Day 9 – Kingsland to Jesup, Georgia

Today was my first day of cycling away from the Florida coast, and it was a completely different experience. My route took me inland a little and across an area that I think is know as the Pinelands. It certainly contains a large number of pine trees, and is otherwise a combination of sandy and swampy country alongside the long, mostly empty roads. For much of the day I didn’t really pass through anywhere of significance.

Kingsland turned out to be just a small high street on a quiet intersection, apart from the motel and gas station village by the interstate. Pleasant little Woodbine, an hour up the wide, empty highway, was smaller still, but it did have an open cafe that provided me with an overdue breakfast. They were cooking up burgers on a BBQ on the sidewalk, and the local sheriff stopped by for something to eat. He declared himself bored, and I could see why that might be. It was a quiet place. My approach to Woodbine was along an old railway trail that culminated in an avenue of live oaks, dripping with Spanish moss, and then a boardwalk bridge that made it halfway across the broad, blue Satilla River before abruptly stopping.

Back on the highway and over the newer bridge, I headed on past small, run down homes with pickup trucks parked randomly outside and yards full of junk. Some of the properties were neat and tidy, but many were quite dilapidated. This was a different America. At a large intersection that made up most of the community of Atkinson, I stopped at a welcome roadside sandwich shop – little more that a shed with wooden tables outside – and fell into a long and interesting conversation with the guy who popped his head out of the small window where they took the orders. He was at least my age, was from Dallas, and had lived in various places. He had family in England and spoke fondly of past trips to visit them. But his fondest memories were of kindergarten in Japan, where he was the only child out of sixteen (he said) who was not the offspring of a US serviceman and a geisha! Besides that we bonded over British 80s bands that were his favourite music growing up, especially the Human League. He knew about several 80s bands from Sheffield and I was very impressed. It was a meeting of minds. He was also the first local person I have met who spoke openly – and disparagingly – about the current White House administration.

The rest of the journey to Jesup was long and very straight. But it passed. I counted down the mile markers and stopped every five or so for a drink and a quick rest. After five miles I met an old guy outside his house, who seemed surprised to see me and even more surprised by what I was doing. He told me to keep my door locked in Jesup. At least I think he did. He appeared to have no teeth under his droopy grey moustache. But Jesup doesn’t feel like the kind of place where bad people are. It feels like a lot of people here live under some level of constant fear. Even my exuberant Human League friend talked about there being lots of crazy people around. A common refrain I hear is “stay safe”. I’m glad people care about me, but I do feel safe, the same as I did when I cycled right across America in 2023. People seem friendly and well meaning. I hope my feelings aren’t misplaced.