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".
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