November 10, 2008

Narrowly Missing the Interstate (ii)

SR-100 is a straight shot towards Lake City through open acreage, some farmed and some grazed. I listened to Terry Gross interview Joan Didion about “The Year of Magical Thinking,” her memoir of the initial year after her husband’s death.

I crossed the New River, a respectable size for being so near its source in the swamps between Union Correctional Institution and Florida State Prison. I wondered if an escapee had ever made it the seven miles to SR-100, then caught a ride out of the pine forest.

Just before entering Lake City, after passing through Lulu and beyond the sign for the Palestine Voting District, SR-100 comes to an end at its junction with US-90 Truck Route, a six-lane sprawl of outer mall Lake City with fast food, big box, and home supply. Traffic crawls at 12:45pm.

As I crept past Lake City, I looked at the map as I sat stopped and go and stopped. I decided there would be no interstate on this trip. Oh, wait . . . except through Tallahassee. Traversing Tennessee Street at the time of day I would arrive would be stupid. Ok, there would be the 19 miles around Tallahassee via I-10 that would be on an I-road, but it is actually a truck route for the real US-90. So it would be ok.

In Wellborn I missed the .2 mile brick section of the Old Spanish Trail along E. 8th Street, but driving up to the Suwannee County Courthouse, situated on a real square in the center of Live Oak woke up a memory of the Alamance County Courthouse in Graham, how it sat on a block of its own, surrounded by park and trees, a confederate soldier atop a granite obelisk, facing north. There was diagonal parking all around, something of a traffic roundabout, a way to be gracious and hospitable of others while keeping the flow.

Courthouses just like that are all along US-90, in Madison, Jefferson and Gadsden Counties; those I didn’t miss either. I wanted to stop and walk the park around each one, read its monuments, soak up a little of what used to be in that place what seemed to still be. Wasn’t time.

The open road out of Live Oak intersects I-10 just half way to Ellaville. The crossroad loams in the distance, a straight shot, no distractions, no businesses, just woods in each quadrant and deserted filling stations in two. Zip…! I knew the spot from all the times I crossed it, perpendicular, at 85 mph.