http://www.gmap-pedometer.com/?r=4478390. This was a nice, long ride. Although it was around 90 something, it didn't feel so bad considering the low humidity factor.
The ride started off pleasantly enough. Fixed myself a bottle of Elderflower water and packed a juice bottle of mango coconut water. Can't carry bananas, so coconut water is way so much better. More potassium than 2 bananas and more electrolytes than all sports drinks. I bag of sports beans and a Lucky Charms bar (we all have our weak points). I resolve that I will stop somewhere and get something to eat on the run so I take along the credit card too. The kid and I take off from the house and head to his school, St. Cloud Elementary. It's a nice morning. I stop and take a few pictures of the flowers that are blooming. The society garlic apparently likes to bloom all year around with no care, and the Magnolias are right on time, but the weird thing is that the Crape Myrtles are already blooming. How very unusual. They normally don't bloom until at least late May to early June, but it's been a very warm April, being in the lower 90's almost everyday. Hey, hey. I refuse to complain. Not after that fiasco of another bad winter. December is now a distant memory.
After dropping the kid off at school I try and decide where I am going to ride. Sometimes I've got a definite plan, especially if I have to work, or have other obligations, but this morning I have none. In fact, this ride is because I need some "me" time. Sometimes you have no one to depend on except yourself. I reflect. I am not on the "pity" episode, I am just acutely aware. Chalk it up to that awful intuitiveness. As I go down Budinger, I am traveling at the same speed as the cars in compliance with the school zone speeds. It's funny sometimes. I swear, some drivers don't know what to make of me. It's getting easier to cross over 192 and lucky for me I have my good friend Jane at my back. She and her big yellow bus. As I stop at the intersection of 192, I glance over at the bus that's been trailing my ass. It's Jane. Great comfort! Nothing better than having a big yellow bus covering your arse. She and I laugh as I mouth that I am going over to Lake Runnymeade and where ever for a 50 miles ride. The light changes and off I go.
On Louisiana I look around to figure out where Roxie lives. I can't be sure although since her Trek was yellow, I am half heartily assuming she must live where the yellow sports car is? I think she mentioned her favorite color being yellow. Roxie had a bad bike crash about 2 years ago. She's got lots and lots of rods and pins in her, but she is one of those admirable people. I can appreciate her. I think about the people who actually could ride and don't. Always an excuse. Wonder what will happen if gas actually hits 7.00 dollars a gallon as they predict by Christmas? Of all the things, while I am thinking this a Hummer passes me. I'll never understand that one. At the end of Louisiana I see the Jacaranda. Gosh, this tree is a beaut! Like a lilac I would assume, but a tree! No fragrance that I am aware of, although I hear tell that lilacs smell wonderful.
I stop at the Lakefront to use the lady's room and then keep heading east. The seabreeze is out of the east this morning, nothing heavy, but still, a steady, brisk blow to it. I decide to just let my imagination take me wherever. I head down Rummel and toward Lake Runnymeade where I've decided this is my headphone time and my introspective time. No traffic. Only traffic is the wildlife and it don't bother me none. My first stop to take pictures is of the Purple Swamp Flower aka
Report · 9:21pm
Pickerelweed
l Weed. It's pretty and they keep it in control.
http://web.fccj.org/~dbyres/flora/pick.htm
I've decided that I am going to do a good 15 miles or more around the area. There is no traffic to speak of and it's a nice, quiet and safe place to ride. I've been doing a lot of thinking.
But you gave away the things you loved and one of them was me
I had some dreams, they were clouds in my coffee
Clouds in my coffee, and..."-
Carly Simon
I am thinking alot. Thoughts today consists of the dilemma of which is worst? Being self absorbed and knowing it and doing nothing about it, or being self absorbed and still doing it? Ignorance versus self awareness. I am not sure which is worst. I just know it's sad.
"I tell you the more I think, the more I feel that there is nothing more truly artistic than to love people."
Vincent Van Gogh
I don't know why some folks don't get it. I just feel for them, you know.
The other thing I am musing on is the media. All day yesterday the media was feeding us a line. From the start to the end. Makes me wonder how stupid either we are or they are. I dislike the media intensely simply for the fact that they take a alot and try and pigeonhole it into a neat, tight little, perfect bundle. They were speaking of how Americans are so happy, relieved over the capture of Osama Bin Ladin (well, yes), that we've temporarily forgotten the steep cost of gas and unemployment (uh, no). Who do they think they are fooling? Sure, one less nut on the planet is good, but still, what about the crooks in the oil industry and banks? You think we've forgotten? Shame on you and thank God I don't have cable. At times I wonder about things. I am neither Liberal, nor Conservative, finding both of them to be galling to say the least; just common sense. Freedom of Speech also consists of freedom of being able to disagree. Something neither, and I say NEITHER side aligns itself to. I am reminded of what Beethoven once said-
‘I carry my thoughts about with me for a long time, often for a very long time, before writing them down.’-
Ludwig Van Beethoven
One of my favorites has always been-
"If you make people think they're thinking, they'll love you; but if you really make them think, they'll hate you"-
Don Marqui
Trust me, it's a fine line. You learn to watch what you say.
The ride around the water is a tad bit adventurous. There is a big gator, must be at least 8 feet long, who has been basking in the sun for the last 6 laps. He's facing me, 6 feet away as I whiz past him, with his mouth open, enjoying the rays of the sun. A glimpse of those nice, big, pearly whites is enough to keep me at bay and stop from taking pictures. I am waiting for the right moment when he'll take a dip in the water and come back the other ways around. Sure enough, he does not disappoint me. Obviously he has a nice sized harem from the amount of smaller gators surrounding him as I count 4 exactly. I brave the moment and snap a few pictures, chalking it up that they've all already ate and are quite content.
I close up the miles around the area with a few snaps of the entrance to Lake Runnymeade and a flock of sandhill cranes cross my bike path. I love the sound these birds makel; almost prehistoric. Obviously very close knit as most birds tend to be. The lily pads that were so abundantly blooming a week ago have lost some of their flowers. That, or the wildlife has ate them up. Most folks don't know that you can eat the seeds from the lily. They are quite edible and nutritious. Had a real good friend from Vietnam when I was a youngster. His mother, who was half French half Vietnamese, was the most wonderful cook. His father would take us kids on fishing trips and I even learned that you could eat a stingray, although I really don't recommend this one. Many a day that was spent on the Ochlockonee Bay with paint buckets, wading through the estuaries and bayous gathering blue crabs. I really miss those days. .
Suddenly I realize that the big ole gator with the huge teeth is no longer on the banks; he's done got into the waters. I make it a mental note to zip a few times around and see what he'll do. Upon the 3rd lap I find him up on the banks in the opposite direction. Not quite as startling as him smile snaggle tooth and all at me as he's been doing for the last hour or so. It's quite jarring to be so close to one when they've got their mouth's open like that. Gives you a good idea of what it would actually feel like to get trapped in there. I also notice that his "females" have gotten closer to him. This is breeding season after all and even gators have to have fun, right?
Okay! I've had enough of this runaround. I've got more miles to cover and the day is growing longer. Plus, I know at home I've got laundry and beans and rice to cook. Is there ever a day when I don't have something to do? Not really. If it's not the garden, it's the house, if not the house, the yard, not the yard, the kids.... you get my drift. I head back out to Rummell and cruise in and out of neighborhoods. These tend to be either interesting, boring or just another way to put on some miles. I also notice that if a streetsweeper is coming through here, he's pushing all the debris and glass into the bike lane. Another headache to take up? Almost at the end I stop and take a picture or two of some Mexican Sunflowers that are blooming so nicely after that horrid slap in the face this past winter. They, like so many of our flowers, put on a cheerful display for us passerbys.
I take a well deserved bathroom break at the Lakefront and see a sign about a Blues Festival. Hmmm. I love the Blues, and think about attending this. Saturday night, hmmm? Think I'll take my kids and head on down here. Been a very long time since I've heard a live Blues band play. Not since I've lived up in the Panhandle. After a quick bathroom break, I ride my bike on down the pier to get a glimpse of the water and what's going on. I am still mildly surprised that folks have money to put into their boats when the price of gas is so high. Boats are downright expensive to run! I could do anything in a boat but I'll honestly admit the only thing I could never do was back one up. Was a major pain in the ass trying to get it down the loading ramp. As I head down the pier, rolling along the metal grate (vastly annoying to the old folks hanging out there), I observe the lily pads and the American Coots in the water and manage to take some time and snap the pictures of such. It's hard to overlook a coot; their bills are so white in response to their darker coats that they are distinctly noticeable on the water despite their smallest size. I have not, however, observed one limpkin on this ride, although I've seen many blue herons for certs. The turtles especially have overcome their shyness and I've observed many perching on logs here and there, or wherever they managed to come up and find something to lay on and enjoy the rays. The marsh grasses are making a comeback after all the wacking control by the city.
"Oh, pauvre Mama,
Priez pour moi.
Sauvez mon âme,
Des flammes d’enfer"-
Zachary Richards
Dang, I realize it's getting rather hot. Hot as hell. Whoo hoo! The water looks really enticing. The water at the kiddy's splash looks like an oasis. My bottles are empty and I realize, "dang, I am hungry". What to do? I head down Lakeshore to Massachusetts and then over to 4th and up toward 192. Not so many choices. I consider, should I cross 192 and head into the CVS for junk food, or should I go to Burger King and just chalk it up to a hunger beyond my control? I decide on Burger King. It's too hot for chocolate. I order a Whopper Junior and stand outside by my bike wolfing this down realizing I could do with another. However, I am too cheap. After eating I contemplate where I want to go next. I don't really have a set plan. I really don't like traffic and don't want to do the East Loop. I have no idea where I want to go, just that I do. I contemplate the area that would have the least amount of traffic. I settle on heading back to Vermont and crossing 192. Lordy, I tell ya, the lovebugs were just awful. Swarms. I mean, literally millions. I could not for the love of me see the damn path. Wearing a helmet, they were in in my hair where I could not reach them. I could feel them crawling through my hair, having sex through the jungles of my hair. I did laugh at that one. I did not laugh at the itching. I avoided cursing and kept my mouth shut. I could handle the bugs in my hair, just not in my mouth. I had to keep my head downward and noticed the road littered with zillions of these damn things. Usually don't show up til May. They made an early calling. Did I mention it's hot and they are glued to my legs like dirt? I don't dare smudge them. Getting down to New Nolte I make a right turn and head west to Old Canoe Creek Road where I turn left and head to Kissimmee Park Road. Over the turnpike ramp. I stop at the top and catch the seabreeze blowing at the top. Top of a mountain it felt like.
Heading down Kissimmee Park Road the bugs still follow, but not as bad as on Vermont. It's quiet out here. County roads.
"Take the highway
Lord knows I've been gone too long
Lot of sad days, yeah
One day you'll turn around
and I'll be gone
And the time has finally come
for me to pack my bags and walk away"-
Marshall Tucker Band
Love it out here. It's a pretty road, quiet, and serene for most of the ride. Within a mile of a ride I am startled by a wild turkey running clear out in front of me. Going 22 mph down the road, that's an adrenaline rush when things like that happen. Made me hungry too. LOL. On down the road I see a nursery. Been wondering where I am fixing to find some blue flag irises. Can't find them anywhere. I'd love those blues in my yard. So much for Florida natives. Can't find them anywhere anymore. Ah, but no sooner does this thought cross my mind when I zip past a young black racer. I was going so fast I wasn't sure whether I ran over him or the road is too hot? I back around and examine him. Not fixing to touch him, they are prone to bite when pissed off. Apparently they also have a thing for my son's bathroom, found 3 in there last year. Oh, yeah, and the garage. They are pretty, with their lithe movements. Probably one of my more likable snakes snakes. The other being an indigo. I make my ways down to Lake Toho. Not the East Lake Toho, but the other one. Forever divided by levees for flood control. The needs and demands of men. Ah, Florida. Roads like this. So close to real. Don't speak to me of the heat. Hell is real too.
Can they destroy you more yet? Everyone wants a piece of paradise but with conditions. I despise conditions. Conditions and stipulations. It's all about control. Once you learn the only thing you can control is your thoughts, life becomes much clearer. But enough of that. I reach the end of the line. The Lake lies afore me. I travel up and down the ways, and find, now I know where the snowbirds come and stay. Although the lots are full, they are devoid of human existence, they fleeing North. Like I said. Too bad because it's so beautiful now. Maybe this is why the road is less traveled? Last time I went down this road there were cars zipping by faster than hell, 20 miles over the speed limit. Everyone going nowhere. No one stopping to catch most of what goes by unnoticed?
Heading around I go back to St. Cloud. Half ways down I recognize the road where I would launch my boat. Haven't been there now in about 5 years. Remember getting lost on the Lake. So large, and the GPS such a pain in the ass. The passageways so elusive. Remember how beautiful I thought it was when I first saw it. One passageway opening onto another and over and over again until you started thinking about not running out of gas with as much fun as you were having exploring. I sometimes thought I'd died and went straight to heaven. Run the boat all over the Lake. At the end of the road, past the orange groves, one died out and the other thriving, I come to the end. A kid is playing in the water as his father works on the airboat, the dog running around and some other folks getting ready to head out. It's a nice afternoon. Calm, steady waters, blue skies. Can't ask for more. I can't think of beer right now. Too hot. Memories. These are memories I'll always keep. I grew up on rivers and the ocean; not lakes. This was the most pleasant surprise of moving here. I imagine I look a sight to these menfolk here. They are keeping a keen eye on me and the guy in the boat over yonder yells and ask how far I've gone. I tell him probably over 50. He laughs and the kid looks shocked and falls backwards into the water. LOL. But the guy gets it and gives me a smile and thumbs up. Ask me if it's the best thing? I says, yes, I think so now, used to be fishing. Life.
Going down the road, I head for home. The rest of the ride is pleasant enough. I think I could do this forever if I had a magical water fountain. I don't really get hungry. My ride for the week. Tuesday morning, afternoon. Now to head home to cook and back to the "real" world. I count myself blessed to be where I am.
"Train roll on, on down the line,
Won't you please take me far away?
Now I feel the wind blow outside my door,
Means I'm leaving my woman behind.
Tuesday's gone with the wind.
My woman's gone with the wind.
And I don't know where I'm going.
I just want to be left alone.
Well, when this train ends I'll try again,
But I'm leaving my woman at home.
[chorus]
Tuesday's gone with the wind.
Tuesday's gone with the wind.
Tuesday's gone with the wind.
My woman's gone with the wind.
Train roll on many miles from my home,
See, I'm riding my blues away.
Tuesday, you see, she had to be free
But somehow I've got to carry on."-
Lynyrd Skynyrd
Saturday, May 7, 2011
In The Wee Small Hours of the Morning
"In the wee small hours of the morning
While the whole world is fast asleep"-
Johnny Mathis
Sometimes it's hard. Getting up to ride so early. To think of it, one goes to sleep at 22:00 only to rise again at 4:00 or 5:00; such is my motivation to ride. There are very few nicer times to ride while the whole world is fast asleep. Well, at least the humans are asleep. For the most part. The cops are perpetually around, not that they bother me. I am grateful for their presence at times. There are quite a few animals here and there, and it's not surprising to see deer as apparently this is their favorite time to be out feeding and being frisky or whatever it is that deers do at this time of the morning. The great thing aside from having little to almost no traffic is the ability to sing to the wind. I sound awful. I know. Being tone deaf isn't the best thing at times, but at least the sandhill cranes apparently do not mind. Nor do the killdeers, whose time has come to go North, nor much of anything else aside from the deers who startle me as much as I do them. Did I forget to mention the lack of sunlight? Love the sun, just not after 10:00 at this time of the year. It gets hot and having to wear sunscreen on one's face and endure the drips into the eyes as your face manages to squeeze every once of fluid outta ya is never fun. However, there is a flip side to that one and it entails bugs. During the day I wear my Giros, but at night that isn't possible and this is the time of the year where flying bugs are a royal pain in the arse. I get them in my eyes, my hair and plastered to my legs and arms. The bad ones are the big ones that feel like someone hit you with a small rock when they crash into your face. There have been many lacerations over the past few years.
However, there are very few words that describe the calmness, peace and serenity of an early morning ride. The smells are vastly different from those during the day, although some, right now, such as the confederate jasmine send out their smells regardless of time of the day or night. As I head down the road, their fragrance permeates the air. It is a strong smell, almost cloying at their peaks, but a tantalizing smell nonetheless. Further down I pick up another scent, those of the magnolias and see, under the streetlamps, that they are also in full bloom now. Jasmine is a heady, deep smell; magnolia is more like a rose with a sharper odor. As much as I like the trees, I am grateful that I do not have any in my yard as the ones I had in North Florida were a constant headache when they shed their cones and leaves that are so big that even the lawn mower can't break them up.
My ride this morning will be short. I did a 50 miler the other day in 2.45 hours at 94 degrees on one breakfast bar and I literally went home and fried 6 idaho baking potatoes for fries. That ride was an aggressive one; this one is a short chance of pure enjoyment. As I ride past one of the many holding ponds that dot the entire area for flood control, my reverie is disrupted by the stench of "the water table's getting too low". It must be the decaying matter coming to suface. It's certainly not a pleasant smell. However, it is only a momentarily annoyance. My goal is a short 15 miler to catch the sun come up. Above me, out to the heavens lies the crescent moon and a big Venus. I have to wait for the sun to start rising in order to get a shot of them since my camera is of nothing to talk about. Doesn't mean I don't have an artistic urge to capture what I see, just that it's a big disappointment. I do miss my old camera. This one eats batteries like no tomorrow. I consider putting a little aside from my paycheck to purchase something to write home about. Things are tight now. My lifestyle is taking a change. I am now conserving more than ever. I cycle to work and to the store at every given chance and no longer use the dryer to dry the laundry. Why bother? It's like having to pay for free heat at this time now. Plus, the clothes dry within 5 hours in the garage. I won't dare hang them outside for fear of afternoon thundershowers. I learnt that lesson years ago.
After about 10 miles I see that distinct glow of the sun making it's way slowly up the horizon and consider the best areas to get a shot of the Moon, Venus and ole Sun. I also acknowledge that the skies are so very clear that getting a shot of the sun will be near impossible with his intense rays. Here and there I snap pictures of the horizon, almost an attempt to get a series of different perspectives in a time frame. I have no idea how they will come out so I use both the camera and the cell to experiment. As I wait, the sweet smell from the swamp surrounds me. It is a low lying area on Budinger that is unique only to that area and when one passes it the temp actually dips a few degrees, so much that it is quite noticeable and the smell is almost like soft rain.
"Softly as in a morning sunrise
The Light of Love comes stealing
Into a newborn day"-
Bobby Darin
As I wait patiently for enough light to snap a few pics, I munch on pralines and Sports Beans, Watermelon being my favorite. Certainly not the best choice of food, but I've got a thing for pecans. As ole sun begins his climb, I take pictures here and there and ride further up the road to another spot. In one area the surrounding air is so cool due to a cold front that moved through, that the mist is coming off the lake. I try taking a picture of this too, but the annoyance of a chain link fence prevents me from getting anything good.
After my shots are done, I zip around the neighborhood, doing a few laps on Burberry before I head home. The sun has not quite risen, so that wondrous glow just barely lights the edge of the earth. Those pinks, blues, yellows, all mixed and blended together, much softer than a sunset's glow. Reminds me of melons and mangoes. The color of a peach. Almost as though something had a calming effect on it. I stop at a cul de sac and watch, my eyes never ceasing to be amazed and appreciative of the glories of nature. I am reminded of Stevenson's poem as I watch and eventually head back to the world of men and their problems. There will always be another morning, and of course, another ride to write and muse about. The joy is in the knowing.
"Great is the sun, and wide he goes
Through empty heaven with repose;
And in the blue and glowing days
More thick than rain he showers his rays."-
Robert Louis Stevenson
While the whole world is fast asleep"-
Johnny Mathis
Sometimes it's hard. Getting up to ride so early. To think of it, one goes to sleep at 22:00 only to rise again at 4:00 or 5:00; such is my motivation to ride. There are very few nicer times to ride while the whole world is fast asleep. Well, at least the humans are asleep. For the most part. The cops are perpetually around, not that they bother me. I am grateful for their presence at times. There are quite a few animals here and there, and it's not surprising to see deer as apparently this is their favorite time to be out feeding and being frisky or whatever it is that deers do at this time of the morning. The great thing aside from having little to almost no traffic is the ability to sing to the wind. I sound awful. I know. Being tone deaf isn't the best thing at times, but at least the sandhill cranes apparently do not mind. Nor do the killdeers, whose time has come to go North, nor much of anything else aside from the deers who startle me as much as I do them. Did I forget to mention the lack of sunlight? Love the sun, just not after 10:00 at this time of the year. It gets hot and having to wear sunscreen on one's face and endure the drips into the eyes as your face manages to squeeze every once of fluid outta ya is never fun. However, there is a flip side to that one and it entails bugs. During the day I wear my Giros, but at night that isn't possible and this is the time of the year where flying bugs are a royal pain in the arse. I get them in my eyes, my hair and plastered to my legs and arms. The bad ones are the big ones that feel like someone hit you with a small rock when they crash into your face. There have been many lacerations over the past few years.
However, there are very few words that describe the calmness, peace and serenity of an early morning ride. The smells are vastly different from those during the day, although some, right now, such as the confederate jasmine send out their smells regardless of time of the day or night. As I head down the road, their fragrance permeates the air. It is a strong smell, almost cloying at their peaks, but a tantalizing smell nonetheless. Further down I pick up another scent, those of the magnolias and see, under the streetlamps, that they are also in full bloom now. Jasmine is a heady, deep smell; magnolia is more like a rose with a sharper odor. As much as I like the trees, I am grateful that I do not have any in my yard as the ones I had in North Florida were a constant headache when they shed their cones and leaves that are so big that even the lawn mower can't break them up.
My ride this morning will be short. I did a 50 miler the other day in 2.45 hours at 94 degrees on one breakfast bar and I literally went home and fried 6 idaho baking potatoes for fries. That ride was an aggressive one; this one is a short chance of pure enjoyment. As I ride past one of the many holding ponds that dot the entire area for flood control, my reverie is disrupted by the stench of "the water table's getting too low". It must be the decaying matter coming to suface. It's certainly not a pleasant smell. However, it is only a momentarily annoyance. My goal is a short 15 miler to catch the sun come up. Above me, out to the heavens lies the crescent moon and a big Venus. I have to wait for the sun to start rising in order to get a shot of them since my camera is of nothing to talk about. Doesn't mean I don't have an artistic urge to capture what I see, just that it's a big disappointment. I do miss my old camera. This one eats batteries like no tomorrow. I consider putting a little aside from my paycheck to purchase something to write home about. Things are tight now. My lifestyle is taking a change. I am now conserving more than ever. I cycle to work and to the store at every given chance and no longer use the dryer to dry the laundry. Why bother? It's like having to pay for free heat at this time now. Plus, the clothes dry within 5 hours in the garage. I won't dare hang them outside for fear of afternoon thundershowers. I learnt that lesson years ago.
After about 10 miles I see that distinct glow of the sun making it's way slowly up the horizon and consider the best areas to get a shot of the Moon, Venus and ole Sun. I also acknowledge that the skies are so very clear that getting a shot of the sun will be near impossible with his intense rays. Here and there I snap pictures of the horizon, almost an attempt to get a series of different perspectives in a time frame. I have no idea how they will come out so I use both the camera and the cell to experiment. As I wait, the sweet smell from the swamp surrounds me. It is a low lying area on Budinger that is unique only to that area and when one passes it the temp actually dips a few degrees, so much that it is quite noticeable and the smell is almost like soft rain.
"Softly as in a morning sunrise
The Light of Love comes stealing
Into a newborn day"-
Bobby Darin
As I wait patiently for enough light to snap a few pics, I munch on pralines and Sports Beans, Watermelon being my favorite. Certainly not the best choice of food, but I've got a thing for pecans. As ole sun begins his climb, I take pictures here and there and ride further up the road to another spot. In one area the surrounding air is so cool due to a cold front that moved through, that the mist is coming off the lake. I try taking a picture of this too, but the annoyance of a chain link fence prevents me from getting anything good.
After my shots are done, I zip around the neighborhood, doing a few laps on Burberry before I head home. The sun has not quite risen, so that wondrous glow just barely lights the edge of the earth. Those pinks, blues, yellows, all mixed and blended together, much softer than a sunset's glow. Reminds me of melons and mangoes. The color of a peach. Almost as though something had a calming effect on it. I stop at a cul de sac and watch, my eyes never ceasing to be amazed and appreciative of the glories of nature. I am reminded of Stevenson's poem as I watch and eventually head back to the world of men and their problems. There will always be another morning, and of course, another ride to write and muse about. The joy is in the knowing.
"Great is the sun, and wide he goes
Through empty heaven with repose;
And in the blue and glowing days
More thick than rain he showers his rays."-
Robert Louis Stevenson
Quick 25 30 March 2011
I checked the weather first thing this morning. Going to be a rather topsy turvey week in ways of the weather and I don't reckon I'll be getting a ride in again until Saturday when I got to Brevard and Indian River Counties for a 70 milers. The weather so far is looking stable and I decide to take the East Loop Trail. I've just gotten back from the doctor's office and the pharmacist and downed a Cipro. I dislike taking antibiotics, but if it makes the difference from having to ride longer without needing to use the restroom, I reckon I'll bite the bullet and deal with it.
At first I have my riding jacket on, but as I open the garage door which needs to get fixed as I am getting sore plumb tired of heaving it up and down, I notice that the air is extremely humid. What was I thinking. Of course it is. 3 inches in the last 2 days and more to come. I thought for certs when I woke up at 4 in the morning I must have been having a hot flash, but no, it's just warm and humid. I remove the jacket, although the seabreeze puts a chill in the air and throw it up on the hood of the car, forgo the gloves today and head down the driveway.
Everything is green. It's amazing how fast here a monsoonal downpour (and it's not even monsoon season yet!!!!) can revive all these plants. The Drake Elms and Bald Cypress are such a vivid green it's almost shocking to look at. I inhale the smell of cut grass as I reckon they took their chances yesterday and mowed the fields. The fields of course now are inhabited by all sorts of bird life as the rains have created little, or at some places, big ponds. Many a times the lawn tractors have gotten stuck and have had to be pulled out of the muck.
I ride down Budinger and head east on 17th. The clouds are moving fast, kinda like they do in a tropical depression. The sun makes a somewhat half hearted attempt of peeking out from time to time. I realized that perhaps later today we might have some real serious weather as the cells are apparently already building up this morning and the air is warm and moist. The clouds are also moving from the west which tells me that they are coming off the Gulf. Not a pretty picture to think of. Well, pretty in a scary way, but not in the practical sense. I've already got the rest of the day afterwards to work in the yard. I have resolved that I am not pruning the damn palms!!!! The storm the other day blew 2 of the fronds down, so maybe, well, that's wishful thinking and not really a good game plan. Here comes the sun so I snap a picture. Golden light against the darker shades of grey and darker grey.
When I get pass the house at the end of Orange and turn onto 19th, I get the crazy dogs running and snarling at the fence. They look like a cross between Rottweilers and Bull Mastiffs. I think about if one got out they might chew my leg off. They are two fine ugly dogs and certainly a deterrent for anyone with thoughts of breaking into this property. As soon as I pass them I hear this loud, and I mean very loud bellowing and mooing. I notice that it's coming from the Hammocks over yonder and this is a repetitive sound of distress. In fact, it's so loud and constant that I am forced to stop and try and see what it going on. I can't see anything but the cypress in the hammocks and the awful sound coming from there. Thoughts of either the cow is stuck in the bog, to snake or gator, but well, not much I can do about it. Wonder if they make that noise for other reasons? It's not like I ever studied about cows for that matter.
To my left I snap a picture of a little church that when I've passed it on Sunday mornings, the entire lot is full of cars. It's a church for country black folks. I always wondered, from the amount of cars in the lot, how in the world they all fit in that little structure? Would not appear to be able to hold as many people that show up for their Sunday sermons.
After turning right on Old Hickory Tree I then immediately turn left on Jan Lan Blvd. Honestly I am trying to find things to take my mind off of my doctor's visit this morning. I look here and there, to find something, anything to try and find a balance. I spy a beautiful weeping bottlebrush, so named after it's flowers which resemble, exactly that; little bottlebrushes. I have one on the side of the house, but these trees, from Northern Australia, need a lot of sun and mine is looking a tad bit wanting since my south side is now almost covered fully in shade. This one is a beaut! I can see the bees flying in and around, and believe it or not, they make a tropical honey out of this. Not quite a smooth and sweet as your regular tupelo or orange blossom, but it's got quite a bite, a bit of flare if I may say. For folks from up North wanting a weeping willow, I say, get this tree, not only is it drought tolerant, it's also not invasive like so many of our plants that we "must have". However, it does have a tendency to split wood as I found out during Charley when mine split in half, falling against the house and creating a snarl of a mess.
Right down the road is another wonder, the last remnants of The Tree of Gold, aka the Golden Tabebuia, Central Florida's premier flowering tree, our dogwood down here. I stop and pick up a fallen flower and put it away while snapping pics of this gold against the grey skies. Even against the blue sky it looks stunning. Today it looks to have taken Ole Sun's job. The dropped flowers litter the ground and behind it is Malaysian Confederate Jasmine blooming, the smell so heady that you feel like your swimming in it. In North Florida I had this and it ran up a 100 foot long needled pine. In the Spring the tree was one big cascading trail of white blooms and overwhelming scents that made sitting on the front porch a real pleasure.
Course, this would be a perfect place to just contemplate what is going on in my head. Doctor's visits for me always make me a little leery. For the most part they are good. I think, for good measure I was thrown a bit by the results of my blood work and Dexa Scan. I probably, in the back of my mind, always have that nagging fear of my white blood cells being off. Everything came back, and I felt wonderful as he read my results. Then he pulled out the other paperwork and said in that voice, you know, the one where you know that something is going on the flip side of the coin. My bones are in deplorable condition. I am of course, in disbelief. This isn't something I ever would have thought of. I don't have any symptoms. The doc informs me that while my active cycling is good for everything else, it is not so for my small frame. That and the fact that I've rarely ever drank milk. That and the fact that I cannot do hormone supplements and my estrogen levels are falling. So, what the bloody fuck. Okay, excuse my French, but still. Can't a girl win? I am not even going to mention the age my bones are in. I did fall out of my seat. Well, I can eat cheese, my cholesterol is absolutely superb. That and lots of Coral Calcium. I am not giving up the cycling. I told the doc no. NO NO. I am determined. And stubborn. I'll eat the cow! Bring me a cow, I'll milk it too! No, seriously, reckon I'll have to just start drinking soy. Joy!! Does butter and whip cream count? Smiles all around now.
At the end of Jan Lan I turn right on Hickory Tree and noticed that most all the oranges have been picked and the blooms have quit and begun putting out new fruit. With the cold winter again, we should have a rather nice big crop. If you get just enough cold, then the citrus turns out better. Too much, it ends up killing it. There is that very fine line. I will miss the smell of the blossoms, they are one of the best things about living down here.
Okay, I must have missed this one the last few times I've taken this route, but there it is. A church for our Cracker Cowboys. Now this, I can dig. It's outside. This is so interesting and I make a mental note to come by here when they are having service just to check it out. Wonder if the woman folk come? It does say "Cowboy" after all. This just seems all so appropriate for a man who works outdoors almost all his life. One comes to appreciate that which can't really be bought. Sure, you can buy property, but you'll never have "full" control over it. It's only a matter of when something will come along, the Ole Gal, and make a few alterations here and there.
At the end I turn back right onto Old Hickory again and as usual, reflect upon the old boarded up house, with it's abandoned orange groves. I find it sad. It's like they all left in a hurry. Wonder who lived there? What happened to them? Must be a while now as the irrigation system still in a few places was last used decades ago? The overhead sort, the one we now know is not correct? The field are all neglected but there are still a few putting out fruit; hollow I am sure or at least bitter. Citrus does that. The trees have a life span of 25-30 years tops. That is if they make it through the canker situation, the cold, and now, another worst deal, if that is possible: greening. Greening, no cure, if you get it, gotta chop it down. It will fail. Nothing to do. All these damn problems that come from elsewheres. I see a mockingbird atop one of the old irrigation sprinklers. I stop and try and capture it. Tricky, light is in front of me directly.
You can see, if you look closely enough, that the sprinkler system pole is actually next to a now dead citrus which is in itself, covered in vines and brush. The death of a life. About half ways down the road I come upon a rancher's home. Nothing fancy like some of the newer ones, but a genuine, real Florida cracker home probably built sometime right after 1920's. It always reminds me of the Cracker home that I lived in up in Taylor County with the same red siding and the tin roof. The difference was that mine had 12 feet ceilings and enough room in the attic to make a whole nother apartment if you so desired. Mine was a much bigger house, but the effects are still the same. I figure that this is the sort of house I would have been living in if I had stayed married and moved south to Arcadia. Ironically, thinking of my latest news, I would definitely have had to give up road cycling due to the lack of paved roads down there and taken up riding a horse. The house itself on this road is surrounded by fields of green grass and cows and horses. The recent rains have turned the then bahia grass from a dried brown to a rich, Kelly green of sorts. Bahia is like that. Almost like a resurrection fern. I then realize that I am getting bit. Sure enough a skeeter has gotten me right about my sock line on my right leg. I can feel the no see ems too around the neck and on my arms. If the rains keep up this way, we'lll have a delightful time with them soon enough. I need to get back on the bike and resume peddling to keep them at bay.
Back on 17th Street I want to take some pictures of the older houses in the city proper. It's almost as though some of the houses were built out of instant inspiration of sorts and almost all before the invention of air conditioning for certs. Most have screened in front porches, as most houses were built with a dog trot for air circulation in the home itself. Nowadays it is almost unheard of to have a screened in front porch, reckoning most folks want that privacy in the back. Having owned a house built in 1923, I know it's hard work to upkeep these old homes. The weather is almost always against you in regards to upkeeps. One must have an ultimate loving desire to hold onto the past to bring these homes into the future. Looking at the streets with the original brick roads is in itself telling. While they paved 17th because it's a majorly used road, it's almost like they stopped on certain streets and the concrete laid down ends like a slop of the bricks like a painter who spilled a can of paint. Wonder if this was done out of lack of funding by the city or at the request of the homeowners to leave the historical aspects well alone. I can't chalk it up as being further away from the Lakefront and being neglected as some of the homes near the Lakefront don't look to hot, but I dont' remember seeing any roads on the other side of 192 that still retain the bricks. So, perhaps it is that they just deemed the further away from the lake, the less worthy? Even going down 17th Street you can see, all the way down, the old concrete thin slabs instead of real curbs. This results in just a 2 inch "curb" of sorts between the grass property and the paved road itself. I wonder if this was a cheaper alternative to real curbs as I've never anything like it, or if perhaps, this was the original curb for the bricks that now lie under the pavement? Some of the houses are beginning really show some wear and tear, even dilapidated to an extent as the original homeowners have long moved out into the outlying areas into newer, more modern homes leaving the old city neighborhood and it's charming houses to the lower working class tenants.
Then I come up to one of the more original, certainly non conventional houses simply because it sports different windows. The windows are the shape of a keyhole!! I kid you not. I don't want to get too close as the homeowner is cutting the grass and there is very little room between the grass and the street, plus I don't want to be too conspicuous that I am actually taking pictures of his house! Still, I have to wonder what in the world were they thinking when they cut out the frames to their windows?? I could elaborate on ideas! Portal keys? Mysteries to be unlocked? Was this an attempt at humor? I just laugh at it and the creativity that must have gone in mind when cutting out the frames. Wonder what it cost if you break a window? Since I know nothing at all about replacing windows, I am stumped on this one, but reckon it must be a whole lot easier now than when they were first put in?
etting back on the bike, I observe as usual, when there is not heavy traffic, the differences in the houses still standing after so many years. St. Cloud is definitely not a "tourist town". It has tried with much determination to disassociate itself from Kissimmee and the Disney World area and pretty much anything that has been dragged in over the past couple of decades in regards to tourism. For the most part, as reflected in the houses and the surrounding area, the town consists of the original Florida Cracker families, namely the Bronsons, Partins, Stevens and Whaleys, then the soldiers and their families that have moved here after the Wars and have given the city the name of "Soldier City, USA", the Snowbirds came next with the Brits, most lf them staying after a few years of going back and forth, then the Hispanics, mostly from Puerto Rico, and the Islanders from Haiti and Jamacia and lastly, the displaced Floridians from elsewhere, coming here for economic reasons. Not exactly a very sophisticated mix, but a whole lot more than North Florida. I am totally fascinated by the history of this town and need to get a book from the local historic society and start reading, or better yet, just borrow one from Kim Stevens Duffy. I've worked with her at Peghorn. She'd know, being a 3rd or 4th generationer. Is that correct terminology?
Right before I reach Vermont, I am forced to stop and unclip and I notice to my wondering eyes, a Jacaranda! The better thing is that it actually has wonderful blossoms on it! I am not sure whether jacarandas are fragrant or not, but their color is the absolutely beautiful shade between purple and blue, being not quite true to either, but to both. Maybe a blue lavender or a purple lavender. I have five in my yard which have never bloomed, but am assured that it takes a good 7-8 years for it to happen. I think it's been 8, but not sure if it makes a difference in whether that counts as from seeds or from little trees. I raised mine from seeds 8 years ago and they are now at least 20 ft. tall. Since I only lost part of the leaves this winter, I might still get lucky? Maybe next year? Once again, the lighting with my camera, the dark overcast and the positioning of the sun makes it hard to get what my eyes perceive color wise. Exasperation! Well, at least I tried and I feel so thrilled to having seen my first jacaranda of the year.
Finishing 17th Street, I head south on Budinger and stop in at Peghorn to see if Kim is in, but she's in a meeting. As I am riding away, I spy something out of the corner of my eye and as bizarre as this may sound, it's a rea live black squirrel. Now, I've never done seen a "black" squirrel in Florida before. I've seen more greys than I've wanted and about 50 fox squirrels, which is rare beyond rare, but this is truly a shocker. I've done been told that they rightly exist here, but I've never had the pleasure. I watch this shy creature scampering to get away from me, so grabbing the camera to get a picture is not doable. He's too quick for me as he runs up the bald cypress. I try videoing him and I hope it will come out. He keeps moving further and further away, going up another cypress, but half way up he stops and peeks out from behind the tree trunk at me. It's like we are both checking each other other out and just watching with pure curiosity. He knows I am staring and he matches my stares back. He is still too timid to make much more else out of his interest and finally runs way up where I can no longer see him. I must have looked a fright to him with my hair, all wild looking, getting long and having the audacity to curl up in this humidity. I have to admit, I had a hard time relating this cute guy to a "tree rat" which I classify the grey squirrels. This was a new experience, a little like the one the other day when I showed up at work and saw this exotic new plant called a "pussy willow". At first I thought it was a "dead" tree with little white lights on it, maybe an Easter thing as folks like to hang things from their trees for Easter in the South. I could not clearly see it as I was standing about 15 feet away. Two exotic things in 2 days. What's next?
I've got 5 miles left to finish to get to my 25. I know we're fixing to have some thunderstorms today, sometime, somewhere as I can feel it coming on. The smell and feel is definitely telling. Tomorrow is calling for severe weather and long storms all day long. On top of that, I've to work both Thursday and Friday to have off on Saturday in order to ride over in Brevard County. I want to ride over the Causeway, never having had the pleasure, and on down to Sebastian Inlet. It's suppose to be the "Perfect Day". Sunny, with highs of 85. I decide to finish my ride with a few loops around the Steven's Plantation. Gives me time to wind down and be introspective for a bit. When I ride, I have the tendency to pick music that reflects on my mood from aggressive (usually when I am anxious about something), to upbeat when I am positive, to melancholy when I am feeling a little blue, but for the most part I like music that flows and allows me to "think" and "fee"l water as if I were on a ship. Thus, I have a tendency to love music that gives me that sense of movement and it can induce throughts of longing for the sea, and excitement of the senses to a total feel of tranquility. I put on my headphones, now safe from the annoying flow of vehicles. There are movements in certain pieces of musical compositions that allow me to feel while riding, the lull of the ship over the water which can be a soft ride or an adventurous one depending on the atmospherical conditions and thoughts running through my mind at any given moment. I reflect. As blue as the sky is though, it is never the same blue as the sea and oftentimes the road itself has too many cracks and shifts to make for smooth sailings. There's never been a ride when I do not at some point, give this at least a 15 minute recognition. This morning I am contemplating what measures to take aside from my diet in relations to my bone frailty. What a shocker! Who would have known? I've got weights for lifting, but I will need to come up with something for the legs and hips. I deplore clubs and gyms, so I am wondering will swimming do? Something I must look into. I just cannot give up cycling. I can't even imagine. It's such a comfort for me; it would almost be like asking me to give up a part of who I am. Maybe when I am older, but right now I need to have the bike and cycling in my life. It doesn't make me, but it has become such as essential part of whom I am that it's simply not a thought that I can process for the time being. These are my thoughts as I finish my final laps. I am home, and it's warm at 87. I've got a rose bush to put in. First one I've ever bought and I wonder, will gardening work qualify as a bone strengthening regime? Only time will tell.
Morning Ride 2 Mar 2011
The smoke had finally cleared the air as I looked out early this morning, observing the clouds and sun from the opened front door. There is a big wildfire over in Brevard County which has been named Iron Horse. The smoke fills the skies and soot falls all over in Osceola County when the winds blow from the East. I looked out, watching the sun fill the eastern sky with a smile on my face. I love the sun. A light, steady wind showed me that the seabreeze was alive and kicking already, briskly blowing, enabling me to shiver when the wind blew through the screened door. My house faces east. If I had nothing in front of my house I could observe every sunrise as it rose in the skies. But, alas. The breeze itself felt slightly cooler than the previous mornings, so I left to go check the weather status online. 60. A little bit nippy after a week of almost 90 degrees. Getting dressed I had 30 minutes to dress, feed and motivate my 8 years old. I reflect that being as it is my only day off, I am already crammed mentally with too many things I wish to get done today. Typical. Apparently not enough thought was made in the length of the day hours. I could use about a 15 hours day. Too many projects, too little time. My first and foremost is to get my ride in this morning. Hurrying around the house, I pick up this and that and grab my cup of orange coffee and head out on the back porch to inhale the intense aroma of orange blossoms which put me asleep last night while wafting through my bedroom windows. The is no finer smell in the world with perhaps the exception of a gardenia. I check out the garden, walking along the rows and feel really good. I finally got no one to bother me on this one. I've done it all myself and I feel absolutely as though it is for the time being my little child in a sense. It's all organic and I can't wait to see the fruition of my labors. The garden is coming along fine, some seeds still have not sprouted, but then we've been in an awful drought now thanks to La Nina. It rained yesterday, finally. They called for big thunderstorms to arrive and we first got a tease, and then a downpour which lasted a whole 10 minutes. Top that with highs in the mid 80's to lower 90's and you've got a recipe for disaster. This is Florida. We get some excellent years, and then some really bad ones. The weather is very fickle here.
Gathering my son and trying to light a fire under his arse is routine. He's a master procrastinator. Getting him actually to the door and out in the morning takes a good 15 minutes of reminders. As we exit the garage, we head out toward Saint Cloud Elementary where he is enrolled in second grade. Ms Besser. He's in the Gifted Program. He never leaves the classroom anymore. The air makes us both shiver. The front moved through yesterday morning with the rain. Oh sure, the thunderstorms came; they just stayed north of here. I think we were lucky if we got 1/2 inch. Thus, now, the air is much cooler and damp which makes us cold. My son remarks that he is happy that I insisted that he put on his jacket. It's a silent observation on my part. Alexander is now at a stage where he's not quite as talkative as once, and he rarely volunteers much information. We pedal quickly, hoping that the workout will warm us. Probably would if the wind was not blowing so much against us as we head east on New Nolte. I take note that the Drake Elms that were bare just 3 weeks ago, now are covered in their pretty green leaves, and even the bald cypress are showing signs of Spring. I love the green, green color of spring against the blue skies. That smell is the most wondrous of all seasons, clean, crisp with a tad bit of warmth thrown in. It's the smell of new leaves, flowers, and freshly cut grass. The smell of the water. Spring is definitely my favorite season and it's absolutely deadpan gorgeous here in Florida. The nectarines and peaches, dogwoods and camellias have already finished blooming, but now we've got the redbuds, tabebuias, azaleas, hibiscus, bottlebrushes and powderpuff bushes going at in full strength. Soon the jacarandas, amaryllis, allamandas, and African Iris will soon follow. We always have something blooming here, reckon that's why Florida is La Florida, Land of Flowers. And sunshine. And monsoons, and droughts. We take life with excitement here. Throw in some peppers and you've got a real salad going.
I look over at Alexander. He's not too happy with the change of weather. He's complaining that it's cold, although he told oh how much he loves skiing. The penetrating damn cold is still noticeable despite the growing sun. I know only too well, that within 30 mins or so, things will start to get very nice. This morning ride is going to be utterly pleasant. About half way to school another child shows up riding and Alexander, never one to pass up a challenge, actually starts to race the other kid. There's no pleasure on his face, in fact, he would not admit to even being remotely aware of the other kid's presence. It's just, the other kid isn't going to get ahead of him. I see that in his face. This motivation from him is good for me because we are now riding quickly and not puttering as most of the ride to school is in the shade and I am so ready to feel ole sun on my body. Arriving at SCE, I give my son a hug and kiss goodbye, tell him to mind his manners, make me proud and help his teacher and then dash down Budinger to 192. Crossing over 192, which always makes my blood pressure go haywire, I've decided that I am going to just do 25 miles afterall, enough time to reflect on things running through my mind, get some exercising done and commune with the Ole Gal about maybe having some pity on us and sending us a nice rainstorm. I ride down Columbia, which was Budinger on the other side, to 9th Avenue where I then turn right. I note, happily, that they've managed to resurface the road and fill in the potholes that were as big as some of the little kids swimming pools. They had become a real triall for my bike. If there is a car passing me, I've got no option but to stop. During rainy season, when the rain literally covers the road, you can have a real dip in the water if you don't remember just where the dagummit pothole is. Rains during monsoon season make it impossible to gauge just how deep some of these nuisances are. Apparently the City got enough complaints.
Turning left onto Louisiana, I ride down to Lake Tohopekaliga, the eastern side, cut by levees in which the other side is over in Kissimmee. The waterfront is teeming with life. We are so blessed here in this part of Florida to have one of the highest concentration of birds in the world. Herons, egrets, cranes, limpkins of all sorts, and then of course, the smaller birds which abound all year round. Today on my ride, I've noticed quite a few red tipped blackbirds. Reckon it must be migratory season. There are still a few killdeers here and there, but they will soon be gone for the season. Killdeers are funny little birds. Watching them is quite entertaining and at times they will actually run in front of my bike, not fly, run for quite a few feet. They are amusing in their displays in pretended injury and will hobble away as though their wing is broken. It's comical to watch their fake attempts at pretending to be wounded.
At the rest area, I realize that it's finally warmed up enough for me to want to remove my outer jersey, and remove my helmet in exchange for headphones. Riding without music can become boring in my case. I am not out there to win a trophy; I am out there to take everything in and thoroughly enjoy my existence. I love the sense of a story movement in my mind, so much in synch with the flow of the wheels under my feet and the wind in my face. My imagination becomes much more colorful, intense and free. I don't get a hundred feet from the rest area when out of the corner of my eye I catch a most delightful sight. At only 8:30 in the morning, a man is out on Lake Toho water kite surfing. I really have no choice but to stop and thoroughly enjoy this entertainment. It is an absolute pleasure, watching someone else enjoying what they like to do with such gusto and joy. Free to the wind. Joy in expression. I also admire his courage as it is a fact that that is some cold water out yonder. I can't help but snap a few pictures here and there, trying to capture the expression of real joy, but all I've got is the cell phone. This is me at my most spontaneous. I go out to do one thing and end up doing something else. So typical of me. I can almost feel the intensity of the guy's joy as he is pulled up by the sail into the air, over and over again. That's got to be one fascinating adrenaline rush going on there. Right as I am about to leave, he loses his board which falls from his feet and splashes into the water. He's forced to swim over to retrieve it I laugh and woop. He waves, I wave. It's a bonding of sort; we both know that each other appreciates a familiarity. He's yelling something at me, but I can't hear him, I remove my headphones but it's hopeless. He motions to me to come down to the waterfront pass the beach. I shake my head negatively, laugh and yell, "maybe next time". He waves as I replace my headphones and clip my cleats into my clips. I give him the thumbs up and take off.
I scan the trail for any possible problems (there are lots of folks out taking in the morning) and I am promptly rewarded with a running buddy. A four legged golden lab, who looks as though he has been harassing the water fowl for a while. He's dripping wet but takes to me and won't let me be. I look around for the owner, but to no avail. Ah, someone's dog got loose. He follows me aside my bike until we reach the end of the trail and then I am perplexed. He can't follow me as I am going out onto Rummell Road, so I enlist the help of one of the construction guys to please hold the dog while I leave. Smelly, wet Fido will eventually find more pleasure in running into the water after the birds, but folks need to be more careful around the lakes here with their dogs. We all know what a gator's best meal is. Either that or a sandhill crane is fixing to put a dent in his hide.
Riding down Mississippi, I turn left onto Rummell Road and stop and snap a few pictures of the gold and pink tabebuias blooming, our premium flowering tree of Central Florida.
I'd love to find a jacaranda with their lavender blue flowers, but I don't think they've done put to bloom quite yet. Next to the house is indeedy a real purple house. The camera doesn't do it justice; it is truly a deep lavender purple, so I reckon this makes up for the lack of jacarandas.
The sign in front of me shows the Narcoossee Route or the East Loop, neither of which I am actually doing and I am wanting to get down the tall Norfolk Pine directly across the street to show our stately Christmas tree of the below the Orlando line of evergreens. We do have Christmas trees, but they have soft needles and they aren't as full as spruces or firs, but they are mighty beautiful if I may say so. Most don't get as tall as their potential due to their breakage from the tops when the mighty canes decide to pay us a visit from time to time. Wonder if they have big storms in the Norfolk Islands?
Further down the road I encounter another problem; the entire bike path has deteriorated and sunk in the side of the road like a caved in depression. As traffic is heavy this morning and folks go a tad bit too fast down this road, I am forced to stop as I have nowhere to maneuver out into the road. Clipping and unclipping is a pain in the arse. I make a mental note to call the city to remify this problem. I am not one for having to deal with this again a month from now and veering into the road is not my top choice as I don't hear well. The rule of the thumb is, if it's not reported and an accident occurs, then the city cannot be held liable. Then I think, they could forget the phone call, so best to put it in writing or an email.
A minute later, I am tempted to stop at the newly developed environmental site, set aside as a preservation area on Lake Runnymeade. I am forced to dismount and unclip and walk through the sandy area since my very teeny tiny thin wheels can't handle anything less than concrete or asphalt. Not that they handle that very well all the time either. Can they make roads like my old high school track? Riding through here is going to force me to bring the hybrid or the Giant VT, which is my son's bike, but seeing that we are both pretty much the same size, shouldn't be too much of a problem. The problem is that, like the two road bikes, the other two bikes also need maintenance. Why my son never rides is beyond my comprehension. He has the perfect body for cycling. My bike now has about 7000 miles on it in 1.5 years and it definitely needs a new chain and a new front derailleur. On top of that, a new rear cassette. Groan. I absolutely don't know what I'd do if my bike broke down completely. So, 4 bikes, all with repairs needing to get done. Maybe I should start maintaining them like some women do jewelry. Think I am too mucn the rough and tumble type.
As I am about the leave the conservation area, I observe a few hikers coming through. I really have a desire to walk through the trails and observe them, but I am too sore pressed for time. I am going to have to put this one on the back burner for a tad bit. Back on Rummell, I head east about another mile and then turn right onto Reflections Cove. Last time I was here a couple of weeks ago, I was forced to ride the roads around the subdivision which is boring and tedious to say the least. It's nice that there is no traffic and thus no interruptions, but still! Two weeks ago the trail around the Lake was closed due to drains, pipes and pumps. Now, I see that those are all gone, but the "Sidewalk Closed" signs still abound. There are 3 of them as I scan the area and make a mental note that they've got to go. No one is here and upon arrival at the first one I observe that the concrete is newly laid, but dry and hard to the touch. As I relocate the first sign on the southern part of the path to greener pasture, I keenly scope out the area and the surroundings as this is now March and the gators get very aggressive and territorial around this time of the year. So far in the last year, I've mentally tagged 9 of these guys ranging from a little 3 feet to one I've dubbed "Old Joe" who looked to be about 8 feet from snout to tip of tail. I even know where each one hangs out and where each little gator hole is in the lake. After hauling the sign to the side, I get back on the bike, adjust my headphones and I being my 10 laps around the Lake already having gotten 7 in, this will give me 12 more before I head back home to finish the final 7. While I love this time of the year for cycling, getting to enjoy the warmth of the sun, the seabreeze which is now not blowing bitter cold air into my face and through my skin chilling me to the bones, the seabreeze can still prove quite challenging for other reasons. It blows vigorously in the winter; in the spring it blows viciously at times. There is nothing worst that having a constant 25 mile wind one way and then nothing the other way. But it brings with it the wondrous smell of spring, the flowers, the groves, that smell off the lake, that peaty, mucky smell all bundled together and thrown in with the fresh scent of grass off the freshly cut lawns. I notice that the bald cypress have started putting out their "leaves" which are a beautiful shade of light green and soft to the touch like a feather. After a rainfall, these trees, with their barks almost a dark brown are extremely breathtaking when viewed in the early springtime. The only other tree I've seen that has an almost similar look is the dogwood. I have not seen a dogwood in bloom since I left North Florida over 8 years ago. I notice too that the Drake Elms are putting out their leaves, but the crape myrtles have yet to do so. I don't reckon it will be until late March when they do with a showing of color in late May. The queen palms are looking quite yellow in this subdivision due to the lack of fertilizing. I see signs of frizzle top already due to a lack of manganese. These palms are literally starving to death. I'm sure the drought isn't helping any.
As I reach the east side of the trail I have to stop again to remove yet another "Sidewalk Closed" sign. As I am moving this big, bulky, heavy piece of metal, while trying to hold my bike up with the rest of my body, I notice this shape in the water, rolling around and it looks like the size of a small beach ball. A dark, bobbing something. Not sure in my surprise what exactly it is, but I am intrigued to say the least. I stop and freeze, but I already am cursing the fact that I made a ton of noise moving the sign. The figure goes under water and disappears. What could it be? I am holding my breath, when about 8 feet in front of me it reappears, a little face looking up and right at me. It's a river otter! Adorable critter, but a nasty temper and worst than a backed up coon. This little fellow may look almost human, but he's got an awful and unpredictable temper. They are aggressive, kinda like cottonmouths; they can come right at ya. Back in November of last year a kid got attacked by a rabid one somewhere around here.
Thus, I am extremely cautious as this little guy has been moving closer to me, now only about 5 feet away. My guard instinct has kicked in and I am all too aware that I am in an area that if something happens, well, I really don't want to have to mess up my bike. The otter continues to display a curiosity that rivals my own and I get back on the bike and pedal a good 30 feet away and then stop and look back. I see him now sneaking across the dyke, looking at me back and forth as he makes a good splash for the water on the other side. What a comical sight; they look like a cross between a waddling duck and a seal when they move, but with more leg power. Of course, my curiosity has just been renewed and I turn around and go back to observe where it has gone, but alas, it is gone somewhere under water. I figure this may have been the same otter that I saw a few weeks ago. Quite frankly, I would not be surprised to meet up with her/him again.
Around and around I go, back on the bike. As I ride, I reflect upon the pros and cons of my psychological profile, or as it is known, typing. My thoughts on this excursion take on a new flow. Personality typing. As an INFJ with ADHD, I wonder just how it all goes together. Most folks I find, have a tendency to type cast too severely. While my personality traits as an INFJ certainly do allow me to be social, and I am, I need, desperately need, my downtime and perhaps my hyperactive need for exercising combined with my desire to cycle alone works out rather well. Of course, there on my ride, my rich imagination tends to gather and process information from the recess of my mind, questions pertaining to human behavior, a curiosity of sorts. The constant "why, why why?". This used to drive my mother crazy at times. That and the fact that my feeling get hurt easily and I have the tendency of just being very selective as to whom I would fully trust with my inner most thoughts. Couple that with my hearing impairment and one could realize, if they think profoundly, just how much I prefer a smaller group in a setting and how much I dislike large, loud crowds. My rambling thoughts this morning are basically an analytical tug of war, of pros and cons, or questioning, how my ADHD, hearing impairment and typing of being an INFJ all comes together. Has one affected one or the other to another degree? Has one or the other made each or one more dominant or less dominant? How does this all fit in with my introverted intuition, my extroverted feelings, my introverted thinking or my extroverted sensing? How does it all come together? Is one a hindrance or a blessing for the others? Sometimes I think that my hearing impairment enhances that awful, and yes, I call it awful because there are somethings you just don't want to be aware of, sense of intuition that tells me more than I want to know or "see". Behavior modification. I've learned how to act accordingly with this combination of intuitiveness and my loss of hearing which makes that sense kick in overtime. For the most part, this little knowledge has aided me in being selective in my choice of friends although I've occasionally not used good judgment and the ending result has been severe disappointment in those whom I have trusted. Doesn't happen often, but it has and that's enough to reinforce this sort of behavior. Good learning experiences, but not without some real trials along the way is how I chalk it up. Hard for me because once I loose that sense of trust, I have a tendency to wipe them clean. It's my sensitivity and my depth of feelings for those relationships and the disappointments in them that have always been a real trial and I have simply learned to basically just severe all ties, mentally and physically. My hearing impairment and my INFJ qualities sort of have a negative spin concerning the extrovert side of me and many people have actually thought that I was a snob! Nothing could be further from the truth. I love to observe people, and while I may have my own opinions and values, I am always interested in hearing others, although I admit to missing a lot in translation. I really just miss so much sometime and add that touch of simply wandering off to enjoy a little solitary bliss, it gets misinterpreted quite often. Don't get me wrong, I do enjoy social functions, just not an overload of them. It is certainly true that I enjoy them much more on a more intimate level of small groups of just one on one. I just get an extreme sensory and mental overload and need my downtime. I gather that this is one of the reasons that cycling, gardening, writing, painting and hiking has always, and will always be among my favorite pastimes. I love reading, but get antsy. Cycling especially, with the love of hearing the music and the consciousness of the wheels spinning under my feet, the sense of constant movement, enhances my introspectiveness in such a way that I feel completely free with my thoughts. The big bonus is that I am outdoors where I love it most. Spinning in the garage, the few times I've tried it, even with the headphones bores me to tears and drives me to frustration. Thus are the ramblings of my thoughts on this day.
On my last lap I stop to take a few snaps of something I've never noticed before. An old fence of sorts. Probably have never seen it due to the high vegetation that normally surrounds the area. Now, why is there a partially remaining fence in the middle of the muck bog betwixt the lakes? I'll probably never know the answer, but it is tantalizing to think of someone walking out here and putting up a fence. Cows? The non natives love to cut down any of the native grasses that grow around water here so their little foo foo dogs don't get attacked my the gators just planning an ambush. I always laugh at that thought. As though a gator could actually plan. If they were smart, they'd simply keep their dogs away from the water, but oh no, the human is way more important and therefore nature must conform for their comfort. Ho hum. Finally, my ride is finished. It's a lot warmer than when I first arrived and I've got tons of stuff that still needs to get done at home. It's going to take a few weeks. Now a single mother with a house to maintain. It's all very scary, but I am determined. Sometimes I feel as though as scary as it is, it will all be worth it. I decide to forgo taking the headphones off going back Rummell. I am enjoying the music too much. When I reach the Lakefront once again on Lake Toho, I take a break and snap a picture of the redbud, a rarity in this area. Fortunately, it's in a good location and will survive the sandy soil and intensity of the sun, being planted in an area where it will receive shade from the Live Oaks in the summer.
Home!
Tallahassee-St. Mark's Ride January 2011
Bike Ride from Tallahassee to St. Marks Florida and Back. Total Miles. 72.
I really needed this bike ride. Needed to get away from the South Central Florida concrete, the noise, the traffic and sometimes, the people. Really, it was too bad since the weather in St. Cloud had finally normalized, being a very nice 83 degrees the day before I left to head North. However, I really needed the woods and especially the ocean. I actually waited until the morning that I left to pack, loosely throwing in my clothes and bare necessities into a duffel bag, not to forget the music of course and the extra winter gear for the cold weather in Leon and Wakulla Counties. Yeah, I knew it was going to be cold. Really cold. Here in St. Cloud is was nice, in the upper 70's; there it would barely be breaking into the lower 50's.
Got my bike up on the car, the kid next to me in the front seat to drop him off at school and lots of sugar and hugs to go along with it. Plus, that daily morning talk for Alexander to mind his manners and help his teacher. Getting to St. Cloud Elementary, I roll the window down and tell Officer Jochen Fougere that if Alexander's any trouble to sort it out. I'll be in Tally. Fougere laughs. This is a long standing story between the two of us.
I stop for gas on the way to work. I have to work for 4 hours before heading out. That done, I head out over to McDonald's for a quick bite, not my favorite, but at least easy to eat on the road while driving. I take the Florida Turnpike North. It's already 12:30 p.m. Traffic isn't too bad. I get to Ocala on I-75 in a little over an hour and there as usual, traffic is bad. The turn from the Turnpike onto I-75 is a little tricky. I've gotten to be a pro at it. I don't like it tho. As I get to the Williston-Ocala exit of 27, I get off. Thankful to be out of traffic and head east. I take 27 Alt to Chiefland where I stop for a sorely needed Mocha Latte with all the bad stuff. A few miles down the road I stop at Fanniing Springs in Dixie County. So far I've gone north through Osceola, Orange, Lake, Sumter, Marion, Levy and Gilchrist. Now I've got Dixie, Taylor, Madison, Jefferson and Leon to finish. It's a long ride. 300 miles.
I take a short stop at the Suwannee River in Fanning Springs and snap a few vids. It's cold. It was 76 when I left St. Cloud. It is now hovering around a damp 42 or something close by. I can feel it to my bones. I get out and check on the bike, use the Lady's Room and walk down the plank to observe any signs of life. There are none. Wow! There is not one single boat on the river today. That's hard to comprehend if you've ever been there. There is usually at least one, but reckon today must have been too trying for folks to get out on the water. So, no Natives to be seen and well, the Snowbirds don't really know about the Nature Coast or old, real Florida. Sometimes I think it must be the remoteness and the too real for them to handle. So, lucky me. I get to sit on the dock and just have the entire scenery to myself, just enjoying the beauty and quietness, the solitude. This is not a given; it's hard to find such a place and only in places like this. Summer, I think. Here it is so green, a lush green in the summer. A green so green that it takes your breath away. I observe the old stone pavement that leads down to the river. Probably not used much anymore except by children having fun. At one time it was the launching area for folks getting on and off their boats, laid down decades ago before the modern plank was installed. I wonder if folks even utilize it anymore? Probably nothing more than a playground for younguns to use their imaginations on. Reaching the bottom of the bank I peer down into the dark, abyss. It's dark today because it's overcast. Not a fish to be seen. I know that is some cold water down there. From down here on the bank I can hear the cars and trucks crossing over the bridge up to the right of me. The old bridge, which is now a historical landmark, lies silently on the southern part of the park, reflecting a sort of green that is a cross between real green and moss green. Well, I've got to be on my ways, so hurry back up to the car and get going northwest on 98. I go through my old town of Perry, the absolute redneck town in the entire world, situated perfectly in the boondocks of Florida. As I go through Perry I notice that the old Perry Package and Liquor store that cause such controversy, racial controversy 10 years ago has changed it's name from the original to Spring Creek something. Come on folks, Spring Creek is another town yonder down in Wakulla County. Try again, please? Now, going through Perry, which is also known as the Forest Capital of the US, I noticed that I did not see one, not a one, single logging truck. Wow! Not one. That in itself is weird and unheard of. Usually I have to fight them for right of the road. I did see something that sort of made me pause; a big ole Johnny Reb flag flying outside a county park next to the old Cypress Sawmill. Some things never change.
Down the road I go. Through Lamont in Jefferson County, Waukeenah and finally reaching Leon County, home, at around 4:45 p.m. I am really flying by the seat of my pants. I hate 5:00 p.m. rush hour in Tally. It is the one single thing that I surely do not miss. As I cross the Leon County line and go over the St. Marks I make a mental note, "Home Again, Home Again". It's COLD! Although it's still green, it's a lot more bare than Central Florida and the palms here look like they've taken a severe beating; even the Sabal Palms. I am sure the camellias, azaleas and dogwoods will love this weather come Spring, but the tropicals are surely on their last legs. After last year's winter and this one so far, it's hard to be optimistic
I get to the old folks home and leave the writing for a rest here. Going to go eat Japanese and spend some time with them. Tomorrow's a big day. I've got me a ride planned out.
Saturday morning. I wake early. Lie in bed. Took a few pics. I am a sleepyhead this morning.
As I am preparing for the ride I take a quick stop at the restroom and notice that the Florida National Guard obviously is having their training weekend out here. They must not see too many cycling chicks around here at this time of the year and my keen observation takes in the looks of amusement, grins and applause as one soldier ask "how many miles today?" and I yell "around 72"!". Woo Hoo! I am off and still mentally noting that it is bloody hell cold!
Where are my fingers? Where are my toes? The only reason I know that I still have them is because they are screaming in severe shock and I can feel horrid bites of awful hot pain. As pretty as the woods are, I find it hard to keep my mind off my aching digits which are yelling for my attention. In the woods now, my thermometer reads a whopping 23 f. As crazy as it may appear, this only makes me more determined and I put on my headphones and start singing. Horrid singing, but still, it's sort of inspirational to say the least. It gets me going. However, I've got to wait until I get pass Woodville. I wouldn't want to distract those late sleepers though I have to admit it would be amusing. Speaking of going through Woodville and the surrounding area; I get that wonderful rift of burning hardwoods, brush and barbecue, not to mention the smell of smoked mullet going. Oh Lordy. All that early in the morning for a day's preparation. Somethings you really miss.
I notice about 10 miles into the ride that the pavement widens. This must be where they decided to stop. This is nice. Kinda like the West Orange Trail. I am at the Leon County-Wakulla County Line.
I notice that they are installing restrooms along the way. I stop and take a picture of this old house that I often wonder about. Who lived there, what happened to them. I like thinking about living in places like this in the days of no a/c and no heat. Hard nut to crack to say the least.
My toes, unfortunately, are still smarting. Powerfully wicked I would say. The mind is a wonderful thing in times of sheer determination. By the time I reached the "cairn" of some one who died, they finally started thawing out.
I also noted the vast amounts of limerocks laying around and took a few snaps of them too.
I snap a few pictures of the final ending of the trail as now I am pleasantly thawed out and absolutely enjoying what I would call a "fine Fall day". I have not encountered a single soul south of Woodville and I am all the more happy for this.
I have reached St. Marks, aka, Port Leon for some reason which eludes me. I stop, dismount, take a few pictures and have a good look around. Nope, nothing's changed and that is absolutely awesome. There are some places that are so dear to the soul that you'd cry if they made a little blooper in that perfect world of theirs. They may not know what they've got, but once you're gone and see what's out there, you know exactly what I mean. Some places are so unique in their oddity that you're just happy when nothing changes much. Nostalgia. Call it greed maybe. I don't right care. It's a perfect place. I think.
Small towns like Aucilla, Newport, St. Marks, Panacea, Sopchoppy, Carrabelle, and Eastpoint. They are historical fishing towns. They are poor. They are also a way of life that too often falls prey to the greedy developers, be it oil or just your "fix me up town for vacations". I hope it is something I never get to see in my lifetime. More isn't necessarily better. After a brief analysis of my surroundings and who is open for lunch, I make a mental note to come back and get some food. Grab a couple dozen oysters and some smoked mullet.
I now head west over to San Marcos de Apalache Historic State Park.
We like to call San Marcos de Apalache the "Forgotten Citadel of the Gulf". It's in such a far, remote place, that it rarely has visitors, but it's a gem. Maybe it's a good thing that it doesn't get all that foot traffic. Speaking of which, walking through the area with my cleats on and being pretty much below sea level got my feet all wet. My socks were soaked. I can only take my bike in so far, and then reside to leave it behind, nestled under a live oak and take the historical tour. As I reach the end of the self walking tour, I go through the little hammock and there is the clear view of both the St. Marks and Wakulla Rivers. I stand and watch for a few minutes, the fishermen going out for the Saturday afternoon of relaxation. I remember those days. Long gone now. These two rivers meet right to my direct left and form down to empty in the the Gulf of Mexico. This is a fine place for launching your boat; you engine flushes itself out on the way back and one less chore to do when you get home. Then I look around and notice something. Behind me is the same ole tree that I once sat up on and ate lunch with my oldest son who must have been around 2 or 3 at the time. It is now a beautiful bone white, dead and bleached out from the sun and weathered storms. 20 years ago. Time. Time.
I snap a few more pics of the water and the sky that I find hard to resist. The memory of sitting in that tree is still quite vivid. A picnic with my son. I wonder if he would remember it? My son, Andrew, just turned 25 on the 24th of this month. No more a wee baby and just a little younger than I was when I brought him here. My secret place. Now he has a little girl who will be a whole year old in March. I snap a few more pics and then head to town for the long anticipated feast of raw oysters and smoked mullet.
Now, back on my bike heading to eat, I can say for certs, raw oysters I can get at Lee and Ricks in Orlando. It's a drive, but well worth it. I'd rather just get a bushel, take them home and shuck them, but smoked mullet? No way. I have to come South (pun) for that one. Leaving my bike outside the restaurant, I enter the little eatery and order myself two dozen oysters, and an order of smoked mullet dip. Of course, I also need a cup of sweet tea and it's too cold for the iced one, so hot, sweet tea is wonderful. My oysters are gone quickly. I am ravished by now. Half ate on crackers with horseradish and Louisiana Hot Sauce and the other just outta the shell. I then finish my dip. Food of the Gods. I make small talk with the waitress and observe the fishing boats going in and out of the dock and area. Quiet. Nice. Snap a few more pictures for my pleasure. Reckon it's time to get moving and take a short ride around town, watching carefully, to mind the oyster shells and sand lying in the road. I don't need a mishap now. Having too much fun.
After a little more exploration, I head back to the State Trail , going north to Highway 98, aka the Coastal Highway. I ride about 4 miles north until I hit 98 and then head east. 2 miles down the road I am going over the St. Marks River and into the extremely small town of Newport. Where anyone lives can be left to the imagination, but it's a town all right. Just out of sight. I cross over the St. Marks and snap a few pictures of the river I've canoed upon a many times. I reminiscent of my youth, trips taken not just of this river, but also the Wakulla and Aucilla. The larger than life limestone rocks, the crystal clear waters, the humongous garfish and the occasional manatees swimming gracefully under our boats and canoes. These lumbering creatures are so graceful it's just a sheer pleasure to observe them. We fondly call them "sea cows". It's maddening to see the ones with the awful scars on their backs from boat propellers, the fools that don't observe the No Wake zones and the like.
After crossing the bridge, there is my turn, SR 59, aka Lighthouse Road. I see the old man across the ways and make a mental note to stop over and buy my annual jar of tupelo honey. This old fellow is almost a landmark. He's been selling his tupelo honey and mayhaw jellies for as long as I can remember. I want some jelly but have no place for it. Only a little bit of room for a jar of honey. Got a thing for honey. A bad thing. Very few things taste as good as a spoonful of honey. The old man remembers me. I am always so amazed at how many folks remember me. I got an old black woman in Jefferson County who knows I'll be coming in for her homemade pecan pie and she'll call me by name "Ms. Robin's here for her pie". Almost like clockwork. I am going to miss getting this jar of Mayhaw. I'll mentally kick myself for a day or two, but what to do? I say my farewells, tell him hopefully be back in a few months before monsoon season sets in. He knows it all. I've been a regular now for quite some time. Crossing back on 98 I take a few snaps and then head down 59.
Highway 59, Lighthouse Road, it's 3.5 miles to the Park Entrance. The road has no bike lane, but thankfully it has very little in the way of vehicle traffic too. However, the road has horrible buckling from the intense heat in the summer and the frigid cold in the winter. This stretch of road is in full smack of it's elements. The tree line is too far back. It isn't that there are cracks or potholes; it's just the constant grooves and ridges you can't get away from drive you a little bit to aggravation. My suggestion? If you feel a headache coming on before this road, avoid it. If you get one while on it, do your best to dodge the mess, and be happy you don't have to worry so much about the cars, trucks and boats. At almost 4 miles down the road I flash my badge and enter the St. Marks National Wildlife Refuge Area. Or Management Area. Beautiful. At this area it is moss covered live oaks and Sabal Palmettos. They do a good deal of controlled swamp burning here as is evident from looking at the black scars along the sabal palms. I ride my bike up to the Visitor's Center. I am on a quest. There is something that I am looking for. Something very, very special, in fact, so special that nothing else will do and if I don't find it, I'll be very desolate. It's been on my mind now since August 2010. I park my bike and enter the establishment and the Park Ranger with a big smile comes up to me and says "welcome back!". Well, I am a little taken aback, perhaps confused, but the face does seem so familiar to me. Now, knowing what I know, I hope when he reads this report he will get a good laugh from it. But back before spilling the beans. I am caught now between amusement and confusion. It's a rather perplexing situation to be in. Makes you think. If you know me, you'll know I will laugh too. However, I've got something on my mind. I look at the Park Ranger in all earnest and tell him what I am looking for and he stops for a moment to think and then breaks out in a wonderful smile and says "I think I have exactly what you are looking for". As we walk to the back he tells me that he remembers me from when I was last there in August. I am floored. I am flattered. I am still, confused. LOL. Not admitting to that tho, so I play along. He leads me to the back, where there is a glass cabinet and there, right there is exactly what I've been searching for. And more. I buy one of each. 2 lighthouses. One of St. Marks, and one of St. George. Lighthouses of my youth. St. George Lighthouse is on St. George Island in Franklin County. This is a very special present for a very special person. I purchase both of them and then was presented with the dilemma of where to put them? The Park Ranger, whose name I still do not know, says that he has just the thing for me and goes back to his office only to come back with one of those nice canvas bags in which not only can I put the two delicate lighthouses, but also my honey. Strapped to my back perfectly. What a great man! I thank him profusely and get back on the bike to head down to the lighthouse. Down the long wooden ramp I go and toward the lighthouse, my destination. It's about 11 miles south of here. Now I begin to snap pictures here and there. The road is wonderful, no more bumps, grooves or ridges, the cars slowly going by and doing what I am doing; observing. I can smell the air from the Gulf of Mexico. It is that saline. It is that clean. It is that familiar. It's a gorgeous day, a little nippy, but now having warmed up to around 57 or so. Although it's not quite as green and lush as it will be in two or three months, it is still an awesome place to see, view birds, especially the migratory ones, the wildlife and the natural flora. The marsh grasses in the estuaries and bayous are all now that caramel colored brown, but there is still that rustic beauty to enjoy. The road, now winding and curving makes for a most leisure ride. No hurries, just breathing in, enjoying, reveling in how lucky I am to have the chance to be here. I lucky I am that I get it.
About 3 miles, maybe less, once you get pass a certain curve in the road, before you reach the coast, you can get glimpses of the Lighthouse between the trees. I stop and try and get some pictures of her from afar. As I ride along, taking in the vivid blues which are almost startling between the contrast of the skies and the water with the browns in between and the occasional flock of white egrets, herons, and ibis, I think to myself as I often have in the past; this is just the perfect place to bring a book, a picnic and relax the day away. I park my bike and take in the panoramic view of the area as I get closer and closer to my destination.
I try various shots. It's not easy with the lighthouse being so close to the water, and the camera certainly not of anything to write home about. Eventually I lie down in the grass, get down in the water and take a stroll down the beach to get better shots of her. I gaze up from below and feel like I am no in love with this scenery, this moment that it is almost too much to take in all at once. One must digest little bits of what one is seeing.
I walk down to the shoreline to fulfill my next quest. I drop to my knees and begin to dig, to fill up my jar with the sand from this place. It's almost sanctifying. Not sure that is the correct terminology, but it will have to do for now. It's a spiritual quest of sorts.
I may lose my hearing completely one day, but I'll never forget the sound of the ocean. After filling the jar with a little bit of "beach", I walk this short area and take a few more pictures, observe the long gone pier, wondering which storm it was that did this one in? Was it bad ole Dennis, or one before? I take in the angle of the sun in the sky and realize that I am fixing to have to leave. I don't want to, but folks are depending on me to be somewhere later in the day and I've got around 30 some miles to finish.
Keep telling myself, going to have to leave. I think about how coming here has become an annual ritual of sorts. I reluctantly get back on my bike and mentally say my farewells. If not verbally, at least as directly as I can do as my eyes take in the keen, tranquil blues of the Gulf before heading north. One long breath. I never say "goodbye", only "see you later". The sea. My first love. A terrible thing indeed. Absolutely terrible. Up and off I go, not, never looking back for I almost believe if I do, I may turn around. I need to get back to Tallahassee. Why torture myself? On the ride back, I can't help but keep taking in the natural beauty, knowing it will be sometime before I come here again. Cars pass me, stop and folks with wonderfully expensive cameras are everywhere. I can't blame them. It's the Perfect Day.
Occasionally I get lucky as get be in winter time in North Florida and see some of the natives come out to sun themselves. In all honesty, I've never seen as many gators in Florida as I have in North Florida. However, I am perplexed to what they think of these last two winters, not that gators do much thinking anyway.
As I leave the Park Area I snap a few pics of the flats, estuaries and bayous. I want to stop at the Visitor's Center and catch the Ranger's name. It's been nagging me now.
When I reach the Visitor's Center, I am determined to get this Park Ranger's name. I think, "what a job to have". Two jobs I'd love; State Park Ranger or Florida Marine Patrol. Hard jobs to come by at any rate. Still, just saying. Arriving at the boardwalk, I go up, riding my bike to the door and then parking. I reenter the building and immediately engage the Park Ranger in the conversation whereas I explain that I'll be doing a riding report and would he mind me getting his name? He doesn't give me his name, but hands me two of his business cards which, since I am in a hurry, shove into my back pocket and thank him once again for the nice exchange we had this day. I make a parting joke about how much I would give to have his job in which he replies that it's the best job he's ever had. I wish I had looked at the card before shoving it in my pocket. That comes for later on in the report. But, I surely wish I had.
I get back on the road, the road that turns bumpy and rickety as soon as I exit the Management Area. The sun is sitting lower in the sky to my left. I am making mental notes as to the time. I am pretty good at telling time by the sun's position. Exiting the road from hell, I get back on 98 and head west. I pass over the St. Marks River again and take in at the top looking down, pictures of folks doing some fishing, some just hanging out. In the summer the river is full of youngsters on the bridge and over the easement trying to just keep cool from the hot summer weather. Now, there are only a handful, and wearing a lot more clothes than I am used to seeing here. I observe the oyster bar, Ouzts Too. Old place I've done stopped at a few times. Been so long, and this is a new one. There used to be another Ouzts, but it burned down and this one popped up a few years back. I can remember frequenting this place during the Fall and Spring, but never in the Winter to my knowledge. Don't know why? They probably have some good white mullet roe in there. No time to stop. http://www.ouztstoo.com/ I get back on the bike, head down the end of the bridge and wave to the old farmer, yelling, "see ya in a few months". Make a mental not to myself to make sure I stop here next time around. Riding on 98 this trip has actually been very pleasant. Summertime, this road is full of trucks hauling fishing vessels of all sorts back and forth between Steinhatchee and Port St. Joe. The worst time of the year for riding on this road is definitely July. I've seen some crazy passing on 98 during the summer season. Very few things scarier than coming around the bend and seeing a 350 Ford hauling a big ass boat while passing. Nice wear and tear on your tires. However, now in the Wintertime, us natives kinda chill out and move a lot slower. We like our water temperature a tad bit warmer.
I now arrive back at the State Trail not shortly after. One of the funniest things I'd ever seen on 98, since we are on the subject of roads, was about 2 years ago when I was just leaving St. George Island, way early in the morning, headed back to St. Cloud. A long trip, good 400 miles. As I turned the bend, not too far from where I was just riding, I done happened upon a big, giant dead buck in the road, then I observed a rather nice sized dead black bear on the side of the road and then a jolly group of good ole boys, some with hunting rifles and no less than three sheriff vehicles. Reckon they weren't letting anything go to waste. They done set themselves up a little camp and I mean literally, had a little canopy tent up and were helping themselves to coffee and donuts. I kid you not. Alexander and I were laughing too hard. Waste not, want not. Only in Wakulla County and a few more I can think of. Early butchering party of sorts. Why not coffee and donuts? That's one mental picture I know I'll always keep with me. Surreal. I'll tell ya another funny story happened down over in Panacea one morning on 98. My parents and I were headed down to St. George to work on house before impending storm and we passed a house where a black bear was drinking out of the birdbath in the front yard at around 8 in the morning. 98 is a pretty road I'd say. She winds and turns, up and down and hugs the Gulf of Mexico sometimes you'd know that if you didn't pay right attention you'd end up in her. I used to race my old 1972 Cutlass Convertible down this road. It had a 400 in it and there was none of that stalling stuff. It took off like the devil when I stepped on the gas. But bears, man, they've done gone plum crazy on this road and elsewhere if I understand it all. There are the constant signs along 98 and even on the State Trail to be aware of them. At night in the summertime, it's really spooky like. You'll turn the bend and it's pitch black and all you'll see if the reflection of light beaming off their eyes. Black nights, black roads, black bears. Not a good combination. Not so worried about them at this times of the year.
On the trail now, I want to snap a picture of one of the new rest areas that they are putting in. Originally, there was a rest area at the beginning of the trail in Tally, then one about half ways down and then one at the end in St. Marks' provided you rode your bike over to the Old Fort. Here is what they look like. I think I saw about 4 all together.
I felt that original was pretty convenient, the trail only being about 20 miles each way. Now, apparently there is one about every four miles from what I have observed. Wonder if it must be the close proximity to the Capital, having that political clout or just remnants of Southern Hospitality? Maybe it's even because it's the oldest? Who knows? All I know is that the Van Fleet State Trail which runs from Polk, through Lake and then Sumter is suppose to be the longest trail in Florida and certainly much more rural per se than the Tallahassee- St. Marks Trail. The Van Fleet which can start in Auburndale really has it's trail head in Polk City which has no restrooms. It does have one about 12 miles into the ride. Then there is another at the end of the trail up in Mabel. The water at the Van Fleet has a lot of sulfur and leaves a lot to be desired. Haven't tried the ones on the trail here. The Tallahassee-St. Marks Trail is starting to sport a rather snazzy approach with all the necessities to keep the urbanites happy in their quest with Mother Nature. Why do I suspect that soon they'[ll have a bike shop and ice cream stop? Okay? That may be pushing it, although I can vouch, knowing the heat index here in the summer that someone could make a killing doing that one. Sweet Tea and water alone would make more than one cyclist a happy camper when it's well over 100 with 100% humidity on a hot July day. You can even fry an egg on the pavement here.
After I stop and take a pic of one of the new rest areas, my hand happens upon the Park Ranger's card. Out of mild curiosity I pull it out to glance at just whom I was talking with. Holy Mackerel! My jaw literal drops open and I start laughing in absolute disbelief! I can't believe whose name I am looking at! Right there, in front of my face is the name of Barney Parker! I am laughing so hard that a cyclist passes me and yells "good news?" Too funny! Barney Parker was my 10th grade biology teacher. My last encounter from memory was of me having a hissy fit in his class because I refused to dissect the poor wee little froggy. I even pulled the "I'm not doing it based on religious grounds" scenario. I won, but I am sure I was quite an annoyance to Mr. Parker although he apparently has taken it all in good humor. Mr. Parker was one of my favorite, if not favorite teacher, He always smiled and laughed and had an awesome sense of life. Extremely excited, I pull out my cell phone and dial the number on the card. Mr. Parker answers and I just say "Mr. Parker, do you know who this is?" and he replies, "yes, this is Robin Henningsen". I start a little pow wow dance right there on the trail. This is too good to be true! It reminds us just how small our world has become. Mr. Parker tells me that so many people come in and out and recognize him but he rarely recognizes them, but here I am, in quite a few times, all the while getting the nagging feeling that I know this man, but never truly recognize him, but he's always known who I was! The tables are turned and it made him feel good! I'll say, Mr. Parker does look smashing for his age! I tell him thus, and let him know that this day and ride has been awesome and I'll always remember that he helped me on this quest today. I tell him that he is on my Facebook and I hope that he'll read my report. I am gonna tag him for it. After a few more exchanges we say our goodbyes because I am surely out of town and I know I've failed on my timing. Not that I am rushing anywhere for anything of significance, but I promised folks to be somewhere at a certain time. I make the call that I am running late. Ah. Life will go on, the sun will come up tomorrow and if it doesn't we won't know any the better.
If I thought nothing could go wrong, I was sorely mistaken. The next to impossible thing does happen. I have 12 miles left on this ride, the sun is slanting through the pine trees to my left, it's a really nice afternoon, there aren't too many folks on the trail and then it happens. I realize that I am literally starving! Great. At this point, the music isn't even being inspirational and apparently everyone in Wakulla and Leon Counties along the trail have the same game plan for this Saturday afternoon. Barbeque. With the smell of roasting meats surrounding me, I know it's only a matter of time before I bonk in which this literally happens with 6 miles to go. I am riding slow now. This is when the bike ride doesn't quite count as entertaining anymore; now it's become a sort of "I wasnt this to be over already" mentality. I want food and I feel like Tantalus. My mouth is watering and food is becoming a rather obsessive thought. Can't these folks stop til I get through town? LOL. My legs become at this point, almost at a revolt point, practically protesting! Not from pain, but from starvation! It's amazing my stomach didn't start cramping.
I finally reach the end of my ride and note that I've done a little over 72 miles today. With food and a longer day, perhaps later in Spring, early Summer, and no appointment requirements waiting for me, I could easily do another 50 or so, but now I am out of energy and time now, and so I shelf that plan for another ride. I ride my bike over to my Sebring, mount it on the rack, take off my cleats, now full of sand and look back at the Trail and whisper, "see ya soon".
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)