the middle of the highway, engine stalled, unable to find neutral and hence unable push the bike off the roadway - the next approaching vehicle as a COP! With police lights blinking, I advised the officer that I had lost my clutch was trying to get into the driveway of the adjacent Suzuki dealer.

In the end, late workers from inside the Suzuki dealer saw the police lights and came to my rescue.

With no other alternative, I set up tent outside the Suzuki dealership. I could live without a shower for a day.

Stone Mountain to Andersonville

From Stone Mountain it's only about 150 miles to Andersonville, but with the late start I was sure that I would not make it there before dark.

Fortunately, I was able to find able to find a campsite, but not before dark and still 70 miles short of Andersonville.

The next morning I was feeling almost euphoric about motorcycling across the country; sunshine, beautiful countryside, and low traffic volume will do that to you (see the photo of historic Hightower Mills - 1797).

Euphoria aside, there is the reality of going from one day to the next, from one campground to another, pitching tent, pulling up tent stakes, packing gear on the motorcycle and going back on the road - you've got to love the life of a road rat!

For me the toughest part is folding up the tent and packing the gear back on the bike. I can sleep on a rock, no problem. Often times my tent is set up on asphalt, concrete or crushed rock - it's never an issue!

What is an issue? Keeping up with my blog (Note to bloggers: Don't let yourself get behind). currently I'm nine days in hole (well, sort of). In an effort to get caught up, or at least, not to fall farther behind, I've been writing the events of each day along with working on the older past due blogs. As long as I can keep abreast on a daily basis, it will only be necessary to fill in the blanks from the past days in order to get caught up.

Upon arriving at Andersonville I soon discovered that there is little to see in the city of Andersonville itself. There are just a few antique shops, tourist shops and a pseudo museum. The real interest is found at the Andersonville National Historic Site.

Andersonville was the site of the Confederate civil war prison camp. It was originally built to house and intended 10,000 prisoners of war and although it was only in use for a brief 15 months before the end of the war, it held over 33,000 prisoners within the 27 acres enclosed by the stockade walls. No prisoner barracks was ever built, they slept in tents, with deplorable sanitation and suffered horribly. In defense of the Confederacy, it has been said that the conditions at Andersonville where, perhaps, no worse than what was suffered at the Union prison camp at Elmira.

Of course, the original wood enclosure has long since decayed away, but archaeologists have been able to discover the location of the original perimeter walls. Cornerstone markers and white posts define the prisons original boundaries, and there is a reconstruction of the main entry gate. The original earthen defense mounds outside of the stockade complete the picture.

Today Andersonville, is more than an old Confederate prison camp. Andersonville National Historic Site serves as a memorial to all of America's prisoners of war.

Stone Mountain

The trip to Stone Mountain was relatively uneventful save a little mist of rain and almost running out of gas for a second time. Fortunately, however, with the engine sputtering (and actually quitting a couple of times) I made it off the interstate and gassed up without further incident.

Interestingly, although the stated gas tank capacity on my

"Fatboy" is 5.0 gallons, it took more than 5.0 gallons to fill the tank - quite empty!

Stone Mountain is often stated to be the largest piece of exposed granite in the world, but actually their are numerous other larger examples throughout the world (including the Sierra Nevada Mountain Range). Not only that, but technically it is not even granite; for the purist, it's quartz monzonite. Even so, it is - "one very impressive rock".

The main attraction of Stone Mountain is not its mass, but the bas-relief carving that graces its north face. In this case, it accurately holds claim to being the largest bas-relief carving in the world, measuring 190 by 90 feet.

The carving depicts (from left to right) three of histories most prominent leaders of the confederacy - President Jefferson Davis, General Robert E. Lee and General Robert E. Lee riding their horses Blackjack, Traveller (sic) and Sorrel respectively.

Gutzon Borglum, who later went on to finish Mount Rushmore, was commissioned in 1912 to carve the relief. Borglum abandon the project and for over 35 years nothings was done. Finally in 1964 work began anew and was completed by Roy Faulkner in 1972.

Today, much of the "hype" about Stone Mountain is theme park and family oriented activity; but the interest it holds for me is the carving and the mountain of "granite" itself.

The one activity that I might have considered doing it to climb the mountain. However, having no one to encourage me make the arduous climb to the summit of the mountain, I left after a couple of hours in order to depart for Andersonville.