I had intended to get on the road early, but these days that only means before noon. This morning, I made it out by twelve-thirty and in doing so, had to settle for a mug of last nights coffee reheated in the microwave. I like a full breakfast on the weekends when I can take the time to enjoy it and I can get a good meal any number of places along the highway- IHOP, Village Inn or even Steak 'n' Shake. Whenever I'm on a schedule though, I'm a grab-it-and-go kinda guy, typically just toast and java.

Across US One from my neighborhood is the new St. Johns County administration complex, housing the commissioners, courts and civil servants who handle every aspect of county business. Among the warren of brown brick buildings is the county jail and the sheriff's office, the nerve center for anything that happens outside the jurisdiction of St. Augustine police. Other than the city proper, SJC deputies have to patrol almost six hundred square miles of mostly rural roads, including US One. Fortunately, the population density is such that there is only some 211 residents per square mile, concentrated mainly along the coast in gated subdivisions.

Along with the sheriff's deputies, the SJC fire departments are stretched thin over vast tracts of timber land and sparsely populated communities. Often volunteer organizations, fire stations scattered throughout the county are the only defense against periodic wildfires that threaten to overrun farms and businesses. Our family has had a long-standing connection to Station 12, which sits along US One at the north end of the county administration complex. My wife (who currently works at the complex as a security officer) was once a volunteer firefighter there before the station was taken over by the county. She and her sister both operated fire support unit 6009 and my brother-in-law, a former SJC sheriff's deputy, only recently retired from Station 12 as fire chief. Next door to Station 12 is a weed-choked lot that is home to no less than a dozen aging and rusted fire trucks. The past goes down hard here. Relics of another time, the ladder trucks and tankers fade under the semi-tropical sun, awaiting rescue themselves.

Unit 6009		Fire 12's pump truck

Just beyond Lewis Speedway lies more history invisible to the casual traveler. On either side of US One, empty land now stretches away, with few hints at it's previous use. To the east, a rolling meadow has begun to revert to it's wild state, the victim of neglect. This was once the pristine, manicured golf course that drew visitors to the Ponce de Leon Golf Resort . It was Florida's second oldest course, developed by Henry Flagler himself, but when the hotel was no longer commercially successful, the resort was leveled and the 80 acre course was left to fend for itself. Two years ago, the property fell into the hands of developers who intend to build yet another upscale housing subdivision that will eventually contain approximately 900 homes. For now, it is a refuge for deer, raccoons, eagles and other wildlife that have been displaced by city expansion over the last two decades. Less than two miles of salt marsh and jungle separate the resort ruins from my house. No doubt this is where many of my night visitors return to at daybreak.

On the west side, between the highway and the railroad tracks is another vestige of St. Augustine's past. A barren field dotted by clumps of brush and small trees, it seems like a wasteland. A short section of chain-link fence with a wide gate bar the curious from a dirt road that leads out across the field towards the tracks, while "No Trespassing" signs signed by the Florida East Coast Railroad sprout up everywhere. Half a century ago, this field was laced with rail spurs and crowded with abandoned rolling stock awaiting repair or the scrap heap. A seven foot fence surrounded the site with additional gates to allow switch engines to nudge cars in and out the northern perimeter. Most of what wound up here were the aging coaches of the thirties and forties- the heyday of powerful steam locomotives and regular passenger trains. In the last few years, the railroad has been courted by the retail giant Wal-Mart, who wants to build another "supercenter" here. If that happens, Wal-Mart will literally have residents coming and going, since they already have a superstore on the south end of town.

In a rush to enter the city, most visitors will miss the small brown sign that points the way to Fort Mose, one of north Florida's newest parks. Lying just two blocks off the main highway, is a non-descript gravel parking lot with a picnic shelter, anchored by a large double-sided storyboard that describes the reason for the park. A long boardwalk leads out over salt marshes into a cedar thicket, which in turn, opens up into a spectacular view of a broad savannah that flanks the Tolomato River. Close in on the horizon are two islands, covered in cedar and oak. It was on the southernmost rise that Fort Mose once stood. For many sightseers, the park is worth less than ten minutes of their time. They come expecting carefully crafted displays or perhaps a reconstructed palisade and are disappointed when all they find is a boardwalk to nowhere. Stand for a few minutes longer, out of the noise of traffic, away from the crush of tourist crowds on St. George Street and you will begin to get a sense of what the real Florida is like.

At the St. Augustine city limits, two large coquina gates flank the road with a bronze statue of Ponce de Leon on one side and a nineteeth-century cannon on the other. Erected during the golden age of Florida tourism, it was meant to evoke the Spanish history and restorative capability of the city. Before the interstates arrived in Florida, the majority of travelers bound for south Florida passed between these gates to begin the long drive down to the tropics. It was a signpost, a landmark designed to alert drivers that they were entering someplace special, someplace exotic and that their vacation had officially begun. Once past the gates (not to be confused with the old city gates), US One splits in two, with Business One veering off towards the old historic district and the main highway following the banks of the San Sebastian River and the railroad tracks.

Business One follows the original path of the King's Road (now San Marco Avenue) up to the old city gates at the foot of the Castillo de San Marco. The main highway is the new US One/Dixie Highway (known locally as Ponce de Leon Boulevard), which came into use after the US highway designations were adopted. Somewhere along the line, the Chamber of Commerce erected an artificial waterfall and a Spanish-style wall at the divide that reiterates a welcome to "strangers", as tourists in the early twentieth century were called. From here, the road snakes it's way southeast along a row of new motels, gas stations and fast food restaurants.

Drive this route a couple of times and you won't be able to miss the small purple house on the corner of Lemon Street. This is the home of the Fountain of Youth Tattoo Studio and one of the country's most experienced tattoo artists. Ms. Deborah spent twenty years in the business and was a protege of "The Grandfather of American Tattooing", Paul Rogers (whose work is carried on by another north Florida studio- Inksmith & Rogers). On my return to Florida, I managed to commission some custom artwork by Ms. Deborah which took about six hours to complete. It's not for everybody, but if you're looking for something unique, you have to go to the purple house on US One.

It's ironic that the tattoo designed to celebrate the circle of life should have been created and permanently etched around my neck in the small house at Lemon Street and US One. In 1920, just four years before my mother would be born, her mother and father lived somewhere along this tree-lined block prior to their move to Jacksonville. I'm still not certain what the address was, but my grandparents might have stayed in that same house. No doubt, I have quite literally walked in my grandfather's footsteps. He may have even worked for the railroad then. So much of his life remains a mystery. The railroad tracks are less than a hundred feet from the sidewalks that lead a single city block west before ending at Riberia Street.

The highway makes a long, lazy s-curve just before crossing the San Sebastian River near the intersection of King Street, the dividing line between Ponce de Leon Boulevard north and south. In this last hundred yards lies a hundred years worth of history. On the east bank of the river, the seventy-five year old FEC administration building stands where Henry Flagler's first train station greeted northern visitors a quarter-century earlier. The site of the first St. Augustine train terminal lies under a parking lot on Malaga Street between the FEC building and Fire Station One. The only visible remains that exist today are the remnants of a park that Flagler laid out to welcome his guests. Look closely at the courtyard of Fire Station One and you can make out a small circular slab that used to be a pond and the low fence around the perimeter of the station is the same one that used to surround this bit of Victorian paradise. A "stranger" arriving by train in 1900 could have looked east across a cow pasture that extended almost to the Flagler Hotel four blocks away. The railroad siding and platforms extended south, parallel to Malaga along a narrow strip of reclaimed marsh that was filled in along the riverbank.

St. Augustine's Fire Station One (at far left) and the FEC Railroad Building (at right) with the San Sebastian River in the foreground.

From the train station, visitors would have boarded horse-drawn carriages for the trip into town on an unpaved, tree-shaded King Street. This was also the main artery for southbound traffic on the old Kings Road, which at the turn of the last century lead to New Augustine and Moultrie before reaching the plantations of New Smyrna. One block south of King Street is The Retro Expresso, where you can get Krispy Kreme donuts and coffee any way you want it. I always thought it would be a great idea to have a drive-through breakfast kitchen and the owners of this coffeeshop on wheels apparently did too. Working out of a small converted Airstream trailer that is part diner / part coffee-wagon, the barista will hand you your order while you wait in the driveway if you're running late for work. Their almond latte smoothies are cool, caffeinated and sweet- all you could ask for at about half the price of Starbucks.

Not far away sits the Oyster Creek Marina at English Landing. Most of the boats here are upscale yachts and deep sea cruisers, but docked among them are pseudo-stern wheelers like the Sara Grace and the Jean Mary- ships built for the tourist trade. Across the San Sebastian, a few commercial trawlers are tied up beside packing sheds and ringing the estuary are a myriad of businesses that make their livelihood in some way from boats. There are repair and storage facilities, marine supply stores and boat retailers, fishermen and cruise operators, even boat builders.

US One crosses Oyster Creek with a single span, more viaduct than bridge. About a half mile further is another remnant of the Old Dixie Highway that runs east and west along the edge of the San Lorenzo Cemetery. I spent an afternoon wandering through the headstones on New Year's Day, at the beginning of this year.

For the next two miles, the highway is jammed on either side with malls, banks, restaurants and medical complexes. It is the modern economic heart of St. Augustine, spreading out from the crossroad where State Road 312 and US One intersect. Every American retail icon is represented here, homogenizing the view so much it obscures any real local identity. Standing in the parking lot of K Mart, Wal-Mart or Home Depot, you could be anywhere in the south. There is little to remind you that you are in one of the most historic cities in America. It is only when you get further south, past the shopping centers and car lots that you find more of the Florida that exists where the concrete ends.

Update: 2/24/05 - Shortly after writing this section, the owners of the Retro Expresso coffee wagon hitched up the Airstream and silently disappeared.

Update: 8/03/05 - Technically, the Flagler-built Union Station was not St. Augustine's first railroad depot. The remains of the Jacksonville, St. Augustine and Halifax River Railroad terminal still stand between San Marco Avenue and US 1 near the intersection of A1A. Built between 1879 and 1885, it predates Union Station by five to ten years. Currently, it is the home of the Garden Club of St. Augustine, but has fallen into disrepair and was condemned in July of this year. It is uncertain if it can be saved.