Another Florida Ride After Ian

Yesterday I took another ride to the ocean.  I started the same way as I did the other day, along Palm Coast Parkway to the Hammock Dunes Bridge.  At the foot of the bridge, however, I made an opposite turn and pedaled south, along A1A to Daytona Beach.  In all, I  rode about 105 kilometers:  slightly more than the other day.

My first stop:  Painters Hill.

As usual, it lived up to its name.  It's not much of a hill, but the light, on the beach or the street, always seems to have a soft--dare I say it?--brushed quality to it, even on the brightest, sunniest days. Plus, whoever happens to be there--the swimmers (though there were none yesterday; it was forbidden), the fishermen, the strollers--seem to have been created from images in the eye of an immediate but vivid memory.

Along A1A I continued, through Beverly Beach to Flagler Beach, a mist on the water and high cirrus clouds accenting rather than veiling sunlight. 

After I passed the pier at Flagler, though, I had to make several detours and, at a couple of points, walk my bike, if for only ten meters or so.  As I continued southward, I could see where Hurricane Ian unleashed more of its force than it did around my father's house. A number of seaside restaurants, cafes and small inns, have been closed.  So were two convenience store/gas stations I passed.  In some of those buildings, the damage wasn't so obvious, so I suspect that they were flooded and, as a result, have structural, fire and other hazards. But some edifices were turned into piles of matchsticks.

What amazes me is that next to some houses and other buildings stripped bare by raging wind and rain were others that looked as if they'd barely been touched.  But even in front of  such homes and businesses, boards, pads, rugs, furniture and other home and office fixtures were piled curbside, or on the paths and sidewalks.

And what Ian didn't strip from homes, offices, hotels and eateries, he took from the beaches.  Sand was strewn, sometimes piled, across the roadway and on the bike lanes and sidewalks.  Even with the wide, knobby balloon tires I rode, the bike skidded and skittered on the shifting sand.

Still, I enjoyed the ride as much as any I've taken along the coastline.  Perhaps I was simply grateful that I could ride it.  Oh, and I met up with a couple of friends along the way.

Later today, I will head home. Perhaps I will return here one day and while some of the structures will have changed, the ride will remain familiar. Or so I hope.  

An Ocean And A Desert

The temperature felt more like New York in March, or the coast of Belgium in any month besides July and August.  And while strong wind is not unusual in this part of the world, I have never felt it for days on end during my visit.

At least the colors and light at Matanzas Bay looked more like those one associates with Florida:

So did those of Painters Hill

Some places, though, looked more like deserts.

During my visit last year, there were palm trees and littoral plant life here.  The storms that struck a few weeks ago have laid them to waste.

Believe it or not, this is a roadway:

Old A1A, to be exact.  It's closed.  Even though I was riding the beach cruiser, I didn't ride this road:  I managed to go only a few meters before the wind whipped me around and blew enough sand in my face to make me even less of a navigtor than I normally am!

Still, I had a great ride.

In The Sunshine State, In A Cloud

The rain that pattered the canal yesterday turned, for a time, into a barrage last night.  When I woke this morning, raindrops were poking ephemeral pockmarks in the face of the water.

But, by the time Dr. Phil's show ended (Yes, I watched it with my mother and father.), the rain had stopped and the sun looked like it was trying to wedge itself between clouds.  I got on the bike a while later, and the clouds closed ranks on the sun.  Still, I managed to ride along some trails to the Palm Coast Parkway Bridge, where the scene changed just a bit.

Of course, when you see something on your left, you look to your right.  Or is it the other way around?  Who told me that, anyway?

In any event, I looked to my left and saw this:

I thought, for a moment, it was sea mist.  After I descended the bridge and turned onto the Route A1A bike/pedestrian lane, it thickened faster than the makeup of a reality TV star.

The shrouded area is known as Painters Hill.  It's a very lovely area where, on many a day, breezes skip across sea oats and other grasses and shrubs on the dunes that line the ocean.  I would have loved to see how a painter might have rendered it in the light I saw today.

The Flagler Beach pier jutted out into water that dissolved into mist.  The eponymous beach, about 10 kilometers south of Painter's Hill, was the only one open along  A1A from Palm Coast to Ormond Beach.  The area is still recovering from recent storm and the surf was rough.  Nobody was swimming at Ormond, but of course, a few surfers flung themselves into the tides.

Finally, as I reached Ormond Beach, the fog began to dissipate and the sun that, earlier, had been trying to get a few waves in edgewise pushed some clouds aside--and shone through a light mist.

I must say, though, that I don't recall much, if any fog in my previous two dozen or so trips here.  Certainly I had never before seen what I saw today.

A Painterly Ride

I am going to write something that might cause envy or resentment in some, especially those of you who are reading behind sleet-streaked windows.

Yes, today's weather was once again glorious.  Actually, it was a bit warmer than the past few days:  During the return part of my ride, the temperature rose to 82F (28C), according to the sign on the Buddy Taylor Middle School.  And the sun shone through puffy cumulus clouds that drifted across the sky.

So I rode up to Bings Landing, the site of the Mala Compra ("bad bargain" or "bad buy") plantation, and back down Route A1A, including one of my favorite stretches.

I wish my photos could do justice to the light that flickered with the dance of the waves and reeds.  At the observation stand from which I took those pictures, I chatted with a retired couple from North Carolina who commented on the light, and the view.  "Now you know why it's called Painters Hill," I explained.

As the saying goes, a lovely time was had by all--especially the ones who came dressed for the occasion:

With their fashion sense, how could I not share my nuts, seeds and granola bars with them?  And, even in such finery, they were not too haughty to refuse!

I was not surprised to see people walking through the sand or fishing. A few even tried to ride the waves, such as they were.  But I didn't see anyone swimming.  Yesterday, I was tempted to dip myself in the water, but after taking off my sneakers and socks, and letting a few waves lap up to my calves, I realized that the water was a bit on the cool side.

Normally, on such a day, people would line the pier at Flagler Beach, whether to fish, watch birds (or wait in the hope of sighting a dolphin, whale or shark) or simply pass enjoy the view and pass the time.  But I noticed that the pier was empty, as it was yesterday and the other day.  

I also couldn't help but to think that the pier looked smaller than it was last year.  Sure enough, it is:  Hurricane Matthew washed away part of it and, according to the gate keeper, it might be closed for another year because the insurance company doesn't want people there until repairs are made and the pier passes inspection.

Still, it was a wonderful day and ride. With the kind of light I had, how could anything have been otherwise?

Another Day: Complaining About The Weather

I heard everyone complaining--again--about the cold.  

Today, though, it was in a different place.  No, I wasn't in Montreal.  Les Quebecois would probably laugh at anyone who complained about the weather I experienced today.  So, for that matter, would any French person who doesn't live in the Alps, Pyrenees or Vosges.  For that matter, anyone who would think of today's weather was "cold" lives well south of here.

So where am I?  Here's one clue:

Water covers 70 percent of the Earth's surface. (It's one of the few things I still remember from my eighth-grade Earth Science class.)  So we've eliminated 30 percent of all possible sites.  It's a start, I guess.

OK, here's another clue:

Pink chairs, eh?  I'm not sure of how much they narrow down the possible choices. There are, however, some places where one simply never would find them.

Colors are often useful clues:

 

This looks like the Southwestern US--or, at least, someone's imaginings of it.  Whether or not it's sagebrush verite, it's incongruent with most seaside locales in the United States or Canada.

Just down the road, we can see similar colors in this building:

 
Believe it or not, public toilets are inside that building.  It's in a state park.

Now, if you need more clues, take a look at these, just a couple of miles apart on a road I cycled today:

The road is Route A1A, specifically the segment that connects Painter's Hill, Beverly Beach and Flagler Beach before continuing to Daytona Beach.

I am indeed in Florida.

A rather brisk wind blew in from the north, which held the temperature to around 15C (60F) and made it seem even cooler.  Still, it's nearly tropical in comparison with today's conditions in New York, where it was -13C (8F) early this morning.  That may not seem very cold to some of you, but last week the Big Apple recorded its first subfreezing temperature since late last March.

Even though the weather is milder than it is in New York, it's not the reason I'm here.  I am visiting my parents--and, of course, I plan to ride some more!


 
 

Portrait Of A Chance Encounter On My Way To Painters Hill

Yesterday I did a shorter ride (about 50 km) than I did the other day (Daytona Beach) or Saturday (St. Augustine).  But I planned it that way so I could linger along one of my favorite stretches of Route A1A, in the very aptly named Painters Hill:

Well, all right, the Painters part is apt.  The hill, not so much.  But it's a feast for the senses.  And, oh yeah, I went swimming.  You could tell I--and the other swimmers--aren't from around here.  Natives wondered how we could "stand" water that's "so cold".  I'd guess that the temperature was somewhere around 13 to 15 C (55 to 60F).  At Rockaway Beach or Coney Island, it's probably not much higher than 5C (40F) right now.

Perhaps the best part of the ride is that I might have made a new friend and riding partner for future trips down here (or perhaps even for later this week!)  I met her at a convenience store-gas station just west of the bridge from Palm Coast Parkway to Route A-1A.  The bichon frise in the front basket of her Diamond Back cruiser gave that ever-so-friendly look bichon frises give and, of course, I stroked his head.  If dogs are a reflection of their owners, that bichon frise perfectly mirrored her personality.  

Before I crossed the bridge into A1A, we rode trails that crossed ponds, cut through swamps and rimmed the Atlantic Intracoastal Waterway.  She apologized--though she had no reason to--for her riding:  It was her first time out this year, she said.  I didn't feel that she was slowing me down, as she feared.  I must say, though, that I astounded her when I said that I rode the borrowed clunker to and from St. Augustine and Daytona Beach.  "Just thinking about it gets me tired," she exclaimed.

After about two hours, she had to go back to her house to meet a client.  I thanked her:  Even if I hadn't continued down to Painters Hill and Flagler Beach, I would have felt I'd had a good ride.  After all, encounters like that remind me of some of the reasons I ride.

On Dawn And Mother-Daughter Realationships

Another dawn ride in the Sunshine State.  Really, given the heat and humidity, it really is the best time to pedal.  Plus, my parents live just far enough from the ocean that I can start just before sunrise and, within a few minutes, be treated to scenes like this:

That, from a place called Hammock.  And this from, appropriately, Painter's Hill:

At that time of morning, one finds more surfers or fishers than swimmers.  (Leave it to me to be, as always, a minority--both as a swimmer and cyclist!)  When you're up before most other people and throw yourself at a great expanse that seems like infinity, it's hard not to wonder about the meaning of it all:

As it turns out, the woman in the second photo was watching her daughter:

As my mother is not, and never has been, a cyclist, surfer, swimmer or fisher, we have a different mother-daughter relationship.  It was still more than welcome at the end of today's ride, in which I managed to beat the midday heat and afternoon rain.

Dawn In The Sunshine State

You haven't heard from me in a couple of days. No, I haven't dropped off the face of the Earth.  I'm visiting my parents, in Florida.

So why did I pick the sultriest time of year to visit the Sunshine State?  Well, for one thing, it's the first time in months I've had enough free days in a row to make the trip one in which I don't get back on the plane after having lunch with Mom.  For another, the fares are cheap now.  And, finally, speaking of Mom:  It's her birthday today!

I've been down here enough times that I know a thing or two about "going native".  Since arriving the other day, I've gone on two rides, both of them in the morning.  In fact, yesterday I started before dawn and so was treated to this:

and this:

and a painterly scene from Painter's Hill:

Fall--to the extent they have it here--doesn't begin for another three months or so.  But the dawn in Palm Coast tinges the trees and mosses with an odd foreshadowing of it:

As the sun rose higher, those leaves and mosses turned green, like everything else hanging from those branches.

I rode down A1A--the road that wends along the Atlantic Coast--through Flagler Beach and Gamble Rogers State Park to Ormond by the Sea, where I espied an interesting bit of landscape design:

Where else but in Florida can someone get away with a color like that on the exterior of a house?  Even in the Easter Egg Victorian areas of San Francisco, I don't think I ever saw a color like that.

Then, after lounging on the sand of Ormond Beach, I started back.  I noticed that A1A Beachside Bicycles had just opened for the day, so I stopped in to say hello to owners Ron and Diane.

There's absolutely nothing made from carbon-fiber in their shop. In fact, there are only a few new bikes.  Mostly, they do repairs, restorations and re-purposing.  As an example of the latter, a '70's Schwinn LeTour was being turned into a kind of Florida cruiser.

One of the repair jobs in the shop was this tandem sold by Sears and Roebuck during the 1960's, I think:

It's like other American bikes of the period from makers like Rollfast, Murray and Columbia that were constructed of spot-welded gaspipe tubing.  But this particular tandem is interesting because it has the twin lateral tubes normally associated with French (and, sometimes, British and Japanese) "mixte" frames:

Also noteworthy are the tires, which I believe are originals:

Those of you who are a decade or more younger than I am might find it difficult to believe that bicycle tires were made in the USA by companies like Firestone and Goodyear. Of course, none of them were lightweights.  But they made those whitewalls--like the one in this photo--you see on baloon-tired bikes of the period.

I stop at Ron's and Diane's shop because they were very friendly to me when I stopped in with a flat a few years ago.  They, like many people here, are a couple of honest folks trying to make a living in a difficult economy.  They--and their dog--remember me whenever I walk in.

Today I woke up a little later and managed not to ride quite as much. But I still enjoyed the calm of the streets and the air, so I plan to take a (possibly pre-) dawn ride tomorrow.  Some would argue it's the only way to ride here at this time of year!