Sunday April 27th. I woke up late. Or so I thought. I jump out of the flippin' bed and gasp. "I gotta flamin' check out!" Except that I was in Florida and RIGHT ON the time zone. Just JK luck. I could have slept an hour longer in the beach house! I ride 2.5 miles, cop car at doughnut shop on left, and realise I still have the key. I ride back...mornin' officer... I thought Sunday would be a disaster.
The scenery is fabulous along 98 from Mexico Beach. I rode into Apalachicola (try saying that 3 times quickly) and stopped to snap some pics of this typical turn-of-the-century town. Two BMW sports bikes round the corner. I rode down the street and saw them parked up at the Gibson Inn, a lovely 1907 Inn with a wrap-around porch and rocking chairs. (http://www.gibsoninn.com/) That's when I decided to stop a while and get to know the locals. There was plenty of banter and teasing. Dave Marley had the blue and white BMW Cup Replica which is very rare here in the USA. "Wild" Bill White rides the R1200S named Spook. Bill is almost 71. He names all his bikes. He rides every day. He told me he's bought 17 rear tyres already. They last a few thousand miles because as he says "These roads is just sandpaper man!" Bill was always happy and chuckling, Dave was dry and full of good tips. On the porch was Darrel Smith. He rides a little Honda with highish bars. He took some teasing he did. Bill and Dave were headed south too and invited me to ride along. We rode along that stunning coast and Dave set the "brisk" pace. I looked behind and "old" Bill was right with us all the way...up to 3 figures no problem. They took me 25 miles south to a small festival where we sat and had chicken wings and listened to a guy playing guitar. The guitar man was little Honda Darrel's brother. I guessed Darrel heard him often enough. We sat and laughed and Bill told story after story. His first bike was a Harley he bought in 1948. A TWO-STROKE that was a war reparation design taken from DKW. The Brits called it the BSA Bantam I believe. Then an Indian he rode in the dark at 2am with no brakes, no lights, and a HAND gear change lever. He just belly-laughed through the whole story. Then on to sad experiences with Ducati. He swopped that Duc (I think he just had a bad one) for BMW and stuck a full race exhaust on it. Gotta go faster once you're over 70, right?
The scenery is fabulous along 98 from Mexico Beach. I rode into Apalachicola (try saying that 3 times quickly) and stopped to snap some pics of this typical turn-of-the-century town. Two BMW sports bikes round the corner. I rode down the street and saw them parked up at the Gibson Inn, a lovely 1907 Inn with a wrap-around porch and rocking chairs. (http://www.gibsoninn.com/) That's when I decided to stop a while and get to know the locals. There was plenty of banter and teasing. Dave Marley had the blue and white BMW Cup Replica which is very rare here in the USA. "Wild" Bill White rides the R1200S named Spook. Bill is almost 71. He names all his bikes. He rides every day. He told me he's bought 17 rear tyres already. They last a few thousand miles because as he says "These roads is just sandpaper man!" Bill was always happy and chuckling, Dave was dry and full of good tips. On the porch was Darrel Smith. He rides a little Honda with highish bars. He took some teasing he did. Bill and Dave were headed south too and invited me to ride along. We rode along that stunning coast and Dave set the "brisk" pace. I looked behind and "old" Bill was right with us all the way...up to 3 figures no problem. They took me 25 miles south to a small festival where we sat and had chicken wings and listened to a guy playing guitar. The guitar man was little Honda Darrel's brother. I guessed Darrel heard him often enough. We sat and laughed and Bill told story after story. His first bike was a Harley he bought in 1948. A TWO-STROKE that was a war reparation design taken from DKW. The Brits called it the BSA Bantam I believe. Then an Indian he rode in the dark at 2am with no brakes, no lights, and a HAND gear change lever. He just belly-laughed through the whole story. Then on to sad experiences with Ducati. He swopped that Duc (I think he just had a bad one) for BMW and stuck a full race exhaust on it. Gotta go faster once you're over 70, right?
As one ear-splitting Harley after another rode off I asked these men why they didn't ride Harleys. "Bin there, done that" said Bill. "It is such an unnatural riding position". They talked of the unreliability, the ubiquitous, tiresome "useless poser clothing" they all cloned into, and the supposed "bad-boy" image. These two guys got on well with all the Harley riders in town but chose to focus on "real riding machines". I was very surprised and impressed by them and when Dave offered to let me stay at one of his beach-front condos I knew I would come back one day to ride with them again. That's when I spotted Bill's little badge. His message to SUV drivers. 70 years old and still laughing at life. You just have to love American's after meeting these two.
From there to Perry the 98 moves inland and is a long straight road between pine trees. I mean straight. So straight I fell asleep. Yes...asleep. I woke up at the only known bend in America to see a car 6' in front of me. Boy did I swoop right quickly. With eyes the size of dinner-plates and the heart rate of a chipmunk on crack I rode WIDE awake to Perry and eventually Inglis.
Cheap Motel. I took the first one I could see. I asked about food but the place was closing. There's a pub round the corner. I walked into one of the craziest places I have yet been. Velma Williams never stopped chuckling and served the best pizza I've enjoyed in a long time. Kenny Eunice, of Focus Real Estate Group, told me tons of history about the area and even called a DJ mate of his and got me talking about doing an interview on a radio station. Then Manic Mike (not at all manic) joined in. They told me about how Inglis became the laughing stock of America a few years ago when the woman who was the Mayor claimed she had expelled the Devil from Inglis and even had it printed up on Official letterheads. They took my picture with Mike and said they'd spread the word that the Devil was back in Inglis and drinking with Jesus in Our Pub. I guess this would qualify as devilment. Everyone in that place was a character and they wished me all the best with the charity. I haven't stopped laughing since I hit Florida...except when I woke up in that bend...
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