Amelia Island Sojourn--February 19

Rain started at about 4 AM and sounded wonderful on the roof. I hear it as I slip in and out of sleep, warm, dry. By the time we really wake up the sky is clearing and we can see patches of blue through the fast moving clouds. It is warmer than we thought it would be, but getting ready to go means cleaning things off. Norb takes this opportunity to clean some of the accumulated grime off the RV, we wipe down the water hose before putting it away, we wipe off the leveling blocks and we are off.

We are going a very short distance today, only about 80 miles to Jekyll Island, GA. This island was once owned by French émigrés who sold it to a consortium of very wealthy men who formed the Jekyll Island Club. It stayed in their hands until Georgia bought it and made the entire island into a state park. The ‘cottages’ of the rich are still here as is the Jekyll Island Club House (now a hotel). Over 60% of the island is wooded. There are bike trails covering the entire island and it is surrounded by water—the Atlantic on one side and the intracoastal waterway on the other. On the east side there is a wide expanse of marsh, the result of a hurricane around the 1900’s.

We find the campground, owned by the state but managed by someone else. We find our campsite, not a pretty as our last two and not nearly as private. It is almost like being in an RV park as far as space is concerned. The woman next door is from northern Wisconsin and she and her husband come down here for 5 ½ months each year. The more permanent residents have a plague hanging in front of their campsites with their name and an outline of their state, clearly provided by the management since they are all alike.

We read the many brochures and booklets we have picked up on our way into Georgia and onto the island and then decide to do rather than just read. We unload the bikes and set off down island. There isn’t much commercial activity on the island—a few restaurants, the Club, a small IGA food store, and a ‘shopping center’ that would pass as a tiny strip mall anyplace else. The bike surfaces are widely varied, from wide concrete to rough path with lots of roots, from former roadway to narrow, bumpy blacktop. It’s too bad that we have left our computers at home because I would really like to know how many miles we have biked so far on this trip. We pick up a pound of Georgia shrimp at the store and head home on the other side of the island.

I play my piano while Norb goes for a walk and checks out the campground. Not a single Navion parked here other then ours. How unusual. In fact, there are few small rigs. Dinner—shrimp, baked potatoes, peas, and cucumbers and tomatoes. I don’t have white vinegar for the cukes and so I use balsamic. It’s good. I have a new recipe. After dinner, laundry and reading.