March 18, 2025
1: southernmost point, pandora and baryshnikov, a fresh breeze, my brother, the wall, emergency campsite
Key West to Big Pine Key
I don't know how many years people have been starting their journey from the "Southernmost Point of the Continental USA," but I've been wondering about whether it's the actual southernmost point. The area with a question mark is called Whitehead Spit. Why aren't people starting there? Take a look:
Not wanting to waste time this morning, I actually did some exploring yesterday to find out how to get there.
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4 weeks ago
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After eight posts, you're finally going to start riding with me. It's time.
As inevitable as a giant zit on a first date, it's going to happen. I know it's going to happen but, even so, I'm never ready for it, and the Pandora's Box of Doubts slips in through the side door of my mind. "What was I thinking?!?!?" and "You're way to old to be doing this," and "You're so out of shape this is going to be rich!"
A glance in the mirror would tell me I'm gradually losing the fight against gravity, and I look like a Mark Bingham wax figure in Madame Tussaud's Wax Museum after she didn't pay her cooling bill.
I stand there straddling my bike, 4,000 miles of road ahead.
In 2009, I had the good fortune of seeing Mikhail Baryshnikov dance in Chicago. For those of you who are unfamiliar with him, he was the world's premier ballet dancer in the 1970s-1980s. At the time I saw him, he was 61 years old and, after leaping over tall buildings and landing on the same knees for fifty years, he was no longer able to perform at level he had decades previously. His dance was spellbinding: he did a pas de deux... with himself. There was a 35-foot projection of him in his twenties, at his peak, and Baryshnikov's dance partner was a video version of a young Mikhail. However, when he tried to imitate his 22-year-old self, he simply couldn't. He even stumbled a couple of time, intentionally, I'm sure, but he made his point: he was older, and unable to do the same leaps and spins. Nearing the end, what made the show so impactful was when, after a particularly disastrous attempt, he stopped, put his fists on his hips and watched his younger self dance for about 15-20 seconds. Then he raised both fists and extended his middle fingers. The projection stopped, and he danced alone, beautifully.
I didn't think about Baryshnikov until later. Astride my bike, about to start, what I did do is call upon my sixty years of bicycling experience, and remembered that if I place my foot on the pedal and press on it, it will propel the bike forward. I found that the universe's laws of physics were, fortunately, still in place. I then recalled that I'm on a BIcycle, with two pedals. So I pressed on the other one and glided forward...
... and it was smooth, painless, and utterly joyful.
At that point, I realized, it didn’t matter if I don’t complete this trip, because right now, ten seconds into this tour, I’m having fun.
And that’s all that matters.
<<>><<>>
I knew about the prevailing winds, and have also been keeping an eye on the weather, so I expected to have a headwind the first day. What I didn't expect was the force of the wind. If you recall from an earlier post, I euphemistically described my physical conditioning as being "woefully out of shape." It's way worse than that, but unless I want to spend $400 on a hotel I need to ride 38 miles to my campground. Fortunately, I prepared for the headwind by sitting on my ass in front of a fan and swearing, so mentally I'm good. Physically, though, I'm screwed.
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If you look at a map of the Keys, you'll see a bike path from Key West to Key Largo. At times, it's not even on the same road as the cars, using older roads. However, if you look a bit closer you'll then notice gaps in them. It's tricky, because you never know how far you'll make it down one of them, only to find out you have to turn around.
The picture above is one such bike path, an older highway on the right. I rolled through the open gates and eventually came upon some construction workers. Unnoticed, I started slipping around the right side to continue past them.
...and almost made it.
Surprised, one of them said "Hey, brother, you can't ride here. The gate's locked."
"But I just pedaled past it," I countered, sure he'd understand that because it was unlocked I can continue all the way.
"Sorry, brother, we're working on it. It'll be closed all summer." He talked another half minute, calling me "brother" at least 4-5 times.
Ultimately, there was nothing for me to do but turn around and backtrack.
Oddly, calling me "brother" made it better.
As I was leaving, another worker shook his head and mumbled in my direction, "What were you thinking?"
"I was thinking that I'd prefer not to die at the hands of a drunk guy driving a motor home or pulling a boat that's swaying back and forth."
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At 30 miles, I hit The Wall, or at least a wall. My legs felt leaden, and my brain felt soft and squishy, with difficulty concentrating. The wind really was brutalizing me today. I considered stealth camping, but in the Keys there's not much but thick overgrowth, rocks, or swamp. And, of course, there are these guys:
So, I pressed on, my pace going slower and slower.
In case you didn't know, if you're on a bicycle and need a place to camp for the night, there's a Florida law requiring all of their state parks to accommodate bicyclists if they need a camping spot, even when the campground is full. I actually called several months ago to make a reservation but Bahia Honda State Park was already booked solid.
When I pulled up to the entrance a short, wiry guy with a face that looked like it had been chiseled from granite came out. He was in his 60s, or maybe even older, wearing the long-sleeve, short pants uniform of a Ranger, looking as if this was actually a second job, his first being a competitive alligator wrestler.
"Can I hepya?" he asked.
"I'm looking for a campsite."
"We got a campsite for ya," and ushered me around the corner to the office where another Ranger awaited.
The second Ranger, unlike the first, had features which seemed less chiseled from granite and more like he was put together with putty and a putty knife. He repeated questions ("Is this your first time to this park?") and had a dullness behind his eyes which matched his intellect.
"Name?"
"Mark."
His brow furrowed, as if I'd just asked him to clarify a quantum physics equation.
"Can you spell that?"
"M... A... R... K..."
"Okay, got it...... M?"
"Right. M.... A."
"M. A."
"M. A. R."
"M. A. R."
And so it continued for 60 seconds. When he asked me for my last name I sighed inwardly.
"B..... I..... N..... G..... H..... A..... M....."
"B?"
And so it went.
We then went to my address, which was equally painful. At the very end, he asked me for my ID, and I wondered why he didn't just ask for that first and copy it, but I guess that would've taken all the fun out of the experience.
The charge for this dry campsite with no electricity and no water was $48.00. I knew I would still be charged, but didn't realize it would be so much. At that point, I just wanted a place to lay my head.
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I was surprised that my average speed for the day was as high as it was (9.5 mph). It's probably related to the excitement of the first day and the assistance of large trucks blowing past, temporarily eliminating the headwind. And, of course, my training with the fan.
When I got to my campsite I really needed to rest. I ate part of a giant chocolate chip cookie I'd saved from Key West, then threw down my groundcloth and put my head on my handlebar bag. Then, I did absolutely nothing. Unable to put a noun and a verb together, I emptied my brain until there was a vast void.
When my brain was as vacant as my eyes, some words floated up... "Can you spell that?" and I wondered if I should apply for work as a Ranger.
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"Burflemorpecklerishkorn. Yah. Shebyorphle."
2 weeks ago
The cookie helped, and after about 15 minutes I gathered myself and started setting up camp. There was no grass, and the site only had the hard gravel pictured below. I say "hard gravel," but it was apparently small shards of glass, each one individually painted to look like gravel, because I was unable to walk on it even with a ground cloth and tent floor between it and my skin. I stepped very gingerly, and filled up my sleeping pad immediately. I was unable to use my tent stakes and had to use my bike to hold the rainfly flap away from the tent.
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3 weeks ago
<<>><<>>
Just a reminder:
If you're tired of checking to see if that lazy bastard has posted anything, all you need to do is create an account with CycleBlaze. When you do, there's a box to check that you'd like to receive emails from people you follow. Click yes, then go to any one of my entries and click on the green "Follow" box at the top.
Today's ride: 39 miles (63 km)
Total: 39 miles (63 km)
| Rate this entry's writing | Heart | 14 |
| Comment on this entry | Comment | 6 |
FWIW, I find that the pre-tour portion of journals is often one of the most informative/interesting portions. It gives you a chance to look inside the mind of the author and see what their motivation/goals/values are that makes them think riding a bicycle across the country is a worthwhile endeavor. Or maybe I'm just saying this because I tend to write a lot of pre-tour stuff myself.
1 month ago
4 weeks ago
If I can do it, ANYone can do it!
4 weeks ago
1 month ago