I am in a part of Florida I don't know, the easternmost part of the Panhandle, putting all my trust in my little GPS unit, a Garmin more than two years old. I am following The Voice's instructions to Wakulla Springs State Park, south of Tallahassee, from U.S. 27 onto back roads lined by tall stands of trees I don't recognize.
Here and there I see kudzu creeping up a utility pole or across the undergrowth. I pass a sign offering boiled peanuts, and later, someone selling tupelo honey from the back of a pick-up. Yep, I have come north to get to the South.
The road is mostly straight, and periodically crosses a creek or a river. Occasionally I catch glimpses of men fishing from bass boats.
I have no idea where I am. The directions are given in route numbers, not names, and the signs welcoming me each time I cross a county line mean nothing to me. I just have to trust The Voice, follow its instructions and watch the miles tick off. At the park, I want to take a boat tour of the river that flows from the springs, see the wildlife.
Finally a sign welcomes me to Wakulla County, which reassures me. But when the voice tells me I have arrived, I am in front of a closed and locked gate that identifies this spot as the park's maintenance yard. Fortunately, an arrow on the gate points me to the park entrance, and a mile later, I finally do arrive at my destination.