I usually walk down to the dock before morning coffee to watch the mist rise into a limbo of sunlight and disappear as quickly as it rises. It’s peaceful there, and quiet. 

The water is silent, the docks motionless, and if you’re eyes stay keen, you can almost creep right up on the birds that await their morning sustenance. I was lucky to catch one swooping in for a landing and a breakfast of fresh lizards.

It reminded me that we were to meet Judy and Stoney, friends from Williston. After our morning walk we headed to the Neals as they were taking us to dinner. Charlie’s Fishouse Restaurant in Crystal River was a hit. 

Some of the best seafood that I’ve sampled in Florida. Inexpensive, on the water, pelicans awaiting your every need, and good company made for a great day. 

There was still a bit of daylight remaining after dinner and Judy and Stoney wanted to show us around. We decided a short drive out on the Fort Island Trail leading to the Gulf of Mexico. A good choice as we arrived shortly before the horizon engulfed the setting sun. It was worth the trip out of the way. 

The next day we did find our way to Gainseville to meet up again with Tom and Joan. We had befriended them last winter in Savannah while they were hosting in a park where we camped for two days. Later this summer they were engaged as workampers at Lake In Wood and we re-acquainted with them there. They’ve purchased a house on the outskirts of  Gainesville and have put their fiver on the market, having purchased a class B, in preparation for a few months on the road out West.  The remainder of the week was pretty much dedicated to our daily walks, a bit of work on the dumbbells, some laps in the pool, floating, and espousing personal philosophies to fellow snowbirds. Notice I went from laps in the pool directly to floating. I’m not sure all this “working out”, is working out. Approximately two hours a day are engaged in some sort of physical exertion but much to the dismay of both of us, we’re not acknowleding much of a significant weight loss. We’ll keep trying as it makes us both feel better but the loss of weight is in inverse proportion to our growing age. Dismayed by this lack of girth loss, I decided to make donuts for Sunday church services. I placed the oiled pot on the burner out front. I stepped inside to acquire the dough I already had prepared and punched into donuts and holes. In that 20 second time period a grease fire and flames roaring to the top of the windshield. Robin tartly beckoned my attention. I ran out to hopefully put an end to it while she grabbed for the extinguisher. Much to our dismay the Full indicator wasn’t quite right. Our neighbor saw the commotion and grabbed his as well. It didn’t work either. Thankfully another adjacent camping family came to the rescue with a full bottle of flame retardant but much to my chagrin, the front of the bus as well as the bra is going to have to be replaced.

It wasn’t long after cleanup that Robin had heard young Hunter hollering for his dad that one of the parks’ boats were sinking. We quickly ran down to the dock with buckets and anything that would hold water. 

Joe and his children bailed out the water, C.J. and Stacy held the front of the boat taut at the foreside, while I snapped away at the chaos. The trio had emptied the boat out enough for me to hook up a trailer to my truck and pull Joe and the sinking USS Minnow to shore. Needless to say, church was a bit delayed today.
Lessons learned….1. Enjoy friends and loved ones as if you’ll never see them again….2.Make homemade donuts as far away from the rig as possible….3.Don’t make homemade donuts, go to Walmart or Dunkin’ and buy them….4.When no one gets hurt in an accident, rejoice as the other stuff can be replaced. It’s only money….5 Have several fire extinguishers on hand at all times, locating at least one outside and two at either end of your rig inside.  And now that I know things come in 3′s, I’m wary at what may be next.

For eleven months I would parlay the winding trails of Cambodia’s Quang Tri Province, remaining sightless just off their perimeters, all the while observing movement and transportation of supplies and equipment of the Soviets along with their assistance to the Cambodian rebels. While “in country”, I  was to garner information for recon purposes. When out in the bush, administering to my assignments I would often marvel at the motorcycle and accompanying sidecars traversing the highlands, taking Russian field generals to various supply depots, and criss-crossing adjacent vectors in that Southeastern Asian hellhole. For those eleven months, it was bittersweet at its worst, falling in love with a machine that cavorted Soviet leaders who were eventually marked for erasure, by hidden snipers and our honed marksmanship. The distinct whirr of the air-cooled, four-stroke, flat twin cylinder engines would notify us of their imminent arrival, prompting me to seek cover either in the tallest of trees or well hidden in the brush at subterranean levels. Nevertheless, I fell in love with those cycles and yearned to learn more about the Russian Ural. I knew that if I made it stateside, one day I would possess one of these beauties. And here we are, almost forty years later, and Robin and I are adorning a replica of that original M72. Today its called the M70 and is based on the Retro model. It is painted in olive drab, the sidecar has a machine gun mount and its tonneau cover is made of canvas similar to the one used on the M72. Just like the M72 it also includes a spare wheel and shovel. The tear drop gas tank is decorated with a replica of the first factory badge (circa 1956). The motorcycle features a tractor style seat and luggage rack on the rear fender.

The Ural story begins in 1939, during the USSR’s pre-World War II planning against the German Third Reich. Josef Stalin ordered the military to prepare all areas of operation, including the ground forces that would defend the Russian motherland. The M72 was essentially a copy of a BMW R71, the best sidecar motorcycle of the time. A rugged, all terrain motorcycle, capable of carrying three people and heavy loads, was ideal for mobile troops. Five units were covertly purchased through intermediaries in neutral Sweden and smuggled to Russia. Soviet engineers in Moscow busily dismantled the BMWs. The first M72′s built by the Irbit Factory in the Ural mountains outside Siberia and were sent to the front lines in February of 1942 and were used by the troops in the Battle of Stalingrad.   Over the course of World War II, 9,799 M-72 motorcycles were delivered to the front for reconnaissance detachments and mobile troops.  In the late 1950s,  the Irbit Motorcycle Works (IMZ) began to build Urals for domestic, civilian consumption. The popularity of the outfits grew steadily among Russians, and in the 1960s, the plant was turned over to full non-military production.

This story of the history of the Russian Ural is all true. What is not is the bullshit that I conjured up at the onset of this post to draw your attention. This motorcycle actually belongs to Dawn, whose in-laws live at the end of the river road that Robin and I walk each day on a saunter to points north on the Suwanee River. Dawn was kind enough to allow us to experience the feel of this machine and snapped a photo of us for posterity. I hope you enjoyed this entry.

]]> http://www.gypsylarry.com/2012/01/russian-dream-come-late/feed/ 0 http://www.gypsylarry.com/2012/01/suwanee-day-trips/ http://www.gypsylarry.com/2012/01/suwanee-day-trips/#comments Sun, 08 Jan 2012 13:55:36 +0000 larry http://www.gypsylarry.com/?p=2601 Continue reading »]]> Mornings have been a bit foggy this week. But it soon lifts and the days have been full of sun.

We did experience that cold spell that hit the eastern seaboard but forty-eight hours later it was just a memory. Temps are now back in the mid 70′s.

We christened the first week of the year by boating with Lenny and Mary, Jerry and Barb. We ferried down the Suwanee for half a dozen miles to a new eatery located on its banks. Treasure’s Camp Resturant has recently opened at Fowlers Landing and brings with it that old Florida ambiance.

They also sell gasoline which alleviates any fears of running dry on the next eighteen mile leg to the Gulf. Jerry was kind enough to pick up the tab and my posse was also intrumental in filling the tank.

They felt that the least they could do since we provided the transportation. Remaning days have been interspersed with walking, afternoons spent poolside, learning to make new breads with my kitchen aid mixer that the kids gifted me for Christmas, and a great deal of time commiserating with other campers on anything and everything.

Robin and I took a solo trip down river just yesterday and on the return home were fortuante enough to spot a bald eagle circling us in flight.

Wanting so badly to see it swoop down on some prey, we were eventually rewarded but the focus was a bit wanting.

I know now that no matter the problem with its weight and bulk, the big lens will always accompany me on the river.

We spent some time today making acquaintances with new neighbors. The park is full for the holday weekend but I”m sure by Monday we’ll be two of a handful of visitors remaining. We began our daily walking routine, and then mounted and installed Robin’s new depth finder, a Christmas gift from Ryan and Carolyn. The task took a bit longer than planned as wires needed to be threaded and guided and the massive conglomerationf of more wires under the dash sent my  ming reeling. By mid afternoon, the cover was off the boat and we were backing it into the Suwanee. A mere two cranks of the ignition and she fired right up. Time for the inaugural trip to the pool. The days’a itinery revolved around a private dinner party being hosted by Jerry and Barb. By five thirty, 21 of us trekked to the clubhouse they had rented. We were served family style pork tenderloin, mashed potatoes, green beans, a salad of asparagus and tomatoes, and dinner rolls. All of this was topped with strawberry ladened pudding. What a meal and a great time was had by all. The camaraderie only added to the zest of this fine supper. Some of us topped the evening off with a late night swim in the pool. It was great to see the heat rising from the water, creating is own eerie smoke on the water. The feeling was almost surreal, bobbing in an outdoor pool, well into the evening, on the last day of the year. Not something we could even fathom for most of our lives lived in the mid-Atlantic states. We all resiged to our respective rigs to watch the ball drop and ring in the New Year in our own way.

No sooner did we put down that we were invited for dinner to the home of Mike and Gail. They  bookend us with shifts working the grille and counter at Lake in Wood’s famous Gnome Cafe. We had a wonderful time reminiscing and catching up on work gossip since their departure in September. We’ve been together several times since, tooling around the area looking golf courses and vacation homes, wharfs, and unique little shops in an attempt to flirt the day away. We met them at Poo’s in Little River, which has become their famous cuisine haunt and enjoyed fresh flounder, fries, and hushpuppies. Apparently Poo’s has become a regualar Friday stop and we’re finding ourselves doing the same.  Later in the week, more of Lake In Wood’s finest appeared at Willow Tree.  Jerry and Cheryl pulled in for a few days by mid week on their journey to Florida. Again Gail and Mike hosted us all for meatloaf, chicken, homemade mac and cheese, beans, buns, and sweet potatoes. However, Mike’s grilled hors-de-ouvres were the hit of the evening in my opinion. They were sublime. The remainder of the week has been spotted with additional Christmas shopping, photos at the beach, walking and lifting weights, a bit of driving golf balls and generally running around and making deposits to the stations owned by the big oil conglomerates.

We spent two glorious days in their company and they couldn’t have been more gracious hosts. Tom and I traded a site for a photo shoot opportunity, hoping that some of my work could help market the campground for them in the next brochure. We feasted with a small group in the social hall on Thanksgiving leftovers, met some new folks and chatted until the late hours. The next day Robin and I set out for some photo work, explored the campground, made a food run to Walmart. Tom and Nancy have completely turned this campground around for the better. Anyone traveling up and down I 95  needs to mark this as a waypoint. The campground is easy off and on, being a mere 1/2 mile from the interstate. All the sites are flat, graveled, well maintained with aesthetics that are pleasing to the eye. They make you feel as if your royalty when you enter the office and it is in evidence very much that the customers well being is the main tenet of operations here. Saturday night we were hosted at the site of John and Yuko for another round of “tales around the fire”. Hitting me like a Louisville Slugger, it was then I realized again what makes this life so special.  We’ve done it in two dozen states, amid a vast amount of differing flora and foliage, under stars and moonlit skies.

The fire is always brilliant orange and hot, the names of the people are changed from one venue to another but the stories, the laughter, the camaraderie is always “the holy grail” that we seek. Cynthia and Jim joined in and as the stories unfolded I had to laugh at the common thread that ran thoughout every get together by the fire. They’re all the same and yet, each one different. We left amid morning hugs and kisses, Tom and Nancy proving hosts hard to leave. But we’ll return. On our journey north to Christmas with the children, we’ll stop again and spend some time. Thank you, my friends, for just being you. 

Klaas and Judy, owners here at LIW, hosted a fillet and lobster dinner for all the workampers in the Gnome Cafe.  Approximately 70 people showed for the event.

Mike Walling, known in these parts as the Porkmeister, presided as the main chef, grilling the steaks and handling the lobster. I assisted and was charged with the baked potatoes and salad for the masses.

Everyone seemed pleased with the meal and Mike was a great help to me in teaching me some great tricks when serving a large populace.

Not to be outdone by the earthquake, along came remnant of Hurricane Irene. She may have pummeled the east coast but the backlash of winds from her “eye” made a mess of things around here for a short time.

Power went down for a day and a half but we kept open the cafe in order for any wayfarer camper to have a safe haven from the winds. As quick as it came, it went. Jerome and his entourage of groundskeepers painstakingly policed the resort. A day after its exit, you wouldn’t have known we were a part of the aftermath. Two days later, I joined Ken and Pete for a round at The Hawk. Ken and Pat will be leaving tomorrow, so this would have been our last links encounter for the year. The competition brought out the best in me. They spurned me to turn in my best round of the season so far. Thank you, gentlemen.

Cheryl and Jerry invited us mid-week to a cuisine that was foreign to these taste buds. Apparently, low country boil is a revered entree in the Carolinas. They had talked about it for some time and promised to intoduce us to the Palmetto State’s finest. Skeptical at first, this quickly turned to a pleasant surprise. Keilbasa led the way into the boiling pot, stuff with Bay seasoning, add the potatoes some seven minutes later, followed by the ears of corn, boil a little more, and then add the shrimp as the coup de grace. Finish off the boil and its’ usually dumped onto newspaper. However, short of that, Cherly found a fine platter for us all to partake in the feast.

And just as soon as we were riding a high, along came the tropical storms. I’ve never seen such incessant rain for so long in my life. Apparently, from the studios in Harrisburg, reporters confided this flood had even surpassed the last great disaster of 1972. Confined to the RV, a lot of good downsizing was able to take place. Some reading, some computer time, some thinking, gave time for reflection. Although I didn’t realize it, I needed that. I was in a funk. The words of encouragement from some of you out there turned the tide a bit. Thank you for the challenge. Following the pelting, we couldn’t keep from surveying the damage. Like rubbernecks on a turnpike, we cruised the county. Isn’t it warped how we seek the unusual, the disastrous, the fearful, to see in plain view. Oxymorons are we.