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RUSKIN – The day dawned bright and clear in the Midwest. Outside it was a brisk 32 degrees and a layer of white frost covered everything – including the little RV I had packed and ready to drive south. Surely, I thought, the temperature was a sign for snowbirds to begin their annual migration.
Out on the freeway, the sky was the deep blue of the autumns in my dreams but I was too preoccupied to appreciate it. I was certain that with the freezing temperature, entire flocks of snowbirds would be filling up the campgrounds on their migration south. Would I be able to find a place to stay?
It turns out I needn’t have worried. There was no flock to be found. On my first night in Illinois, my little RV was one of the few in the park. In a few days the campground was scheduled to close for the season, the little store was nearly as empty as the park and the entire place had an end-of-life feel to it.
The next campground in Tennessee was a little more active. With nearly half the sites filled, many campers seemed entrenched for longer stays – as indicated by Halloween decorations and other bric-a-brac of everyday life. For some, this campground appeared to be home. But even here, many of the campers will eventually have to head south or return to a more traditional style of housing. The forecast for tonight is for a strong breeze with a low of 43 degrees.
There were no concerns about cold winds at the next stop. Nor was there a flock of snowbirds. According to Cheryl Leyhem, one of the owners of the Southern Gates RV Park and Campground in Arabi, Georgia, the park was nearly full the night before. On this night, however, most of the sites were empty.
South Georgia is, apparently, a place to get away from it all. In the morning, I called a few campgrounds to inquire about site availability and about wireless Internet access. All had the former but few had the latter. In a time when even fast food restaurants are offering WiFi to better serve the hurried Web addicted, the dearth of access in this part of the world was unusual.
I discovered, however, that life without the invisible tether to the Web does indeed go on. Somehow the peaceful and beautiful surroundings offered by the campground became clearer without the virtual reality on the computer screen acting as a distraction. I went to bed far earlier than normal, and, incredibly (for me, at least), had showered, tended to the tanks on the RV and was on the road within an hour of waking up. Perhaps I need to disconnect the computer more often.
Three days spent alone on the road provides a huge opportunity for introspective thought and observation. Somewhere along the line I redefined my definition of where the South begins. Previously, I always believed that crossing from Illinois into Kentucky across the Ohio River was the dividing line. But now having lived in Florida, Kentucky doesn’t seem very Southern – at least in terms of temperature. Perhaps the true boundary can be found in the highway signs – or rather, when they disappear.
In Kentucky I saw signs stating, “Bridge freezes before road.”
Which means that at some point that bridge is going to freeze.
In Tennessee there was “Bridge may freeze before road.”
In other words, more likely than not, at some point the bridge will probably freeze. If nothing else, the road is probably going to freeze.
In Georgia there was “Bridge may freeze in winter.”
It might not freeze but the possibility always exists that it could freeze.
There were no such signs in Florida, however - at least none that I noticed. Yet ironically, Florida, in many ways, isn’t really “The South”, save for the stereotypical antics of a few local politicians. Perhaps a better measure of the North-South divide can be found in snack foods. Apparently, people in the South don’t eat Hostess Ho Ho’s and people in the North generally don’t eat Moon Pies. When one is replaced by the other in roadside convenience stores, I should have a pretty good idea of where I am.
Aside from the groundbreaking new theories in road signs and snack foods, I noticed a few other things on the 1,300-mile journey driving a lumbering, oversized shoebox.
The worst drivers I encountered were in Illinois. On the surface I can see the rationale behind making a two-tiered speed limit in which cars can travel at 65 mph and trucks at 55 mph. In practice, however, it creates a nightmare in terms of traffic flow. Couple that with some really bad driving skills and the result is a state that you can’t wait to get out of.
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| There is no Internet access at the Southern Gateway RV Park and Campground in Georgia - nor, apparently, do many parks in the area offer it. Without the distraction of the computer, however, the beauty of the surroundings was clearer - and the night more restful. Mitch Traphagen Photo |
Tennessee takes honors for having the most inconsiderate drivers – specifically in the Nashville area. It seems that other drivers consider it a personal challenge should you want to actually change lanes while within a half mile of them. I saw people speed up to fill the gap once I hit my turn signal. At a gas station just south of the city, two of my fellow humans blocked my RV into a parking stall despite having acres of open parking. I was just trying to work my way out when the second vehicle pulled in making it even more difficult. As she got out to walk into the fast food store nearby, I noticed a bumper sticker on the back of her SUV: “I only drive this way to p*** you off.” Truer words have never been written.
In the Most Psychotic Drivers category, there was no contest: The award goes to Georgia and specifically the Atlanta area. There must be something in the peaches or, perhaps, the lack of water, that makes people think it’s OK to drive like lunatics there. People will cut you off with mere inches to spare and the trucks… Oh my God, the trucks – they are everywhere. Many of the freeways prohibit the big trucks from the far left lane. Good idea, right? Wrong. For the trucks, the middle lane then becomes the de facto fast lane. Woe be it to the driver who lingers in the middle lane at or near the speed limit. I have literally seen 18-wheelers approach within three feet of the rear bumper of a car in an effort to “encourage” them to move. Three feet... at 65 miles an hour… From that perspective, all that can be seen in the rear view mirror is a small portion of the truck’s grill. It’s not a pretty sight.
But then it could also be the fact that there are places with 13 lanes – a veritable sea of concrete – and the vista is something more akin to a massive game of bumper cars rather than anything resembling sanity. Add in road construction that covers almost every square foot of the state and you have the recipe for something pretty horrible.
The most consistently heavy traffic award goes to none other than Florida. After the construction and lunatics in Georgia, crossing the border into the Sunshine State was like a breath of fresh air. But that was short-lived. Soon, cars and trucks formed a steady parade so closely packed that changing lanes was difficult, it not impossible.
After more than an hour of near bumper-to-bumper traffic, the reason became clear. Two out of state RVs were traveling down the freeway side by side – thus providing a choke point for the entire state. Finally, they exited and the flow returned to normal – which was the speed of light for everyone else and considerably less for my low-performance motor home and me. Now knowing the consequences, I tried not to linger next to any other lumbering shoebox from the North.
Like the other parks, the Ruskin RV resort was mostly empty. It seems the true snowbirds aren’t scared off by a single instance of 32-degree weather – the bulk of the flock won’t arrive until late December. By that time, this park will be filled to capacity.
Still, there are people here – some are year-around residents; a few are recent arrivals that apparently share my thin blood. For well over a decade South Hillsborough has been my home. But now, I have arrived as a visitor – a snowbird like thousands of others that seek safe haven in the sun and warmth of the Sunshine State. The weather here is already beautiful and the evening sky alone made driving 1,300 miles well worth the effort.
But as I look around at the faces of people I have yet to meet, I wonder, will this still feel like home?
I’ll let you know.
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