January 17, 2016
Operation Get the Hell Out of Florida
We're not prepared for this.
We haven't done any riding since our last long-distance cycling adventure came to its unexpected end back in July. I don't say this in one of those humble-bragging kind of ways people sometimes use, where it's like, I've hardly ridden at all in the last six months, just a few hundred miles. When I say that we haven't done any riding, I mean not a single mile between us. Not even half a mile, which you could round up to one if you wanted.
Last week, after replacing the garbage rear wheel I had to buy last year while we were in Australia, putting on new brake pads, and adjusting all the cables, I took my bike on a test ride. This involved going down a near-flat driveway, doing a few short loops on an empty suburban street, and then coasting straight back into the garage. That was the start and the end of my cycling. Kristen has also ridden a bike only once since July. It wasn't even her bicycle; she was trying out an old Bianchi road bike she borrowed from her sister. That bike has far narrower tires than what Kristen is used to. This threw her balance out of whack and meant that she made it only as far as the end of the driveway, where she crashed into the thick middle section of a stubby little tree and decided to call it a day.
"Are those leaves in your hair?" her mom asked when Kristen walked into the kitchen a few moments later.
We're not prepared, but we're going anyway.
Three days from now we're getting dropped off at the airport in Los Angeles, flying to Dallas, flying again to Jacksonville, then heading north using one of those shared van services, the kind where you sit in silence, stare out the window, and try to ignore the boring conversations being had by the tourists sitting in the rows of seats both in front of and behind you. We'll end up at a cheap hotel on Amelia Island in the small city of Fernandina Beach. The next morning we'll go to the closest UPS Store, pick up the bikes we shipped there a couple of weeks ago, and put Operation Get the Hell Out of Florida into action.
People like to complain about Florida, but that's not entirely fair. It has the Keys, the Everglades, comfortable winter weather, beautiful beaches, and Cuban food. It's home to manatees, panthers, so many migratory birds, and even the skunk ape. It's the only place on Earth where alligators and crocodiles co-exist in the same habitat. And every spring thousands of Floridians get together at the state line and throw a giant party that centers on flinging dead fish into Alabama. There's a lot to like. But as far as riding bicycles, Florida's about as pleasant as dysentery. I know; I spent fourteen days cranking all the way through it on a long cycling trip five years ago. It's full of traffic, packed with houses and condos and strip malls, camping is only a little less expensive than hernia surgery, and just about every road is busy, shoulderless, or both. One minute you're looking out at the thousands of shades of blue and green reflecting back at you from the Atlantic Ocean. The next you're taking a pickup truck mirror in between the shoulder blades.
Almost as soon as we arrive in Florida we'll be gone. What modest hopes we have include heading north into Georgia and then west, through the empty back roads, tiny rural towns, and quiet fields and forests of Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana. Within a few weeks we'll hit the eastern edge of Texas. We might make it all the way across and push on farther. We might not. It could turn out to be too cold or too wet. Work demands could come up and take us away from the road for a few days or maybe away from it altogether. We could end up with diabetes from drinking sweet tea every day. We might find ourselves pedaling alongside a bayou in the failing light of a warm winter evening and decide, Yep, this is it, we're settling down forever right here.
We have ideas of where we want to go and how long we want to be on the road, but don't confuse these for firm plans. All we're really sure of is that we're going to spend our days outdoors, ride as little or as much as we feel like, and sleep with the birds and the foxes and the inchworms. We'll pay close attention to what's in front of us, keep a short horizon, and take it from there. That I'm sure we can handle.
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