Day 3 – Tuesday 5/31/22

Lake City, Florida to Madison, Florida – 55.0 Miles

After a good night’s rest, I was eager to get on the road early and see what would happen next. Part of the morning ritual for any bicycle tourist is to spend a few minutes looking over the bike, just to make sure there’s nothing dangerous or requiring attention before departure. Overall, Ishmael was looking fit, but the back tire pressure was down about ten psi. I could have ridden with that, but with plenty of time to spare the benefit of having optimal tire pressure was worth the effort. Since I had two pumps with me, one a frame pump and the other a mini pump with CO2 cartridge capability, I wasn’t too concerned with getting the job done. Until I tried to get the job done.

Typically, it’s fairly simple to use a frame pump, but when I connected it to the valve it leaked air around the seal and dropped the pressure even more. I reseated the pump and tried again, but got the same result. Now, my tire was over 20 psi low, so it was time to go to “Plan B” and try the mini pump. Mini pumps are about 8 inches long and designed to be lightweight and easy to carry, but require a couple hundred strokes to bring a bicycle tire to acceptable pressure. I screwed the hose onto the valve and started counting the strokes as I filled the tire. After about 50, the “pinch test” indicated that I was close to what I needed. All I had to do next was unscrew the hose, check the tire pressure with the gauge, and I would be on the road.

A small hiss of air was heard as the hose turned, but this is normal as the valve returns to its original position after inflation. What wasn’t normal was the instant deflation of the back tire as the hose came unscrewed with the tire valve still in it. If the sound of the sudden blast of pressurized air didn’t get the attention of the room next to mine, I’m sure my verbal reaction did. Things were getting ugly in room 111. I had two sketchy pumps, no air in my back tire and time was slipping by.

After I stood awhile in the corner for a timeout, I went with “Plan C”. It was time to try a CO2 cartridge with the mini pump. It’s hard to believe that there’s enough gas in a three-inch long cartridge to inflate a tire, but it’s true. I screwed the hose of the pump back into the valve I’d just fixed and attached the cartridge. Amazing! In seconds the tire was reasonably inflated. Not willing to leave well enough alone, because I only had 60 psi in a tire that ran best at 80 psi, I reattached the pump to the hose and pumped another 50 strokes of air into the tire. All that was left to do was unscrew the hose from the valve – and “WHOOSH”, instant flat tire. The valve was, once again, removed by the hose.

Some things are so bad or absurd that there’s no way to properly react to them. The simple task of pumping up a tire apparently was beyond my capabilities this morning and swearing would have had the same effect as screaming “Puppies, Bunnies and Kittens” to an empty room. It was time for “Plan D”. There was a Walmart five-minutes from the hotel, and they were going to get a motivated customer. I went directly to the bicycle section and bought myself a floor pump. No more foo-foo mini pumps or frame pumps for me. Strapped to my luggage rack now is a pump that looks ridiculous but has the benefit of actually doing what it’s supposed to. It may get replaced if I find something better along the way, but for now it’s a keeper.

Oh, I actually did ride today. One thing I’m learning about the Adventure Cycling maps is that I can follow the route for a while, then freelance a bit on different roads before returning to the “approved” path. Highway 90 out of Lake City was the shortest route to Wellborn, where I needed to be to reconnect to the Southern Tier route. A few miles out of town, this establishment appeared, which suggests some of the fun things people do in north Florida.

I had some mail to send and found a post office in Wellborn. Rural post offices are like time capsules. Since they serve relatively few customers, they don’t get updated often. Wellborn had maybe five or six significant buildings in it, but the interior of the post office is a flashback to the 60’s.

The backroads I was on were quiet. So quiet that any car can be heard long before it’s seen. It’s easy to think you’re the only one on the road when there’s no traffic in sight.

This sign was a mystery. I didn’t think I was anywhere near a Walmart, but some people may have thought otherwise. The bullet holes populating this public service announcement seem to suggest either frustration that there’s no direct access to the store or possible commentary on the corporation itself.

Once I crossed into Suwannee County, I discovered where a significant number of manufactured homes go. Lot after lot featured them, in good shape and not so good.

The old Stephen Foster song made the Suwannee River famous beyond its size, and the county plays off of it everywhere. For example, here’s a place where I’m sure the Beatles never played:

There’s a lot of logging in the area. Trucks carrying cut pine trees passed by regularly. Here’s where they get them:

There really is a Suwannee River, and I found it. You can’t see the name and not think of the song.

A little farther down the road was the town of Lee. The town motto on the sign I saw as I rode in said “Small, but proud”. They were right.

This was the only emu sighting of the trip, so far. Within a half mile of the hotel.

After checking into the Super 8, I rested a couple of hours before heading next door to the “Smackin’ Lips” restaurant. It’s a local place that combines the unbeatable combination of great food with low prices. After the salad bar, two pork chops, mashed potatoes with gravy, Coke and water I felt great. Entertainment was provided by the female staff, whose intimate audible conversation among themselves in the mostly empty restaurant made me feel like a member of the sorority. You can learn a lot just listening. See you tomorrow!