From Jacksonville, FL to Savannah, GA 
From Jacksonville, FL to Savannah, GA
Ending Mileage: 
Day of Travel
Departing From
Destination
Distance (in miles)
Distance (in kilometers)
Departure Time
Arrival Time
Total Travel Time
Average Speed (in mph)
Average Speed (in kph)
I woke up today to a beautiful sunny hot day -- not a whisper of rain in the air. After what seems like an eternity, today I will be leaving Florida. What an interesting state, so large, so diverse, so flat.
I try to get an early start but the first order of business is breakfast. I stop at Waffle House next to my motel both for breakfast and to continue my research. Next up it is time for gasoline and a map of Georgia. I forgot to pack my tire pressure gauge, so I set off to find an auto parts store, gasoline stations no longer sell these tire gauges.
When I make my stop at a large auto part store, I realize that I have missed out on another social phenomenon: the auto part store auto garage. I was amazed how many people were working on their cars in the parking lot around the store. One woman when not passing tools to her husband under the car gazed longingly at my motorcycle.
Fernandina Beach on the Atlantic coast looked like an attractive first stop. On last night's news, I heard that Fernandina Beach is hosting a Shrimp Festival over the weekend. I decide I don't want to deal with the crowds. I adjust my plan slightly and head out of Jacksonville northbound on Interstate 95. A couple miles of stopped traffic slow the usual pace of the ride up the interstate. I seriously considered some lane splitting but I wasn't sure of the local protocol. With no other bikers headed north, I can't get a clue if it is legal or not.
At the Georgia border, I stop at the Visitor Information Center. There is a torpedo out front, a seeming non sequitur, until I learn that there is a submarine support base nearby. My first though is that Americans do a very good job of tossing bits of military paraphernalia around our great country.
At
Brunswick, I turn east onto Georgia 17. I'll follow 17 until it
connects with Interstate 95 near Savannah. This route should take me
through some picturesque territory. As I pull off the highway, I
notice on my left a broken down restaurant called GA Pig. The name
rings a bell. I pull over and get out my copy of Eat Your Way Across
the USA. Sure enough, the GA Pig is in the book. Another U-turn and I
pull into the parking lot.
The porch boards are rough and uneven. The doors don't look like they can be locked. The interior is furnished with five picnic benches. The air is scented with the rich smell of good barbeque. I ask, "What is good?" The pork sandwich is the suggestion. I add a side of slaw and beans.
While waiting for my order, I browse the literature on the table. One revealing note:
BARBECUE - The term, barbecue, was given to the new world by French hunters or buccaneers, says the World Book Encyclopedia, 1971. A whole animal from "whiskers to tail" would be roasted over a hickory wood fire on a gridiron made of green stakes. The French words "barbe" for whiskers and "queue" for tail, thus made up the name, barbecue.
The roll is toasted and crispy. The meat is crunchy and moist at the same time. I decide to forgo any added sauce so that I enjoy the flavor as it was intended. It is like heaven. I understand why this crazy place is in the book.
Outside I talk to a man and woman that have stopped on their bike for a sandwich. They are on their way from Jacksonville to Savannah and will be following the same route that I'm taking. He asks if I would like to ride with him, but I decline. I have some pictures to take.
Speaking of which, it is now time to award the first Glen Best Commendation for Excellence in Roadside Signage. The stand was selling the delicious Vidalia onions.
IFinally
done with lunch at the GA Pig, I get back on the bike and head east
Georgia 17. The road quickly moves out onto a salt marsh. Ahead I can
see there is a new bridge under construction. I decided a picture was
in order because I've never been this close to a suspension bridge
under construction. This bridge will replace a lift bridge. The
towers of the lift bridge can be seen between the towers of the new
bridge. The new roadway will have the same capacity but apparently
there is a considerable gain to not having to wait for the bridge in
the 'up' position.
This is a picturesque and historic part of Georgia. In one town, I stop to look at a fort that was constructed in pre-Revolutionary times. Apparently Brunswick has been a port of some importance for many years. Now, the village nearest the fort is a shrimp town. Boats are lined up along the estuary, two are up out of the water being repaired and repainted and a third appears to be under construction.
I get back on 17 heading slowly towards Savannah. A car and a tour bus are hard on my tail and I pull over to allow them to past. I don't want anyone setting my pace today.
I've noticed several signs for the Hofwyl Broadfield Plantation State Historic Park. When I see the tour bus turn in, I decide to follow and see what is there. As soon as I turn off the highway, the feeling changes. The road is only one lane wide and twisty. The forest is all around us. Tall trees draped with Spanish Moss form a dense roof. The light is filtered as it streams through the trees and moss. Vines and shrubs form a dense carpet. The tour bus threads its way down the twisting lane.
Finally
I break out into a paved parking area. The oak's arching branches and
Spanish moss create the feeling of a ceiling while allowing
significant parking space. The bus pulls over to park and I pull
ahead to a sign. The sign lists the admission charges and I decide
that I don't really feel like going inside. I flip a U-turn in the
open part of the parking lot and stop to take in the ambiance. The
feeling of this place is otherworldly. Quiet. Humid. Light streaking
through the trees.
As I pull forward to leave, the bus driver jumps out and asks me to wait so he can talk a bit. Unusual but not a problem. I pull over and wait while he gets his passengers, a girls choir from Atlanta, out and on their way. Finally, he walks over to where I have parked. He had noticed the California plates and wanted to know my story. He also thinks the Valkyrie is very handsome. We talk about motorcycles and other experiences.
Quiet suddenly he makes a number of observations:
Very quickly, he reverts to talking about motorcycles and his many years on the road. It didn't seem unusual until I thought about it during the rest of the ride to Savannah.
Later I decide that Phoenix the bus driver was really an angel. His mission that day was to reinforce the things I've argued with myself over the past couple of weeks. Oddly enough, this conclusion feels comfortable to me and I'm quite happy to think that is what happened.
Back on the road, I enjoy the warmth and low humidity of the afternoon as I roll along. I would really recommend this stretch of road to anyone visiting this part of the country. There are many things to stop and see. But if you need to drive through without stopping, more or less like I did that day, the scenery is varied and attractive.
Into Savannah, I take the wrong exit and snake my way through Savannah on my way to the historic center of town. The historic core of Savannah is built on a bluff over the Savannah River. The old buildings line Bay Street as the anchor to one edge of the core. Within the core area there are sixteen landscaped squares: each square is the size of a city block. Around each landscaped square are nine blocks filled with houses, churches and businesses. All of the squares are very handsome and distinct.
I check into the hotel and have a quick shower and nap. I take a walk for dinner and run into another group of motorcycle riders hanging out by the Village Market. Several of these guys have seriously customized bikes. All are friendly and tell me to go get my bike so they can have a look 'even though it is dirty.'
Afterwards I barely have time for a pizza and its back to bed. I manage to find the prostitutes working the street behind my motel but there is no sign of the much sought after Lady Chablis.
WAFFLE HOUSE
Several readers recommended the Waffle House as an excellent alternative to Denny's and McDonalds for breakfast. My first encounter proved that Waffle House is indeed a good alternative but there is something more to the Waffle House Experience.
Waffle Houses are very similar in appearance and construction -- much more so than McDonalds. Each Waffle House appears to be manufactured somewhere else and delivered to its site. I'm not sure if that is the case, but the building is literally the size of a large doublewide trailer home. The entrance is in a separate vestibule on the long edge of the building.
Inside, there is a small utility room in the back. A long kitchen forms most of the long side opposite the front door. Waitresses (always women, no men) can work nearly all tables from the kitchen / utility area due to the arrangement of the seating area. Two or three booths are at the back of the building and food can be served directly to the table without leaving the cooking area. There is room for five or six tall counter seats next to a cash register area. Finally there is another booth accessible from the cooking area and a low counter area. Two or three booths are on the window at the 'front' of the building and are require the waitress to leave the kitchen area to serve food.
There is an amazing discipline to the order of these diners. Usually there is a cook -- the only male in the building working with a lead service person. Then there are three or four waitresses. The waitresses deliver their orders using the hash house shorthand associated with the 1930s and 1940s. But more importantly there is one specific spot where the waitress must stand to place the order. Orders placed from other locations are ignored. She takes her place and waits for the cook to move to his specific position. As the order is called, the appropriate plates are laid out along with the proper service items.
At the Pensacola Waffle House, a woman is being trained in this technique. She takes her 'mark' with the tentativeness of an aspiring actress at her first studio screen test. At the Jacksonville Waffle House, the cook is not on his station. The waitress waits first patiently and then with huffs of growing volume and intensity. Finally the cook catches her waiting and rushes to his spot saying, "Honest I didn't see you there!"
In every Waffle House, the staff was very friendly. There appears to be a corporate requirement to greet all arriving customers. The locals get a personalized greeting, but everyone gets a Hello. The food is good and solid and while most of the ingredients are fresh, the dreaded Kraft cheese food rears its ugly head.
Read on: A Day in Atlanta
Depart Jacksonville, FL on Interstate 95 heading North.
Cross Georgia Border
Turn east onto Georgia 17 at exit 29 (Brunswick, GA)
Reenter Interstate 95 heading north at exit 87.
Transition to Interstate 16 heading east.
Arrive Savannah, GA
(c) 2001 Thomas N. Engler Revision Date: 05/04/2001 revised November
18, 2001
