© 2016 by Marisol Cruz.

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    Through and back to Savannah

    November 20, 2016

    Saturday, I slept in.

     

    The outdoor adventuring had me wiped.

     

    Instead, I lounged around while Martha readied herself for a tiny, less than 15-people, outdoor wedding.

     

    After a luxurious shower, I managed to scrounge up the energy to walk downtown.  It was only a few blocks away.  If it is not obvious, walking is a relaxing way to fend off sore ass syndrome when on a motorcycle for extended lengths of time.  

     

    I stopped at my favorite coffee shop for a cup of chai and a slice of pie. Then, I headed toward a body of water nearby -- the Amelia River.  Technically, a spot where the Amelia and St Mary's River meet.  Although the marina takes some of the view away, the local pulp mill and power plant alter quite a bit of what you see.

     

    Upon my return to the main drag, workers could be seen putting up the Christmas lights for the holiday season.  What I appreciate about Amelia's small downtown is how it advertises local businesses via marked signs at each intersection from restaurants to boutiques to bars to libraries.

     

    Ah, the library!  

     

    I made a left turn and found my sanctuary on the left.  

     

    The challenging part was figuring out where the front door was.  

     

    I walked the entire perimeter of the structure before I realized the entrance was on the fire station sign side.  Pretty sure they converted an old fire station into the library:  someone out there will set my story straight.

     

    Internet access was fairly easy; no identification required.  I had unlimited time to blog away.  My only issue was a 50-something woman sitting across from me who had a sneeze attack.

     

    After a stealthy blog session, my stomach sounded the lunch alarm.  

     

    I ended up trying a Puerto Rican restaurant called Lechonera.  How such a restaurant came to exist in this part of the world -- only G-d knows?!  

     

    Although the food was delicious, the service was inconsistent.  One minute they refilled my club soda; the next minute they served me an appetizer and left me without silverware.  

     

    Still, it was shocking to have authentic Caribbean food in this Anglo-Saxon space.

     

    Following my meal, I headed back to Martha's place.  

     

    Dusk was approaching, and I wanted to get a good night's sleep before rolling into Savannah.  

     

    When I arrived, Martha was home.  I asked her about the wedding.  She loved how intimate it was, and how the food was packaged (think ceviche in Mason jars).  Later, we reminisced about travel and escape.  

     

    It was time for her to meet some friends and although I was invited to go, I opted to set up a warm bed and cozy up for the night. Temperatures had dipped into the 40s; I was in for a cold ride the following morning.

     

     

    I bundled up, plugged my ears, and lulled myself to sleep.

    Next morning, I was up around 8 a.m.

     

    Martha was already up.  I helped her load up a hose and a pressure washer into a truck, and man was it cold.  We hugged and exchanged numbers, and off she went to do some clean up work.

     

    I showered and put on some extra layers before heading out before 10 am.

     

    Back to the coffee shop for my final chai and pie -- only this visit was different.  

     

    I met a friendly couple; they were open to chatting, so we did.  Much longer than I had anticipated.  

     

    Damn if I remember their names (that's what I get for waiting so long to write this post), but I know she was an elementary school teacher, and he was a retired attorney.  

     

    One of the loveliest couples I have ever met -- the kind of couple that grow closer and closer as the years progress.  

     

    The gist of our discussion centered around airbnb; I was trying to convince them to open up their own so that they could spend more intimate moments together (and for them that was possible).  

     

    I shared this blog with them and vroomed off into the cold.

     

    200 to 17.

     

    Amelia Island to Savannah.  

     

    About 144 miles.

     

    Cold.  

     

    Very cold.

     

    Even with layers and gloves and clear blue skies and sunshine, I could not get to Savannah fast enough.

     

    By the time I reached my new place, it was nearly dark.

     

    I parked the bike and shook off the cold.

     

    When I entered the future airbnb, I knew I was home.

     

    I yelled hello into an empty, echoey house.  

     

    A dashing and sprightly fellow named Miguel greeted me.  

     

     

    After a brief introduction, we figured out where I would sleep (sleeping bag on a hardwood floor).  Then, I showered and found some place to have dinner before crashing early.

     

    Exhausted from the cold and the wind, I managed to fall asleep despite the lackluster sleeping arrangements.  

     

    Tomorrow, a new chapter in my life begins.

     

    My 1986 Honda Rebel 450 lead me through Savannah and back again.

    Until we meet again.   

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

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