“We Are The Last…” Tanka 2010

(August 5, 2018)

We are The Last Ones

to build bonfires at The Beach,

to swim at ‘The Pit.’


Paint the town water tower,

to race the old clay-sand roads!


*( New Smyrna Beach, where once it was possible to take a Jeep Commando racing from 27th Street beach ramp to past Turtle Mound, collecting summertime blue crabs in number three washtubs and turn back around to go to the backside of Ponce Inlet to harvest sea grapes  and salt water for a crab boil built in the hollow face of a monster dune with salvaged boards, flotsam and jetsam and a few imported logs, and later early that morning to stop off at the borrow pit beside the State Road 46 Interstate 4 exit to wash off in the fresh water bubbling out of the ground where crews excavated the clay and sand necessary to build those overpasses along the new high-speed raceway that for a brief time meant but a half hour from downtown Sanford to downtown Orlando.  Tell me if anyone else had a 68-mile three-a.m. racecourse covering northern Seminole County from Oviedo/Slavia to Lake Sylvan and Banana Lake and beyond to the particularly devilish delights of reverse-bank county road 427 and the un-truncated banked turns of US 17-92 along Lake Monroe which were actually designed for 90-mile-per-hour speeds and in an MG-A (or B) could reach considerably higher times in a four-wheel drift way down low going wrong-way into town? Ever go Rat-Racing in some of the bendy-twisty portions of our dear town?  Purloind egg-fighting from the backs of pickup trucks halloweenishly?  Watch sheepishly caught junior boys rub piteously at their foul-lettered message to The Senior Class at school while some time later The new Senior Girls climbed The Water Tower and used less offensive language?  Something about maturity, I guess.  More like population explosion.)


One thought on ““We Are The Last…” Tanka 2010

  1. Actually State Road 427 was not “reverse bank,” but crown-banked when first the road linking Ginderville at Sanford Avenue’s temporary terminus with a lesser road though still-named Avenida de Snaffurd leading to Lake Jessup and this twisty, curvy raised-crown road from the 1920s I deem leading past Victory Baptist Church (way out in “The Sticks,” which, By The Way, was a popular grab-and-grunt spot called “The Grove,” where boys with cars went to have their balls painted blue…but, back to The Road. Just before Victory Baptist en route to a rejoinder with U. S. Highways 17-92 (even today some still know not that that strip of pavement actually is two federal highways mating like flat snakes. The portion of French Avenue named for a country doctor of the last-last century oddly enough who practiced both in Seminole and Volusia counties where also there is a strip of pavement named in his honor as well is a Blue Star federal highway, whose funding came from Congress to facilitate the movement of military troops and equipment – read: bullets and bombs and those who send both downrange – which joins up with the long-emasculated “427,” whose name and number never would I remember but for this piece, there was a mysterious steep-sided sinkhole. My dad, ever a connoisseur of country roads and how to traverse them quickly, told me there were models of cars from the 20s, 30s, and possibly the 40s which failed to negotiate the “reverse-banking” afforded by the crown-center of the road, thus meaning an on-coming car going in one direction on the outside of the curve actually was riding against the banking, which is to say, centrifugal force and its opposite twin centrific would throw a great big whack into the unsuspecting – or in some cases including dad’s and mine – into the expectations of modern speed-limit exceeding, and thus Seminole County’s first Car Was was born. Supposedly at the time of dad’s telling there were autos still submerged int he murky depths.


Comments are closed.