The third of my planned six weekend excursions was cut short by Hurricane Dennis this past weekend. Of course, I didn't get to report from the field, enjoying the full capability of the storm's thrust. I was asked to come into the office Saturday and edit Web feeds. Ugh. Needless to say, Sunday became my half-weekend and I was planning to spend it bicycling along the shores of Jupiter, Fl.
I packed up Golden Thunder and climbed into the Silver Bullet, but on the way to the paved trail, I caught sight of Jonathon Dickinson State Park. I remembered reading about this place when I first moved down here. It was the homeland for Club Scrub, a strictly bad-ass off-road bicycling club in South Florida. They had built miles and miles of trails through some of Florida's most ferocious terrain. I thought that a spin on the trails would be a lot more exciting than constant beachfront mansions and sail boats.
I paid four bucks to get into the park, left the Bullet nearby, and made by way along a paved path to the Middle Ridge and Osprey loops. The place was like a ghost town, except for the toned, fit Lance Armstrong-looking guy who sprung from the end of the trail as I was approaching. That should have been my first clue.
The trails were intermediate, or so the lady at the front gate said. And c'mon, like I'm going to go to the "beginner" loop. It was called the Tortoise loop for pete's sake. But as they say, pride goeth before the fall... down a steep bank into a swamp. More on that later.
I started out on the trail, and immediately realized I was in very unfamilar territory for Golden Thunder. The trail was about a foot and a half wide, with "walls" of shrub and brush on either side. Since I'm in Florida, it was mostly sand. Huge palmetto roots shot up around every corner. And then, just to make things fun, random logs were thrown in to really scare the hell out of me. There were a couple fun additions. There was about a 3-and-a-half straight drop once where I caught some air. There was another pyramid-type structure made out of wooden planks that I rode up and then down. But mostly, it was pure hell. If you looked away for a second, you were smashing your foot against a hidden tree stump or getting whacked in the face by a dead, hanging branch.
At one point, I rode alongside a murky swamp. I had once asked a co-worker how you can tell if there are alligators in the water. He said if it's fresh water, there are always alligators. So I looked over to spot a pair of eyes or a tail, lost footing around a patch of sand, and flipped sideways and upside-down, down a bank into a thorny shrub. Golden Thunder was pinned on top of me, I was caught in the thicket, and I wasn't sure what type of animals could be sneaking up around me. I realized that the water was only a few feet away. I saw these reddish ants climbing up a stalk a few inches from my face. I had already seen all sizes of lizard on the ride. So, I flipped out, started struggling violently to get out, and about a minute later, I was upright and standing on the trail. There was sand and bits of plant stuck in places on my hand where skin had been. My right leg was full-flow bleeding from a couple of long cuts around my shin and calf. I checked myself for other cuts, found a few, and then jumped back on the Thunder.
An hour later, after stopping once because I thought I was going to puke (ok, I'm in decent shape, but this trail was insane), I finally popped back out onto the paved trail. In a strange way, it felt invigorating to finally finish it, with my shirt soaked from top to bottom and blood rolling down into my socks and smeared on my bike frame. I thought of Club Scrub and whether they'd be laughing or applauding. I told myself I'd try it again before I left Florida, only with a helmet next time. I loaded up the sand-caked Golden Thunder, hopped in the Bullet and drove to the nearest gas station to get some hydrogen peroxide.
It was a good type of sting.
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