Guy
Boutin's Motorcycle Touring and Travel Pages
Adventures in Sport
Touring with the Honda ST 1100, 1300 and the BMW 1200RT
Exploring North America...One Road
at a Time
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Guy
Boutin's Motorcycle Touring and Travel Pages
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Gulf Coast Meander My wife is in Dallas on business, my son is busy with semester exams, and I had the week off. What to do? Road trip of course. I had been trying to get down Destin, Florida for the last week or two. My family and Destin go way back. My sister owns a condo there, and my family and I have traveled the 180 miles to the resort many, many times. Lots of sun, surf, seafood, and golf, for those so inclined. The last 5 years have found me forgoing my favorite stomping grounds. Just been too busy with other stuff. Lately, I have been devoting my vacations to exploring new places, but noway do I forget the great beaches of Destin, and the Gulf Coast. Take out a map, and trace the Gulf Coast from Mobile, east to Panama City. Along that stretch, you will find the FINEST beaches in the U.S. I KNOW, I have been to them all. The sugar white sand, blue green warm water, hot sun and warm Gulf breezes are unique to the area. Warm ocean currents flowing from the equator become trapped in the Gulf, and wash ashore. Special ocean minerals mix, causing the shoreline to appear sugar coated. Many refer to this stretch of beach as the Emerald Coast. California may have a grander coastline, but for just swimming and sunning, I will take the Gulf Coast. The Pacific is COLD. With that in mind, I saddled up on a brilliant, sunny, late fall morning. The weather for this December ride would not be a factor. It's perfect. No wind, warm temps, and lots of sunshine. I pulled out of the driveway at 9am and gassed up at the local Entec station. I topped the ST off with 93.5 for a paltry 1.10 a gallon. I took 31 south to Montgomery, switched to US 331 and began the trip to the beach. U.S. 331 is the main connecting road for traffic heading to this section of the Emerald Coast. Summer weekends will find it jammed with north and south bound traffic. Long lines of slow moving mini vans and jeeps are common in June and July. The saving grace? The route is interesting and scenic. The highway will take you through the South Alabama towns of Luverne, Brantley, Opp, and Florala. In between, you will find acres and acres of farmland and forests. Traffic is light, as I motor south. I have the highway to myself. I clear Montgomery, and pass through the community of Snowdoun. I am thinking of many things as I ride along, and I suddenly realize this will be the STs first trip to Florida. I will pick up my 42nd state for the year today. How could have I been to Canada, California and not Florida? I am relaxed today. I am determined to slow down and check out things I always wondered about when coming this way in a cage. The ST has been only as far south as Luverne on 331, so this will be something new. I am anxious to see how much has changed south of Luverne the last 5 years. Twenty miles south of Montgomery, near MM 79 you will find a large pine tree, with a big, plastic, yellow ribbon tied around the trunk. A farmhouse is nearby. The home is painted green, and nestled under a clump of trees. A fence surrounds it. The ribbon has been here since my first trip to Destin, over 17 years ago. What does it mean? Did something tragic happen to someone at the farmhouse? A missing child? Perhaps, something to do with a Vietnam MIA? I slow down when the house and tree come into view. Yep, there it is. The ribbon is old and dirty, but still there. I look around for someone to quiz, but don't see anyone. I take a pic, and continue south, checking back over my left shoulder as I pull out onto 331. I will stop in Highland Home and see what I can find out.
I ride into Highland Home and pull into the Beeline Food Mart and secure a Mountain Dew and Moon Pie. The morning sun is nothing short of spectacular and everyone is in a good mood. I ask the clerk as he rings me up- "you from around here?' "yes I am" "what's the story on the yellow ribbon a few miles back?" "That ribbon has been there over 20 years. A young couple use to live there, but she walked out on him. He put that ribbon out, as a sign he was waiting for her to come home. She had to ride by it everyday on her way to work. That went on for several years, till she finally remarried a guy from Montgomery and moved to the city. She never came back. Brokenhearted, he never remarried, and in fact sold the house to another couple 8 years ago. The new owners can't bring themselves to take the ribbon down. The man bought some land in Oklahoma and has not been heard from since." "Was she THAT good?" I finished my Iron Butt snack outside, so I could enjoy the sun. I was kind of saddened by what I found out. As I was pulling out from the store, a tired looking log truck pulled out with me from the gas station across the street. Dang, now why couldn't he have waited for me? I am locked down behind him for a few miles. His rear wheels and trailer sling dirt clogs at me at 60mph. I finally catch a straight, and gloat as I leave him in the dust. The nickname of the local high school is NOT Tigers, Lions, Bears, or Braves. Try the Flying Squadron. Good for them at showing some individuality. I ride south another 20 miles and arrive in Luverne. Coming into town I see the nursing home, with a old man sitting in the warm sun on the balcony overlooking the highway. The facility has been here a long time. He has a great spot to watch the world go by, so I pull in a join him. I've always wanted to stop here and brighten a lonely individuals day. I park the ST and walk the few feet to the balcony, and find a rocker next to him. The warm sun feels good on my face as we chat. The old man seems glad for the company, and he speaks to me about farming and the politics in Crenshaw County. I tell him when I find myself in HIS place, I want to be able to say when the stuff came around, I did it. No regrets. I don't want to miss anything good. "That's a good idea son, cause when you get to here, it's too late. I sit here all day wishing I had done that, or went there." What a feeling it is to be on a ride, and not be worried about getting there. I enjoy my long tours, but had forgotten just how much fun a ride such as this can be. Leaving the city I see the school and football field that creamed us my sophomore year. I was sore for 3 days after that game. We nicknamed them the "Crenshaw Crushers." A few miles later I come to Brantley. Better known as the speed trap from hell. There is no reason most of the highway through Brantley can't handle 50 mph traffic, but the speed limit is 25, end to end. Unwary Yankees, on their way to the beach, are plucked by the local police, like minnows in a pond. The folks in Alabama KNOW not to speed through Brantley. I idle through at 15 mph. I cruise along at 70 mph when I get out of the city limits. I find myself singing a few songs, and humming the songs I don't know the lyrics to. I sing the old Joe South song " Don't it Make You Wanna Go Home". The chorus goes like this- "Don't it make you wanna go home now, don't it make you wanna go home, all God's children get weary when they roam, don't it make ya wanna go home" I pass a old farmhouse with a couple swinging on the porch, I throw up my hand and they wave back. Opp is the busiest town on the route between Montgomery and DeFuniak Springs, Florida. I catch all the lights as I make my way through. A 18 wheeler is in the wrong lane for 331 South so he just comes over on me. I have no choice but to stop and let him in. I pass him on my way out of town. Just south of Opp I spy a man selling tomatoes on the shoulder of the road. I pull in for a conversation. His tomatoes are red and ripe. He has jars of peppers also for sale. He wears a straw hat with a green tinted visor. He has the biggest frame glasses on, and they make his face look ROUND. "How's business?" "Not too bad, but not like the summer when the Yankees are on the move, the Canadians (who dominate 331 this time of year) don't spend as much money" I laughed, "well I was just up there, hell it takes 30 dollars Canadian to buy a 2 dollar basket of American tomatoes. So don't get to down on them." I continue on south. What a great day this is. The temp is 80 and I pull over at a abandoned rest area to remove my sweatshirt and go to light gloves. A few miles later I pass a white car with Ontario plates, and think back to my good friends there. It is getting warmer by the mile. The warm breeze off the Gulf is evident. The miles pass quickly to Florala, and once again I back down to 5 under the speed limit. It is a good idea, if you ever ride 331 to the beach from Montgomery, NOT to speed through ANY of the towns connected by this road. Florala is not as bad as Brantley, but don't underestimate their need for revenue. They have a quaint Christmas display as you enter the town. A Santa Claus scurrying up a Palm tree.
The city is right on the state line, thus the name Florala DUH. The Florida border city of Paxton has really grown from the last time I passed through here. A Tom Thumb store now occupies the lot where I remember a local ma and pa store stood. I am now in what is referred to as the Florida Panhandle. The Panhandle is very different from the remainder of Florida. The culture in the Panhandle is old south. The joke around here is the Panhandle is going to secede from South Florida and join Alabama or Georgia. I recall a sign few miles south of Paxton-"Lakewood, Florida Highest Point in Florida 343 Feet." I think today I will follow that sign and check that out. I come to the sign and turn left onto a county road. The road even has a few twists and I lean a little bit. I think to myself "dang, I am riding the Florida twisties!, Can I survive? LOOK OUT PACIFIC COAST HIGHWAY!" The road has 2 twists, a modest lefty, and then a sleepy right hander. Nothing a squid from California couldn't handle at 120.
A few miles from the highway I find Lakewood. To honor the highest point in Florida, the state erected a picnic table, and rest room. I guess its hard to get excited about 343 feet. I wonder if the guys from Miami have their ears pop when they ride up here? I ride back to 331 and home in on the beaches at Destin. Defuniak Springs is next. A tired and worn out Panhandle city. I ride through non stop, passing under I-10 just south of the city. I see Freeport has a brand new, shiny high school located right on the highway. The roof is metal and painted in the school colors. In Freeport, I can take SR 20 east to the new Mid Bay Toll Bridge, and arrive at Destin. It has only been in operation a few years. I am not for sure, but I think its a private enterprise, and the rumor back home is, it is quite expensive to use. Besides, I am a purist, so I stay on 331 and will cross the Choctawhatchee Bay on the old bridge. My son loved crossing this bridge when he was small. It was one of those old fashioned bridges, with a draw near the south end to let shipping pass by. Many a night we would cross the bridge, and see the light of operator's TV in the office. Chris loved to jump up in the seat and say, "daddy slow down so we can see if that man is watching TV." I am disappointed to see the old draw bridge causeway has been replaced with a new bridge, high enough to let shipping pass unobscured. I cross the bridge and reach the southern terminus of 331. I make a right turn on US 98 west. Man this place has changed. They are busy making a 98 a 4 lane highway, and judging by the traffic, none too quick. New businesses and condo complexes have gobbled up most of the land along Highway 98. I KNEW I should've bought a lot out here 15 years ago. I leave 98 for the beach frontage road, and look out into the Gulf. A awesome sight. I have traveled the country, witnessing many, if not most of its great natural wonders, but the beach here in my backyard, ranks right up there. I ride down to a turnout and park the ST. I am burning up in my Aerostich and glad to take it off. I have shorts and a T shirt under it, so I take my boots off and walk down to the beach barefoot. The sugar white pristine sand is just like I remember it. The water clear and warm. The surf is quiet, and gentle today, but it is never the kind of surf a guy could ride. The sun is so intense here in the summer, I have seen people fried in 30 minutes. The temps hover well above 90 in the hot, humid summers, the sun is high overhead, combine that with the extra rays reflected off the white sand and water, and you will have a recipe for serious sunburn. I wade out in the water. The water feels cool at first, but in a few minutes it feels perfect. The temp is 85 warm degrees. The beaches are deserted, this is the off season. The resorts now turn their attention to the snowbirds, most of them are retired, and not into swimming. I did notice a young couple preparing a kayak for a outing.
I sit down in the sand and find myself getting sleepy, so I moved to a bench and took a 15 minute nap. The sound of the surf lulling me into coma in just a few seconds. After my nap I rode west to a favorite hangout of mine when in the area. A beachside restaurant called the "Back Porch." I sat on the deck, looking out to Gulf, and dined on a delightful bowl of seafood gumbo. I glanced at my watch, "damn time to head back already." It was 2:30pm, which meant I would ride the last 60 miles in the dark. My route back would be the quickest. SR 85 out of Ft. Walton north to Crestview. As I crossed the bridge into Ft. Walton I passed a couple on a OLD airhead BMW with Hotel California plates. They were really loaded down. I find 85 and head north for home. The route home quicker by 45 minutes or so then 331. On a map 331 looks to be the quickest and most direct, but this route is the route to take for the savvy traveler, especially in summer. Less traffic, and most of the 180 miles is 4 lane. Exiting Ft. Walton I decide to ride non stop to my next gas stop, which I guess to be in Andalusia. Traffic is on the heavy side as school is getting out. In Crestview I take SR 4 to Baker and head for the state line. The traffic thins out and I make good time in the setting sun as I ride north. Splitting farmland, and forests, I settle in for a long ride. My shadow is cast far out to my right, it makes a perfect outline in the grassy banks I sometimes find myself next to. I cross back into Alabama, as the sun slips under the trees. The temp begins to cool off quickly. The sky is clear, I know that will foster a quick cool off. No clouds to act like a blanket. My fuel light comes on just south of Andalusia, but I ignore it. I will gas up at I-65, 40 miles down the road. SR 55 is sort of remote out of Andalusia, but I don't worry. I can go 50 miles on the reserve light, I KNOW, I've done it. 55 is 4 lane. Now why would they build a 4 lane in the middle of nowhere? Of all the roads in Alabama that need attention, why 4 lane this barren stretch of highway? I know why, this county is home to a powerful state senator, in fact this section of road is NAMED after him. Politics. My yellow fuel light burns steadily the entire ride on SR 55. I can picture the occupants of the farm houses I pass sitting down for supper. The evening news on TV. SR 55 is a quiet road, and I enjoy the ride. It is almost dark as I pull into the Chevron station at the I-65 exit in Georgiana, having covered 130 miles non stop. The ST takes 6.4 gallons. I still had almost a gallon left. Heck, I wonder just how far I can go with the light on? Lets see, I just did 40, and almost a gallon left, so I am going to say 80-90 miles at 70 mph. I get on I-65 and head north. It is dark now. I keep my speed down in the dark. I have a lurking fear a 4x4 will jump out from a vehicle ahead of me, so I better be ready. Hungry, I stop at the Shoney's in Greenville for supper. I had the grilled chicken breast. A zealous 3 year old gets the best of his parents, and they leave without finishing their supper. The kid was something else. Yelling, screaming, and kicking as they try to get him outside. He reminded me of protesting tree huggers. I follow a speeding 18 wheeler for 40 miles to Montgomery, figuring if any deer decided to bolt, the truck would take him out for me. I gave myself a safe distance in case a recap flew off. Dang y'all I am NOT a rookie. I quickly take care of the last 10 miles and pull into my garage at 6:15pm and drop the stand. I listen to my messages as I peel off my riding gear, my wife says to call her. She left a number but failed to tell me what room to ring when the operator picks up. I guess she figures I'm Carnac, and all I have to do is hold the receiver to my head, and get the room number. My other 3 messages come from telemarketers wanting to sell me stuff, and the third is from my mother, wanting to know why the city won't pick up the stuff she moved out of the basement. I rode 387 glorious miles today. If the Packers win tonight, it will a perfect day. What better way to spend a Monday?
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