Bleach White Sands and Zero Gators- a joyful detour

On Route 30
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Those here to merely learn about this section of road, advance to under the stars.

The boy scouts staying on my hall woke me up this morning with the noise that so easily conjures an image- running as fast as you can. Kids are so cute when they sprint because they give their all and all their weight, limbs taught and reaching forward with the same effort as their legs, trying their damnedest to pound their little feet into the floor just in case there's a little bit of give, maybe some spring, to match their stride with height. Can you see them? Hats flying off, sucking in their bottom lips, racing each other down the corridor. Well, maybe it's easier for me to imagine because that noise (special because it is both noise and reverberation) of desperate sprints continued as all sixty boys ran by my door. Nope, not the least bit sorry or sarcastic for it, that was a far better way to enliven me this morning than repeats of Rush Limbaugh. (I knew I had descended beneath the Mason Dixon line when it was easier to catch his programs- on a record three separate stations during one cycle- than All Things Considered.) Kids have so much energy.

Route 30E on Cape San Blas- that isn't snow.
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OK, so I prepared myself for a day of walking around Cumberland Island, touching the seashore and the water and the life that I've been observing. Then as I took off for the quaint town of St Marys, I asked my tour companion (book) about schedules and starting swearing too loud (and aptly, for that matter) for Sunday in Georgia, because the ferries only go out during weekdays. After some wheel-slapping and more cursing, I resolved to return. I had already told myself that I must come back to Savannah, so Cumberland Island is so close I could camp there and go into the city during the day. I felt better.

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The day unfolded without another surprise, and I started wondering if I should just forge ahead, skip the coast, and try to get to Mississippi or even Louisiana today. Thank goodness I decided against that because it isn't too far, but there is too much construction. I spontaneously took route 69 to 71 South to explore Scenic Route 30, although about  40 miles east taking route 319 from Tallahassee could provide a longer route along the ocean from 98 to 30 and 98 again. But on the west side of route 30, 98 traffic is stop and go along a highly developed strip that offered little in the way of views beyond the neon.

what the north side looked like
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Routes 69 and 71 were interesting in their own rights, if not all that scenic. At first the sweeping lands, large enough for all intersections to be perfect perpendiculars with plenty of space for pullovers, reminded me of the road in Pet Cemetery (I know, it's like the stupid images get in there and they're stuck, until one day something like that comes to mind and it almost feels worth it to have such a pointless memory skill). As I approached the coast the communities began to change, most dramatically in overall wealth. For example, within the first twenty miles there were four gas station signs but either no pumps of any kind or not even a fuel station, just the sign. Then, the stations had pumps but no sign, and soon they had both, but the towns had lost their charm- banks and tom thumbs and churches all looked like they were built from the same kit.

easternmost Route 30 view on the mainland
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I often feel that twinge of cynicism mixed with guilt because I do scoff at the towns I drive through where I come up with a story like this one that I made up for, wait for it, White City. With no town center, the blinking sign beckoning drivers to Pete's Liquors and Beer seemed to welcome those just passing through. As I passed Pete's building, another long, single story establishment appeared, this one unlit with windows covered with beer and liquor posters and one of a guitar. That must be the bar:

this sunset got so pink!
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I imagined a Saturday night in White City, when everyone from town goes to Pete's Bar, and dances up on each other, having a wild time, praising Jesus, until Officer Krupke turns on the house lights and reminds Pete that it's last call and he can't serve no more. Then he mentions that some trucker parked to pick up a six-pack at the liquor store but couldn't get in. As the locals pay their tabs, they file out and wait by the door to Pete's store, with the trucker in front, until Pete has closed up the bar and can reopen his shop for everyone. I came up with that, it could happen, don't you think? By the way I would have written the same story if I drove past Liston's and a liquor store right after in Worthington, if I didn't know any better... but I would have left out the Jesus bit.

pardon my terrible exposure. That's the most miniscule sliver of moon I've ever seen, and above it, some star or planet (help?) "Moon Over Pensacola"
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I've never seen so many churches. Even along Scenic Route 30 (which I am getting to but it is only about 20 miles long so pardon my lengthening of content) there were a handful. Baptist, Pentecostal, Presbyterian, Catholic (few, however), and more Baptist. There were three in a row in places, I would estimate ten along a town's center square. And they obviously have fun with their love of Jesus (if I hadn't already figured out by the diversity of religious musical genres on the radio ranging from the ones that trick me into listening just in case its a classic rock station, along the spectrum to twangy Jesus love songs and fantastic hymnal meets rockabilly directions), which I deduced from the following signs: "Knees Knocking? Kneel on the Them", "It's a Small World. I know. I made it. -God", "I'm going to come again! - Jesus", "Jesus is Coming! - Matthew", and the laminated note from my Holiday Inn Express yesterday, which read for three paragraphs on how if I'm alone in their hotel, they hope God is watching over me, and that I am protected here between the two eternities, and so forth.

It's just new. And they're Americans too so I feel like I'm allowed to make fun of them a little bit. There was a moment this afternoon, south of Tallahassee, when all I could hear on the radio were sermons, religious music, or the Shoop song by Salt n Pepa. And that is a dirty, dirty song.

****** Ok, so you drive south from a major byway and choose 98 to route 30. At first, both sides are typical Florida swamp, nestled under thick palms and marshlands, then through the palmettos the beach opens up. This view would be majestic if you arrive at high tide. The water was back and a few boats were leaning heavily against the flat sand. Most houses were empty, and most properties had either a for rent or for sale sign in front- I'd wager a good dollar that there are more realtor offices than residences along this strip (does that have something to do with the half-dozen naval test bases scattered about?). But the driveways were often white sand, and the views out to the water were tantalizing as the sun danced on calm, uninterrupted waves.

I wanted to see more so I took route 30E out onto the Cape, which opened up  my views and shortened the land between me and the Gulf on both sides. I got out my camera and snapped some shots while I was alone, astounded at the subtle contrast between the late afternoon sky and the bleach white sands. When I reached the small town at the edge of the cape I turned around and watched it all a second time. I wish there were no houses to look around, or make private these lands, but they do protect the roads, I suppose, and each glimpse of postcard-worthy beach was worth the detour.