SEBRING, FLORIDA

SEBRING FLORIDA

By Duncan 

Let me think about how and why this stop is important. 

If you have been following along, you know I have been on a road trip that started in Indianapolis, including London, North Carolina, Jacksonville, Hollywood, North Fort Myers, and Cape Coral. I'm headed to Sebring, Florida, for my next adventure. 

My first marriage ended in the late 1980s. The details might be interesting to some, but what would finger-pointing solve? All the fingers would point at me, and my actions were why I found myself single again. 

I decided to give marriage another try. It's interesting wading through the needs, wants, and desires of a woman who wants her marriage ceremony to be special. I have to ask myself, isn’t that true for all women? 

We were married. One afternoon, I returned to our apartment and found my blushing bride on the floor with the wedding proofs from the photographer on the living room floor. She was crying, and she was very unhappy with the pictures. 

I tried consoling her by saying, "Honey, they are good, fine, great." 

She was having none of it. "You take better pictures than this guy." 

I was an amateur photographer with a black-and-white dark room. Yes, I was using film back then. Digital cameras did not exist at that point. I would take pictures, head to the dark room, and give my black-and-white prints away as a gift. It was my hobby. 

It didn't dawn on me that she was serious until she came home one afternoon and said, 

"We're in the wedding photography business. I've been talking to a girl at work who needs a photographer. I told her we could photograph her wedding."  

This was a huge surprise to me. I had no idea how to photograph a wedding, what to charge, or what camera equipment I would need. The day came, and I was a nervous wreck. 

After the ceremony, I took my film to the drugstore and waited for the results. I was not impressed with my work. I slipped the photographs into an inexpensive wedding album and presented them to the bride. 

The bride loved them, Mom was happy, and everyone was delighted—except me. I couldn’t believe they all liked the pictures. I needed help; I had another wedding to shoot. 

I searched for information about Professional Photographers. I noticed a group called The Professional Photographers of Indianapolis meeting monthly at a nearby hotel. I decided to attend the meeting, even though I would likely not be allowed to participate.  

I walked down the hotel corridor and found a convention room full of people standing around talking with drinks in their hands. I stood in the doorway, frozen in fear. 

A woman in the middle of the room looked up and noticed me at the double doors. She walked to me and asked, 

"Can I help you? What are you looking for?" 

"I was looking for the Professional Photographers meeting." 

"You would be in the right place. Are you a professional photographer?" 

"No, I'm an amateur and need help photographing weddings." 

"Have you photographed a wedding?" 

"Yes, just one."

"Did you get paid?" 

"Yes."

"Then you are a professional. What is your name?"

This woman grabbed my arm. "My name is Nancy Bailey; come sit next to me. We need to talk." 

Everything I know about "professional wedding photography" has come from Nancy over the last thirty years. She is considered a total professional throughout Indiana and the United States. She judges contests and speaks to groups all the time. I'm honored to call her my friend. 

Nancy Bailey - Professional Photographer

So, when Nancy found out I was going to be in Florida, she said, "You are stopping by Sebring and having lunch with me, right?" 

And how could I refuse a request like that? 

As expected, the trip from Cape Coral took a little over two hours. I arrived in Sebring, which is in the middle of Florida. I pulled into Haammock Estates, looking for her home. 

I needed some clarification about the housing addition. They spell the Retirement Village two different ways: HAAMMOCK and HAMMOCK. Everything in town is spelled Hammock. Hammock Park, Hammock Street. So, I can only assume the sign company  “Larry, Larry, and Darryl Sign Company” installed the sign. I can only imagine the questions at the HOA monthly meeting.  

I found the entrance to the addition and drove down the street to find the address. Nancy was outside waiting for me to arrive. The first thing she did was introduce me to her neighbors.

Next-door neighbor Phil. 

Next-door neighbor Carolyn, 

Alan, and Nancy Bailey-Pratt. 

On the front porch of Phil and Carolyn’s home. 

A quick tour of the Baily-Pratt home gave me a little look at their lifestyle. 

The kitchen at the Pratt home. 

Then, it was time for lunch. Nancy decided to take me to what is considered the historic section of Sebring. Sebring was founded by George Sebring, an Ohio industrialist, in 1912.  

Archival records indicate that George Sebring’s “Circle Plan” for the downtown area was based on the design of Heliopolis, an ancient Egyptian city. George’s idea was that all roads should radiate from the center of the community. 

Which has the same street layout as Washington D.C., and Indianapolis. So, it was off to the downtown area of Sebring. The population of Sebring is about 12,000 people. That small-town feel makes you slow down and enjoy life. 

We ended up at Dee’s Place, which has been in business for more than 22 years. It’s a small breakfast restaurant that serves breakfast and lunch and closes at 2:00 PM.

Dee Andrew - owner Dee’s Place - Sebring, Florida

Lacey was our waitress. 

Lacey told us that Dee Andrews keeps a low profile. I asked how it all started. Lacey said when Dee was 14 years old, she worked for a woman named Paige Brooker. 

“I guess she saw something in me and taught me all the important things about the restaurant business.” 

Dee managed the restaurant when she was a high school senior. Then, when Dee stopped working for Paige Brooker, she worked at another restaurant. In 1992, Dee decided she could run her restaurant and opened Dee’s Place. 

Dee Andress 

When asked what she likes about running a restaurant, Dee quickly says, “I like the people. You know, you have good days and bad days, but the people are what makes it work.” 

Dee said, “If you are called to do it, do it. Give it a try because you’ll never know if it was meant to be if you don’t try.”  

NANCY BAILEY-PRATT, DUNCAN - Lunch, Dee’s Place, Sebring. 

This is an interesting story, much like my own with Nancy. If I had not shot that first wedding with blind faith, I could have pulled it off, and then, knowing I needed help, I would have never attended a professional photographer's meeting and met Nancy. 

When I think of the people who have given me a boost and shared information and knowledge, I would not be the guy I am today. Let’s call it the circle of life. If you have been there and done that and are asked to mentor, do it! 

You end up with some great friends.

JACKSONVILLE

JACKSONVILLE  

By Duncan 

JACKSONVILLE, FLORIDA 

I have a friend by the name of Jim Gentry. He lived about 60 miles south of Indianapolis in a subdivision called Painted Hills, Martinsville, Indiana. 

In the early 70’s, Jim and his girlfriend, Karen, were out together on Interstate 465. A ribbon of asphalt that has three lanes of traffic and makes a circle or loops around Indianapolis. A truck in front of them lost its load. The load happened to be an automobile engine. As the story goes, it bounced on the highway and landed inside the driver's windshield of Jim’s passenger car. The vehicle he was driving. Needless to say, Jim was hospitalized and in critical condition. Karen was hurt, but not seriously. 

There but for the Grace of God go I. This statement has also been attributed to a mid-16th-century reformer by the name of John Bradford.

My last post, I discussed hitting a moose on a dark Montana highway. I was very lucky. I could have been seriously hurt, too. But my friend, Jim, has been bound to a wheelchair and a hospital bed for the rest of his life.  

Each time I think about a trip to Florida, I can’t help but think about Jim. I need to stop by his place and say hello. I don’t normally talk or write about Jim. I guess to protest his privacy.

But I decided I wanted you to know him. He’s a good man who deals with what life throws at him the best way he knows. We laughed, told stories, and enjoyed each other's company when I entered his home. For two hours, Jim gets a little bit of “normal.” He wants to live a normal life. 

So, this time, I will give you a look at a very good friend. I might even call him “My Personal and Very Close Friend.” 

Before I arrive at his home, it’s my custom to stop, grab a bite, and reflect on how I will behave there. Yes, as some of you know, I’m a little too flamboyant sometimes. A little too loud, a little too “over the top.” 

But, as I sit in the McDonald’s a few miles from his home, I try to put myself in his shoes. How would he want me to behave with him? It’s a fight I have with myself every time I visit. Respect his life and yet allow him to experience joy and laughter. The truth is, I’ve been seeing him for as long as I can remember. I keep thinking, calm down, don’t be so big. Then I walked into the home, and Jim's wife, Jan, yelled at the top of her voice, “Jim, Jim, Duncan is here!!!” 

And everything I planned to do goes out the window. I yell at him down the hall, “Jim, get your ass out of bed and get in here and entertain me!”

It takes a few minutes, and he comes down the hall in his wheelchair from his bedroom. And again, I say to myself, it could be me in that wheelchair. Over the years, Jim has lost his eyesight. I think he sees shadows, but I’m not sure he sees me. I tend to talk loud and slowly and try to enunciate as clearly as possible. I don’t know why; I guess in my mind, I want him to hear me.   

JIM GENTRY

Jim has friends; the neighbors all know him, and they invite themself over to chat once in a while. While I was there, he was expecting a woman who I assumed was giving him financial advice. At least, that is what he said. I assume Jan, Jim’s wife, met her at church. They both talk highly of the woman coming to the house after attending church.  

GAL FROM CHURCH - JAN (wife of Jim) - SON OF GAL. (I can’t remember their names.) 

She came into the room with her son and began talking about church. Jan would ask her how the church service was that morning. “It was a real blessing,” she would say. 

Her son is moving to North Dakota to follow a girl/woman. He is infatuated with her and believes he will love living in a cold climate instead of Florida. He believes his life will be better with the girl/woman than where he lives now. 

I will have to admit I sat back and listened to the conversations. I, of course, had an opinion, but it was unnecessary in this setting. There was nothing I would say that would add any value to the conversation. 

The woman from church and her son decided to leave, and I was left with Jim and Jan. We talked briefly, and our conversation became a little dry. I knew it was time to go, too. 

I stood and approached him and grabbed his hand, and he squeezed mine hard. He whispered… “Stop back before you head home.”    

JACKSONVILLE NEXT STOP

JACKSONVILLE NEXT STOP 

By Duncan 

Rodney and Kacey dropped me off at my hotel, where I parked the “Mean Yellow.”  

Riding in the back of an SUV with Rodney driving is something I don’t experience often. It’s common for the big shots in Washington to have chauffeur-driven SUV’s. I’m sure I could get used to being in a motorcade of flashing red and blue lights and a caravan of vehicles in front and behind me. And I’m sure I could look very important with a phone solving the world's problems. But I’m not in Washington; I’m somewhere in North Carolina, and I’m not important. I don’t have a clue how to solve world problems. I’m not sure I can solve my own problems. 

If you are just joining this road trip extravaganza, it starts with a text. I’m going to digress here. 

Years ago, I bought a motorcycle. I had always wanted a motorcycle. But, I had women in my life that believed I would kill myself on one. Starting with my mother and my first and second wives. They didn’t believe I was smart, strong, or man enough. Or was it that I just didn’t have “enough?”  

My loyal and steady divorce attorney decided to fire me. “Duncan, this is the last time I’m walking down this divorce aisle with you.” JQH, my attorney, was simply tired of the drama and the emotion of divorce. Mine and everyone else’s. So, I had to make strong, solid decisions on my own. Well, hell, It’s time. I’m buying a motorcycle! 

I became free of the shackles of doubt. I bought a Honda Gold Wing 1500 Wineberry colored motorcycle. Then I began traveling the United States with other like-minded, stout, and hardy men. I had a ball. Oh, and by the way, I enjoy women. Just in case you were thinking, I “went there.” 

And yes, there came a day when I realized I needed to stop riding my motorcycle. Why? I was making mistakes. “I’m going to kill myself.” I sold the bike and bought a 2007 Mean Yellow, Pontiac, Solstice, GXP, Supercharged two-seat convertible. It was as close to a motorcycle as I could get. And I continue to travel around the United States in my hot rod. 

So, my old motorcycle-riding partner, Rodney sent me a text, and said,  

“You have lunch with everyone else in the world; what about me?” 

I put Rodney on the bucket list, and asked, ”Where are you?” 

As it turns out, this is why I’m in the boondocks of North Carolina. I just had lunch with Rodney and his main squeeze/wife, Kacey. I know what you're thinking; it’s crazy to drive 600 miles to have lunch with an old biker pal. Now, wait a minute, let me explain, If I can jam in other activities on this trip, I can justify my actions. So, I have included Jacksonville, Hollywood, North Fort Myers, Cape Coral, Sebring, and Tampa to visit my personal and very close friends.  

(There are a couple of stories I have called London before this one that will explain where I am.) 

Okay, Lunch is over, and I’m back at the hotel, ready to travel. It’s raining, and my next stop is Jacksonville, Florida. 

I don’t like driving my “Mean Yellow” in the weather. But I have no choice today. It started sprinkling and became a pretty good downpour as I tried to find my way out of the back roads of North Carolina. I asked Google Maps to take me to Jacksonville. And it decided to take me through all the back roads of North Carolina and South Carolina. Why?  Because there are no major roads in the boondocks. It’s all two-lane streets and back roads. I wanted I-95, the main super slab that goes north and south along the East Coast. But Google had other ideas. 

I was coming off a hill and could see a mile or so down the road. I was traveling at about 65 MPH. The road was high on one end and high on the other end of this mile-long stretch of road. I didn’t realize that in the middle of the road was a huge pool of water. I hit this pool of water at 65 MPH and almost lost control of the car. I was hydroplaning, and the next thing I heard was a rubbing noise. A strange noise I had never heard before. What have I done to my car to cause this noise? Did I rip or tear something under the hood? I’m in the middle of nowhere, and it’s raining. I checked the dash lights, but nothing came on or indicated I had mechanical problems. The faster I drove, the less I heard the noise. The slower I went, the more noise I could hear. 

I pulled over and looked at the general condition of the car. Everything seemed to be intact. I opened the hood, and the motor sounded normal. I closed the hood. I looked under the vehicle. A plastic cap dragging the ground was on the passenger side of the vehicle, just behind the front wheel. It was bolted to the car, and it had come loose. When I drove fast, the wind picked up the cap and cleared the ground. Moving slowly, the plastic cap was dragging the ground. I had no idea what the cap was covering in the engine compartment. I had no choice but to continue to drive.

It was getting dark, and I don’t like to travel on two-lane back roads I don’t know by heart. In 2021, on a deserted two-lane road in Montana at about midnight, I hit a moose and destroyed my  $900.00,1998 Plymouth Voyager minivan. This accident put the fear of driving at night in me. 

The moose could have just as easily landed on my lap or face. I get off the highway before dark as much as possible. Yes, I paid $900.00 for the van, and I left it in Montana thinking it was a “total wreck.” No, I did not inform my insurance company about the accident. How much coverage would you put on a $900.00 van? 

Google finally found Interstate 95, and I was anxious to find a place to stay for the night. I noticed a Super 8, at the Manning, South Carolina exit. Let’s take a look at the room. 

Sometimes, you pay for your thrills. This room cost me $78.39. Yes, that is a cigarette burn in the bed cover. I used the other bed. I noticed a Popeye Louisiana Kitchen in walking distance, and I brought back two pieces of non-spicy white meat fried chicken and a soft drink to the room. After I ate my dinner, it was time to hit the sack. 

Jacksonville tomorrow.

LONDON

 LONDON 

By Duncan 

I’ve been on a road trip. This time, instead of a “Three Day Road Trip,” I decided on a two-week road trip. 

So, I return with lots of stories. Some interesting and some not so interesting. You will, of course, decide which is which. Let me begin by telling you how this two-week extravaganza all started. 

I received a text from an old motorcycle buddy (Rodney “Digital” Myers) who texted me and said … 

“Why is it that you have lunch with everyone else except me?” 

“Rodney, I’ll have lunch with you; where are you?” 

“London.”

“London? London where?” 

“New London, North Carolina.” 

(By the way, folks, I have not been on a Honda Gold Wing motorcycle since 2008.) 

Of course, the first thing that entered my mind was, You want me to drive from Indianapolis to North Carolina to have lunch with you? I asked Google how many miles it was to New London, North Carolina. Google says six hundred miles or about ten hours. 

 

Now, anyone in their right mind would say, “Hey, that’s too far to go for lunch.” But before I open my mouth, I need a little more information. I looked at the population of New London. Needless to say, I have never heard of New London, North Carolina. I’ve heard of Charlotte, Asheville with the Biltmore Home, Huntsville, and Chapel Hill. The population of New London is 641 people. No wonder I have never heard of New London. 

I went on streets and maps and looked around New London. There are lots of churches and a couple of gas stations. I didn’t see any restaurants except a bait shop. My right eyebrow raised slightly. Hum? Where do we have lunch? The bait shop? So I texted Rodney back and asked, 

“Excuse me, Dig, if I come to New London, where do we “do” lunch?” 

“We would need to go to Mount Gilead, a few miles away. Oh, Duncan, we live in the Bible Belt down here, and most restaurants are closed on Sundays. Do you know what day you are planning on coming?”

What day am I planning on coming? I haven’t decided if I’m diving ten hours to have lunch in New London yet, or at all. Rodney is already cocked and loaded for me to visit him, but not on a Sunday! Not on a Sunday? Holy cow, my door is wide open to visit my Personal and Very Close Friend. What to do? What to do? 

Gosh, I haven’t thought about the Bible Belt in years. It’s only a vague memory of my youth when a few restaurants in Indianapolis were closed on Sunday. Being schooled by God-fearing Baptist parents, it was (SOP) standard operating procedure that they believed restaurants and businesses should close on the Sabbath. You know, God created the world in six days and on the seventh, he rested.  

Rodney also threw out another caveat, “There is a hotel down here called the Badin Inn. Established in 1913. I know the owner, and we are close friends. I can get you the room that Maye West slept in when she came to town. Of course, my first reaction was … “Is it the same bed?” I don't know when Maye West slept at the Badin Inn. One can only hope they change the mattress from time to time. Yes, I know, I’m being cynical.   

The idea that I could sleep in the same room as “Why don’t you come up and see sometime” and “When I’m good I’m very good, when I’m bad, I’m even better” is hard to resist. So, I decided to put the trip on my bucket list. I can only hope God will forgive me for what I’m thinking. Yes, I know Jimmy Carter said, “If you think it, you have done it”

Things happen in my life without me even thinking about it. In the next couple of months, all of a sudden, I had additional invitations to Jacksonville, Hollywood, North Fort Myers, Cape Coral, Sebring, and Tampa, Florida. All of the invitations are for late January and early February. With Indiana being “Indiana.” I decided to escape Indiana's dull, cold, and overcast skies. I then decided to combine all the invitations and make it an experience. So, I will be traveling to North Carolina and Florida for the next couple of posts/stories. 

One of the pleasures for me is being on the road by myself. I can stop wherever and whenever I want. I don’t know about you, but I enjoy a morning Micky-Dee egg muffin and a cup of Joe. I have come to realize that McDonalds doesn’t offer breakfast all day like they used to. If you show up at McDonalds after 10:30, the odds are they are going to tell you, “We are servicing lunch now.” Which can be a bummer if you have your taste buds set for an egg muffin. I stopped in Cambridge, Indiana, at about 9:30 in the morning, a few miles west of Richmond, Indiana, on Highway 70. I wanted to ensure my experience started with an egg muffin before it got too late. It’s the little pleasures of life.   

In the early afternoon, I pulled over and took a moment. I ordered a vanilla milkshake at a different McDonalds. I had been on the road for about six hours and decided to take a break from the super slab and think. 

I had breakfast with my son Scott the day before I started this trip, and we enjoyed a three-hour conversation at a Bob Evans restaurant in Indy. He was telling me he wanted to move to South Carolina. Much to my surprise, he has already purchased five acres of land and plans to build. He loves the moss in the trees, the climate, and the whole feel of South Carolina. The kids/grandkids are out of the house and on their own, and it’s just the two of them. So, now it’s their turn to do what pleases them.   

 

As I enjoyed my vanilla shake, I remembered when I was sitting on the ninth floor of a resort in Pompano Beach, Florida. I thought to myself back then, “Why can’t I live like this all the time?” And so, it came to pass. I focused on the goal, and the goal became a reality. I enjoyed living in North Fort Myers with my father for five years. And then, my Dad (George) passed in 2018, and I decided to head back to what I consider home. And now my son is doing the same thing. Focus on a goal and expect the best out of life. 

Of course, the fun part of any motor trip is getting out of the car, sitting in the dining room, and watching other people. I try to figure out what the person sitting on the other side of the room is all about. What do they do for a living? Do they have a family? How old are they, and why are they wearing the clothes they are wearing? And, of course, everyone had a cell phone in their hands. Even me when I took the picture below. 

Yes, I asked the man sitting by himself a question. I wasn’t sure where I had pulled off the road. I walked up to the man and asked if he knew the area. He said that he did. I explained I was on a motor trip and wasn’t sure where I had stopped. He said, “You are close to South Charleston, West Virginia. Where do you want to go?”   

I told him I was headed to New London, North Carolina. He looked at me with a puzzled look and I knew that there was no point in trying to explain New London. I thanked him for his information and headed for the “Mean Yellow.” 

I made a big mistake. Instead of stopping right before it got dark, I made a reservation in Albemarle, North Carolina. Albemarle is about ten miles south of New London. Since I hit that moose in Montana late at night, I tend not to want to drive in areas I don’t know. 

To get to the motel, I must drive in the dark for a couple of hours. The roads in this part of North Carolina are two lanes with many trees on each side. That means a deer can come out of nowhere, and I could find myself with a passenger in my front seat. I really wanted to stop driving at dusk and find a motel, but I had made the damn reservation. “Note to self. Don’t make a reservation; get off the road at dusk. Wherever you are.”   

I finally got to the Best Western, Albemarle, North Carolina. There was no one at the front desk. Only a sign that told me to phone the number on the paper. I waited in the lobby for a few minutes, and no one was anywhere to be found. I called the number, and a woman answered and said she would be there in a few minutes. She came down a long hall to the front desk. She said she was in the laundry room washing bed linen. So, I assume management requires the desk staff to do the laundry, too. Interesting. I’m sure it’s hard to find good people in these small towns. 

Let’s end this story here. I will explain the morning routine at the Best Western in the next post.