Rollin' North
After departing our friends in Punta Gorda we pointed the Flying Scotsman northward. We always favor the two lane roads so after a bit of I-75, north of Tampa we moved over to US-27/19 for a more Florida type of adventure. I had been down this piece of road in 1962 and 63 and the towns and scenery was refreshingly similar ... wow 50 years goes quick, eh!
Highway 19 is really great and we have been down it a few times before ... nice road surface, higher speed limits and very few little towns to slow you down but lets you enjoy the trip.
After a pretty good day we arrived in Perry at their KOA. This was a new one for us and was sort of average. Nice level gravel lot with sat coverage but rather uninterested management and a view of Florida farm poverty out the front window.
When you leave you get a nice view of the moss covered very old trees and some of the more permanent homes here. Bottom line is that it is OK for a night's stop but not much more.
Along 19 on the next day we burned up some of the almost 300 miles through little towns like Camilla below. Really pretty entrance and main street with court house and easy to pass around and out the other side.
And then we searched for our next stop ...
We had picked the Maxwell-Gunter Rec Area at Lake Martin Alabama as it was on our route to friends in Huntsville and it was $20 a night and we had talked about it for years and had never been there.
It was great ... but first.
The description in the military leisure pub put it in one place, our GPS put it in another, and the GPS coordinates said, "no accessible location exists by road." My kinda place.
We went down the road provided by the MWR (military) guide book and finally got to where the less than one lane road turned into a personal driveway ... OK done.
Unhook the car, back very carefully around until we are headed back the way we came ... with local residents watching. Then re-attach the car to go back and try to find out where the Maxwell Fam Camp is.
Fortunately a Superior Propane truck driver named Ricky knew where the camp was and told us to follow him. Here we are following him for about six miles through the loose gravel, tar, and spewing dirt toward our new home ... an RV owners dream ... nightmare.
He did know where the camp was and honked and waved as we moved off the road for a more peaceful night near Lake Martin in Alabama.
