©2011 Tom Weathers aka Viejo
(I broke up the long haul from Phenix City with a stop in Gainesville, Florida. I remember absolutely nothing of that. But I do recall following my GPS through south Georgia, crossing field after empty field, miles removed from any town that I had ever heard of, feeling isolated. I had lost my context. According to the GPS I was going in the right direction on the correct road, but it was empty knowledge )
Bill Moore rode the Amtrak from the Miami area to meet me. We were joined by his old friend and fellow writer George Graham who lives in Lakeland. In Bill's terminology, this was the Writer's Tour part of the trip. Bill and I drove back down to Hollywood the next day (Wednesday morning). We went past Lake Okeechobee but never saw it because of the levees. We stopped in Moore Haven (a haven for lost Moore's?) and shot a picture of Bill standing in front of a sign.
Lakeland Terrace hotel. I arrived at 11:30 that morning. Driving down from Gainsville along a deserted back road selected by the GPS I encountered seven or eight deputy cars. Sometimes they appeared from behind, sometimes from side roads. All were going South, like me. Knowing how I sometimes drove my Subaru WRX I felt guilty although I had not done anything, at least not where they could have seen me (or so I assumed). One followed me for many uncomfortable miles.
Lakeland Terrace hotel. I arrived at 11:30 that morning. Driving down from Gainsville along a deserted back road selected by the GPS I encountered seven or eight deputy cars. Sometimes they appeared from behind, sometimes from side roads. All were going South, like me. Knowing how I sometimes drove my Subaru WRX I felt guilty although I had not done anything, at least not where they could have seen me (or so I assumed). One followed me for many uncomfortable miles.
There was a Park in front of hotel. Killing time before Bill arrived I walked. I encountered friendly old folks, a family feeding ducks, and several street people bundled up against 50 degree temp. I was only a little uneasy. It was the unease anyone would feel along in a strange place. I didn't think about it.
The park was filled with sculptures. Baroque music played from nearby speakers. It was a classy place.
Downtown I ate chicken, rice and garbanzos at a Cuban place called Pipos. I considered asking friendly Latinas from Cleveland at next table if they would let me take picture then concluded they might not be that friendly.
Still killing time waiting for Bill I visit another park in the center business district of downtown Lakeland.
Returning to the lake I encounter birds, all turned into the unseasonably chilly winds.
The Amtrak station was across lake. A girl, a dog and sculpture appear in the foreground of this picture. Expanded, the picture reveals that the girl is at least as sculptured as the sculpture.
I shot a picture of Bill as he got got off the train. He has aged since he and I rode the Amtrak to New York City. But he has held up well. His Cuban travel mate - the lady who initiated a fight for better seats - recognized me as "viejo" before he did. See his Senora Alavarez post for a description,
This picture shows Bill and his friend George Graham after several hours of stories. George was a newspaper man for most of his career then worked for a time editing technical writers including Bill. (Note that most places have forgone the luxury of having editors.) George now writes a fine passionate liberal blog.
Downtown I ate chicken, rice and garbanzos at a Cuban place called Pipos. I considered asking friendly Latinas from Cleveland at next table if they would let me take picture then concluded they might not be that friendly.
Still killing time waiting for Bill I visit another park in the center business district of downtown Lakeland.
Returning to the lake I encounter birds, all turned into the unseasonably chilly winds.
The Amtrak station was across lake. A girl, a dog and sculpture appear in the foreground of this picture. Expanded, the picture reveals that the girl is at least as sculptured as the sculpture.
I shot a picture of Bill as he got got off the train. He has aged since he and I rode the Amtrak to New York City. But he has held up well. His Cuban travel mate - the lady who initiated a fight for better seats - recognized me as "viejo" before he did. See his Senora Alavarez post for a description,
This picture shows Bill and his friend George Graham after several hours of stories. George was a newspaper man for most of his career then worked for a time editing technical writers including Bill. (Note that most places have forgone the luxury of having editors.) George now writes a fine passionate liberal blog.
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