South of Monticello, FL to Quincy, FL
Friendly horn taps: 3
Rude self-important people 1
Miles: 65
Total so far: 390
We charge out this morning looking to put some miles down before the heat of the day, finding early morning riding our distinct preference. The air is cool and moisture hangs giving a distinctive light to the emerald landscape as we roll out on a seldom used two lane county road. It’s Sunday and we have the countryside to ourselves with nothing but bird songs to break the silence.
We skim along for about five miles on the smooth pavement, and at an approaching junction empty of traffic, Sallie pulls over for a look at the map and a discussion about loading our Camel Bak hydration rigs with ice for the morning. I came along side of her so we could share the map, and talk it over. We are standing next to our bikes like that when a dark blue Ford extended cab deisels up next to me approaching the stop sign.
The driver begins hollering something at me and I look over through the open passenger side window getting a whiff of the foul smelling interior of the truck. The driver is leaning toward the passenger window wearing a sweat stained straw cowboy hat, has a large bushy handlebar mustache mixed in grey to match his too long untended hair, and he gives the appearance of Sam Elliott if he were to have an out of control methamphetamine habit.
“Get that bicycle off the damn road son, you can’t be that stupid just to be standing there in the traffic lane! Put that thing off the road into a driveway or something!”
Thinking he was kidding around, I lean toward him to get a good look and see he is as serious as can be. In the crowded cab of his truck I see the stained and weathered walnut stock of a well used Winchester .30 .30 lever action carbine, barrel down, buttstock up on the middle of the bench seat.
I turn and look down at my bicycle and my feet, and sure enough, I am in the traffic lane to the left of the white line about 2 feet.
Now Sam Elliott’s not-so-handsome twin’s truck is about 6 1/2 feet wide, and the traffic lane there at the stop sign is about 13 feet wide, so I guess it’s a miracle that he even got by.
Knowing I was in the lane, all I could say is “yes sir” to his commands. On down the road he went…probably off to church, because after all, it is Sunday.
This takes place five miles into our ride. We have about sixty more to go today, and more than a few thousand overall. I am not about to let this person or anyone else interfere with what I’ve got going on. How could I? This is a journey forward.
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Tomorrow’s ride is dedicated to Donald N. Savage
Donald was only 14 when he was killed by a drunk driver. He was my only son and I miss him so very much. He was a really sweet boy and never met a stranger. He was also a fantastic artist and writer. He won many contests and even wrote a play when he was in the 8th grade and then the seniors performed in the play. His writing earned him the right to meet an author of children’s books. He brought so much happiness to us and all his friends. He will always live in our hearts.
In Memory of Warmer Summers 