I slept in a little later than the previous morning.
Still, I was up just after 7 a.m.
Again, I made breakfast: soft-boiled eggs and toast.
By 10 a.m., I was packed and ready to go.
I lubed the chain and secured all my belongings.
Keith and Cathy watched my departure, and suggested that John Anderson route. I invited them to Savannah knowing that they would come visit; it's too close for them not to stop and see me.
From Anderson, I jumped onto 100 back to A1a.
I took A1a all the way through St. Augustine and into Jacksonville.
The weather could not have been more perfect: a cloudless sky with temperatures in the 70s.
Views of the ocean.
Views of various rivers.
Views of McMansions, too.
When I reached Beach Boulevard, I stopped at a Walgreens to hydrate and enjoy a snack.
It was a miraculous stop, for I ran into a 70-something black man named Leo. He was in an old F150 admiring my motorcycle when he asked me how many cc's it had.
We had a lengthy conversation as to why he was there.
His daughter -- the one he raised since birth -- had questions as to whether or not he was her biological father. He was at the Walgreens waiting to speak to a pharmacist about some sort of DNA test that he could take to prove his paternity.
Apparently, his ex-wife had filled his 50-something, Atlanta-based daughter's head with the notion that he was not her father.
What a load of bull -- not just on his ex-wife's part, but his daughter, too.
Who cares if he was "blood."
Leo did the fathering part -- raising her!
Later, when the time was right, I told him about my journey.
He knew that I would be crossing over A1a, so he proceeded to give me exact directions to the Mayport ferry.
I had taken all these pictures to figure out how to get there, and here, I meet Leo, and voila, like magic he's there to guide my way.
And... that's how it is on a motorcycle.
I call it moto-flow.
Here's a truth: when you are on a motorcycle, all that you need arrives just when you need it right when you need it.
I said goodbye to Leo and headed to Mayport for my first St. John's River ferry ride (with my motorcycle).
There, I paid $5.00 to get from side of A1a to the other.
There, a young transportation agent (and cash collector) shared a
motorcycle story with me.
There, I took this photo.
Following my river crossing, I continued along A1a.
I passed more beautiful vistas including several state parks as I reached Amelia Island.
Along the way, I saw a sign for a Harris-Teeter, and thanks to a Charleston vacation, I knew what it was.
I pulled into the grocery store to have a late lunch (in the parking lot of course).
Then, I looked for directions to my airbnb -- it was less than five miles away.
I drove along A1a into Fernandina Beach and pulled into the house where I would be staying.
Modest, but private it was.
In the Florida room (aka back porch) was where I was.
I pulled into the driveway, unloaded my gear, and walked toward the back of the house.
The door was open, so I dropped my stuff down and freshened up.
Then, I drove back to the beach to take a long coastal walk on such a crisp, cool day.
When I returned to my motorcycle, I drove into the quaint downtown area.
Finding a coffee shop, I parked and pulled into the establishment.
Appropriately called Amelia Island Coffee, I ordered a chai and a half-price piece of cake (coconut and vanilla).
Later, I drove back to my airbnb spot, and met up at the kitchen table with Martha (a Nassau County theater teacher).
I closed the evening with a lively discussion before drifting off to sleep on a pull-out couch in a Florida room on Amelia Island.
Until we meet again.