Sun, Sea And A Summer Storm In January

Since I've come to Florida, I think I've seen every kind of weather one can find when the temperature is above freezing.  Today, I thought I was entering a path of sunshine.

Light and warmth threaded through those tree limbs and filled the sky as I rode the Lehigh Trail, which begins about two kilometers from my parents' house and extends for five kilos to Colbert Road, which leads to SR 100 and the bridge to Flagler Beach.

There are few things in this world that I love more than descending a bridge to an ocean I can see on the horizon

even if I turn right at the end of the bridge and pedal 50 kilometers straight into a 30 kilometer per hour wind that, at moments, gusted to 40 KPH.

I mean, how could I complain when my ride was filled with the wind, the light and the hiss of the ocean--which meant that they were filling me>

Like Flagler Beach yesterday and today, Daytona Beach did not lack for people walking along the sand on the warm day.  At Flagler and Daytona, however, swimming was not allowed.  No one was allowed even to enter any of the beaches along the 50 or so kilometers of Atlantic Coast between them.

After savoring two of mom's meatball sandwiches and polishing them off with some strawberries and a mandarin orange, I started my ride back.  After the ride down, it was almost too easy:  the wind I'd fought on the way down was blowing at my back.  But that wind also brought something else:

gray clouds thickening ahead of me.  The fact that I was riding about as fast as my body could move the ballon-tired beach cruiser under it meant that I could ride right into the rain.

Which is what happened after I turned left from the Flagler Beach pier onto the SR 100 bridge.  After climbing away from the ocean and descending on the "mainland", a cascade dropped from the sky on me.  There was no prelude of light showers gradually turning to rain; that storm dropped straight on me.  It was like the "instant storms" that often soak this area, momentarily, late on summer afternoons.  The difference was that this storm didn't include lightning and thunder.  But it ended about halfway into the Lehigh Trail--about fifteen minutes before I got to my parents' house.

To A Rainbow: The First Ride Of A New Season

I know that autumn officially began a week and a day ago.  However, the ride I took today felt like the first of the season.

In part, it had to do with the weather:  The temperatures were almost exactly on target, maybe a couple of degrees cooler than normal.  The air had that cool crispness you normally associate with the season (at least in this part of the world).  But most telling was the particular kind of haze one sees in the distance at the seashore when clouds gather at this time of the year:

This is not the "hothouse" haze borne of humidity you can't escape on a summer day.  Nor is it the light, almost linen, haze you see on a mid- or late-spring day.  This is the kind of haze that brings colors into focus yet diffuses light.  If I were a painter or even a photographer, I would want to render the subtle differences in tones between these kinds of haze on my canvas, paper or screen.

As I started my ride home from Point Lookout, the sky quickly grew brighter, almost as if in a flash.  Then, almost as quickly, clouds gathered and grew darker and heavier than the ones in the first photo.  About half a mile from the Atlantic Beach Bridge, what I like to call a "Florida Shower" fell from the sky:  an intense rain that cut visibility to nearly zero--but, strangely, was not accompanied by thunder or lightning. Also, it wasn't steamy, as the ones in the Sunshine State usually are.  I took refuge under the awning of a church that, it seemed, had completed its services and breakfasts or lunches for the day.  

Within fifteen minutes, I was back on the road again.