| Cycling east Canada and USA |  | |||||
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| Nothing compares to the simple pleasure of a bike ride. J.F.Kennedy | ||||||
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| Four-month cycling trip, starting in late July 2013 in Quebec, ending in Orlando. Author's 10th expedition (New Zealand, Australia, USA, Canada, Alaska, Japan, Mexico, Bolivia, Chile, Argentina, Namibia, South Africa). |
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Georgia and Florida Savannah, Midway, Eulonia, Darien, Brunswick, Jekyll Island, Waverly, Woodbine, Kingsland, Folkston, Hillard (Florida), Callahan, Jacksonville, St. Augustine, Daytona Beach, Mims, Bellwood, Merrit Island, Mims, Winter Garden, Apopka, Mount Plymouth, Umatilla, Alexander Springs, Sanford, Wakiva Falls, Mt. Dora, Apopka, Orlando
Ask, and You will Receive
Savannah
The city has a folk-tale spiritual center – magic, extrasensory perception, paranormal events and other similar monkey tricks have a breeding-ground here. Therefore, the local cemeteries are very popular and surrounded by myths and ghost stories. Do read the book "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil", a global bestseller by John Berendt, based on the true story of a murder that took place in Mercer House on Monterey Square in 1981. It has been translated into Czech. Or watch the movie by the same name, directed by Clint Eastwood. I am very resilient to this kind of thing, but magic was at work there. You can hardly see any houses due to the enormous oak trees surrounding them. The historical city has 24 small squares and big parks covered in lush greenery. You can get down to the river on a steep, stone-paved path, on which fatal slipping accidents sometimes occur (but also by elevator, or you can bypass it via a steep street).
For one and a half days I strolled around the city, passing through 21 squares and two cemeteries. I ate a lot of local, spicy food but didn't try the omnipresent cigars, although everyone, including women and young girls, without exception, was smoking them. The city is best explored on foot but there are also free buses that transport one to all the famous sights. There is a free ferry service over the river and, on the river bank, there is a little train which was out of service at the time, due to reparations.
I didn't really want to leave Savannah, but an obligation is an obligation, I had to get home and the plane would not wait for me. The morning chill had gone. When I left that morning dressed in shorts and a sweater, I was still sweating as I pedaled along the road. It was an easy ride along Highway 17, which actually had a marked bicycle track for 15 km. For the most part, the roads had at least a narrow emergency lane. There was not much traffic since the 17 runs parallel to Interstate 95 and therefore serves mostly local traffic. Between South Newport and Darien, timber trucks, which I had to watch out for, started appearing on the road and from time to time I had to save myself by going off the road on to the surrounding grass. With the wind from behind, riding across flat countryside, I was flying and already by 2 p.m. had covered 100 km.
At the Piggy Wiggy market in Eulonia I came across frozen burritos, which I had not had since traveling along the West coast years ago. I bought three of them for a staggering $1.50, heated them in a microwave oven and had a great snack. Microwave ovens are usually available for use in most stores. At that time, I was addressed by a young couple who were on their first cycling holiday. Jesse and Leigh started off in New Jersey and were headed for Florida like me. After Florida, they planned to continue across the continent to California and San Diego. They rode about 40 miles (64 km) per day, traveling between B&Bs where they stayed overnight. By the way, this was at noon. They asked a lot of questions and had a lot of luggage. For example, they had a four-man tent, but Jesse was a big man so he would be able to handle it. We had a nice half-hour chat and agreed to e-mail each other and try to meet up in Florida if there was an opportunity. At the end of our conversation, they asked me, in a typically American way, if I needed anything, for example, money. I really must have looked like a hobo by then. Of course I politely declined, but I have to admit I was curious to see what their reaction would have been if I said I did need money. They themselves did not appear to have enough money to give away to charity.
On the road, I quickly overtook them and soon arrived in Darien. There are three campgrounds in the area. At the first one, they did not have any tent sites and instead directed me to the next place. There were signs for the next campground every now and then along the road saying things like "Cat Head Creek is right ahead" and then, around the next corner, supplementary information that it was still "3 miles to go". I suspected that it was not going to be worthwhile going there. Quite to the contrary, the place surprised me. The campsite was part of a ranch, which even boasted a cowboy church. The tent sites were even and grassy, with water and electricity for each one. And the price was a mere $20. Considering the approaching rain, they advised me to pitch my tent under a big shelter. WiFi functioned all over the camp. The friendly atmosphere was emphasized by the fact that one didn't have to use coins for the laundry machines. Anyone could use the washer and tumble drier, paying only $1 for each use. I immediately took the opportunity. The only disadvantage was a nearby lake, from which I was attacked by local, aggressive mosquitoes. I was glad I'd had the foresight to procure a supply of repellant. There were a number of RVs lined up in the campsite, but otherwise it was empty and deserted. In the evening, people who appeared to live permanently in the campsite returned, probably from work. It is difficult for people in the Czech Republic to imagine having to live for several years in mobile homes, just to keep a job. The majority of people living like that in the Czech Republic are not very well off and live in quite small caravans. In the States it is quite a normal phenomenon.
Fort King George
When fully content with discovering all the details of the Fort, I went to see historical Darien. The term 'historical' must be taken with a pinch of salt, since it usually refers to one or two buildings or rather only a wharf and a piece of collapsed wall. Darien was no exception to this rule. The only interesting thing was the embankment with a lot of anchored fishing boats, which had returned from their morning's fishing.
Plantations
The estate is covered in enormous oak trees forming a widespread 'beard', which, viewed with back lighting, creates a surreal atmosphere. I also went for a short walk along a nature trail and looked out from the viewpoints over the former rice fields, now overgrown with rushes and calamus. I then continued towards Brunswick.
By now, I was so used to my GPS that I often used it to find the closest supermarket. This time it chose Walmart, where they offered a wide selection at very low prices. I bought fruit and vegetables, cheese, pastry (instead of bread, I bought Thomas Rolls – all sprinkled with sesame, poppy and other seeds) and Campbell's condensed soup for breakfast. As I was suffering from the munchies, I also bought a pumpkin pie which wasn't too sweet.
Jekyll Island
The campground at the northern tip is the only one on the island. It was a Friday afternoon with great weather forecast for the weekend. The camp was thus filled to the brim, but they managed to find a spot for me as well. Over the weekend, it was not possible to pay only for one night, one had to stay for at least two nights. In this exceptional place, I expected the prices to be $50 per tent. It was $48, but for two nights. I made an agreement with the girls at Reception and in the morning they gave me $14 back for my early and timely departure. Thus I got one night for the reasonable price of $34.
Thief
I spent the rest of the morning exploring the island's Atlantic coastline. I crossed a bridge and, after a few km, reached Highway 17, along which the coastal cycle path runs. The wind was almost from behind, which I was used to by now, the flat land was disrupted only by cambered bridges. I was heading for the campground in Fernandina Beach, Florida, 120 km away. At an average speed above 20 km/h, I was covering a lot of ground. In Woodbine, a vivid orange sign appeared, indicating that the cycle trail was separating from Highway 17. I do not know why it was, but I followed the sign. After 25 km, I reached an intersection where the detour pointed in a westerly direction and thus was completely at odds with my intentions. I had a look at my GPS, listed all the camps in Georgia and Florida and concluded that the only nearby camp was a KOA camp 25 km away, close to Kingsland. The campground was close to Highway 17, so I need not have exited it in the first place. In Kingsland, I finally discovered that the detour was due to the bridge on Highway 17, which was not in use, and the only other option would have been Interstate 95, on which cyclists are of course not permitted.
I'd had a bad experience with the KOA camp in Williamsburg, which was expensive and lousy. Here, the camp was very nice with flat, grassy tent sites, a camp kitchen with a stove and microwave ovens, a ping pong table, outdoor swimming pool, playground, where I could sit with my laptop without being disturbed, breakfast in the morning and all that for the reasonable rate of $27 per night. The receptionist knew a few phrases in Polish – her mother being Austrian and her father Polish – and was happy that she remembered them after all those years. She poured me coffee free of charge and called upon her colleague, a native of Florida, to help me plan my route for the next day. There was no alternative, I would have to return 20 km East and continue following the detour. It was not the end of the world, at least it would be a pleasant ride. I cooked my standard breakfast – soup, tea, vegetables, cheese – leaving out only the oats. I packed my things and went to partake of the advertised waffle breakfast. A corpulent woman, who appeared to have obtained much of her full-bodiedness from tasting too many of her own home-cooked delights, was preparing fresh waffles on three waffle irons simultaneously. Two types of juice, customary coffee, waffles in abundance, wonderful, home-made conserves full of raspberries, whipped cream and maple syrup. Three elderly ladies moved around among the guests and kept offering me more: "Have another one, you're too skinny, so you don't get hungry on your trip". I downed three big waffles and was knocked out. I had to go back 20 km in a slight headwind. In Kingsland, I also met a young couple from California. They were on their first bicycle trip and had started off in Providence on Rhode Island. They insisted that they wanted to continue along Highway 17 (just like I had the day before). I told them what I had learned and that they could go and see for themselves half a mile South, where there was a 'Road Closed' sign. Then I showed them the detour on the map and left them to their destiny. The girl especially was devastated and I recommended that they try hitching a ride with a truck driver down by the bridge, where there were two gas stations. Finally, I saw from a distance behind me that they had decided to go along the detour.
I passed through Folkstone, headed South on Highway 301 and, after about 10 km, spotted a sign saying FLORIDA. And shortly after that a side road to a campsite. If only I had known that the previous day, I would never have returned to Kingsland. But, on the other hand, I wouldn't have had the chance to change my opinion about the KOA camps, nor would I have had the wonderful breakfast waffles. I arrived in Jacksonville, stopped for supplies at Walmart and began riding around to the different RV parks there. At the first one, tents were not accepted. At the second one, they also rejected me and furthermore informed me that the third one didn't accept tents either. The closest campground was 40 km away. It was already half past three and in an hour it would be dark, so there was no point in trying to make it there. On the GPS, I found the nearest motel of a famous chain and undertook the 10 km ride there. I knew that motels exhibit flock behavior, so many are usually to be found in one location. Hence, I was not worried about finding a room. I found three motels, went around and chose the second one, which offered a room for a modest $35.
St. Augustine is the oldest, continuously inhabited city in North America. It was founded by the Spanish 50 years before the forefathers of the settlers stepped ashore in Plymouth. Later on, the city was conquered by the British and, after the American Revolution, was given back to Spain. That did not last for long and it finally ended up in the USA. I wanted to spend a full day there to have a thorough look at it. Thanks to the fair wind and to Norman, a Canadian cyclist I met along the road and with whom I competed slightly to establish which one of us was the fittest, I already reached the city just after noon. For a change, I found accommodation in a hostel close to the city center and then set off to explore the city. I went around to see all the renowned sights, the embankment and the Bridge of Lions, Castillo De San Marcos, the Fountain of Youth, the first Catholic mission in North America and the old jail. I was not so impressed and it was clear that I would be continuing on my trip the following day. The city was too touristy and, because of its small size, tourists were almost tripping over each other.
There was a big, well-equipped kitchen in the hostel. I wanted to cook a real steak with potatoes and onions. However, there were no decent food stores in the city and to reach the nearest supermarket I would have had cycle about 10 km. So that didn't work out either.
I rode across the Bridge of Lions and ended up on the picturesque Highway A1A. It runs across a few islands, but the bridges are level, thereby blocking the waterways to bigger vessels. As usual, in a fair wind over flat land, no strain. Most of the roads had marked bike lanes painted on them, or at least decent emergency lanes of considerable width and, if they were absent, the road instead had concrete sidewalks, similar to bike lanes, on which I could ride. I visited Oak Garden State Park, which was nice. However, in May, when everything is blooming, it really must be fantastic.
At Daytona Beach, I met Norman from the previous day, together with an American named Jim and the contest started again. For 20 km we raced along at over 30 km/h, taking turns to be in the lead and, soaked with sweat, arrived in Daytona Beach. Norman then set off to visit his friends who lived there and Jim and I shared a tent site in a campground, thus saving some money. Jim sleeps in a hammock that he hangs between trees and really enjoys it.
In the evening, it started to pour. We took cover in the big laundry room and chatted there for a few hours. Jim was from Pittsburgh and of course knew Jagr. He told me he had predicted that the Czechs would win in Nagano if only Jagr and Hasek were in practice. His father only laughed at him. Now he regretted not betting the family savings on it. He could have retired a long time ago with a nice stash of money under his pillow. Jim has three sons whom he did not send to school. Instead, he home-schooled them, which is legal in the USA. People prefer doing that, for example, for religious reasons, since they do not want their children to learn about Darwin's theories. That was not, however, the case for Jim. His wife, a doctor, could support them and Jim could stay at home to teach the children. At the same time, the school was not more than 2 km from their home. He was very happy about the home-schooling concept. No timetables to follow and they could always agree on what to study next. He knew basic mathematical concepts from playing Blackjack, so his children quickly learned to add and subtract from 21. He taught them to write only in capital letters, since handwriting is not used anymore anyway, everyone is just pecking at keyboards nowadays. Today, his children are grown up. The youngest son is 14 and home-schooling didn't hurt him in any way. They are managing just as well as their peers with traditional education.
I arranged with Jim to go to the campground close to Cape Kennedy together and visit the NASA exposition the following day. The weather forecast was correct. Already during the night a very strong wind started to blow. Jim didn't sleep much in his hammock as the wind swung him from side to side, and he is not a small man. On the road, however, it was perfect since we had the wind from behind and at times we didn't even have to pedal. Jim turned off first for some breakfast, whereas I stopped to cook my own. After about another 25 km, we reunited and continued together at a slow pace. Thanks to the wind, we covered 80 km in less than four hours and were not even sweating. At the campground, we once again shared a tent site (and the bill). There is enough room for two or even more tents on one pitch. We were camping beside the beach and across the bay we could see the enormous NASA complex of buildings, where they were mounting and assembling rockets "on the fly".
It was 15 km from the campground to the Kennedy Space Center. We started off at about 8 a.m. and arrived there just before 9 a.m. when they opened. Right after the exit from Highway 1 to Merrit Island, there is an Astronaut Museum and the very interesting Astronaut Training Experience. There you can book a half day of exploration and testing procedures and training courses that were used for astronauts. Entry tickets are not cheap - $175. I considered going there anyway, but it was not recommended for people with back or spinal problems. My back sometimes hurts and I decided not to go for safety reasons. Surely, the centrifuge alone with its high strain would have significantly upset my worn-out organism.
Kennedy Space Center
The bus departure time was approaching, so I left out the big pavilions and went to the children's one. The mirror maze was spacious and well done. Looking at the floor, as you can do in the mirror maze on Petøín Hill in Prague, didn't help much there. But I eventually found my way out in time and made it to the bus stop. First, we were taken across the Banana River to Cape Canaveral, from where the first rockets were launched. Today, an embankment protects the road below from the rocket launches. Then we went on to the Vehicle Assembly Building, a 160 m tall building with an internal volume of 3.7 million cubic meters. It comes to everyone's mind that one would not want to pay to heat that building. But the building doesn't have any heating or air conditioning. The temperature is controlled by opening the upper doors and roof windows. There are four doors on top of each other (137 m in height), which makes it possible to assemble 4 rockets simultaneously in what is called the High Bay. Rockets were transported to launch pads 5 km away by monstrous crawler-transporters at a speed limited to 1 mile per hour on specially designed concrete roads covered in a 25 cm layer of gravel to protect the vehicle from damage.
We then went on to the launch pads. On the pad closest to the assembly building, there was a rocket that was about to be launched in four days. Of course they didn't let us into the rocket, everything was surrounded by fencing and carefully guarded. The next stop was the historical rocket launch pad with some remaining, primitive bunkers. The tour ended in the Apollo/Saturn V Center, devoted to the conquest of the Moon. A few impressive presentations followed upon each other. They started with a projection in a spherical cinema. Then in another cinema, a part of which was the control center of the project, the first space flight around the moon and the first moon landing were projected. Saturn V was lying in the hall in separate stages – the command module, the lunar module, the lunar vehicle – real eye candy.
I returned to the Visitors' Center and went on to see the pavilion dedicated to the space shuttle Atlantis, with 33 successful missions in its past. First, a film documenting the difficult 'birth' of this unique breed of rocket and plane, where the biggest issue was to find the proper material for insulation against the heat generated by friction in the atmosphere when returning to Earth. There were scenes from the lift-off and landing and some impressive scenes from outer space. The film ended, the curtains opened and behind them was the real Atlantis in all its glory. So beautiful that I was moved. Beside it was a replica of the pilot cabin, which I went into and sat down in. I pulled the joystick and looked at all the digital instrument displays. There were about 20 simulators used, for example, to manipulate the exterior of the shuttle by using a robot arm. Finally, I also tried a very realistic simulation of the lift-off in a moving and shaking cabin, where even the overload was simulated by pressure from the cushioning in the seats.
With the visit to this cosmic center, my visit to Florida was concluded. I had made a motel reservation in Orlando for the following Monday and so I had four days left. I did not want to go further South. Along the coast it all looks the same anyway, a mixture of fast food, stores, gas stations, motels, condos for retired people and mobile home parks. I decided to spend the last days exploring the interior of Florida. I returned 20 km northwards to Mims, before heading West.
At an intersection, a woman waved at me, I waved back, but couldn't stop since I was in the middle of dense traffic and was just about to turn left. About 2 km later, she appeared and waved at me again as she overtook me in her car. The very sympathetic Margaret just had to tell me about her own bicycle adventure. She and her husband had raised their children and then packed up to go on a thee-year trip to explore the world by bike. Along the trip they took whatever opportunities they had to work and made their living out of picking fruit and construction sites. A very pleasant encounter.
The interior consists, wherever possible, of farmland. That is, in places where there are no swamps filled with alligators. The highway was already somewhat sloping, which is always nicer. And I don't know how they do it there, but as I was riding westbound, I once again had a fair wind, although this time only a gentle breeze. It was cloudy, warm and with occasional drizzles. Fortunately, I didn't have to wear the Gore-Tex, in which I would have been baked. I arrived at the Wekiwa Hot Springs State Park, but the campground was full and I couldn't manage to talk myself in there. They directed me to the Kelly Park, 11 km away and there I managed to get in, since they'd had cancellations due to the weather. Over the weekends, the campgrounds are always full there. I pitched my tent and it started to rain, just as if the rain had respectfully waited for me to finish. I spent the afternoon and the evening under a big shelter, which contained chairs and a light and there I had a good night's sleep.
It stopped raining at dawn. The tent was wet on the outside. I removed the rain cover and let it all dry out for a bit, even though it didn't make much difference due to the humid air. I went to have a look at the outdoor pool next to a river flowing out of a cave. The water temperature was 20 degrees Celsius but, despite the early morning, two girls were already swimming there. Along the river there was a trail leading through dense vegetation. I packed my things and wrung out the tent and the carry mat, so I wouldn't have to transport any additional water. Before leaving, I asked the Rangers where they suggested I should go, but strangely enough I didn't get any information out of them. So I headed North to Lake George 80 km away. The map had a few campsites marked in the vicinity. It was cloudy with occasional showers.
By then, it was evident, looking at my rear tire, that I had traveled over 8000 km on this trip. The bicycle started behaving strangely and suddenly I found that I had a flat tire. I had not experienced that for several years. I changed the inner tube and continued. Quite unusually, I had a fresh headwind and a few small hills appeared in the countryside. In Umatilla, I found a store and bought apple pie for a snack. In the meantime, it had started to rain cats and dogs. In front of the store was a pergola, under which I could sit and enjoy my pie and chit-chat with the locals who were sitting in front of the laundromat waiting for the machines to finish and their laundry to dry. I also met a local weather expert. He told me that if skies were cloudy, as they were that day, then it would rain for only half an hour and then clear from the South. His forecast failed. It was still raining at 10 p.m. when I lay down on the bed in the local motel.
Rather unexpectedly, I received an e-mail from my youngest daughter, telling me I was traveling in the area where Kathy and David Long lived. She had previously stayed with them for eight months as an exchange student and I got to know them at her wedding which they attended in Prague. I thought they were still living in Fort Lauderdale, but apparently they had moved to this charming, peaceful location after their retirement. I would have liked to visit them but all my clothes were so sweaty that I would have to do my laundry first. Otherwise, I would have been considered a dirty pig. So I continued my exploration of the mineral springs. I could not have imagined the plentitude of such springs in the area North of Orlando. Florida allegedly has the largest number of hot, or mostly tepid, springs of all the US states. I arrived at Ocala National Forest, a vast forest containing a large number of lakes, springs, campsites and recreational areas. The forests are home to a wealth of wild animals and they even have a decent population of bears. It was a Sunday. Hunters had parked their cars everywhere along the forest roads. I saw them carry away a few deer they had shot. They are not allowed to hunt bears.
I went to the Alexander Springs State Park and bought a day ticket. I bathed in clean, 22-degree warm water, briefly gaped at some divers in training and then walked the 4 km trail, which was mostly over footbridges since the forest was soaked. After lunch, I went on for 50 km to the Wekiva Falls campground. The bicycle version of the GPS map of Florida sometimes went on a rampage and had already taken me out on impassable, sand-covered roads, forcing me to turn back a number of times.
The campground is located near a huge mineral water spring of sulfurous and rather smelly water. After a while, however, I got used to the smell. The campsite was enormous, a pleasure to the eye, well-managed, clean, with even minor items repaired. It was a relief to wash all my clothes and send the Longs an e-mail, telling them that I would come to visit them on the following day. It was a detour of about 35 km to reach their home, but I would have gone around the world to visit such nice, friendly folk.
All clean and in non-sweaty clothes, I arrived in Mt. Dora. The city center is charming, with a couple of historical buildings that give a European, rather British charm to it. The Longs live in a house beside the lake and there is a big jetty about 50 m from their house. Around the lake, crossing their and their neighbors' properties, there is a trail for pedestrians and cyclists. They had all agreed to open the trail around the lake to the public. The house is almost hidden among 300-year-old oak trees. It is an advantage that the house is in the shade in the summer when the sun is scorching. A bougainvillea was growing in a fork of one of the oak trees. It was all really beautiful, but there was no-one at home. It was evident that they had not received my e-mail of the previous day. The neighbors had seen them earlier in the morning, so they called them. Half an hour later, Kathy and David returned and it was very pleasant to see them again. We chatted for about an hour, before I had to leave in order to make it to Orlando before dusk.
Orlando – the Last Stop
Logistics
I looked up the closest bike store which was 8 km away and went there to find a box. They asked me to come back in the afternoon, since they didn't have anything unpacked as yet. We chatted for a while about my trip, I gave them my card and they, in the meantime, opened a box, emptied the contents and gave it to me. They saw that I had come by bike and wondered how I would transport the box. I invited them to come and have a look. I folded the box a few times, jumped on it a few times to flatten it out and then attached it to the carrier with straps. The bike was thus about one meter longer, but who cared? On my way back to the motel, I stopped at a UPS store, bought a box for the smaller items and established that they also sold boxes for bike transport. But I had already got one free of charge from the guys in the bike store. I had bought duct tape and a package of shrink foil already the previous day at Walmart and I was, in fact, done. I was going to cycle to the Airport as it was only 25 km, and would pack the bike there while waiting. I only hoped that it would not be windy, since that could be a bit of a problem when carrying the box. Another obligation was to buy presents for my grandchildren. It was kind of tricky, since there are already five of them and I had to find something light, space-saving and not too unsuitable for them. This is always traumatic for me. I took the historical bus to a shopping mall on International Drive – there were two, one at the southern and one at the northern end – about 20 km apart. I succeeded at the southern one, where they had the only toy store. Designer clothing stores and shoe stores with very favorable prices predominated. There were hordes of people, carrying over-filled shopping bags. International Drive is a boulevard with over 20 km filled with stores, restaurants, pubs, fast food, motels, a few theme parks, fun fairs and mini-golf courses. Roughly in the middle of it is a huge Convention Center, the second biggest in the USA.
Disney World
The bus went around another dozen motels and hotels and, almost an hour later, arrived at the EPCOT technological park. From there, a monorail ran to the main parking lot where the ticket office was, followed by another monorail to the Magic Kingdom. All in all, it took more than an hour to reach it. Originally I had planned to go there already on the Tuesday. Fortunately, they had the November programs for the various parks at the motel and I saw that on Tuesdays they did not have the Electric Parade, nor the favorite fireworks display over the Castle. On Wednesdays, both events were on. My first impression was totally positive. Clean everywhere, buildings and attractions in the best condition. All employees were happily smiling, talking to people, mainly the children, and showing a genuine interest in visitors' well-being. That it was hard work for them became obvious when looking at my afternoon photos. The dancers were smiling heartily and happily, but when I zoomed in, I could see that those were trained grins. It is not surprising, considering that they had been dancing in at least half-hour long sessions. There were about 20 floats in the Parade, with themes from different Disney stories and, among them, the dancers in question performed. Very enjoyable and impressive.
The Park was indeed full of people but, according to the locals, there were fewer than usual and the waiting time for the attractions did not exceed 20 minutes. Only the Americans could establish such a fair preferential system. It is possible to print out an express ticket for an attraction, free of charge, at the ticketing machines. Then you wait in a separate line, which is minimal. The ticket is valid for a certain time, for example, for three hours after printing. I wanted to try printing a few preferential tickets for different popular attractions in advance, but this failed. I only got the message from the ticketing machine that I was not entitled to the next ticket until 4 p.m. However, the majority of the attractions are quite silly for adults anyway. They usually involve going by boat or other vehicle through some kind of theme world, for example, Caribbean Pirates. In the half-dark, realistic figures move about accompanied by music and song. Going through the jungle in a boat was fun. The guide was really hilarious, even though he probably had it all written in his script. Other attractions are classic fun fair carousels, dodgems, roller coasters – and all of it in a nice package. There is always something happening in the Park, a brass band marching by, a performance in front of the Castle, somewhere else, Rock'n'Roll classes for the general public. In the midst of all that are restaurants, pubs, coffee-bars and souvenir stores. And an incredible number of baby strollers.
One of the highlights was the Electric Parade, culminating in projections on to the Castle with unexpectedly changing colors and patterns. The evening fireworks display was the climax of the whole day, incredibly beautiful. I then darted to the monorail and, by a 15-minute margin, caught the bus back to the motel. I was already back by 10.30 p.m.
According to the GPS, it was 25 km to the Airport. At 11 a.m. I checked out and was on my way. It took some time before I got used to the shift in the center of gravity due to the bike box 'tail'. The only thing I didn't wish for was rain and wind. I got both, but in small quantities. For most of the ride, there was a strong headwind blowing from almost exactly 12 o'clock. In a way, that was good since a side wind would have tossed me all over the place considering the attached box. It drizzled altogether for about 20 minutes, but I had the box covered in shrink foil, which was adequate protection from the rain. My GPS map of Florida was once again manifesting its deficiencies by sending me to a street on which cyclists were not allowed. As a result, I had to pedal an extra 10 km
I do not even have to stress that I was riding very carefully. I was not interested in any problems at the end of my otherwise successful trip. It slowed me down a bit, particularly in the vicinity of the Airport, where there were quite a few lanes and, to reach Terminal B, I had to cross to the leftmost lane. In heavy traffic on an inflexible bicycle, I did not dare to dart between the cars. Therefore I waited until there was no traffic and it took me 10 minutes to get past one critical turn. And then it went as smoothly as always. I unpacked the box, stripped the bike, dismantled the carrier, pedals, handlebars and front wheel. The box was big enough to fit the bike in, if I just loosened the rear wheel and pushed it slightly into the fork. I packed the bike box with other things like the tent, shoes and my helmet. I packed it outside the terminal, and people inside watched with some amusement. I was pleasantly surprised when a man of my age came out to help me wrap the bike box in shrink foil. I checked in, paid $100 for the bike and I was done. In the meantime, a rainstorm had struck and once again I pondered how lucky I had been. The weather forecast had turned out to be inaccurate since they had forecast a 20% probability of rain.
The last minor problem was the I-94 form that they had stapled to my passport upon my arrival in the USA and exhorted me to hand in upon departure if I wanted to avoid trouble. No-one wanted it. Finally, they told me to phone the Customs office. I called them and got the pragmatic advice: "You are checked in and no-one wanted it, so just throw it away!" Fortunately, I didn't take that advice. Back in Prague, I learned from the American Embassy website that, if officials at the Airport do not take the form, you must send it by post to an office in London, Kentucky, USA. And that's what I did.
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