The Scenic Hills of Pensacola

Today's guest blogger is Curt Johnson, intrepid driver of Vanna these past two weeks.

It was a beautiful morning at the beach home of Mr. and Mrs. James Adams, aptly named “Sittin on the dock of the Bay” on Perdido Bay, which was once known as Lake Perdido. It is important to note here that Lake Perdido was a freshwater lake until five men, who felt that it was the source of a Malaria epidemic, dug through the earthen space separating the lake from Gulf of Mexico waters thus permitting salt water to enter the lake in hopes that the mosquito larvae would perish. Unfortunately, there are still mosquitoes in and around the lake today.

Last evening we were fortunate to have the opportunity to read many stories of the local history of this area from the times of the Indians to more recent times. In the era before DeSoto (about the 1720’s ), Pensacola was known as Panzacola. This area was occupied by the Yamasee Indians among others. We have learned little of the Yamasee, but we have learned a great deal about other Mississippian Indians who met Hernando DeSoto with promises to provision him at their village. But rather like the Greeks, they gave him a Trojan Horse ambush, which left his expedition greatly diminished even though he was victorious.

Moving forward in time, trouble was brewing between the Indians who got along with the settlers and those who did not. The Red Stick Indians preferred to live in the “old way.” Soon Andrew Jackson, with the help of the Indians who lived well with the settlers, came to war over the land. The Red Sticks were defeated and were forced to sign treaties ceding their lands to the United States in 1814, which amounted to 23 million acres or half the state of current Alabama. This situation was early evidence that everything and everyone must evolve. As an old Botany professor once said as he came across a plant growing where he thought it should not be; “Migrate, mutate (evolve) or die.” Jackson’s victories over the Indians propelled him into the Presidency in 1828, shortly after which he signed the Indian Removal Act calling for the all Eastern tribes, friendly to the settlers or not, to move west to what today is Oklahoma. About one fourth of the Indians perished during the winter of 1838-39 as they were marched west. This holocaust of its time was known as the “Trail of Tears.”

We have learned of the French, Indian and Spanish occupation of this area which ended when the Spanish signed the Adams-Onis treaty on July 17, 1821. This formally ceded Florida to the United States. The United States flag with 24 stars replaced the Spanish Flag flying over Florida that day. However, it was not until 1845 that Florida became a state. The United States flag was not to remain long as the Confederate States of America flag flew over Florida from 1861 onwards . After the Civil War, Florida experienced a lumbering boom and Pensacola’s port was lined with ships loading wood for sale abroad. Perdido Bay, also known as Lake Perdido, was used as a log storage area prior to shipment and prior to use by the many sawmills around the lake. The area around the lake was known as Mill View, Florida.

This morning, we leisurely prepared for a short day of cycling to Milton, Florida through the scenic hills of Pensacola and Escambia Bay. We are back on route 90, which was designated “The Old Spanish Trail” in 1915. It connects San Diego with St. Augustine. As we travel through the red clay “scenic” hills of Pensacola, we are reminded of the millions of red bricks used to build Forts Gaines, Morgan and Pickens, which we have seen the last couple of days on the road. It was the clay from these hills that built those forts.

As we traverse these hills our riders renew their excitement about terrain change. They have been spoiled by too much flat terrain. In spite of the hills, our riders enjoyed another great day, even with the challenges of road construction, barrels, pylons, and the occasional beer can thrown in their direction. It is sad to be reminded that there always seem to be unhappy souls who lack good sense.

We arrive at our motel, The Emerald Sands Inn, to learn that the owner prides herself in having the lowest rates anywhere in the area. Her reasoning is most laudable. She claims that there are many, who because of domestic disputes, need rooms and have little funding. In addition, the manager’s daughter’s ex-boyfriend threw a Molotov cocktail into her apartment causing a fire that burned down the entire apartment building. The manager’s daughter and the other burned out families are now living in our motel as well. So, here we are enjoying the manager’s special at $29.00 per room per night. Wow!

I really managed to win the bone-head of the day award today as I locked the van keys into the trailer (Benny) just when I intended to head off to complete a laundry list of errands, not the least of which was to pick the food for lunch. Luckily, the motel maintenance man had a pair of bolt cutters handy so we could cut the lock off and retrieve the keys. I was able to complete my errands just in time for the group to enjoy some cold, liquid refreshment and a great lunch under Vanna’s awning in the parking lot of the motel. Never-the-less, it was a great day in the scenic hills of Pensacola.