Riding To Lunch With Rockefeller

I'm really living it up here in Florida.  Today's ride took me to lunch at one of the Rockefeller mansions.

Now, you might be wondering whether the fame and celebrity that's come to me from this blog is the thing that led to an invitation into such exclusive circles.  Well, perhaps such a thing may happen one day (!) even if it wasn't my goal in starting this blog.  You never know where wit, erudition and a unique prose style may lead you.  If you find out, let me know.

Seriously, I took a ride to Ormond Beach, about ten kilometers north of Daytona on the same strip of land that's squeezed between the Halifax River and the Atlantic Ocean.  After making a left from  Route A1A onto East Granada Boulevard, the street with cutesy boutiques and overpriced ice cream shoppes tucked into Victorian buildings, I coasted toward the bridge that spans the river.  Just before the bridge, I hopped off the bike and parked in front of The Casements.

As the name indicates, the house is named for the large hand-cut windows that adorn it and keep its interior cool, even during Florida's notoriously hot and humid summers.  Contrary to popular belief, Rockefeller did not build it.  Rather, he purchased it in 1918, eight years after it was built for Rev. Harwood Huntington as his retirement home.

Rockefeller made The Casements his winter residence.  While there, he hosted such famous guests as Thomas Edison, Henry Ford, Harvey Firestone, the Prince of Wales and Will Rogers.  The latter once quipped, "I'm glad you won (at golf) today, Mr. Rockefeller. The last time you lost, the price of gasoline went up!"

Rockefeller hoped that spending his winters in the house would help him achieve one of the few dreams he didn't realize:  living to be 100.  In this home, he died in his sleep on 23 May 1937, just days short of turning 98 years old.

The Rockefellers sold the house two years later.  It became a girls' boarding school and a residence for the elderly before it was abandoned and fell into such a derelict state that it was nearly demolished.  Only its inclusion, in 1972, on the National Register of Historic Places spared The Casements from such an ignominious fate. The following year, the City of Ormond Beach purchased it and renovated it for use as a cultural center.

Fun fact:  J.D. Rockefeller suffered from alopecia, which caused him to lose all of the hair from his head, face, moustache and body when he was in his early 40s.  The hair never grew back, so the tycoon began to wear rotating wigs of varying lengths to give the impression of his mane growing and being shorn.

Another fun fact:  For all of his ruthlessness as a businessman, Rockefeller was an ardent abolitionist.  So was his wife, Laura.  So were her parents, Harvey Buel Spelman and Lucy Henry Spelman.  In 1882, Rockefeller began to donate money to the Atlanta Baptist Female Seminary.  Two years later, the school changed its name to Spelman Seminary, in honor of his wife.  In 1924, it became Spelman College, one of the first black women's liberal arts colleges in the United States.

One more fun fact: I rode 85 kilometers today and got a good bit of sunburn.  OK, this wasn't as important as the others.  But it's fun.  The ride, even more so!

A Rainy-Day Journey

Rain was forecast for today.  So, I made a movie date with Mom and Dad.  Surprisingly, we all picked the same film:  The Revenant.  Dad likes anything with action in it; Mom likes Leonardo di Caprio. I'd heard it was a really good film.

And it was, mostly.  If someone asked me what it was "about", I'd say "revenge".  The same could be said for any number of other films or plays, including Hamlet.  Now, I'm not going to whine that this film isn't as good as Shakespeare's classic.  After all, how many things are?  I am happy that The Revenant features fine acting perfomances as well as some of the most powerful cinematography I've ever seen.  

I haven't read anything the critics have written about it, but I'll venture that at least one has used the word "uncompromising" in his or her review.  It is, in a certain way:  It didn't try to soften the horror of the brutality and carnage that takes place in it.  In that sense, it's rather like Picasso's Guernica which, to me, is a good enough reason to see and recommend the film.  

However, there is another way in which the film didn't go far enough.  Yes, we see the events that motivate the killings, and I could, at least to some degree, empathize with those characters who sought revenge.  On the other hand, I don't think the film probes very deeply into the characters' hearts and minds.  So, instead of a probe into man's inhumanity to man, we're given a portrayal of the sort of masculinity found in a John Wayne or Sylvester Stallone movie.

So...how does all of this relate to cycling, or even this blog?  Well, very few pursuits have taught me as much about myself as cycling has.  Also, whatever perseverance I might have is, in part, a result of pedaling to the tops of mountains or simply not giving up when I'm tired.  More often than not, there is a reward at the end, even if it is as seemingly trivial as my food tasting better.

Speaking of which: We went to dinner at Cracker Barrel this evening.  Their Sunday Chicken dinner--which consists of bird fried in buttermilk batter, along with two sides (I had carrots and friend okra.) and a choice of biscuits or cornbread.  Soo good!

Riding Into--And Out Of--History

During my first trip to France, I walked around the Place de la Concorde.  While encircling the Fountain of River Commerce and Navigation, I admired the elegance of the fountain, the obelisk and the buildings that flank the Rue Royale.

But then a sadness and a sense of terror and grief.  I recalled, at that moment, that the Place had witnessed one of the greatest scenes of savagery.  It was there, of course, that the French monarchy as well as a number of well-known people who were, or merely suspected of being, friends of the executed King Louis XVI, Marie Antoinette and prominent members of the aristocracy.  Although I am no fan of monarchy and aristocracy, I could not help but to feel that it must have been truly appalling to see the Place "covered in blood" and for people like Georges Danton, one of the chief forces in the overthrow of the monarchy, to lose his head to advocates of revolutionary terror who believed that he gave succor to enemies of the revolution.

I was thinking about that today, after cycling to this place:

Why?  Well, this bucolic scene was once part of the Bulow plantation.  My ride today took me there, as well as other places.

Some ruins of the plantation remain nearby.

  
They give little, if any, hint that one scene of this country's two greatest sins (along with the physical as well as mental and spiritual massacre of Native Americans) took place there.  I rode the trail in and ate my lunch; others drove in to fish, paddle canoes or simply spend the day in a green setting.

And, I admit, after spending about an hour there, I continued to ride to places where people tend not to think much about history.  I didn't.  I enjoyed the ride, though.

Rusty Race

During the past seven years, I've come to Palm Coast, Florida a dozen or so times.  On each trip here, I've done a few bike rides.  As a result, I've seen much of this town and its surrounding area.

One of the few places I've never explored is The City Marketplace.  There's a good reason for that: From the road, it's completely nondescript and half of its offices and stores seem to be vacant at any given moment.  Today, after the rains let up and I had lunch with a friend of my mother's, I took a short ride. I passed the Marketplace and took a detour through the parking lot behind it, which I had never before seen.  A surprise awaited me:

 





This is Wes Cackler's "The Race", installed for the Gargiulo Foundation's bike and poetry show in June 2012. (I wish I'd known about that!)  The photo was taken when the show opened.

Of course, no bike--or human--remains in "showroom condition" for very long, especially if left outdoors in Florida rain and humidity:

Part of the reason for that is, as you might expect, the town has practically no arts budget, and ten different organizations share what little money is allocated.  The irony is that the bicycle sculptures are in such a sorry state (and the sign in front of it has faded as well as rusted, rendering it unreadable) in a place with an extensive network of bike lanes.

Does anyone make Gore-Tex bike shoes?

 
Who needs gloves?
 

Looks like the chain needs replacing, though!

Make Sure You Get Back In Time For Dinner!

Ever since I arrived in Palm Coast, we've had weather that is more akin to what one might experience in April or October on Long Island or New Jersey:  cloudy and cool, with no real threat of rain. However, torrential rain is forecast for early tomorrow morning, courtesy of a storm system that's moving across the Gulf of Mexico.  Areas to our south and west might have "severe" weather, which could include a tornado.  The weather forecasters say there's a smaller chance that weather could reach this part of Florida.

In addition, my mother planned to make a particularly rich dinner for tonight:  home-made cream of broccoli soup, roast beef au jus; baked potatoes; mushroom gravy made with some of the juice; and broccoli cooked in the oven with olive oil, garlic and Parmesan cheese and baked potatoes. I would need to burn a few calories, to say the least, in advance!

I woke up about an hour later than I'd planned. (OK, when I'm at my parents' house, I don't plan much of anything!) Although days here are about an hour longer than those in New York, there's still a fairly limited amount of time to ride. (The bike I'm riding doesn't have good lights.)  "Are you going to ride to St. Augustine today?", my father asked.  

It was already nearly 10:30.  In one way, my parents have "gone native":  they, like most people of a certain age in Florida, eat dinner at 5pm or thereabouts.  And you simply do not arrive late for dinner with an Italian (or Italian-American) family!

I would certainly have ample time to ride there and back, even on the rusting beach cruiser I ride whenever I'm here.  But I wouldn't have very much time to spend in the city, let alone to shop or stop for anything that looked interesting.

  

Still, I said, "Yes!"  My mother smiled.  The ride there and back is a "metric century".  She knows that if I'm going to do such a ride, all is normal--or, at least, I'm OK.

 

The ride was pleasant, if uneventful.  From the Hammock Dunes Bridge, I rode along the stretch of Route A1A north of the segment I rode yesterday.  Both parts skirt the Atlantic Ocean.  Yesterday's ride--which took me through Painters Hill, Flagler Beach and Ormond Beach to Daytona--rolled alongside sea oats and other flora and fauna that flickered atop sand dunes; today's trek zigged and zagged along inlets and bays.

On the way to St. Augustine, I pedaled into a steady brisk wind.  That meant, of course, the ride back took about half an hour less than the ride up.  Great, both ways.

Dinner was great!