We drove up to Dead Lakes, FL, where the forests had flooded and the lake is eerily punctuated with grey, gnarly stumps. The photos are great: Dead Lakes
There were a few places that lived up to the redneck name, usually involving men in camo jackets, standing beside busted pick-up trucks and staring. We just wave, put her in reverse, and back away. We did buy some of the famous Tupelo honey, but not from the "Mr. Cheap Butts" convenient store. We did not have lunch at Po Folks' Seafood, Chicken and So Forth. We did however, pick up some Killer Simmering Sauce from Killer Seafood however, which is waiting for our next batch of Gulf Shrimp.
We stayed the night at an RV park in Panama City, but didn't even get out of the RV. Panama City sucks. We got out of there as quickly as possible. We drove through the beach communities North of Panama City (where they filmed the Truman Show), but Mom started feeling sad that she would never be able to afford a retirement home there.
2.05.2011
Comments
I think I fixed the comment problem. You should all be able to leave us comments now! Sorry about that! Write away! Tell us how much you miss us a and to bring you some sunshine!
2.04.2011
Tate's Hell and Oysters in Apalachicola.
New month, new leg of the journey - "The Redneck Riviera"! Also known as "The Emerald Coast" or "The Forgotten Coast", but we're going with the Redneck Riviera.
First stop, Apalachicola. For the oysters.
"Apalachicola Bay produces 90 % of Florida’s oysters and 10% of the nationwide supply. Over 2.6 million pounds of oyster meat is harvested annually. Most of the oyster beds are harvested by hand, making the industry sustainable and non-polluting. Apalachicola Bay oysters have a reputation among chefs across the US as being some of the finest tasting oysters available. They hold their flavor after cooking and are prized for their plump, meaty texture, mellow flavor and balanced salt content. They have a refreshing seaweed aroma and a deeply cupped shell. "
They were just like they say, meaty and very mellow. Nicole had about four dozen over the two and a half days there, and while she usually likes her oysters "dirty", brinier, she had to admit that they were plump and satisfying, and with just the right amount of lemon and horseradish, pretty darn good.
We arrived late into town on the first night, and went straight to Boss Oyster. We walked in at 7:45 pm, and they told us that we would have to order quick, kitchen closes at 8:00. (What is it with early curfews here in Florida?). Nicole had her oysters, and mom had an overly stuffing filled crab cake. During the next round of drinks at Gibson Inn, we chatted with a private airplane pilot from North Carolina who told us, "Oh no, don't have the crab down here. They just don't know how to make it. Oysters, yes. Scallops, yes. Shrimp, yes. Don't order the crab." (And sure enough, Mom got suckered in to ordering Crab Au gratin the next night, and it was pure cheese, no crab.)
We met and chatted with the locals at the Gibson Inn. One of them, an environmentalist's wife, had hitched a ride back on the wagon after 30 days sober, and entertained the whole crowd. The bartender was an adorable, slightly flighty, older woman named Betsy. With a tender far off look in her eyes, Betsy told us that we should make sure to check out the Bald Eagle's nest on 11th St, between Ave B & C. (We found it on 12th St, between Ave C & D). She also told us that it was a real miracle that the oil from the BP spill didn't reach Apalachicola Bay, since 95% of creatures in the Gulf come there to reproduce. (It's actually that, 'Over 95% of all species harvested commercially and 85% of all species harvested recreationally in the open Gulf have to spend a portion of their life in estuarine waters. Blue crabs, for example, migrate as much as 300 miles to spawn in Apalachicola Bay.').
Then, Betsy told us about Tate's Hell. The story is that Tate went into the Sumatra forests, North of the Bay, with his four hunting dogs. They crossed paths with a black bear, who killed all the dogs, and sent Tate fleeing through the forest. Apparently, inside the forest, everything looks the same. After two days of wandering, he was bit by a cottonmouth viper, just above the knee. Some locals found Tate, two weeks later, just a mile from the Bay, half dead and delirious. In response to all their questions, the only thing that he could say was, "My name is Tate, and I've been through Hell". He lived, but lost his leg.
So, after a morning of driving around St George's island, we saw the sign for Tate's Hell, and drove on in. It was a dirt road, but clearly a road. We drove in, scanning for wildlife. And kept driving, and kept driving. By the time the road started to turn into a path, we decided that we should probably turn around. But, by the time that the path turned into a soft, sand path, there was absolutely no where to turn around. Mary Lou just kept saying, "Whatever happens, don't stop. Just keep moving through the sand, no matter what." Nicole's phone wasn't picking up enough signal to give us a satellite map, so we decided to press forward, instead of backing the RV up the whole way. It must come out somewhere, right? It may have, but, around the next curve was an overflow river flowing over the road/path. We backed up some time before we found the remnants of another connecting path, and spent fifteen minutes doing a 35 point turn, wheels spinning in the soft sand, before pointing back in the right direction. Mary Lou was the one outside, braving the bears and the vipers to navigate. You could tell that she was really stressed, because she didn't even take a photo of the whole experience.
We made it out, just in time for sunset. If we hadn't made it out, we would have spent the night out there in Tate's Hell, as the winter storm blowing across most of the country, sucked up the moisture from the Gulf and triggered tornado warnings across the country. Luckily, we got to watch the storm blow in over the Bay from the safety of our RV park.
Soundtrack:
Born on the Bayou - CCR
Bad, Bad Leroy Brown - Jim Croche
First stop, Apalachicola. For the oysters.
"Apalachicola Bay produces 90 % of Florida’s oysters and 10% of the nationwide supply. Over 2.6 million pounds of oyster meat is harvested annually. Most of the oyster beds are harvested by hand, making the industry sustainable and non-polluting. Apalachicola Bay oysters have a reputation among chefs across the US as being some of the finest tasting oysters available. They hold their flavor after cooking and are prized for their plump, meaty texture, mellow flavor and balanced salt content. They have a refreshing seaweed aroma and a deeply cupped shell. "
They were just like they say, meaty and very mellow. Nicole had about four dozen over the two and a half days there, and while she usually likes her oysters "dirty", brinier, she had to admit that they were plump and satisfying, and with just the right amount of lemon and horseradish, pretty darn good.
We arrived late into town on the first night, and went straight to Boss Oyster. We walked in at 7:45 pm, and they told us that we would have to order quick, kitchen closes at 8:00. (What is it with early curfews here in Florida?). Nicole had her oysters, and mom had an overly stuffing filled crab cake. During the next round of drinks at Gibson Inn, we chatted with a private airplane pilot from North Carolina who told us, "Oh no, don't have the crab down here. They just don't know how to make it. Oysters, yes. Scallops, yes. Shrimp, yes. Don't order the crab." (And sure enough, Mom got suckered in to ordering Crab Au gratin the next night, and it was pure cheese, no crab.)
We met and chatted with the locals at the Gibson Inn. One of them, an environmentalist's wife, had hitched a ride back on the wagon after 30 days sober, and entertained the whole crowd. The bartender was an adorable, slightly flighty, older woman named Betsy. With a tender far off look in her eyes, Betsy told us that we should make sure to check out the Bald Eagle's nest on 11th St, between Ave B & C. (We found it on 12th St, between Ave C & D). She also told us that it was a real miracle that the oil from the BP spill didn't reach Apalachicola Bay, since 95% of creatures in the Gulf come there to reproduce. (It's actually that, 'Over 95% of all species harvested commercially and 85% of all species harvested recreationally in the open Gulf have to spend a portion of their life in estuarine waters. Blue crabs, for example, migrate as much as 300 miles to spawn in Apalachicola Bay.').
Then, Betsy told us about Tate's Hell. The story is that Tate went into the Sumatra forests, North of the Bay, with his four hunting dogs. They crossed paths with a black bear, who killed all the dogs, and sent Tate fleeing through the forest. Apparently, inside the forest, everything looks the same. After two days of wandering, he was bit by a cottonmouth viper, just above the knee. Some locals found Tate, two weeks later, just a mile from the Bay, half dead and delirious. In response to all their questions, the only thing that he could say was, "My name is Tate, and I've been through Hell". He lived, but lost his leg.
So, after a morning of driving around St George's island, we saw the sign for Tate's Hell, and drove on in. It was a dirt road, but clearly a road. We drove in, scanning for wildlife. And kept driving, and kept driving. By the time the road started to turn into a path, we decided that we should probably turn around. But, by the time that the path turned into a soft, sand path, there was absolutely no where to turn around. Mary Lou just kept saying, "Whatever happens, don't stop. Just keep moving through the sand, no matter what." Nicole's phone wasn't picking up enough signal to give us a satellite map, so we decided to press forward, instead of backing the RV up the whole way. It must come out somewhere, right? It may have, but, around the next curve was an overflow river flowing over the road/path. We backed up some time before we found the remnants of another connecting path, and spent fifteen minutes doing a 35 point turn, wheels spinning in the soft sand, before pointing back in the right direction. Mary Lou was the one outside, braving the bears and the vipers to navigate. You could tell that she was really stressed, because she didn't even take a photo of the whole experience.
We made it out, just in time for sunset. If we hadn't made it out, we would have spent the night out there in Tate's Hell, as the winter storm blowing across most of the country, sucked up the moisture from the Gulf and triggered tornado warnings across the country. Luckily, we got to watch the storm blow in over the Bay from the safety of our RV park.
Soundtrack:
Born on the Bayou - CCR
Bad, Bad Leroy Brown - Jim Croche
Wild in Wakulla Springs
Wakulla Springs was just freaking awesome. The photos say it all.
But a few things... If you are ever in the area, you should definitely visit, and make sure that you ask for Luke as your wilderness boat ride tour guide. He's a total trip.
Also, 'The Creature from the Black Lagoon', 1954, and the first 'Tarzan' movie, featuring Olympic champion swimmer Johnny Weissmuller, were filmed at Wakulla Springs.
Click here for photos!
But a few things... If you are ever in the area, you should definitely visit, and make sure that you ask for Luke as your wilderness boat ride tour guide. He's a total trip.
Also, 'The Creature from the Black Lagoon', 1954, and the first 'Tarzan' movie, featuring Olympic champion swimmer Johnny Weissmuller, were filmed at Wakulla Springs.
Click here for photos!
2.02.2011
Found Friendship in Gainesville
In a fortunate twist of fate, a dear college friend of Nicole's happened across the correct spelling of her last name in an RIT alumni publication, and decided to look her up on Facebook. They had lost track of each other a decade ago. Bob had lived right across the hall from Nicole in the dorms, and they had helped and supported each other through the trials and tribulations of freshman year. Both had often credited each other with making it through that first year. In rare (okay, a little more often than rare) moments of stress and frustration, Nicole enjoyed the popping sound that lightbulbs made when thrown against the full length mirror on the back of her door. Bob knew what that sound meant, and after Nicole had thrown herself dejected into her bed, Bob would come over, sweep up the millions of little light bulb shards, and see if she wanted to talk. After graduation, though, life moved them in different directions, and they had no word of each other.
With the correct spelling of Sottung entered into the Friend Finder, Bob realized that, not only had he found Nicole, but that she was just about to pass a few hours away from where he had settled in Jacksonville. They met halfway, North of Gainseville at the Devil's Millhopper Geological State Park. It was a beautiful sunny Sunday day as they smiled, hugged and descended into the 120 foot sinkhole. It didn't take long before they were caught up with the major moments and benchmarks of each other's last ten years, and realized that, even though so much time had passed, it was like no time had passed.
Had a pizza for lunch and walked all around the University of Florida campus before saying our goodbyes. Bob went East back home, and the girls headed West.
With the correct spelling of Sottung entered into the Friend Finder, Bob realized that, not only had he found Nicole, but that she was just about to pass a few hours away from where he had settled in Jacksonville. They met halfway, North of Gainseville at the Devil's Millhopper Geological State Park. It was a beautiful sunny Sunday day as they smiled, hugged and descended into the 120 foot sinkhole. It didn't take long before they were caught up with the major moments and benchmarks of each other's last ten years, and realized that, even though so much time had passed, it was like no time had passed.
Had a pizza for lunch and walked all around the University of Florida campus before saying our goodbyes. Bob went East back home, and the girls headed West.
2.01.2011
Sponges and Rock n Roll in Tarpon Springs
With new brake lines filled with fresh brake fluid, we headed up the Gulf Coast to Tarpon Springs. We reached in the warm sunshine of the morning, took a spot in an rv park right near a little bridge, where the manatees can often be seen swimming under to their favorite hangout. We wasted no time in pulling our bicycles down from the roof (where Nicole ties them securely using hitch knots learned from our Smithsonian Knot Guide), packed our backpack and biked out to the sponge docks.
Real sponges are really freaking cool. We found an old Greek gentlemen, sitting on the dock, and trimming the freshly caught sponges to display and sell at the side of the road. He looked so peaceful, and content, snipping his sponges. Mary Lou asked him, "How long you been doing this?" "Since about ten o'clock this morning, mam, " he said, with a knowing smile. We asked who served his favorite greek food in town, and he told us to go to the stop sign and turn left and on the second block, we'd find Costas. The waitress asked us if we wanted a martini. "A martini? What time is it?" Mary Lou asked. The waitress said, "I think it's about 11:30 in the morning." "No. I don't think I can handle a martini this early." "How about two for one sangrias?" May Lou answers, "Sure!"
We went back to the where the old man was trimming the sponges to buy some of them. Nicole asked the spongewallah, "Well, which sponges are for which things? What do you do with them?" And the lady explained how the yellow sponges were utility sponges, for washing cars and dishes and the like. The wool sponges were finer, and used for washing the body. The silk sponges, which only grew palm sized and were found only in Tarpon Springs, were used for washing the face and removing make-up. While she was explaining, she pulled one of each sponge out of the bucket next to her chair and said, "have a feel". I can't even tell you how amazing they felt. We squeezed them and held them, and of course the coarse yellow sponge would be for utility, and the wool sponge, deliciously soft and clean, was for the body, and the vase sponge was clearly vase shaped to plant orchids or air plants in. We each got one of each, and the lady told us that, once a month, give them a nice rinsing in baking soda and water to keep them clean.
We packed our leftovers and sponges into our backpack and rode our bikes down the Pinellas Biking Path, which runs 35 miles from St. Petersburg and ends in Tarpon Springs. Then, we backtracked up the commercial route back into the historic downtown, riding slowly past the Corvette and Vintage Car Museum and showroom, a quick stop at the post office, andsaid a prayer for the recovering health of a friend's mother at St. Nicholas Greek Orthodox Chruch. We found the gold gilded artwork inside to be beautiful in its simplicity and craftsmanship. The silver Byzantine icons were especially lovely.
Before we had left for our bike ride, two gentlemen on the porch of a more permanent trailer in the RV resort had invited us to see a great band at Crabby Bill's, near the sponge docks. We cleaned up, got dressed and walked into the the back deck of the Crabby Bill's at about 9:00. It was Friday night, and everyone was out in their tight jeans and square heels to unwind, listen to some great music, and really dance. The band was Slickside, the main star, Billy Sandlin. Billy played guitar, but had played violin for 11 years with the Marshall Tucker band, and the band has shared the stage with Charlie Daniels and Vince Gill and such. Apparently, a lot of musicians retire in and around Tarpon Springs, and great jam sessions are rocking and frequent. The band was fantastic.
And the people were dancing! I think I saw the twist, the watusi, some mashed potato, frug, and the monkey. And all by the same guy, and his alternating wife or daughter partner. But. . . The music stopped at 10:00pm! Tarpon Springs has a noise ordinance curfew of 10:00pm. Nicole felt like she was back in Goa, where the corrupt government had imposed 10:00 curfews on fun. The crowd left, but we got hang around, like groupies, with the band. Great people, all of them characters. We asked about Billy's guitar, and learned that he crafts guitars, and is part of the noted Sandlin family of guitar makers. We met the harmonica player, Roadhouse, who was on the tail end of celebrating his 65th birthday. And the delightfully rocked n rolled lead singer, Miss Jenna. Finally, at closing time, our neighbor that had told us about the show in the morning, Ottawa Bob, invited us back to his place for some single malt. Shared a few glasses of Dalmore 12 with him, and called it a night.
We unpugged early in the morning, and headed North towards Gainesville.
Click here for photos!
Real sponges are really freaking cool. We found an old Greek gentlemen, sitting on the dock, and trimming the freshly caught sponges to display and sell at the side of the road. He looked so peaceful, and content, snipping his sponges. Mary Lou asked him, "How long you been doing this?" "Since about ten o'clock this morning, mam, " he said, with a knowing smile. We asked who served his favorite greek food in town, and he told us to go to the stop sign and turn left and on the second block, we'd find Costas. The waitress asked us if we wanted a martini. "A martini? What time is it?" Mary Lou asked. The waitress said, "I think it's about 11:30 in the morning." "No. I don't think I can handle a martini this early." "How about two for one sangrias?" May Lou answers, "Sure!"
We went back to the where the old man was trimming the sponges to buy some of them. Nicole asked the spongewallah, "Well, which sponges are for which things? What do you do with them?" And the lady explained how the yellow sponges were utility sponges, for washing cars and dishes and the like. The wool sponges were finer, and used for washing the body. The silk sponges, which only grew palm sized and were found only in Tarpon Springs, were used for washing the face and removing make-up. While she was explaining, she pulled one of each sponge out of the bucket next to her chair and said, "have a feel". I can't even tell you how amazing they felt. We squeezed them and held them, and of course the coarse yellow sponge would be for utility, and the wool sponge, deliciously soft and clean, was for the body, and the vase sponge was clearly vase shaped to plant orchids or air plants in. We each got one of each, and the lady told us that, once a month, give them a nice rinsing in baking soda and water to keep them clean.
We packed our leftovers and sponges into our backpack and rode our bikes down the Pinellas Biking Path, which runs 35 miles from St. Petersburg and ends in Tarpon Springs. Then, we backtracked up the commercial route back into the historic downtown, riding slowly past the Corvette and Vintage Car Museum and showroom, a quick stop at the post office, andsaid a prayer for the recovering health of a friend's mother at St. Nicholas Greek Orthodox Chruch. We found the gold gilded artwork inside to be beautiful in its simplicity and craftsmanship. The silver Byzantine icons were especially lovely.
Before we had left for our bike ride, two gentlemen on the porch of a more permanent trailer in the RV resort had invited us to see a great band at Crabby Bill's, near the sponge docks. We cleaned up, got dressed and walked into the the back deck of the Crabby Bill's at about 9:00. It was Friday night, and everyone was out in their tight jeans and square heels to unwind, listen to some great music, and really dance. The band was Slickside, the main star, Billy Sandlin. Billy played guitar, but had played violin for 11 years with the Marshall Tucker band, and the band has shared the stage with Charlie Daniels and Vince Gill and such. Apparently, a lot of musicians retire in and around Tarpon Springs, and great jam sessions are rocking and frequent. The band was fantastic.
And the people were dancing! I think I saw the twist, the watusi, some mashed potato, frug, and the monkey. And all by the same guy, and his alternating wife or daughter partner. But. . . The music stopped at 10:00pm! Tarpon Springs has a noise ordinance curfew of 10:00pm. Nicole felt like she was back in Goa, where the corrupt government had imposed 10:00 curfews on fun. The crowd left, but we got hang around, like groupies, with the band. Great people, all of them characters. We asked about Billy's guitar, and learned that he crafts guitars, and is part of the noted Sandlin family of guitar makers. We met the harmonica player, Roadhouse, who was on the tail end of celebrating his 65th birthday. And the delightfully rocked n rolled lead singer, Miss Jenna. Finally, at closing time, our neighbor that had told us about the show in the morning, Ottawa Bob, invited us back to his place for some single malt. Shared a few glasses of Dalmore 12 with him, and called it a night.
We unpugged early in the morning, and headed North towards Gainesville.
Click here for photos!
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