The Folkston Funnel

I dropped the car off at JAX and unpacked and loaded my bike, much to the incredulity of the rental lady, who had a lovely musical southern black accent. This was big- i was properly nervous, and i hadn't stress-proofed myself by doing a couple of smaller trips. Goal setting kicked in. One step at a time I thought over and over. Firstly- How do I get out of this airport?!

It took me at least 20 minutes and two sets of dircetions to find aroute out that didn't end up on the interstate (bikes not allowed, and nor would you want to). Once underway i felt a lot better, the dappled sunlight shone on to the road from my left, leaving me highlighted to all the drivers behind. All to soon i hit the highway. I left Jacksonville city limits, passed through Callahan and pushed on to Folkston, Georgia.

You'll regret that! 

It was evening by the time I arrived but I had done 49 miles. Not bad my first afternoon!

Arriving in folkston my legs were tiring rapidly. i dismounted and bought some girl scout cookies. The lady selling  them directed me to Okefenokee (pron Okey-fen-nokey) restaurant as a place to sit. Walking there I dropped the bike down a large kerb, and the pannier rack fell apart. I couldn't believe it. I knew it wasn't overloaded.
Rather than moan I set about seeing what I could do. Actually what had happened was that I had partly mis-loaded the thing, and it had pulled apart rather than broken. No crazy fixing needed and I put it back together. I was lucky though, as more serious damage to the rack or bike could have been done. I fastened and extra safety cord to the rack to prevent the same thing happening again.

Whilst waiting to be seated I got talking with some folk (they had the proper southern drawl) outside the restaurant, and I asked them about camping. One gent suggested a hut by the railroad. The manager and the place were so friendly and welcoming, and after a hamburger (and a rest!) I set off two blocks to find the hut. The fella who suggested it hailed me as 'Mr England'. The hut was purpose built, with a speaker on the railroad frequency- these guys were proper trainspotters!

My bed for the night.
At 2am, I woke to a snuffling. Gave me real scare after stories of bears.
Fortunatly it was just a passing drunk, but I slept lightly,
with my knife in hand afterwards

A Canadian pair had driven 1200 miles to spend a week watching the locomotives go by. The Folkston Funnel focuses rail traffic from the NW and NE down through Florida, with as many as 40 trains passing a day. I was destined not to get much sleep! These monsters appear out of the night, sounding colossal airhorns as they pass, with the tail still hauling through long after the engine has vanished up the railroad. Some of them are over a mile long! Often trainspotters are given a bad press, but is there really anything less noble about their hobby than spotting, say, celebrities with bad hair days?

The camaradrie amongst  these folk was profound and I became a trainspotter for a night as they swapped stories and taught me a bunch of things about the railroads. I stayed longer than otherwise I would in the morning to say hello again, and Marian, the Canadian lady insisted I take her map of Georgia for my onward route. I am glad that she did! Thank you Marian.

I got my stove working for a breakfast of oatmeal, and then headed on a monotonous route to Waycross, were I am posting this from the public library.

These things are massive, and loud! This one is Union Pacific. Almost as tall as 2 storey house.