Sunday rain hit the region with a vengeance, washing out our bicycling plans and making even driving an ordeal. We were relieved when we saw the Holiday Inn of Palatka as we topped the steep bridge over the St. John's river.  We managed a few miles around Palatka dodging rain and waiting for the Holiday Inn to let us check in. We had arrived during the Azalea festival and at the end of  motorcycle week, two events that, like our bike trip, looked sad in the rain. The flowers were ready but the tents and rides set up on the river looked forlorn. The hotel has a marvelous setting and some grand homes charm anyone who ventures into the adjoining area. Sadly, the town turns drab after a block on that side of the highway. However, it has built a lovely park on the waterfront, has some grand historic buildings and boasts 27 murals in the downtown area. We miscalculated and got caught in the rain making us look forlorn ourselves when we ventured back to the hotel 90 minutes before the official check-in time. The hotel clerk, in a heartless manner, that would be pathological in an older person but can be natural in some young,  turned us away to drip until the appointed hour.
     The next morning we awoke to lovely weather and a fine forecast that lifted our spirits and energized us. We pedaled south on rt. 19,  which was busy but blessed with a paved shoulder, to Buckman Lock on the Cross Florida Greenway. The greenway grew out of a cross Florida barge canal that was never completed, and the land preserved. The Buckman lock allows pleasure boats access to Rodman reservoir from the St. John River. We encountered a delightful woman at the visitor center who gave us more bicycling information than any noncyclist ever had. She seemed keenly interested in where we might ride and aware of the importance of paved shoulders on busy roads. The crew was kind enough to allow us across the lock so that we could travel down the fabulous trail alongside the canal. We took great joy in pedaling along among trees with newly emerging leaves and wearing only shorts and short sleeves after long winter of cycling bundled up among stark trees in gray and brown. Calmness with bird songs and the breeze the only sounds made a wonderful contrast to the roar of the highway. We smelled natural fragrances that we'd enjoy all trip. Some were orange blossoms and others perhaps wisteria and honeysuckle. Red birds perched in green trees like Christmas tree ornaments. We also relived the excitement of spotting a bald eagle and a pair of ospreys circling over the lock.  We hit a few wet spots and them climbed the steep bridge that gave us a last view of the canal before turning onto county road 310. I think Putnam county could solve any financial problems it may have by ticketing speeding gravel trucks on that road. That may be an exaggeration but they did rattle us for a few miles. We saw another bald eagle and some moorhens on a little pond before we turned north and started thinking about lunch. 
     At just the right moment we came upon the Hay Field Restaurant. Aside from the timing the restaurant did a lot of other things right. On a long bike ride meals are a big event, and we have some preferences. First it shouldn't be too fancy or we'll feel uncomfortable in our cycling attire. Now, we never exactly fit in but as long as everyone's casual we can deal with it. The restaurant ought to be inexpensive because we use free time to ride rather than seek extra paying work. A friendly waitress, neat artifacts on the walls and a view outside make lunch more fun. It's very important that there be healthy, as in low fat, menu options. The Hay Field Restaurant filled all these plus a rare bonus: local food. The collards were fresh and delicious and the pork roast was "smoked next door" in the bait shop attached to the restaurant out in front of the hay barn. 
     After lunch we pedaled around Interlochen which, true to its name was between a bunch of small, natural lakes. Attractive, old, wood frame homes with tin roofs ran along paved and dirt streets As we left town we also left the wetlands. Soon we were riding roller coaster hills of sandy soil that contained little of the standing water we'd seen everywhere the past few days. We passed some rolling cattle pastures before riding into tiny Grandin where we took a break and bought a couple drinks from a woman running a fruit stand. She turned out to be a native of Honduras who had been in the U. S. for 15 years. As we completed our 58-mile ride we met a couple on bikes who had just pedaled 73-miles into town from Ocala. We weren't competing but did remind ourselves that they hadn't done the rough off-road part of the greenway. They were tired and rather traumatized by the gravel trucks on county road 310.
     The next morning we rode east over the bridge as the sun was rising and chasing the mist. We had breakfast at Angel's Diner, a real old railroad car that's been a diner since 1932. Paula didn't understand the significance of a diner and thought it looked like a greasy place she didn't want to eat. "Just because it's an old diner doesn't mean it has good food" she said. I persuaded her that it was cool, that we had a rare opportunity; she went along. Two other couples took pictures of each other in front of the diner before eating so I wasn't alone in valuing the diner. Fueled with good food we followed River Road and Federal Point road, which as promised put us in farm country. We passed field after field of cabbage and potatoes. In between them we rode through lush, dark woods with a sense of natural mystery to them. Cars passed infrequently and generally slowly. We took a coffee break in Hastings, the potato capital of Florida. Pedaling south we watched a crop duster performing, as if for us, just far enough away. Going by a junk yard I noticed an old helicopter and small airplane in the front yard. Closer examination revealed it was all airplanes. Cessnas and Beechcrafts seemed like so many Fords and Chevys their hulks stripped of parts. Across the street a huge flock of cattle egrets standing around a pond kept getting flushed by the shadow of an osprey overhead. We came back on Cracker Swamp Road, loaded up the car, put the roof down and headed for Deland.