Thursday, June 28, 2012

New record - 130 miles!

Set a new Steffes world record on Wednesday, biking 130 miles from Towanda, Illinois (just north of Bloomington) to Marengo, IL, which is about 25 miles from the Illinois/Wisconsin state line.
Much credit for the swiftness goes to a fabulous tailwind that pushed me along at about 20 mph. The telephone poles were passing by fast - like teeth on a comb. If I had waxpaper streamers on my bike you could have heard me humming right along.
I feel I've hit my prime at 48; I should have tried out for the Olympics, although today I feel extremely crickity.
The reason I look so grumpy in the photo is because my brain is putty and my feet hurt.
Notice the fire truck behind me - the chief at the department in Marengo, IL let me sleep in a bunk for the night. There were two calls during the night and I felt very beholden to respond, but I was resting.
I am glad to hear that u r still on the black top cruzing home. Makes me feel good that there still r some communities still willing to help. Keep on cruzing Judy! :)  Cassie Holder

Jesse Clay Phillips

Crossed the state line into Illinois on Friday and made my way north up Highway 51 to Carbondale

The best local stop for breakfast is Mary Lou's Grill. It's on the main drag, across from the Amtrak Station. The popular diner has one long stretch of chairs running the rail at the front counter. 

Every circular stool is taken; once someone gets up, another person is immediately in that spot. Mary Lou's is famous for its biscuits and gravy; when you get a waitress, make friends with her quick.

Just outside Carbondale I veered west up Highway 13; the locals say it's less traveled and a much better road.

About 15 miles into the ride I was searching for water at the lonesome intersection in the town of Vergennes (pop. 298). A sign points down the street to the business district; a tumbleweed rolls across the road in the distance.

There's a small rickety, white building off to the side of the road with a pickup in front and a big metal can of Primex sitting on a table. A hand-painted sign with thin black letters on the side of the building reads 'Antiques and Furniture.'

There are a couple of lazy wicker chairs at the entrance.  Ducking my head I walk in hoping to find directions, water, or the distance to the next town.

Inside it's like stepping into another world. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness I found the place packed with fine antiques. There were two primary paths and it's eerily quiet with the only sound being my bike cleats clacking against the hardwood floor.

The place is amazing with old oak headboards, small dolls with their heads wrapped in scarves, Dad's Root Beer soda bottles, and a Roy Acuff collector plate.

The man sitting quietly in the corner is Jesse Clay Phillips.

He creeped me out, like the guys at Halloween that sit in costume on their porch and don't move until you get too close to turn back.


Jesse, 73, managed a slow smile when I told him he scared me. 

"Most people that come through are stopping for conversation," he said.  Jesse had an accent but I couldn't pin it down. I half-expected him to say something like "you have a 'purdy' mouth."

Jesse was dressed in a light-weight blue and black plaid shirt. He had white mad-scientist hair and a bit of a paper napkin stuffed in his right ear. I didn't ask, and just assumed it was a lack of insurance combined with a home remedy.

Jesse had been there since the 1980s. He said his selection of antiques changed often and he only displayed the best.  He had an old pitchfork made from a tree branch; the tines on the farm implement were sanded and polished to a fine point.  "Take a look there at that shovel," he said pointing to a completely wooden handmade shovel.

Jesse made some comment about my legs and fitness level; being alone in his den and wondering where his eyes were going I worked my way back to the light.  Once outside I retrieved my camera and went back inside, this was too good of a photo opportunity to miss.

And with that I learned about the real Jesse Clay Phillips.

He was an artist, and showed me several books he self-published. Out of a thin cardboard box he retrieved a coffee table book 'The Beauty of Southern Illinois, a pictorial tribute.'  "Took all these shots with a one-step camera," he said.   

Jesse had documented the landscape in a four-county area with photographs of trees, plants, and the ski hill during the seasons.
The photos were magnificent with crisp color, and an artist's eye and patience. "Most people walk into a shot and wait; I think some of the best pictures are right there in front of you," said Jesse.

Although we were far from rushing through the books, Jesse acted with hurried urgency trying to show me as much as he could while he had my attention.  "Just a couple more, ah know you gotta go," he kept saying.

And with that, I holstered my hurry and stayed and talked to Jesse all the while thinking that if I had been in a car I would have driven right by.

Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Rain and Rest, but no Rodents

Check out the classic hotel sign - 
note the Disney promotion at the bottom. 
Just north of Greenville, IL.

Tanked Sunday. Rain was ahead and feeling punk so I laid down outside a Casey's General Store and fell asleep for an hour. Got up - no mice had run across my face and no bears ate my toes... and I felt better. Made it 77 miles and landed just outside Springfield. 

Sunday, June 24, 2012

Bike Fix - Illinois

Finally found a bicycle shop in Carbondale, Illinois. My front derailleur had been giving me fits the past two states as the chain refused to respond and jump in the big ring up front.

Dave McDonald owns Phoenix Cycles"I haven't seen one of these in years," he said about my Centurion. "I think it's one of the first bikes I sold when I bought the shop in the 1980s." Dave reviewed the situation and made a head-shaking diagnosis. "You know, I can put some lube in here and tighten your cable a bit... but there's a lot going on here and once I change one thing that'll open up a whole new series of issues," he said.

As we studied our weary situation another employee came through the door. "A Centurion RS; man it's been a long time since I've seen one of those," he said.

Alex had short cropped hair and was dressed in a bike tech apron. He had a thin face and when he smiled his eye-teeth reminded me of Robert Pattison in Twilight.

The men looked at each other, their heads shaking. 

Dave pointed out the U-brackets in back which held my bike rack to the frame. He also brought out his chain-o-meter. "You see here how we have some play in the chain - you've really stretched this and if you look here by the ring you can see light as I rotate the pedal." During an even slower rotation Dave indicated how the chain links did not even sit between the teeth in the sprocket. "It's just riding on top; you see that?," he asked.
I nodded, like it was normal. "When I get into the big gears it sounds like the rhythm of a train."

Dave let out a lot of big sighs. "You sure do get your monies worth out of your gear," he said. My dad would be proud.

While Dave wrenched I told him about my father and his baby-seat bike. How he put four child seats on an old Schwinn. One in front of the handlebars, another wedged behind and then two more seats perched on the fender in back.

"No helmets I bet," said Dave.

"Nope, only ponytails for protection." My dad would take me and my sisters out for rides when we were growing up. Later, when my brothers entered the picture, my dad spliced together three tandems. We had seen a show about the Wallendas and another on Evel Knievel and got all inspired.

The triple bike never worked too well, but we tried and that's where I give my dad the credit for getting me into biking.

It's all the adventure you care to have; just get on and ride.

Comments:  Good Morning Judy,  Just wanted to let you know we really enjoyed chatting with you last Saturday at Mary Lou's.  Got on your web page and saw where you did take 51 north.  Hope all worked out for you.  We enjoyed reading your blog.   Judy & Bernie  RV'ers

Heaping Helping of Kentucky Hospitality

Mike and Cara

Crossed the state line Thursday from Tennessee into Kentucky with little fanfare.

I was on Highway 45E. There were no signs like, 'Welcome to Kentucky - the Bluegrass State' or 'Thanks for visiting Tennessee.' The most I happened upon at a triple intersection was a 'Welcome to South Fulton' sign buried under a wooden cut-out of a locomotive shoved into a dry bed of flowers.

"Need some help with your map?" said a voice from a white van that pulled up alongside. It was Mike Lynch; local businessman, community servant and all around good guy.

We mapped for a bit, debated my options down the road and then Mike came up with a game plan. "Why don't you come home with me and stay the night," he said, quickly following up with "I'm not a pervert, let me call my wife."

Mike was forever upbeat, a skinny guy with loads of energy. "Honey, I met this great woman and I'm bringing her home," he said on the phone. If the conversation didn't sound good on my end, I can imagine what his wife, to whom he was united in marriage, was thinking.

Mike owned the local funeral home and his wife, Cara, was a nurse who spent eight years in the emergency room and now worked in home healthcare. Both were tied to the phone in case of emergency.

Mike went to work and swapped vehicles. We put my bike in the back of his pickup and he let me ride up front. We drove three miles out of South Fulton to his wonderful home on 10 acres. There was a cornfield surrounding the brick home, a little dog named Bullet in the driveway and red Corvette in the garage. A 1969 Norton sat across the yard in the man garage.

The Lynch's spoiled me with a barbeque chicken dinner complete with a squash-potato salad, and sliced cucumbers in vinegar spooned out of an old crock on the kitchen counter.

Their home had high 9-foot ceilings, crown molding, and a lot of antiques and art.  In the evening they set me up in a high antique bed with sheets so soft I felt like I was floating in my dreams.

The next morning, the Lynch's drove me to the outskirts of town, dropping me off in the driveway of a cemetery. Fitting, considering Mike's line of work.

"Goodbye Little Daniel Boone," said Mike waiving; it was a name he had given me during our conversations as he appreciated my adventuresome spirit.

Saturday, June 23, 2012

Land of Lincoln and...

...home  of Dick Van Dyke.

"I grew up in Danville, Illinois, 
right in the middle of the state."

Crossed the state line into Illinois on Friday afternoon.  Not too bad - Orlando, FL to Illinois in 13 days. Stayed in Anna, IL last night at First Christian Church. 77 mi on Friday. Hoping to make it to Springfield, IL by Monday or Tuesday...

Friday, June 22, 2012

Oh, The People You Meet

A quick pics from the road ----


Little boy Conrad, 7, at a rest stop in Clinton, KY. 
I asked him what he was doing this summer and he said, "Nuthin."

Green Bay Packer Love ---in Martin, Tennessee

Are you ready for some football?

Old Home Motel - Revisited

Dropping a few more pictures your way of the Old Home Motel.  See my blog post below for the full story.

Thursday, June 21, 2012

Leaving Alabama...

Crossing the state line, Alabama to Tennessee.

Sign in someone's front yard in Alabama.
I may not come home alone...

JUANITA and the Old Home Motel

Adamsville, TN is home to Buford Pusser, the legendary lawman who broke up moonshine operations and put a lockdown on gamblers, prostitutes and organized crime.

The small town in McNairy County wraps its arms around the Pusser history. A silhouette of the 'Walking Tall' movie character carrying a big club is pictured on the community's water tower.

The local police department has a glass display case with photos of Pusser with country singer Johnny Cash, letters of commendation, and again, the famed big club with which Pusser said he would use instead of a gun to keep law and order.

Just up the Main St. in Adamsville is the Old Home Motel.

Built in 1950, the 15-unit motel hasn't changed at all. The lettering on the original street-side sign is a bit faded, but you can still see the motel name and the words 'swimming pool' written in cursive at the bottom.

The room doors are still painted with a bright array of colors including tangerine orange, brilliant yellow and turquoise blue.

The best thing about the motel is sitting in a plush, brown leather chair in the front office. Owner Juanita Richardson is 91 years old.

Juanita Richardson

She started serving customers in a restaurant when she was 17 and she's been in the motel/restaurant business ever since.

"When my husband bought the restaurant across the street I liked to have croaked," said Juanita.

We sat and talked in the front office of the motel for about three hours. The office also served as the living room of her house.

She sat along a series of street-side windows, the blinds pulled over a bulge of the neon 'open' sign for the business.

Her feet, covered in black slippers with white fluff on the top, were perched on a small, round wicker table.

Juanita had high cheekbones and white hair parted on the side. She had gray-blue eyes, pale skin with a few light brown age marks and no makeup. She reminded me of the actress Jessica Tandy.

Juanita spoke with a southern ease, some self-effacing humor and when she reenacted a story her voice rose an octave or two.

"We opened the Old Home Restaurant on a Sunday," said Juanita.

"We could seat 100 and I had homemade rolls and homemade dressings including thousand island, blue cheese and Roquefort and customers were lined up across the street," she said.

A lightning strike eventually put an end to the restaurant and for years after Juanita and her husband Joe ran the motel.

"Elvis stayed here once," she said.

Sheriff Pusser came over and picked up a key from Juanita's husband.  "Buford wanted to sneak Elvis in and out," she said, determining the 'stay' was in the late 1960s.

"Elvis really led a miserable life," said Juanita. "He had more money but he no privacy and if you stop and think about that, it's horrible."

Elvis stayed in room 115 at the Old Home Motel. Juanita said some customers ask for that room in particular.

"I suppose if I'm going to sit here and talk to you I might as well tell you about the saddest part of this ole' story," said Juanita.

There was still some strain in her voice when she told me about the day in 1976 when her husband killed himself. "He was a drinker and it just got worse when we came to town," she said.

"That turned my basket upside down."

I stopped taking notes as Juanita talked about depression, and what she would do as a single mom with a business at age 47.

"Natalie was daddy's girl," she said. "She ask for a dime and he'd give her a quarter. She'd ask for a dollar and he'd give her five."

Juanita cried daily and worked. "I'd tell the maid to take off the weekends and I'd make 28 beds and clean the rooms," she said. "I didn't eat and my weight dropped down to 105 pounds."

It was one New Year's Eve when Juanita was watching TV and the big ball drop on Times Square.

"I closed my eyes and made a resolution to change; I just knew I couldn't go on like this and for some reason I wondered what people on the other side of the world were going through."

Juanita said she got up the next day and still had no clue how to change her situation.

Then she looked at me and said, "But now I've been to 25 foreign countries." And she started listing them: Norway, Sweden, England, Holland, North Africa, Portugal, Germany, Spain, and Russia.

"In North Africa we were at a dinner where a goat's eye was put right in the middle of a dish and it was just staring at me," she said, her voice rising. "Then a half-naked native dancer came and pulled me up and tried to get me to dance."

Juanita clutched a Kleenex while she talked and held it to her mouth when she laughed.

In another country, she couldn't remember which, she ate what the tour guide later told her was a fried blood clot. "I'd like to have flipped," said Juanita.

She reminisced most about her trip to Russia. "I never laughed so much in my life," she said talking about the trip she took with her friend Carol Jean.
"Talk about country girls who went to town. We were just a couple of dumb-dumbs; I don't know how we ever made it back."

Juanita said they traveled by train in Russia. "We didn't know beans about nothin' but at least we knew to pack a lunch," she said. Two gentlemen from the States rode in their same train car. They didn't pack a lunch, so the ladies shared. "Then they left to go find some food. They got some cookies at the end of the train and brought 10 back. It turns out those cookies cost $6 a piece," she laughed.

Juanita said the travel pulled her out of her depression "because around here when I saw friends I knew they felt sorry for me because of Joe, but when I traveled... nobody knew."

Juanita said she always wanted to go to Australia, but the cartilage in her knees was so bad now it hindered her walking.

She said she’d keep working at the motel because it kept her active.

So far on this tour, she’s one of the most inspiring people I’ve met.

Comments: Some friends and I spent about an hour today talking with Juanita. We enjoy our visits with her. Today her conversation centered on The Bike Writer. She showed us a card you left her. I think you made a hard-working lady happy.  Sylvia

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

As Tina Turner would say....

"In Tennessee where I grew up, there were animals, farms, wagons, mules." - Tina Turner


About a mile before the Tennessee state line I visited the Whistlestop Cafe; a small diner of six tables at the back of a gas station.

I ordered two eggs, toast and a sample portion of fried green tomatoes. My every move was observed by a little girl in a pink iCarly t-shirt.

Gracie, 7, was on summer vacation and already bored. She sat across from me, head in her hands, answering my questions with a thick Alabama drawl.

"Fishing" was how she planned to spend her summer. "We catch bass mostly. My daddy said I caught the biggest bass he's ever seen," she said.

Gracie spoke with matter-of-fact confidence.

I spread my hands for an example of size measurement and then my arms. Gracie shook her head and said she couldn't remember but "her daddy said."

The conversation turned to biking. I gave her my business card and told her where to look for stories about the tour.

"This your phone number," she asked. "I'm going to give you a call and then we can go biking."

She was adorably sincere and quickly corraled by her mother to 'stop bothering the lady.'

These quick encounters really make the tours a memorable experience.

Meet Gracie....

The people I meet

Crossed into Tennessee on Tuesday morning around 10 a.m. and got twisted in a traffic jam of thoughts.

Safety is top priority, but it became quickly obvious that The Volunteer State never consulted with bicyclists when designing its roads.

The county roads have a narrow shoulder with a rumble strip dropped right in the middle, that forces bikes back into the one-lane of traffic.

With my large blue marker and notepad I scrawled a simple note, 'HELP - RIDE.'

I was stuck in a hot pocket, with a challenging climb ahead when Aaron came to my rescue.

He climbed out of an old white pickup; bare feet, a straw hat, blue jeans and an awe-shucks attitude.

Aaron and traveling buddy

Aaron was in his late 60s but looked older. Skinny and hunched over at the shoulders he looked like he'd creak when he walked - possibly a combination between a stroke and Parkinsons.

"I'll give you a lift over the next eight hills," he mumbled.

We loaded the bike in the bed of the truck, left the tailgate down and I hopped in front.

"This is Cricket and the other one's Tinkerbelle," said Aaron about his two nervous little pocket/purse dogs that had already called dibs on the front seat.

A decent enough guy, Aaron talked and talked, but with the windows open and my eyes glued to the passing hills I didn't understand one thing he said.

He had a very 'King-of-the-Hill' speech pattern. I simply smiled and nodded.

Those seven miles ended quickly and that's when I met Perry.

He was driving a red Dodge Ram pickup and I managed to snag a ride from him into Savannah, TN.

Perry was 71 years old. He had a pile of loose tools riding shotgun so I was resigned to riding in the back with my bike.

Me and my bike in the back of Perry's pickup

After loading the bike I climbed on board and buried my bottom into the middle of a spare tire. My feet were wedged between an array of plastic jugs of oil, an old shoe, wood chips, stray rocks and a WHAM-O Slinky.

"Somebody pulled my door off so I've got to tie it shut with the seatbelt," said Perry as we  slowly got underway.

With the heads' up on the door, I put little trust in the tailgate. Rather than lean back and enjoy the ride, I wedged myself a bit further into the wheel and hung on.

It was exhilarating; I hadn't ridden in the bed of a pickup since I was a teenager at my grandparents in Gays Mills.

We crested one hill and Perry pulled over at a gas station for a sandwich.

"Be just a minute," he said, walking toward the building leaving the door to his pickup swung wide open.

Perry returned about 10 minutes later with two burgers wrapped in tin foil. "We'll eat these under the tree," he said handing me an unexpected lunch.

With that we stood in the shade of the tree and ate our homemade hamburger with a thick wedge of tomato, onion, lettuce and a combination of mayonaise and mustard.

Perry had a thick Alabama accent, wild gray hair that hadn't seen a comb in about a week and a mean scar on his nose that looked like he had been kicked by a horse.

Perry talked about his health, diabetes and how he "quit the insulin and fired his doctor."

Pretty soon we were back on the road. Perry's truck listing to the right and riding the rumblestrip most of the way into Savannah.


Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Shout Out From Host Church In Alabama

Got this note from church in Haleyville, Alabama, where I spent a night.  Good folks!

Dear Ms. Steffes,
All the elders of the Ninth Avenue church of Christ in Haleyville, AL enjoyed your brief visit with us on Sunday night, June 17th.  Thank you for agreeing to visit with us.  We trust your stay in the local motel was refreshing and relaxing - if only for a brief period of time.  We appreciated the opportunity to offer you hospitality.  We especially enjoyed the opportunity of offering you our friendship to the glory of Christ Jesus.  In his name we wish for you a safe completion of your journey.
Gary W. Mize


Judy it was nice to meet you. A little info of our town... We are the home of the 911 phone system.  Last April 27 tornadoes ripped across Alabama. We had some damage here but with no deaths. You will see damage in Phil Campbell and they were several people lost their lives. Hope you have a safe trip home. God bless you.    In Christ,  Jamie

Call Me Trouble

More adventure.....

"Terrance" let me flop in a building on campus.  Great til the cleaning crew busted me at 5 a.m.  Yup - I bailed.

Terrance stopped me about a half mile out with his lights going.  We got our story straight.  Hope he doesn't get in trouble.   

--------Another note received while on the road in response to above story:

 "He's a hottie, maybe he would like to tandem"    ~Mary

Just got done with a 22-mile ride in the back of a pickup. Tennessee is NOT bike friendly - way too dangerous. Sitting at the Chamber in Savannah, Tenn. and regrouping. Trying to make it 50 miles up the road to Lexington. They say the roads are better here on out...
Safety first - Steffes"

"Did you hit Lexington!!!!! Beautiful area.  maybe not when the roads are treacherous."    ~Mary

"Only made it to Adamsville, but LOVING IT!  Toured 2 fabulous museums, staying at a motel that hasn't climbed out of the 50s and I spent the last hour talking to the 91-year-old owner who once had Elvis as a guest.  She's inspiring, and challenged me to try chocolate gravy and biscuits tomorrow.  Don't want to leave, or day to end."  

And one more note.... from Brien:
"Are you still alive?  Looks like it, based on  YOUR BLOGwhich is awesome!  Keep it up.  You'll be a feature on Sunday Morning with Charles What's-His-Face in no time.  Seriously.  Cool stuff.  Great writing.  Excellent experiences (although the bed begs are a bit hard to read about).  Best of luch to you in your ongoing "adventure" and BE CAREFUL!!  (Sorry, I'm a dad now, y'know.  Keep on bikin' and take care!"

More letters from the road....

Wow Judy, that sounds like SO much fun!!

I can wire you a plane ticket if you just want to come home...



It's called 'adventure,' Amanda.

Finally got to the Alabama music Hall of Fame.  It's closed today and tomorrow...and Wednesday isn't looking good, either.  :-/

See, if this were easy, everybody would do it!

On to the Helen Keller museum...  ~Steffes

Alabama Music Hall of Fame

Monday, June 18, 2012

Kindness of strangers..from Florida to Alabama

There are so many unexpected good things that happen on tour. Quite a few people stop and ask questions like 'where are you headed' and 'how far do you travel in a day?'

But others offer more. I'm surprised on this tour how many people have offered me money.

I'm never asking for money. I don't know if it's the current economic state of the country, if they just want to get involved, or they don't know how to handle a situation other than to throw money at it.

I normally decline financial assistance unless it's unexpected and over before I know it.

Case in point:

  • In Marianna, Florida a man standing in front of me at the grocery paid for my grapes and strawberries before I even got to the checkout.
  • In Haleyville, Alabama a woman at the meat counter agreed to split a whole chicken when I told the deli clerk it was too much for me and could I just get half, then...
  • ....same woman then reached in her purse, shoved $7 in my hand and said, "this is all I have" and she walked away.
  • At a small gas station on Highway 82 outside Maplesville I stopped to chat and get directions. Lisa was the perky clerk behind the counter. Dressed in pink with a pixie haircut and sparkly shirt she turned over a gift card for a one-night stay at the Best Western.
  • In De Funiak Springs, Florida I was standing outside the old Walton County Courthouse when a man yelled across the street asking what I was doing. I hollered back, but he ambled over. Charles Davis was an older southern black man with a silver front tooth and a slow bow-legged walk. It was about 6:30 p.m. and after a quick review of my tour he said, "Would you do me the pleasure of accompanying me for a Coca Cola?" And with that we walked to the neighborhood grocery and he bought me a cold drink.

These quick encounters really make the tours a memorable experience. 

Sunday, June 17, 2012

U of Alabama - No parking here

On the campus of the University of Alabama; 
outside of the stadium which has the Evergreen Cemetery directly across the street.

Think how many times University officials cursed the loss of parking there....

Saturday, June 16, 2012

Don't Let The Bed Bugs Bite

Bonifay, FL - One thing I've learned about the south, it's hot and damp and a haven for bed bugs.

People wonder why I gravitate to churches; they offer me safehaven, a couch, and a clean bathroom.

The one day this tour I sleep in a hotel, and I find bedbugs.

I didn't know - at first. I thought I'd been outside so much it was mosquitoes or the fire ants or yellow flies.

That is, until the bites started spreading and swelling, and a guy at the diner said "nice bed-bug bites."

I had to get out of those clothes; I assumed everything was infested.

Pulled into the laundry in Bonifay, FL. It was $2 and I threw in everything... and I mean everything in - including the clothes I had on.

It was a rather bold show for a small town, but the bathroom at the laundromat was 'out of order' and locked.

At this point I lost every ounce of Catholic, school-girl modesty. I grabbed my large, Hefty garbage bag/ rain gear, poked a hole for my head and stripped off the rest of my tainted clothes.

With that I shut the lid to the washer and...... nothing; everything stopped. The water came out fine but there was no spinning or churning or washing.

So I found another machine, reloaded the wet clothes and started the process again.

I often wonder why nobody wants to come on these trips with me.

Backtracking to Florida

Meant to post these earlier...

Small town east of Marianna, Florida.
Stained glass window is from the home behind the white picket fence.

Brewton Pit Stop

Welcome to Brewton, AL
Time for a "bike rest."

Made a friend in Crestview AL

Kaylie, and me - in Crestview, AL

Got an email from Kaylie.  She blogged about meeting me.
You can read it HERE.