19: cafetorium, admiring the tree, fresh berries, toby, palm and oak, bob ross, caterpillar with four teeth, grave in the road, scoot inn, last resort

April 5, 2025

Titusville to Port Orange

breakfast at the Downtown Diner - it was a LOT of food

Yesterday was wagyu beef in an Exxon, today it's a pharmacy in a Mobil... tomorrow?

Hopefully, it's after they're dead. Otherwise, I don't think I want to be your friend.

I'm finally going to get the name of a plant right! It's a "box brush." (Go ahead and shatter my dreams, Bill. It's okay.)

Apparently, high schools no longer have cafeterias. Is a cafetorium a cross between a cafeteria and a vomitorium or a cafeteria and a crematorium?

The path was great except for 8 sections where they were working on it. I was able to ride over this one, but the others were just 9-inch deep holes.

These two people on e-bikes passed me. When I offered up the greeting, "Sure is a nice trail," the response: "Ha! Yeah, until the big groups start coming through."

Literally two minutes later, the first of several pelotons passed, all going in the same direction. They were all friendly and, in fact, friendlier than the two e-bikers who passed me.

There was a man stopped on the side of the path next to his e-bike so I pulled over to ask if everything was okay. He appeared to be in his mid-70s with a bit of a belly and a couple of week's worth of a scraggly beard.

"I'm just admiring this tree."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, it's a white bottlebrush. I've never seen one around here before. They're from southeast Asia."

"Huh. That's interesting," I noted.

"Punk."

As I was processing the out-of-context insult, he added, "That's what the common name is. Punk."

We chatted a couple of minutes more as he stood there. I wish I had a picture, but the camera on my phone is still acting up. I know I took a picture, but there was nothing on my phone. It was a picture from behind, with him gazing up at the tree, hands on his hips.

The white bottlebrush was interesting, but the fact that he was wearing his bib cycling shorts inside out was even more interesting. Did he do it on purpose to get two day's of riding out of them, or was it a mistake.

A few months ago I was wondering why my underwear was so uncomfortable, only to find out at the end of the day that I'd been wearing them backwards. That makes me think it's probably the latter, and I'm now going to start double checking my cycling shorts every morning.

Sure wish I had that picture of him. It was a great shot.

There were several of these along the way, each one with a different sticker strategically placed at the top. I never did figure out what they were for.... the road didn't split. The previous one just had a guy's head.

I wasn't able to capture it very well in the picture, but the spiderwebs look like umbrellas.

I saw a handwritten "Produce for Sale" sign along the way so I pulled off onto the side road to see what was available at the roadside stand.

Jeff, the proprietor, knew everyone else there. He doesn't exactly wear his heart on his sleeve but his sleeve shows where his heart is.

I bought 2 lbs/0.9 kg (2 of these containers) of very juicy strawberries and ate 3/4 of one of them, then put the rest in my handlebar bag.

Toby, who recently moved to the area, pulled in to get some fruit during his ride. We talked for a while, then rode together until I was instructed by my Garmin to take a right at mile 17 while he continued straight. I enjoyed the visit.

I immediately came upon a sandy road, and my thoughts returned to yesterday's difficulties, but it wasn't bad.

I see this a lot and always wonder if there's an alligator somewhere out there staring back at me. More likely, though, just discarded beer cans.

I love the winged lions guarding this place, which is securely ensconced behind a locked fence. There were no other houses around it. This is it.

I opened my handlebar bag for a snack....

...and realized what an idiot I am. They were REALLY juicy.

Heavy winds didn't kill this oak, just bent it some.

A little later, glancing to my left, I saw this tree and realized something was weird about it so I went to investigate.

It's an oak tree growing around a palm tree. Both appear very healthy.

One of the Points of Interest along my route today includes the Bob Ross Art Workshop. Some of you older readers may be familiar with Ross. In the Air Force for twenty years, he rose to the rank of Master Sergeant where he was in charge of troop discipline. “I was the guy who makes you scrub the latrine, the guy who makes you make your bed, the guy who screams at you for being late to work.”

Apparently tired of yelling, he became a soft spoken small town art instructor who evolved into one of America's most recognizable faces (and voices) with his "The Joy of Painting" show.

Today I'm passing by the largest collection of Bob Ross artwork in the world which, surprisingly, isn't in a museum - it's in a strip mall in New Smyrna. Ross refused to sell his paintings and when he opened a workshop in 1993 to teach and to sell art supplies, he filled the studio with his artwork. There are 59 originals on display, some of which were never seen on TV.

Even though he has a spot in the Smithsonian, this strip mall museum remains the largest and only permanent gallery devoted to Bob Ross.

You can imagine my disappointment when I saw that it was closed.

so I took a picture through the window then went to get lunch

When I came back outside, this funny-looking guy was on my handlebar bag.

It looks like there are four teeth embedded on his back.

As I was riding back past the studio, I saw that it was now open! Apparently, they had just closed for lunch or something - a "happy little accident" on my part.

and the studio has a "Certified Bob Ross Instructor"

Each painting had two sets of numbers on them (e.g. 29-1, 24-10, 14-21, 22-11) and I wondered what they meant.

There was a class going on and I appreciated that they let me in. I tried to be as inconspicuous as possible.

When it was time to leave I pedaled down the road about a mile and came to a grave in the middle of the street. Charles Dummett died in 1860 at the age of fifteen from unknown causes. His father, Douglas, was so griefstruck by his death that he built the grave right where the body was found. In the 1950s developers decided to build a road around the memorial instead of going through the arduous legal process of moving it.

I went around the right side and didn't realize that the "rock" on top is actually a dog. According to a 2019 article in the Daytona Beach News Journal, an anonymous artist added a statue of a dog to the gravesite.

climbing up and over the Indian River - again. But it was worth it for the studio and the gravesite.

This evening I'll be staying at The Scoot Inn. This is the motel where Aileen Wuornos, the serial killer who murdered at least seven men, stayed between 1989 and 1990. At the time, it was the Fairview Inn, and not very nice, but in 2011 a man named Mike Bock bought it, did some renovations, and renamed it The Scoot Inn. He did his best to distance it from the ties with Aileen but, ironically, made it more inviting for the weirdos who want to stay there because of its history.

Weirdos like me, staying here to write about it for weirdos like you, reading about it.

I'm pretty sure this gentleman isn't Mike Bock. He doesn't speak English and needed to call a woman who did speak English so we could communicate.

Wuornos slept in Room 9 (since renumbered as Room 7 in 2015) so I called for a reservation a couple of days ago, sure that this $85.00 room would be in hot demand and sell out.... this, in a town with at least 5-6 other motels where you can rent a room for the same price.

I have to admit that when I made the call I was a bit embarrassed. I felt like I was asking something like, "When I get there would it be okay if I put on a diaper, sit in your lap with a bottle, and talk like a baby?"

I could've said something like, "Room 7 is where my wife and I honeymooned," but I'm absolutely positive her next question would be, "So there will be two of you?" "No.... uh, just me. She... died. Or something."

Fortunately, I don't believe she had a clue as to the history of this gem.

Because this is such a cheap motel, the first thing I did was to make sure the room was secure. Absolutely. There was a lock on the door. This looks very secure to me.

But wait! There's even backup security. NO one is getting past this baby.

Okay, I'm pleasantly surprised so far. Let's see what else this place has in store for me.

The air conditioner only makes the loud grinding sound when the compressor is running, NOT all the time, and the cord is safely out of the way so it's not a trip hazard.

Fortunately, the window was covered with some sort of oily film so no one can see inside.

The top section of the bathroom light is inset, creating an angle and making it a bit easier to turn it off with the downsweep of your wet hand.

Wow! They thought of EVERYTHING! Combining the soap and the shampoo into one... pure genius.

I'm not sure where all the blood on this towel came from, but it appears dry so I should be able to use it. Room 4 was a hideout for two men suspected of dismembering a woman and scattering her body parts throughout Florida, so maybe they just got the towels mixed up.

There were hardly any holes in the walls, and none of them penetrated into the adjoining rooms.

The Big Picture. There are even hangers in case I need to borrow someone's car.

I was curious about what others thought of my lucky find. This is the most recent review in TripAdvisor, and the only one I read:

Dirtiest hotel I've ever stayed in. It’s just above camping. I consider myself a rugged type guy and it was gross. Stay there, I dare you. I have pictures of the threshold, pure filth. The lamp did not even a have a lamp shade. Zero pride in ownership.
Date of stay: January 2025
Room Tip: The road noise was comical.

I read it and my first thought: "What?!? That guy got a lamp??"

That evening, I realized that I've never seen a 1 star motel anywhere. They only go as low as 2 stars. When I asked Google and ChatGPT to find one they erroneously referred me to two-star motels.

According to the ratings, a one-star motel offers just basic accommodations, but this fancy pants two-star motel "offers a bit more comfort and amenities than 1-star, often with a focus on affordability."

Next on my agenda for the evening is to visit The Last Resort, where Aileen Wuornos was arrested. It was time to eat so I thought I'd kill two birds with one stone and grab some bar food while checking the place out.

Of course, then the question arises: "How does one dress for a soirée at a biker bar?" Especially if you’re coming from the Scoot Inn. After some careful consideration, I decided to go with simple bike shorts (the baggy ones) and a short sleeve collared shirt, mainly because that's all I had.

Oh, My... this could end up being more interesting than I had thought.

As one would expect in a dive bar, it was dimly lit. There were five people sitting around the bar, and when I walked in through the open door all conversation immediately stopped as everyone turned their heads to stare at me. After a couple of beats, they went back to what they were doing as I slid onto a bar stool in the corner next to this guy:

Although I came in for some food, a quick glance around the place told me the only thing I was going to get, besides beer, was a communicable disease. So, I just sat there trying my best to look like I fit in as I nodded my head to the rock-and-roll blaring from the jukebox. When everyone started laughing about something I couldn't hear over the music, I let out a fake-sounding laugh as well.

The bartender, an older man with a gruff, gravelly voice asked me what I wanted to drink.

"What do you have on tap?"

When he didn't respond, I looked around and saw an obvious lack of taps, then realized what a stupid question it was. He shook his head.

"Beer." That's me narrowing it down.

"Yeah." It wasn't a question. "What kind?"

Oddly, in spite of the fact that there are 15,000 to 20,000 brands of beer, at that moment I couldn't think of the name of a single beer, and had no idea how to answer that question. Clueless, I stole a glance at the man next to me, but his hand was grasped around the can so I couldn't read it. After an eternal pause, I finally spit out a single syllable: "Busch?" as if I were in a game show hoping to win a dishwasher.

"Light or regular?"

This time I didn't hesitate. Not wanting to be labelled as a sissyboy, I lifted my chin a notch and confidently stated "regular," as if asking "what kind of baby would want to drink light beer?"

His face remained expressionless, and I could see I still wasn't fitting in, even with the baggy shorts, so I thought I'd try a different tack... humor.

"You take cash?"

Again, without any hint of emotion: "That's all we take."

I was glad I brought my handlebar bag because that's where I keep my cash. I even attached the shoulder strap which, come to think of it, makes my bag look an awful lot like a purse.

By the time I had my beer I may as well have been taking tiny sips with my pinkie finger sticking out... I just wasn't fitting in and stuck out like an erection at church.

Even so, for all of you readers, I was determined to stay long enough to get a feel for the place, and to bring you back some pictures. I tried to take a few photos without anyone noticing, but for some reason the flash on my phone's camera kept coming on. I'd turn it off but it would flash with every picture, although I'm sure it was a very inconspicuous flash in the darkened bar.

By now, the stench of cigarette smoke was starting to cling to me (yes, Florida outlawed smoking in "public and private businesses such as restaurants and bars"), and I was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. Worse, sitting in front of me was 7/8 of a beer and I had another can coming because it was Happy Hour: two for $5.00. Everyone looked happy except the wide-eyed guy sitting very still in the corner nodding his head to the music like a bobblehead and coughing out a fake laugh on occasion.

This upside down piece of black plastic looks like a takeaway container used for small amounts of salad dressing. Apparently it’s to let the bartender know that you’re still due for a second.

As casually as I could, I stood up and walked around, taking a picture here and there.

After awkwardly circling around the inside of the bar I decided it was time to make my exit, but couldn't just walk out and leave the beer and plastic container sitting there. The world might end if I did, so I made myself sit down for another couple of minutes.

When I felt I'd been there long enough, I slid my "second beer" piece of plastic over the the guy next to me and said "The next one's on me," and walked over to the open door. Two of the patrons stopped talking to look at me and as I took one last look around I said, with actual sincerity, "What a fantastic bar. The next time I'm in town I'll be sure to stop by."

I couldn't have foreseen the next series of events in a million years.

One guy's face lit up and he said, "It is fantastic! Did you come because of the movie?"

The movie in question is Monster, a biopic about Aileen Wuornos in which Charlize Theron won an Academy award for Best Actress. Of course I knew about it.

"Movie?" I asked.

He went on to tell me about the film I was very familiar with from my research.

"Really?!? Here???" Step aside Charlize. You have competition.

"Yeah! See her picture over the bar? Right there?"

Having read about it, I knew the framed photograph was there, but had since forgotten about it. Since I didn't get a picture of it earlier, I eagerly snapped one now.

Aileen Wuornos' mug shot. If you look at a few pictures previous, you can see it above the bar.

His next words were more than I ever could have wished for, a Christmas present in April. God saying he's sorry for the sugar sand. A stroke of dumb luck for the dumb guy.

"You want a tour?"

Do I want a tour??? Did my grandmother, who arrived in Texas in a covered wagon, chew tobacco? Does Scary Santa ride a bike? Do I want a tour??

"Hell, yeah!" I grinned.

I think I made his day, and he mine. My tour guide's name is Bill, a transplant from Pennsylvania twelve years ago. We slipped out the side door where he showed me what can only be described as a shrine to Aileen Wuornos.

It lists the names of the men she murdered, as well as having some other informational tidbits.

He was sympathetic to Aileen, noting that she grew up poor and sexually abused, and claimed that the murders she committed were in self defense as her johns attempted to rape her. She was poorly represented by an attorney who called himself "Dr. Legal," and after her conviction was executed in 2002.

As interesting as the shrine is the bar and the owner. Al, the guy who served me my beer, came out and briefly joined the conversation. After he left, Bill supplied me with more information about him.

Al (who hasn't had a drink in decades) is 85, and has owned The Last Resort for the past 45 years or so. He was there when Wuornos was arrested, and said she used to sleep behind the bar on occasion in one of the numerous abandoned RVs in back.

We walked to the area behind the bar, which was huge. In its heyday, the crowd spilled out to the back where there were places to buy drinks there as well, and a stage, but now that Al is getting older he just can't keep up and scaled everything back. There were even motorcycles hanging from the massive oak trees which shaded the place, but they got blown away with one of the many hurricanes that came through.

These days, not many people come through, and Bill said that when Al dies the place is going to permanently close, and fast. Al got grandfathered in, but the county said the bar is too close to the street so they won't renew the lease for anyone else. He thinks all of the stuff in back will just get hauled away as junk. I wish I'd taken some pictures of the back (or maybe I did and they weren't on my phone).

This is the only picture I have from behind the bar. There were random objects scattered all over. Many, but not all, were related to Wuornos.

The name, The Last Resort, comes from the fact that it's the last bar until you get to New Smyrna.

As we were walking back to the front I asked for a good place to eat. Bill responded with, "Where you stayin'?"

I realized that if I said The Scoot Inn my cover would be blown and I would've been outed for the fraud that I am, so I mumbled, "Some place just up that way," and vaguely gestured south.

He appeared to be giving it some thought, or was perhaps adding two and two. Regardless, he suggested the pizza place between here and my motel.

We walked back into the bar and I paused at the front door, savoring this small piece of history that will soon be gone. I said goodbye to all of my new friends in the bar, then walked out the door to the sound of Grand Funk Railroad’s "We’re an American Band" blaring from the speakers, and the smell of cigarette smoke draped around me like a blanket on a cold night, thinking “Damn! Does life get any better?”

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Today's ride: 49 miles (79 km)
Total: 497 miles (800 km)

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Karen PoretAs Henry Gibson from “Laugh In” would say..”Very interesting.”..
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6 days ago

Gregory GarceauGreat descriptions of the gruesome motel and bar. Also, you are not the first Cycleblazer to have visited a Charlize Theron film location while on tour. Just one more thing we have in common.
https://www.cycleblaze.com/journals/nocomplaints/plenty-of-pride-to-go-around/
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5 days ago

Jeff LeeExcellent writeup!

I love a detailed cheap-bike-tour-motel review.

And also the much less common serial-killer-bike-tour-bar review.
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5 days ago

Bill ShaneyfeltChuckle!
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5 days ago

Mark BinghamTo Jeff LeeI remember you saying that, and as I was writing it I was thinking you'd probably enjoy it.
Thanks for reading!
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5 days ago

Nancy GrahamWOW! Quite the story you tell, and I hope you have serious immunities to some things!

Really enjoyed your story telling skill.
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4 days ago