He Could Not Escape Injustice

In earlier posts, I've mentioned that Florida, in spite of its climate and many communities with bike lanes, is terrible for bicycling in at least one way.  The Sunshine State is beclouded with the distinction of being the deadliest state for cyclists.  For about as long as I've been writing this blog, Florida has had the highest death rate for riders, and it's not even close.

More than a few reasons have been posited.  One is the state's car-centric culture.  Another is that because it's America's leading state for retirees (a.k.a. God's Waiting Room), there are lots of old drivers, some of whom shouldn't be driving anymore.  I think that characterization is only somewhat fair:  While riding in Florida, I've encountered any number of hot-rodding, or simply careless, young drivers.  Again, to be fair, their state doesn't have very stringent requirements for a driver's license.

Whatever the causes, the dangers (and pleasures) encountered by cyclists do not discriminate:  Accidents injure the young and the old, the rich and the poor.

And the famous as well as the anonymous.

The latest cycling fatality in Florida was a familiar face for many people.   He covered a number of major events, including the September 11 terrorist attacks.  For his contributions to CNN's coverage of that event, he won an Emmy. Another highlight of his career, "Escape from Justice," was one of the first exposes of Nazi war criminals living in the USA.

In addition to CNN, he covered the Supreme Court and other legal issues for 22 years at ABC.  An attorney by training, he was able to lend depth, as well as explain proceedings,  in terms comprehensible to folks like me.

Upon his retirement, he moved to northeastern Florida, near Jacksonville.  Like many before him, he relished the chance to spend days following one of his passions:  cycling.

My guess is that Tim O'Brien was a careful cyclist and, for a 77-year-old, his reflexes were still good.  They weren't enough, however, to avoid the fate that befell him.

According to police, a pickup truck traveling northbound on Route A1A turned left to Mickler Road in Ponte Vedra Beach.  The truck collided with a car traveling southbound on A1A.  

The force of the crash sent the car ricocheting to the sidewalk--where O'Brien was pedaling.  

Both drivers remained at the scene.  Police have not said whether either would be charged.  

Whatever their fate, it won't change the fact that someone they might've watched on their television screens is the latest cyclist casualty in Florida.

It "Did Not Appear As Stable"

"An iguana got caught in my wheel."

Now that would have been something to tell the folks at Montefiore-New Rochelle or Westchester Medical Center--not to mention the New Rochelle Police Department.

Of course, they wouldn't have believed it.  At least, that's what I think:  After all, the long green creatures aren't nature to this part of the world.

Then again, I once took a tumble so a cat wouldn't be entangled in my wheel. (If you've been reading this blog a while, you know how I feel about cats!)  And a big dog--a German Shepherd, if I recall correctly--knocked me off my Schwinn Continental when I was delivering newspapers.

If someone's feline or canine could make a beeline into my path, who's to say that a someone's pet lizard, in New Rochelle or anywhere else, couldn't escape and dart into a cyclist's wheel?

All right, I admit, that seems less likely than the dog or cat scenarios.  But when I've cycled in Florida, I've had a near-miss with an armadillo and, it seems, cute little green lizards seem to make a sport of seeing how close people can ride or run before they make their "escapes."

I've seen iguanas during my trips to the Sunshine State.  Fortunately for me, they kept a respectful distance.  A cyclist in Marathon, however, learned the hard way that, perhaps, iguanas don't always know how they'll get entangled--or how they can entangle people's lives.  

From Monroe County (FL) Sheriff's Office

The cyclist ended up in the hospital.  It seems that his injuries aren't serious.  However, according to Monroe County Sheriff's Office spokesman Adam Linhardt, "The condition of the iguana did not appear as stable."

As a recent accident victim, I wish a speedy and full recovery to all.

Who And What Are They Trying To Keep Out?

The European Union is closed to visitors from the US and other places.

For what may be the first time in history,  the border between the US and Canada is closed, except for "essential" travel and people returning to Alaska.

Even the border between the Australian states of New South Wales and Victoria is closed.  

Earlier in the COVID-19 pandemic, when my hometown of New York was one of the "hot spots," other states required visitors from our state, and others, to self-quarantine.  Beaches and parks in New Jersey and Long Island were open only to local residents.

Now that the "curve" has "flattened," at least for for the time being, we and neighboring states are requiring visitors from Florida, Texas and other states that have become new "hot spots" to self-quarantine upon arrival.

But as far as I know, no place has had any "no outsider" ban that applied specifically to cyclists.  At least, not until this past Tuesday, when the village of Key Biscayne, Florida banned all bicycle travel by non-residents.

The reason the village, located on a barrier island off Miami and Miami Beach, gave for its prohibition is to stop the spread of the corona virus.  Lawyers representing several Miami-Dade residents said the ban "based on a report of a few individuals not wearing masks" is "absurd."  One of the lawyers, Phil Prazan, said that because cars are still allowed into the village,  the new rule is a "poorly veiled excuse to ban cyclists."

Hmm...I wonder how many people--local residents or outsiders--are congregating, sans masks, on area beaches.

Losing Her Child

"Like a mother who lost her child."

I am sure many of you would feel that way if your bicycle went missing.  Whether the bike is a means of everyday transportation or has transported you across a continent, you are probably as protective of it as a parent of his or her progeny.

Patricia McNeil, a stroke survivor who lives in the Florida Panhandle, certainly is feeling such a loss.  Her black Trek took her across the country twice and served as her sole means of transportation.  In Florida, the latter is really saying something and is one reason why she logged over 40,000 miles on it in two years.



She left her machine in the foyer of a local Target. It's not the first time she parked her bike there and whenever she left the store, she retrieved her bike--until last Wednesday, that is.

Security footage confirmed that the bike was indeed stolen--by a local male who "looks like actor Paul Walker" and has a sleeve tatoo on his left arm.  It sounds to me that he knew about McNeil and her bike and the theft was a crime of opportunity.

Anyway, I hope he is apprenhended and Ms. McNeil gets her bike back.  Nobody deserves to lose her child.

The Statute Of Limitations--Or A Limitation On Statutes?

Fernandina Beach, on Amelia Island,  is the northernmost city on Florida's Atlantic coast.

That's certainly a distinction of sorts.  But until recently, it was unique in another way:  Since 1562, it has been ruled by France, Spain, Great Britain, Spain (again), the Republic of Florida, the Green Cross of Florida,  Mexico, the Confederate States of America and the United States.  It is, therefore, the only municipality in this country to have had eight different national flags flown over it. 

Now it may have another distinction.

A Nassau County sheriff's deputy spotted Aaron Seth Thomas and Megan Lynn Mondanaro narrowly escaped being hit by a car while riding their bicycles--without lights.

But what got them arrested was their breathalyzer tests.  They'd been drinking at a nearby bar before they got on their saddles.  Moreover, seven cans of beer were found in Thomas' backpack.

They were placed in back of the deputy's car for transport to jail.  While waiting, they removed their clothes and engage in sex.

(Don't ask!)

The deputy pulled Thomas out of the car but he shoved the deputy to the ground and ran off naked.  He was later apprehended by an ice cream store.  In the meantime, Mondanaro was moved to a different car and allegedly kicked two officers along the way.

Thomas and Mondanaro are now in custody, facing various charges.  Their actions have now added to Fernandina Beach's uniqueness:  In addition to being the only municipality to have flown eight national flags, it is (probably) the only, or at least one of the few, places in this country where a couple is in custody for having too much fun.

(I don't judge!)

Where We've Escaped Death--For The Past Two Years

As I have mentioned in earlier posts, Florida has had, for several years running, the highest--by far--bicycle fatality rate of any US state.  

A number of factors contribute to the high body count:  a car-centric culture, a lack of consciousness of cyclists among motorists, high rates of alcohol consumption and a lack of shoulders or sidewalks, let alone bike or pedestrian lanes, on most thoroughfares.  

One notable exception to the dark side of the Sunshine State is Flagler County.  It's the only county in Central Florida (roughly defined as anything within a two-hour drive of Orlando) in which a cyclist wasn't killed in 2018 or 2019.

I can attest that the county is indeed safer for bike-riding than other parts of the state (at least the parts in which I've ridden).  In fact, I enjoyed riding there and immediately saw the difference when I crossed into neighboring St.John's or Volusia counties, especially when I neared St. Augustine or Daytona Beach.

You see, the largest city in Flagler is Palm Coast, where my parents lived.  I've documented a few of my visits in this blog.  There are a number of paths in the city and county, and most of the major roads have, if not actual bike lanes, then wide sidewalks where cycling is permitted.  And, I must say, pedestrians, in my experience, were very courteous.

Plus, there just seemed to be more cyclists in Palm Coast and Flagler than in neighboring areas, or even in the areas around Jacksonville, Miami or Fort Lauderdale, where I've also ridden.  I don't know whether more people ride because the conditions are favorable, or those conditions exist because of the cyclists.  

My mother is gone and I don't know how much longer my father will stay in Palm Coast.  At least I have pleasant memories of riding there.  Little did I know that I was in an island in a storm of cycling mishaps!

Flying Fish, Submerged To The Depths In The Sunshine State

I am usually sad to see a mom-and-pop bike shop close for the same reasons I lament the loss of most independent book stores:  They are the source of a family's ( or a person's or community's) pride as well as livelihood.  But, too often, those closures are inevitable.

Such, it seems, is the case of Flying Fish Bikes in Tampa, Florida.   Opened in 1963 as Dud Thames Bicycles, it has served generations of the area's cycling community.   But even the area's year-round climate for cycling wasn't enough to keep it going into another decade.

Two of the usual culprits were blamed:  mismanagement and the proliferation of online retailers.  Indeed, some people who showed up for the auction of Flying Fish's remaining inventory admitted that they do most, if not all, of their shopping via touchscreens. 

But there were two other factors in Flying Fish's demise that caught my attention.  One is the machinations of a much larger retailer.  Now, the big-box stores like Wal-Mart can be blamed for the loss of some shops' sales, but one would think that even if people bought all of their bikes and accessories, for their kids or themselves, at Wally World, at some point they'd need a real bike shop for service.  

Unfortunately, such people might visit a bike shop once or twice, and may not spend very much money.  Still, the "big boxes" I'm talking about aren't just the retail behemoths we see along the interstates.  Instead, I'm talking about the giants of the cycling industry.  Though they are miniscule in comparison to Walmart and other mega-corporations, a few of the largest players in the bicycle industry can have the same power to destroy independent bike shops that the "big box" stores have to annihilate smaller shops that sell hardware, clothing and just about anything else.

The giant that vanquished Flying Fish is not just a giant in the industry: It's Giant.  In 2012, Giant Bicycle, Inc., made a deal in which Flying Fish owner Francis Kane agreed to buy and sell $120,000 of their bicycles in the Spring of 2013.

In a subsequent lawsuit, Kane said that Giant agreed to promote Flying Fish as the dominant Giant dealer in the area.  Moreover, Kane said, Giant did not disclose that it was planning to terminate its relationship with Flying Fish and open a "concept" store nearby.   

After a two-year court battle, a jury awarded Kane $250,000 in compensatory damages and $3 million in punitive damages in September 2015.  But even such a settlement ultimately wasn't enough to keep Flying Fish in business:  Giant countersued for the $120,000 in inventory Kane didn't pay for, as well as "compensatory" damages.  And, of course, there were legal fees. (Contrary to public perception, few people get rich by winning lawsuits.)

The court battle, though, wasn't the only thing to ground Flying Fish.  Performance Bicycles opened a mega-store in the area.  Last year, the company went bankrupt, but their Tampa store was falling to another force that contributed to the demise of Flying Fish.  Some would argue that it was an even bigger factor than the Internet, the business practices of Giant or big-box stores.

Even though cities all over the US are building bike lanes and starting bike-share programs, the number of people who commute by bike fell from a high of 904,463 in 2014 to 872,000 three years later, according to American Community Survey.  In the Tampa Bay area, the decline was even more precipitous:   According to ACS, the number of people who ride their bikes to work fell by 50 percent.  That, even as the League of American Bicyclists declared Tampa and St. Petersberg "Bike Friendly Communities" in 2016 and 2017, respectively.


One probable reason for that was, ironically, expressed by some of the people who showed up at the Flying Fish auction.  They said that they never depended, or stopped depending, on their bikes for transportation because doing so is "too dangerous."  If they ride, they stick to pre- or post-work training rides on bike lanes, or they drive with their bikes to ride in other places.

Their perceptions have some basis.  As I've mentioned in other posts, Florida has, by far, the highest per capita death rate among cyclists in the United States.  And the Tampa Bay area's statistics are in line with the rest of the state, meaning that a cyclist has a much greater chance of being killed there than in almost any other part of the nation.  I've never cycled in the Tampa Bay area, but my experiences of cycling in other parts of the Sunshine State make it easy for me to see why there's such a high mortality rate, and why, even though there are many casual or recreational cyclists, few people depend on their bikes for transportation.  It's one thing to go for "fun" rides on trails and bike lanes; it's another to navigate, day in and day out, roads with no shoulders or sidewalks and 55 MPH speed limits--and drivers who, usually, haven't cycled since childhood, if they ever rode at all.

So, while the Internet, big-box retailers and shady practices by one of the "giants" of their own industry may well have led to the closure of Flying Fish Bikes, it might have ultimately been done in because, as we have seen, a thriving bicycle culture doesn't exist without people who depend on their bikes to get to school or work, to shop or to get to the places where they get their entertainment or other social interactions.  No declaration of "bicycle friendliness" from the LAB or anyone else can make it otherwise.

Death While Training For A Memorial

For the past several years, Florida has been the state in which a cyclist has the greatest chance of being killed by a motorist.

That point was underscored, for me, by a story that came my way.  The other day, Deputy Sheriff Frank Scofield was training for a memorial ride to honor 9/11 victims when he was--you guessed it--struck from behind. 

The motorist who ended his life on a county road blew through a stop sign. But that motorist wasn't a "good ol' boy" in a pickup truck or some drunken sunburned youth.  Rather, the driver in question is 75-year-old Lajos Toth of Lake Helen.

Deputy Sheriff Frank Scofield

The road where Deputy Scofield took his last ride is County Road 415 in Volusia County.  You might the collision "hit home" for me because Volusia is the county directly south of the one in which my parents live.  Just about every time I visit my parents, at least one bike ride takes me into the county, which includes Daytona and Ormond Beaches and The Casements.  

Frank Scofield was training for a ride to commemorate 9/11 victims.  Now I am writing a post to remember him.

Like A Pink Flamingo Needs A Bicycle

During my most recent trip to Florida, I spotted a long-legged pink bird.  It got away before I could fish my camera/phone out of my bag.  Later, I told a park ranger, who said that it was very unlikely I'd seen a flamingo, as they almost never venture further north than the Everglades--if indeed they make it that far up from the Yucatan.  Rather, this ranger explained, I most likely saw a Roseate Spoonbill, which is native to the Sunshine State.

I can't say I was disappointed, really:  the Roseate Spoonbill is actually quite beautiful if strange.  Still, seeing plastic pink flamingos in front of houses later that day seemed like some kind of bad joke.

Of course, if you ride through almost any area of single- or two-family homes, you're likely to see some of those pink flamingos.  But I doubt that you've ever seen this:

They Extended The Road Ahead Of Him

If you've been reading this blog, you know that I take, on average, a trip to Florida every year.  Really, I go to visit my parents!  But you know that I enjoy the cycling and, if I'm lucky, good weather.

If you've read any of my posts about my time in Florida, or have spent any time in the Sunshine State, you also know that it's car-centric.  People travel greater distances to shop or do just about anything than we do in New York, mainly because development is more sprawled (at least in the parts of Florida I visit).  I don't even need to ride my bike to buy groceries when I'm home.  I know that no one in my parents' part of Florida enjoys that level of convenience; I doubt that very many people anywhere in the state have it.

Still, I see a fair number of people on bikes whenever I visit Florida, even when the weather is unusually cold, as it was last year.  (The temperature actually dropped to 23F one night!)  Some, like me, are visiting; others are "snowbirds" who spend part of the year in the state and the rest in some point north or west.  

There are, however, cyclists for whom their two wheels and pedals are their sole means of transportation.  These day-to-day riders include a whole range of people, from homeless veterans to latter-day hippies and those who can't drive because they're too poor or for other reasons.

Among those reasons is age.  While Florida's regulations on senior-citizen drivers are, not surprisingly, less restrictive than those of most other states, they still mandate shorter license renewals and vision tests for older drivers.  Moreover, the state's Department of Highway Safety and Motor Vehicles, which issues licenses, also conducts unsafe driver investigations upon requests from family members and others.  As a result of such investigations, as well as vision and driving tests, the state can also impose restrictions on elderly drivers, such as a ban on nighttime driving or a requirement that the driver has to wear a hearing aid or glasses.  In a few cases, senior citizens are banned from driving if they are believed to pose a safety hazard to themselves or others.

So, I suspect that at least a few of the seniors I've seen on bikes--and a fair number of those I've seen on three-wheelers--are pedaling because they can't drive anymore.  And, I suspect, at least a few are riding their bikes because they can't afford to drive anymore, or just enjoy cycling.




Whatever his reasons, Bob Wingate's bicycle was his only means of transportation.  The Cape Coral resident parked it at the Winn Dixie supermarket in his town.  A thief cut the cable he'd used to secure his bike.  Field Training Officer Ken Cody and Officer Trainee Guang Song of the Cape Coral Police Department were called to the scene.  

After taking the report, Cody and Song decided they couldn't let Wingate be without a bicycle.  So they went to a nearby Walmart and bought a new one, which they brought to Wingate's house.  Before they left, they even adjusted the seat and handlebars for him.

Those officers not only gave him back his means of transportation and his independence; they may have ensured that he'll live well beyond his current 80 years.  I suspect that other senior citizens I've seen on bikes in Florida, and elsewhere, realize that when they are on the road (or trail), there is more road ahead of them.

Rolling By The Racists

In previous posts, I've mentioned that for years Florida has had, by far, the highest death rate for cyclists of any US state.

I have mentioned some of the possible reasons for it, based on professional research as well as my own experiences of riding in the Sunshine State.  Those reasons include the "car culture" of the state as well as the frequent indifference or even hostility law enforcement officials envisage when cyclists are injured or killed by drivers.

Now, it seems, there may be other factors: guns, for one, and old-fashioned racism for another.

The incident I'm about to mention didn't end with the death, or even serious injury, of a cyclist.  But it could have become the Emmett Till case of cycling because something that might or might not have happened brought racial hostility to the surface, and a gun from its holster.

All right, I was using "holster" metaphorically. What I mean, of course, is that a man pulled out his gun.

That the ugly incident happened the other day, when Martin Luther King Jr's life and work were commemorated, should not surprise anyone.  A "Wheels Up, Guns Down" ride, which included ATVs as well as bicycles, spun through the Brickell area of Miami.

A white woman accused a black teenager of riding his bicycle over her foot.  (I wonder whether that woman will recant on her deathbed.) A white man--who may have believed he was defending the woman's honor or some such thing--pulled out his gun and yelled a racial slur at the cyclist.

A young black person on a bicycle:  What could be more of a challenge to that man's or woman's reality?  And, of course, he gets backlash for it.  That alone gives him more in common with MLK than someone whom Mike Pence likened to the slain civil rights icon.

I'm Back And She Won't Let Me Explain

Someone wants me to explain why I left her in cold, rainy New York while I was bike riding in 80 degree (27C) Florida sunshine.



Marlee was well cared-for.  Mildred, my cat-sitter, even spent time with her on New Year's Eve.  But Marlee still wants to know why I get to have all the fun.  She's not buying my explanation that I was visiting my parents.

Really, I was...

From The Tangles Of Moss And History

It's been said that in Florida, "North is South and South is North."

The southern part of the Sunshine State--particularly Miami, Fort Lauderdale and Tampa--is filled with retirees and other transplants from colder climes, like the one in which I live.  The north, on the other hand--which includes the Panhandle and, depending on which definition you choose, anything north of Orlando--has more in common, genealogically and culturally, with Georgia or Alabama.

My parents live in the north-central part of the state, near Daytona Beach.  In cities like Palm Coast, where my parents live, or Daytona or Ormond Beach, there are people like my folks who moved from places north of the Potomac.  But outside of such cities, in the smaller towns and rural areas, the "good ol' boys" rule the roost.

Some native Floridians will tell you that in those towns, and in the surrounding countryside, you will find the "real" Florida.

Now, I am in no position to say that. But I can say that it's certainly more Southern than, ironically, some points further south.

I mean, you're not going to find anything like this along Collins Avenue in Miami Beach:

Of course, the moss hanging from the trees is a sign you're in Dixie.  But that's not the only thing that made my first ride on this path, more than two decades ago, one of my first truly Southern experiences in Florida.  It's also where I saw my first armadillo.

That path also is the entrance to the Bulow Plantation Ruins Historic Site. It is interesting to learn about the rise and fall of a plantation--and a society.  But its exhibits and signage reflect a bias that I've found in every other former plantation site I've visited:  It makes the building and operation of the plantation (and its sugar refinery) seem like a heroic act because the owners had to face, not only capricious Nature, but hostile Natives.  According to the text of the exhibits, the plantation was "swept away" in the Seminole War of 1836.

And, of course, the labor practices are whitewashed, if you know what I mean.

But it's certainly worth a visit, not only for the ruins and history lesson, but also to bike, hike, fish or simply be calm in a setting that is reverting to nature.

From the Bulow Plantation, I rode down Old Kings Road into Volusia County and made a right where the road ends--at the Old Dixie Highway.  Then I got to ride under more canopies of moss-draped trees--for about four miles!  Even if you are thinking about the history of the place, it's definitely a lovely ride.  And I found the drivers unusually courteous:  All gave me a wide berth and none honked.  It didn't matter whether the vehicles were Fiats or trucks, or whether they had license plates from Florida or New Jersey or Ontario or Michigan.  I guess anyone who drives on that road isn't in a hurry--and shouldn't be.

Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Florida!

Along the way, I stopped to see something that made me think, oddly enough, of the Ta Prohm temple I saw in Cambodia.

People know it as the "Tomb Raider" temple.  It's the one in which tree roots have wrapped themselves around its walls.  Now, of course, you're never going to find anything that looks like an Angkor Wat temple in Florida, or anywhere else in the US.  But seeing the Fairchild Oak in Bulow Creek State Park made me think of what those trees in Cambodia might have done if they didn't have a temple to ravel themselves around.  

It's easy to see why stories by writers like Faulkner and Welty are so often so intricate that they seem (or are) tangled.  That idea occured to me after leaving Bulow Creek and continuing along the Old Dixie Highway as it bisected a swamp and curved along the shore of the Halifax River on its way to Ormond Beach.

Riding Like A Rockefeller

I am writing from this desk

after eating lunch in this room

with an audience

in this house

All right, I was exaggerating, well, a little.  After all, if I were writing and eating in a place like that, I probably wouldn't have gotten there on this

Or maybe I would have.  After all, the person who is the reason was known to ride a bicycle, even after the automobile--which he loved--became common in the US. In fact, he loved autos so much that he was a denizen of the "birthplace of speed."

That cradle of velocity is a beach something like this one

in a city that borders the one best known for its race track.

That city, of course, is this one:

and the 'burg on its border is Ormond Beach, home to the "Birthplace of Speed" and the house I visited yesterday.

The house is known colloquially as The Casements.  John D. Rockefeller. Contrary to what some people believe, he didn't actually commission it.  He did, however, put his unmistakable stamp on it.  And, the fact that he lived in it for the last two decades of his life is probably what saved it from the wreckers' ball when it fell into ruin after plans to turn it into a resort hotel never materialized.

Another misconception about the house is that it was the first to be built with casement windows.  Actually, the style existed for about two centuries before they were incorporated into Rockefeller's residence.  One could argue, however, that the house helped to popularize them in the US, particularly in Florida.

After my date with royalty (or, at least, the closest we come to having it in the US), I rode to Daytona Beach and back up State Route A1A, where I could spend days taking in the views of the ocean and flora and fauna.

After pedaling through Painters Hill (I'm still looking for the hill!), I turned away from A1A and the ocean.  After crossing the bridge over the Atlantic Intracoastal Waterway, I rode the path along Palm Coast Parkway and saw some of the prettier roadside vegetation I've encountered.

All of that, and 120 kilometers of cycling.  Not a bad day, I'd say.

Lunch, Palm And Moss

Yesterday I had lunch with my mother and her friend at the local Cracker Barrel.  The place has a split personality :  The restaurant serves homey Southern-style and comfort foods ( no avocado toast), while it’s shop sells overpriced kitsch.  Mom, Iris and I had chicken pot pies , which had more chicken in them than you’ll find in a plate of chicken strips in a hipster bistro.

After lunch and conversation , there were still a couple of hours of daylight remaining.  So I went for a ride along the Atlantic Intracoastal Waterway, which parallels the ocean coastline a few hundred meters inland. The waterway is popular with boaters, recreational fishermen and bird-watchers, while its path connects with other trails, including this one.

It seems that, within a quarter-mile or so, you can find every kind of palm or fern lining a section of this dirt trail that loops away from the main bike and pedestrian lane.

E

From there, I rode along Colbert Lane to the head of the Lehigh Rail Trail, where a wooden bridge leads to a moss-canopied lane.  You couldn’t find anything more Southern Romantic.

Riding Out The Old Year And Into The New

This is the way the year ends
Not with a bang but a bike ride.

All right, so that's not how T.S. Eliot ended The Hollow Men. But, the other day I ended 2018 with one of the best rides I've taken in Florida.

The wind pushed against me for the entire 30 miles (50 kilometers) from my parents' house to the Daytona Beach boardwalk.   But I didn't mind, even though I was riding a rusty baloon-tire beach bomber:  It was a great excuse to bomb onto the beach and into the water.

This is something you definitely wouldn't do in New York on New Year's Eve (unless, perhaps, you are a member of the Polar Bear Club.)  I mean, the temperature doesn't reach 82F (28C) on Coney Island Beach on the last day of the year--though it could happen some year, given the effects of climate change.  On the other hand, my hometown probably won't have the sky or sunshine I experienced on my ride.  (I got sunburned even though I applied sunscreen twice.)  

I also wouldn't see anything like this

or this

 both of which I encountered on the way back, along Route A1A, between Ormond Beach and Gamble Rogers State Park.  Nor would I have seen this

which greeted me in Beverly Beach, near the aptly-named Painters Hill.

Because I took the route through Beverly Beach and Painters Hill, the ride back was longer.  But it was also easier, because the wind I pushed against was pushing at my back.  So, in all, I rode about 65 miles (105 kilometers) for my last trip of the year.

The following day (yesterday), I started 2019 by riding along A1A in the opposite direction, to St. Augustine. The temperature reached the previous day's levels, and the sun shone brightly, but only a breeze blew at my back on the way up, and into my face on the way back.  In all, I covered about the same distance--just over 100 kilometers--I did to end the previous day, and year.

The ride took me over a bridge that spans Matanzas Inlet.  Now, if you know more Spanish than I, you know "matanzas" means "slaughters". 

Indeed, people were slaughtered there:  specifically, French Huguenots who had the temerity to build a refuge for themselves at Fort Caroline, in what is now Jacksonville.  The problem was that they didn't fortify or defend their garrison very well.  So, when the Spanish attacked, it fell easily.  At the same time, a French flotilla sailed from Fort Caroline with the purpose of attacking St. Augustine.  It, however, was blown off course by a storm.  When some French survivors were found, Pedro Menendez de Aviles, the founder of St. Augustine, ordered their execution.

Of course, I'm sure nobody on the beach was thinking about that. I could hardly blame them:  The clear skies, warm air and calm sea wouldn't bring slaughter or execution to very many people's minds.  And, I admit, for me, the serene littoral vista made for a nearly perfect ride to start a new year.