Normally, I'm happy to get home from a trip to Florida. These days, I'm happy to see my parents, in part because I don't know how many more years they'll be in this world. But, apart from them and some lovely bike-rides (The good and bad news is that they're all flat!), I have almost no motivation to go to Florida.
Since I got back last night, though, I'm feeling a little wistful. I think the feeling started on Monday, when I rode down A1A through Painters Hill and Flagler Beach. Along the way, I stopped, for no particular reason, in one of those stores that sells things made out of seashells.
The proprietress was one of those friendly, helpful and sun-bleached people you meet by the sea, though not necessarily by the trendy beaches. "Anything I can help you with, let me know," she intoned in a voice of sunshine and sea salt. She wasn't one of those surly, hipper-than-thou storeclerks you see working in trust-fund enclaves. She probably wasn't making a lot of money, but she also, most likely, didn't need to.
I imagined myself in her place, but with my cats and bikes. I imagined myself closing the store and riding Tosca up and down A-1A or along any number of other roads. It used to amaze me there weren't more fixed-gear bikes in Florida; this time, I saw a pretty fair number in and around St. Augustine. Of course, their riders were young, or seemed to be: I don't expect a senior citizen who hasn't been on a bike since he or she was a teenager to hop on a track bike.
Anyway, I'll be back to my normal rides, work and such soon enough. One day, if I can afford it and don't have to worry about property values, I might have a house that looks like this (ha, ha):
Today I rode the longest distance I've done on the cruiser I borrowed from my parents' neighbor: 52 miles. Given that it's designed to make the rider feel as if he or she is sitting on a sofa chair while the boardwalk goes clack-clack-clack under the tires, I feel good about the ride.
The bike I rode is certainly nothing like these, which I saw parked in front of a convenience store near the Old City:
At least, I got to St. Augustine faster than Ponce de Leon did when he was looking for the Fountain of Youth.
And I will say that even though I wrecked the original rear wheel, the bike is sturdy if flexy.
If it had been about fifteen years ago, I would have tried to ride the bike across the moat just below the castle. After all, there's no water in the moat and no water=no alligators.
There is a dedicated bike lane for much of the length of A-1A. One way in which drivers--even the transplanted ones--here differ from the ones in New York is that they don't use the bike lanes to pass or double-park.
Plus, the beaches, inlets, dunes and ocean are beautiful. Here is a view from the bridge over the Matanzas Inlet:
Check out this formation on a nearby beach:
St. Augustine, in addition to the tourist traps one would expect, has some interesting establishments. At least, the spirit behind them is not what you'd find in New York:
A Giggling Gator? I'm having a hard time picturing it. However, I have to love a place with a sign that says "Open when we get here\ Closed when we leave."
All right. So I've slowed down, and I can't blame it all on riding a cruiser. I also won't make the excuse that I'm enjoying the sunshine, blue skies and surf, although I am indeed reveling in those things.
I won't even blame the not-much-longer-than-my-hand lizards that darted across my path in Painters Hill. I must say, though, that I found myself thinking of Geico commercials, even though I have absolutely no reason to buy auto insurance.
However, there is one thing I can blame for slowing me down momentarily.
This adorable (in his/her own way, anyway) creature wandered into my path after a few lizards played chicken with my wheels. What he/she expected to find in the path, I'll never know. That particular stretch of path is bounded by tall grass that ends on the banks of the Florida Intracoastal Waterway, which parallels the Atlantic beaches on the other side of the path and Route A-1A.
Perhaps my armored friend was confused or trying to evade a less likeable creature. Or, perhaps, he/she didn't find any edibles to his or her liking, and thought that a cyclist might be carrying some tasty carbohydrates. In fact, I wasn't, as I was trying to burn off the lunch I had with Mom and one of her friends, and build an appetite for dinner, which would consist of leftovers from Easter dinner. Fortunately, said dinner consisted of foods that taste better the second or third day.
Mr./Ms. Tortoise rowed along the path on front legs that were more like flippers, and back into the tall grass. Then the lizards darted out, and the ocean seemed to deepen in a shade of turquoise at the end of a surprisingly desert-like dune.
