Alabama Bound

I had a cup of coffee and a banana at my campsite at Camel Lake at 7:00 am. Eager to get on the road for the long drive ahead, I figured I’d enjoy a hot breakfast when I got to Blountstown, Florida, which I’d been reading about in my book.

Blounstown is a town with a long history, a center of both logging and oyster commerce. It would be a good place to take a short break, see the place in person, I decided. I broke camp, packed everything away, took a few minutes to give thanks for a memorable stay.

Made my way safely back down the access road, though it took 30 minutes to drive the two miles.  Hit the main road, no traffic. Passed a happening yard sale. People were parked up and down both sides of the country road this early in the morning. Big doings in the community. Tempted to stop but held my temptation in check. Carried on.

Traffic was light. I made good time to Blountstown. Began looking for a nice little local café where I knew I’d find a homemade breakfast. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Not a café or coffee shop to be seen on either of the two commercial streets in town. This is Blountstown today

I stopped at a gas station to fill up. Two women were sitting in lawn chairs at the side of the parking lot, sipping coffee. A big, yellow dog was panting beside them.  They smiled as I began gassing up. After I washed my windows, filthy from the dirt road into and out of Camel Lake, I walked over to them.

“Good morning. Are you two local?”

“We sure are,” a fifty-ish brunette with a short perm and coral striped pedal pushers said.  The dog jumped up, headed straight for my crotch.

“Dex, down!” her companion, clad in a floral house dress, yelled. “He won’t hurt ya. He’s just friendly.”

Dex smelled like a dog that needed a bath. I noticed this as I gave his still thrusting head a pat. I tried to gently push him aside.

“Can either of you tell me where I might find a nice breakfast? I’ve been camping out at Camel Lake and a good, hot breakfast is just what I need.” I chuckled.

They conferred for a few seconds.  Dex moved on to trying to knock me over, leaning into me with his full forty or fifty pounds.

“Well…” House Dress began, ”How far are you willing to drive? Panama City’s about an hour away. There’s a good place there.”

“I’m not headed that direction. I’m moving north into Alabama. I was hoping to eat here in Blountstown.”

 They conferred again. Dex shoved his big, stinking head under my hand, demanding another pat. I obliged.

Pedal Pusher said, “There isn’t anywhere here in town. Not for breakfast, anyway.”

“What about the Piggly Wiggly?” House Dress asked. “Don’t they still got that biscuits and gravy take out in the deli section?”

 “Oh, yeah. Yeah. If you pull outta here, take a left, follow this road down across the river to the end, you’ll find the Piggly Wiggly. You can get their biscuits and gravy. If you’re wanting to eat in, I think they got a couple of seats and a little table right there, too.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate your help. Have a great Saturday.” I said, trying to mask my disappointment.

   I studied my map. Niceville, 70 miles west. No way was I going to have Piggly Wiggly’s biscuits and gravy. A nice breakfast in Niceville might be worth waiting for.

 Nothing in Niceville. Nothing in Clarksville (not even a last train). Nothing in Bruce. Nothing, in fact, in any of the little towns and townships along the panhandle highway 20. No cafes, no coffee shops, no restaurants open on a Saturday morning.

I passed through little hamlets with two or three churches each. I passed a string of Christian Ranches. Prosperous looking, too. That’s a nice scam, I thought. Avoid taxes and make a bundle, all in the name of the Lord.

There was almost zero traffic on the lesser highway I’d taken. Just me and a truck, who seemed content to follow me at my 55 miles per hour up and down the highway over the rolling sand hills.

 Two hours later, I arrived at Freeport. A big crossroad town. Several liquor stores but no restaurant opened for breakfast. It was closing in on lunchtime. I had my choice between a pizza joint, a Subway, and a McDonalds.

 I chose the car wash I spotted on the right instead.

 Both Durga and Pearl were filthy, covered in dust and mud. For $3.00, I pulled into one of those do it yourself spray wash bays and hosed them down. The satisfaction I felt at seeing the grime melt away replaced the disappointment I felt at not finding a good breakfast.

Spoiled by the wealth of choices in Portland, and on the entire west coast, I hadn’t considered the possibility that folks in the rural south didn’t go out for breakfast.

Back on the road, I passed a new housing development. The sign read, “Starting at $200,000.” It looked like a scene from the Stepford Wives.

Rows of ticky tacky and they all looked just the same.

Heading north toward Alabama, the highway turned into two lanes each way. Traffic was brisk and drivers purposeful. I held to my 55 in the right lane.

In De Funiak Springs, I stopped for gas. Remembered I needed a refill brush for my Sonic-Care and that this was going to be the largest town before I entered the Conecuh National Forest in Alabama, where I’d be spending the next three nights.

Got my groceries, my toothbrushes, and found a little restaurant in the bottom of a historic hotel which specialized in Southern food. -Postcard image

“Kind of ironic,” I thought, as I ordered the daily special, which turned out to be fried catfish, greens, beans and rice, and hushpuppies. I was hungry, it was good, I ate almost all of it.

Back on the road, heading out of town, I spied a Thai restaurant. “Damn, I wish I would have found that place first.” I said out loud.

An hour later, I crossed the border into Alabama. It felt like a huge accomplishment, getting out of Florida.  To celebrate, I stopped at an ice cream shop in Florala I noticed as I was cruising through the small town.  And they even had wi-fi!

I ordered my ice cream (fresh strawberry and chocolate, made by them), sat down, began to publish my posts written at Camel Lake.  The owner’s son, a handsome young fellow, watched awhile, realized I was writing something. Came over.

“Are you a reporter or something?” he asked.

Interesting assumption, I thought.

“Or something.” I smiled. “I’m writing a travel blog and I do report on where I’ve been, what I’m experiencing in it.”

“How do you set up your blog?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer that.

“Well here, have a look.” I turned my laptop screen a bit so he could better see it. Found out that I needed a password for their wifi because my hot spot wasn’t getting enough connection.  He didn’t know it so called over a young woman, who I assumed was his sister. She was adept at getting me going.

 “This is my site. I’m not very tech savvy. So, I just write and weave in pictures I’ve taken, or images I’ve found which help illustrate my story.”

His sister re-joined us.

“She’s a writer,” he said. “Writing a travel blog.”

“Cool,” she said. “What are you working on?”

“Tell you guys what. I’ll write about you in my next entry. About how nice you were to me. How good the ice cream was.  Here, here’s my website name. You can look me up if you’re interested.”

I noticed their mother working behind the counter. Busy trying to put things in order because they were closing at 3:00, earlier than usual. She glanced over our way. I smiled at her.

“I’ve got an idea,” I said. “Why don’t I take a picture of all of you to put into the blog?”

The mother met my eyes briefly. Told the two to get a third person, a girl who had been behind the scenes.

I suggested they move behind the counter under a sign with their name. Noticed a cap on the countertop with the name of a cattle company on it.

“Is that your cattle company, too?” I asked.

“It is,” the mother said, pride in her voice.

“Well, I’m going to make sure to get that cap in the shot, too. If you guys could squeeze together just a little bit and maybe move a few inches to your right….” I took the photo. Tood another.  Took a third. “There we go, “ I said. “This one’s good.”

I showed the mother who looked it over. Nodded approvingly.  They all checked it out. Seemed excited to be part of this out of the ordinary experience.

“I’ll write about you in my next entry,” I promised. “Look for it.”

And here it is.