Author: Easin' Along

After an unexpected stopover in Titusville, Florida due to our frustrating and frightening experience with two blown tires on our fifth-wheel, Lucy, we canceled our reservation at Eagle Hammock RV Park at the Naval Submarine Base in King’s Bay, GA. The frightening part is understandable—blow-outs on a busy interstate highway are unsettling at best and downright scary at worst. The frustrating aspect of this experience came with the canceled reservation.  Helen and I looked forward to our first trip to Eagle Hammock because we visit that part of the country often and were eager to try out a new campground near the coast.

With one new tire and a spare mounted on Lucy, we decided to shorten our route to Knoxville because we had doubts about the lifespan of the two remaining tires on Lucy’s other side. Although the route we chose would take us through Atlanta’s heavy traffic, we would shave a few hundred miles off of our original plan and allow us to get home and replace the old tires. After checking out the options on the MilitaryLiving.com website, we placed a call to the Marine Logistics Base in Albany, GA and secured a campsite in the RV park for two nights. We arrived late in the afternoon and parked Lucy in a very spacious campsite under a large Live Oak tree. It wasn’t on the coast, but it wasn’t bad either.

The next morning, I received a call from a friend, and, in the course of our conversation, I told him we were in Albany. It turns out that my friend had visited the area many times in previous years to hunt quail on some prime hunting ground.  Albany, with its beautiful pine trees, numerous plantations, and pecan farms advertises itself as the quail hunting capital of the world. My friend told me of the many visits he made to those plantations and, he also told me about the best place to eat lunch in the entire State of Georgia—Abbott’s Grocery. Helen found it on Trip Advisor, accompanied with a high rating.

My friend described Abbott’s as a small country grocery with a hot food counter inside. The menu usually included such items as fried fish, fried chicken, smothered steak, collards, pinto beans, black-eyed peas and similar items all designed to fill up hungry southern boys during lunch after the morning hunting session.  Inside the store, it was usually standing-room-only during hunting season. Outside, the parking lot was just as full with hunters, bird dogs, and big pickup trucks.  As a return favor for sharing this gem with us, my friend asked us to pick up a sack of White Acre tiny peas for his wife’s Valentine Day present.  Assigned a mission now, we put Abbott’s on our busy schedule for lunch.

We found Abbott’s after a delightful drive through some of those plantations and pecan farms only to discover that Abbott’s was now Crossroads Market. Thinking that we might be in the wrong place, we drove around the building and spotted a sign for Abbott’s Meat Processing. We returned to the front of the market and went inside.  The market was no longer a small country store.  The shelves were full, the aisles well-lit, and there was a large butcher shop in the rear.

Around the corner from the butcher counter, a small dining area contained two or three tables and a counter for ordering food.  Today’s menu, a hand-written list of meals, lay next to a large tip jar. I had to order the vegetable soup and cornbread…so good. The number of customers was certainly not standing-room, but there was a steady crowd on hand to keep the kitchen staff busy. We finished our soup, tipped the cooks, and went in search of White Acre peas. We found them in the freezer on a shelf above the Mountain Oysters (don’t ask, but it’s a delicacy in these parts).

We bought two sacks of peas, including a sack for us, and some ham hocks to cook with them, then walked back outside.  As I stood in front of the market taking pictures for my friend, an elderly gentleman walked by.  We nodded at each other.  After walking ahead for about ten steps, he turned and came back to me and introduced himself as Mr. Abbott.

“I owned this store for 43 years,” he told me in a molasses-thick Georgia accent.

“I finally sold it, but I come in often to make sure they’re treating my customers right.  My son owns the meat plant in the rear. I taught him everything he knows and he’s making a killing,” he said with a slight chuckle.

I told him about the rave reviews my friend gave Abbott’s Grocery and all of the great meals he shared there with his hunting pals. Mr. Abbott seemed pleased to hear that.

“We served a lot of meals to those hunting fellas.  I got to be friends with a lot of them, and they came back every year. I miss those days, but I decided to let it go—not gettin’ any younger, you know.”

We chatted for a few more minutes before I asked him if he would pose for a picture. He accepted, but I’m not sure if he wanted the attention. We shook hands and he turned toward the store saying it was time to check on “things.” He glanced back once before going inside. Helen and I admired the yard art in front of the market, then took our peas back to the Marine Base and placed them in Lucy’s freezer.

We left Albany the next morning and drove back through Atlanta and beyond without incident. Although our trip to Florida and the Florida Keys had been a rousing success, it passed by too quickly. One month isn’t enough time in warm weather.  I understand snowbirds a bit better now. Hopefully, we can stay longer next year.  Retirement is such a good gig.

The one aspect of the RV lifestyle that I love the most is the ability to move to a new destination—a city, a national or state park, a beach or a stream—and take our home with us. Depending on our schedule and campground availability, we may only be able to enjoy our new homeplace for a few days, but we have the opportunity to get a feel for the location and store it in our memory bank. Such was the case during our short stay near West Palm Beach, Florida.

Helen and I departed Key West after a delightful eight days filled with fun and discovery and began the return trip home. As is my usual practice, I try to keep the towing distance from one stop to another under five hours and West Palm Beach fell within that radius. I’ve noted many times that campsites in Florida are hard to come by in the winter, and I had to search long and hard to locate one on the dates we needed. Persistence led me to Palm Beach Traveler Park in Lantana, Florida, just south of West Palm and about four and a half hours north of Key West. Unfortunately, we could only reserve two nights in the campground as the snowbirds had taken over the place with the intent to remain. That left us with one full day to explore and we wanted to make the most of it.

A campground host met us when we arrived late in the afternoon. The campsites in Palm Beach Traveler Park sit close together and parking a 32-foot fifth-wheel is a huge challenge in situations like this, but the camp host was the best at assisting with back-up directions of anyone I’ve ever met while RVing.  With his help, we had Lucy centered on our camping pad in a matter of minutes. Our new homeplace was now Lantana, Florida. Our neighbor to the left was a single fellow from Michigan, and to the right was a truck camper from Quebec. A trip to a local tavern for seafood and local brews helped to get us settled in for the night.

The next morning Helen wanted to get her “beach fix” in early so we drove north a few miles and parked in a public park close to the beach. The parking lot was full so I resorted to pulling out the handicap tag issued to me after my knee replacement and hung it on my rear-view mirror.  The only time I used it on this entire trip. I pulled into a parking place near the sidewalk and limped up the ramp to the beach for effect.

At the top of the ramp, a fairly stiff wind greeted us.  Although the parking lot was full, the beach was sparsely populated. I suppose the windy conditions held the crowd down, but the sun was bright and the tide was out–a perfect day for beach-walking. We lingered on the beach for almost two hours, it felt good to stretch the legs. We returned to the truck then drove for several miles along the beach to look at the enormous estates and ornate homes built by some very wealthy people. I concluded that I’m just as happy with Lucy.  At least, I can move her around.

Helen asked the campground host for dinner recommendations and he immediately responded that we should visit the Old Key Lime House restaurant nearby. Trip Advisor confirmed his suggestion and off we went for an early dinner.  The next day’s drive to Savannah, GA was a long one and we planned to stop for brunch with some old friends on the way.

It was not hard to spot the restaurant with its coat of brilliant lime green paint. Inside, locals filled the eclectically-decorated pub–always a good sign.  We ordered drinks at the bar and chatted while an elderly waitress stood in front of us behind the bar.  She did not want to talk back. At the far end of this sizable tavern, a large group of cyclers gathered after a day-long pub crawl, raising money for an organization created to help wounded soldiers. We chatted with one of the participants who told us the day had been very successful. I gave them a big salute and some spare cash.

Port St. Lucie, Florida was the next stop for a brunch visit with one of my dearest friends from college. Cary and I met during my last couple of years at the University of Tennessee and hit it off immediately.  I was not applying myself very well at the time, but Cary was a good student and competitive as hell.  He wanted to do well in college and attacked every project with great gusto.  His enthusiasm for learning soon rubbed off on me, and I credit our friendship and friendly competition as exactly what I needed to obtain a degree, which I did. Our brunch time with him and his wife, Susie, was all too short.

While saying our goodbyes in the parking lot after brunch, Helen noticed that one of the tires on Lucy was flat. Compounding our new dilemma was the fact that this day was a Sunday and the next day was a national holiday. We purchased a Roadside Assistance package when we bought Lucy, but discovered on this day, it was practically worthless and no help at all.  We also had RV roadside assistance from AAA and they came to our rescue by sending a tire service truck to jack up the trailer and mount our spare–a two-hour delay.

An hour and a half later and approaching Titusville, Florida on I-95, I heard (and felt) a loud boom to our rear. My instincts took over and I guided Lucy slowly to the side of the highway and turned on the safety flasher. On the same side as the earlier flat, a shredded and smoking tire sat on the gravel beneath Lucy.

We again called AAA and spoke to the same lady that took our earlier call. I told her we had to stop meeting like this. After another two-hour wait, she sent a technician from the same tire service to mount a new tire on Lucy. By now, we knew we could not make Savannah within a reasonable time and canceled our reservation.  A Titusville Ramada Inn became our home for this night. Lucy spent the night in the parking lot. Although, we were tired, frustrated, and delayed, Helen and I cannot say enough good things about AAA and the tire service that helped us by coming out on a Sunday night after locating a trailer tire in the shop, then driving another 60 miles to help us. You gotta love people like this.

The next morning, we changed our route home and decided to make the Marine Logistics Base in Albany, Georgia our next homeplace. Breakfast and some good coffee provided a fresh start and erased all of the frustration of the previous day.

Once again, we realize that we’re very blessed and still…Easin’ Along.  Thanks for stopping by. We’ll talk next week from Albany.