Cross Roads Quidditch

When you're zooming across an overpass on an interstate, like I-95 for instance, or the Florida Turnpike, do you ever wonder what's going on 20 feet below your car?

Yeah, me neither. 

Unless I am at the exact spot where I-95 and the Turnpike cross one another in Ft. Pierce, Florida. 

Because, under your flying metal steed of highway horsepower, swoop metal steeds of a different propulsion. 

Especially on the weekends.  

This 4.2 mile fat tire roller coaster is usually referred to as the Ft Pierce trails.  Once in a while you might hear some old timer - like me - call it Cross Roads.  (Because well, it's where 95 and the turnpike cross, right?)

I can't say whether it's strictly legal.  All I can say is, we found a couple older websites referring to it as "soon to be legal." 

There was certainly no indication anywhere in sight that one shouldn't enter, park, or ride. 

So that is exactly what we did.

As a matter of fact, on this overcast Sunday afternoon, we had plenty of company at the trailhead.  Most of that company was a group of really loud ATV riders roaring around on their own separate patch of dirt. 

Nobody paid the slightest bit of attention to a couple of humble cyclists pedaling quietly off to one of the best flowing mountain bike trails in Florida.  And that's just the way we like it. 

Yep. 

Quiet.  Low key.  Stealth. 

That's us. 

But once you're in, there's no one around but the critters - and the cars overhead - so whoop and holler all you want.  And you will probably want to - quite a lot!

 

In this section, "The Dance" is on the other side.

One dances over the palmetto roots, that is.

This trail is in the most unlikely of places, on the disturbed land that is the underbelly of two major highways and their exit ramps.  Four miles of well-marked, hard packed singletrack twists and glides through woods and swamp; crossing, and crossing again, under the overpasses. 

bridge abutment

Cross Roads trail is by far, the closest I'll ever get to playing quidditch.  When it's dry, it's pure magic, swoopy and dippy.  And when it's wet, the magic is there, just muddy and slippery. 

By my third time around, even I have stopped shaking, and I am swooping like Harry Potter on a new broomstick.


The trail is constantly in flux.  It's never been the same way twice.  The old teeter totter is gone, and a wooden bridge has replaced the long-ago log crossing.  A few ramps and lots of log piles remain to test your oomph at surprise intervals.  

Sometimes water filled,

and sometimes just filled with prickers.
(Ask me how I know that.) 

 Bulldozers come, and ATVs, but so far the bike singletrack has held it's own quiet ground. 

The trail evolves endlessly with rising waters, hurricanes, or just plain wind. Trees fall, new paths go around. When it floods, new trail appears on higher ground.  When it's dry, new swoops materialize in the gullies.

Dip when dry.  

I don't even know if I should name the mtn bike club that maintains this trail.  Hey, it could be legal by now, for all I know! 

Might not be, though. 

But if you go, give them credit in your heart.  And if you see them there working, be sure to thank them.  Or better yet join them.

They took what would have been wasted land and made it into a mountain bikers dream - wet or dry.



Directions:  On the south side of Okeechobee Rd. (70), find the off-ramp for the turnpike.  There is a dirt road between the off ramp and the Holiday Inn Express.  Take it, heading south for about a half mile, to the trailhead.  Check for signs of legality or non legality and decide to ride accordingly.    

Caloosahatchee Slip 'n Slide - Part #2

When you were a kid, did you jump into puddles instead of over them? 

I did.

So when the rain came down on Saturday evening, and started up again halfway through the bike leg on Sunday morning, I was in real familiar territory.

Mudville!  My home town!  

As all tri's do nowadays - on road or off - the organizers get started pre-dawn.  Sailor and the Cap'n were volunteering, and Popeye, Tri-Lady, and I all wanted to be at the venue an hour before race start.  That meant a 5:30 wake up and a 6:30 departure from our host's (the Bligh's) adorable north Ft. Meyers home. 

Ouch.  Hopefully with that, the most painful part of the day is over!

Setting up in the yawn.

transition area - 7am 

(sometimes there's just not enough coffee in the world)

Pre-race announcements are half heard in the coffee free haze of pre-dawn.  The course I don't worry about, I won't be the first one through it by any means.  But I do perk up and pay attention when Theirry, the race director, announces that the Camelback humps are optional and it will be permitted to go around them.  Whew!  Thank you Theirry, for the camelback waiver!  

Then it's time for a long walk to the short pier. 

The race starts with a shallow dive into deep red water, making me think of the Everafter in a Kim Harrison novel. 

As all us slowfolks know, if you aren't one of them, it's always wise to wait for the fast folks go first.  No one likes to be run over.  Then again, when you're a middle-of-the-packer, it's crucial to start ahead of the breaststrokers. 

Even though I feel the churning of swimmers all around, all I see are one pair of fluttering feet ahead, glowing pinkish red, leading the way through the surreal burgundy of the Caloosahatchee.


Soon, the thump of heel-shots to my leg tell me I misjudged my start.  I am in between two sidestrokers, of all improbable things!  It doesn't take too long to clear them, but there are breaststrokers ahead. 

It always seems in off-road tri there are guys so good on the mtn bike that survival level in the swim is good enough.  I pass them now, but I know I'll see them later. 

It's a two loop swim course and we get to wade through the weeds, climb up the bank, and dive off the pier again for a second go round of the big orange buoys.

Too soon the fun part is over. 

Through the tangle of lily pads, up the bank, and a barefoot quarter mile run to the bike.  All is going well!  TriLady's standout project one Trek is still in transition, telling me I am ahead out of the swim. 

Yes! 

Helmet on, shoes, gloves...

No! 

A strap of the Camelbak I hung on my handlebars is wound around Killer's front disc brake.  The plastic clip is stuck so tightly I actually have to drag the bike out of the way of the other racers, and turn it upside down in the grass to pry it out. 

And when I finally pick my head up, TriLady is long gone.

This April day, the bike course at Caloosahatchee has something for every kid who ever jumped into a puddle.

A 20 yard section of trail, flooded hub-deep over muddy mush starts us off, and that's before we even get across Route 78 to the official bike trail.

A counter clockwise spin of Caloosahatchee begins with nice flat fields - high and dry - with an easy going temperature under the heavy gray sky. 

But too soon the easy is over, and one descends into the gloom of the dreaded Far East. 

Ups and downs, swoops and whoops, banks and turns, dips and slips. 

Even dry, the Far East is challenging.  But in steady rain, hard packed dirt morphs into brown vasaline.  Footprints, hand prints, and five fingered gouges mark the upward slopes.  Once unclipped, there was no clipping in again. 

Even for mediocre riders like me, accustomed to pushing bikes up a climb, there was the novelty of actually having to go off trail and climb through the palmettos in order to get any footing at all on the steep parts.  

Once done with the dark side, it was smooth, but careful, sailing for those of us with disc brakes and light weight, mud-shedding tires. 

Oh baby! 

I haven't skied in years but I do remember the feeling! 

Transversing the "slopes" of those miles of twisty mud ribbon was the best bit of fun I have ever had, in any race, anywhere! 

Popeye said later he passed a lot of folks walking their bikes after the Far East. 

By the time I came skiing through, the only riders left were the ones stopped, poking at mud-caked tires, frames, and V-brakes with sticks; or simply slamming their bikes on the ground in an attempt to knock the mud free. 

Whew.  Really glad I shed the big knobs, when I saw how thickly the mud packed into the knobbies on other bikes.  "Skiing" was much easier than carrying twenty pounds of wet clay along for the ride!

Since TriLady already let the cat out of the bag, I will freely admit right here, right now, that nobody was more surprised than I was, on popping out of the bush, to see her up ahead, spinning out on the incline to the final ridgeline section.  Her own mud-shedders were a little too slick, and reluctantly I took advantage and passed.

Silently thanking Theirry again for the camel hump waiver, it was back through the free wheel-wash on the south side of the park and into transition.


The run is full of welcome sights.  Sailor handing out Gatorade, Cap'n Bligh riding sweep after the final cyclist.  Popeye waiting at the end with Gatorade.

Wouldn't dream of boring anyone with my personal sorta-able-to-run summary, except to say that the added detours of leaving trail, wading into the river and back out (times two!), provided a welcome footwash for this muddy runner. 

(Popeye had more excitement on his run.  He missed a red arrow, ran a bonus mile, and still finished first!  Awesome, or what?)

Finish line cheering.  Gatorade to chug.  Friends holding awards. 

All's well that ends well.

But no wonder the line at the bike wash was so long!

TriLady's Fuel

And that was with low profile mud-shedding tires!

After kicking off enough mud to get clipped back in.

Apres-ski. 

Killer just fits into the campground shower.

Now, just one quick word about awards and I'm done yakking for this week.

Obviously the attempt was made for more "serious" awards this year. 

Maybe for first timers, a serious award is nice...

But for myself, except for a glass etched beer mug from a long ago Battle of the Bridges, the awards at this race have been the best ever!  Certainly the most creative!

Coconut head

(on curtain rod at home)

 1st place - 2008

Alligator candy dish

 2nd place - 2009

(In use at Adventure Cycles)

chain ring plaque

1st place - 2010

And because Popeye and I each got a first place in our respective age groups, we have two of these...  

Hmm, wind chimes????

Earth Day. Same Message, Different Decade.

On the first official Earth Day, in Weedsport, New York, there were no 7-11's. 

People used to stop at the Big M Grocery in town to "run in for a few things".  Kids, grandmas, husbands, often stayed in the car with motors running and heaters on.  Of course, cars without kids or grandmas were often left running too. 

Just for a minute.  Or ten. 

Hey, it was snowing.  It was cold. Who wanted to breathe the outside air anyway?  

Always the obnoxiously well informed teen, I remember turning off my mom's car and getting out, slamming the big Chevy BelAir door behind me. 

I remember shuffling through gray slush, knocking on car windows, saying to anyone curious enough to roll a window down in the sleet, "You know if you turn off the engine for more than two minutes, it will save more fuel than starting the car back up."  (Something I had heard on one of our two TV channels, no doubt.) 

And no doubt the snorts and derisive laughter then would be echoed at exactly the same decibel level today.  

Older now?  For sure.  Wiser?  Debatable. 

OK, so I don't actually knock on car windows in a snow storm and try to interfere with creature comforts directly.

But the message hasn't changed a bit. 

What can I say?  Just plain stubborn, I guess.  

Caloosa! Just add water...

Well, I got one thing right.  The squirrels could have heard us coming! 

Took one more quick ride at the park on Friday morning, this time to test the "big bike tires". 

Snakes fled.  Gopher tortoises ducked, hissing, into their shells.

Wow, the new knobbies were not the traction tigers I expected, maybe only 10% better.  Along with a huge amount of energy loss, pushing all that rubber through the sand and mud, there was so much vibration, even off road, that my wrist went numb somewhere around mile 3. 

Test results: 
Very little gain in traction. 
Huge energy suckage.
Unnnncccomforrrtaa-uh-uh-able.

Uh oh.  Mud or no mud, the big knobs were just too much tire for me.  I don't have the strength.  The low profile "baby shoes" were better after all.    

Popeye, ever the hero, volunteered to change them back for me that night. 

The lightweight tires held the Stan's first try.  Whew.  Plus, we got a free lesson in hydraulic brake adjustment!  So much so, that the initial ten minute job of changing tires ran too late to even think about packing for Saturday's departure.  

But all went fine in the morning after a sleep unmarred by alarm clocks.  The Honda Elephant was packed and ready for departure by ten for the four hour trek to Alva.  Plenty of daylight at the other end for packet pick up and a pre-ride of the race course. 

Sailor and Cap'n Bligh were already on trail when we arrived.

My life is full of superheroes.  

The trail at Caloosa is one of the best groomed trails I have ever ridden anywhere, in this state, or any other.  The Mudcutters bike club relentlessly maintains and improves the trail to a degree to be envied by even the most glamorous locations. 

There is never a time when we ride at Alva that there hasn't been some change: added trail, beefed up low spots, reinforced turns and edges.  This year the trail featured all of that, plus a surprise ending - the heightening of the 2 camel humped "thrill hills" at the west end.  A big wowee-zowie for the roller coaster crowd. 

I knew from years past that the humps were big fun, and easy, as long as you put in Effort. 

Just GO. 

Go with a LOT of momentum. 

Killer made the crest all right, but unable to make the little right hook necessary to stay on trail, I shot off down the back side into the weeds and was in no way able to get enough momentum for the hump #2. 

Darn.  

I know I did this last year.  Go again. 

Darn. 

Was it the big wheels?  

Only after Sailor and Cap'n Bligh told us (over another fantastic dinner - with another of Sailor's recipes I will have to beg for a later post) that the humps had been heightened, did they scare me.  Before knowing that, I was fine, weeds and all!  

Only then did I begin to worry. 

The camel backs were far too steep to get the bike over on foot, unless someone dropped a rope over the side. 

If I went around them during the race, I'd have to disqualify myself.  

Oh well, nothing to do but cross that hump when you get to it, I guess.

So, did I think to take pictures of this best groomed trail anywhere ever?  No.  Or of the crazy humps popping up from a pancake flat field ala the original Camelback in Arizona?  Nope.  Or the whoopty doo's of the Far East?  Uh-uh.

Sorry.  Just plain forgot.  Way too busy having fun.

I will have to write to Sailor and the Cap'n.  Maybe they or some of the other Mudcutters can send me a photo.  It's too cool a sight not to share!  These folks can dream up some amazing sh--, uh, stuff.

So, the pre-ride went great.  The overcast sky kept it's cool.  The rain was barely a mist, and the hard pack stayed dry.

Hardly ever having to put a foot down, and riding two loops of the short but technical Far East to my one, Popeye came swooping by me on an uphill. 

We agreed the trail was perfect.  Ever the prophet, he added, "But if it rains tomorrow, this place will be a skating rink." 

And was it ever!

It's Monday morning.  I am home, with the third load of laundry going, trying to decide what the highlights were.  Honest to god, too many to count. 

This was, by far, the most fun of any race ever.  (Um, do I say that about every off road tri with a car named after it?)  The course in Richmond has long been my favorite, and you've heard me rave about Oleta.  The twists and turns at JAX are a blast, but Caloosahatchee this year outdid them all!

All it took was the addition of one simple ingredient to make it ever so memorable. 

So, be careful what you wish for with big new tires on a Thursday.  By Sunday, on your slicks, you may get it. 

Mud.  And plenty of it.
  
to be continued

Baby's Got New Shoes

Thursday Big Brother and his Best Betty made their departure, and suddenly I realized the Fire XC pros I sent for hadn't arrived!  Yikes! 

One more quick jaunt to the mud and sand of Wickham Park convinced me that I had better get hold of some knobbies before the race this weekend. 

It would have been shorter to drive directly to the bike shop but the mudfest necessitated a shower for both Killer and me before heading up to Merritt Island.  Geesh, just can't stay away from that place, even when I take time off! 

But as it turned out, I was able to stay away this one time.  The new tires were waiting on the doorstep when I got home.  Hooray!

And, with perfect timing, Popeye arrived home and immediately put them on and Stans'd 'em up for me!  (My hero!)

From baby shoes...

to big boy tires,

 Killer really looks the part now. 

I am almost hoping there's mud at Alva this weekend!

If not, at least the squirrels will hear us coming.

29r in the House!

Bike, eat...

and sleep deeper than a 17 year old cat. 

That's my goal every weekend, and this one exceeded expectations.

With the new bikes just begging to be ridden, we made it to the Econ twice, Sugarmill once, and worked in two runs.  (Popeye  did the Saturday morning road ride as well, so he gets the gold star!)

But even so, I wasn't really tired until I cleaned house this morning!  

(Big Brother and his Betty arrive tomorrow. That means the Guinness Apple Bread can come out of the freezer, mmmm.) 

The new bike was a dream.  Not sure if it's because of the 29 inch wheels or just because it's new, but it floated down the trail with very little effort from me!

Opposite this particular bank, Northstar spotted a fairly large gator.  Much more thoughtful than me, she shouted to warn a kayaker coming around the bend, just so he wouldn't have a heart attack when he saw it. 

His response was, "Want me to wrestle him for you?" 

I don't know, 30 years in Florida and I still haven't acquired quite enough complacency to laugh off a flesh eating reptile the size of my boat.

OK, not too impressive from this distance (no telephoto on the phone camera), but he was a moderately big one.  Not exactly Jabba the Hutt, but a respectable 10-12 feet. 

It's not so much the length they get to be in this river that scares the pudding out of me, but more the width.  Econ gators always look really well fed, wide in the belly, like they just ate a deer.  Or at least a St. Bernard.  

A few bends further on, TomCat did a spectacular endo (which I missed seeing - darn!)  The guys up ahead didn't notice and kept going.  In the distance as they rode off, I heard a huge cheer go up.  Hoo boy, drunken campers ahead. 

It is the weekend. 

When we finally got to the spot ourselves, we could see the party going strong on the opposite bank: 15 or 20 kids, kayaks, campfire, coolers.  As we rode by, another cheer went up with lots of yelling and waving.  I spared a hand to wave back, amazed at the friendliness.  (Definite improvement over banjo music.)  Northstar caught up and asked "Did you hear what they were yelling?"

"29r in the house!"

Wow, unanticipated attention for the bike with the big wheels.  Who knew? 

Later, we learned the first cheer was for one of Inspector Gadget's friends who had yelled across to the partiers, "Throw me a beer!"  Which they did.  He caught it one handed and chugged it on the spot.  Now a cheer for chug ability, I understand!

Two days, two rides at the Econ, then Sunday on to Sugarmill, and Killer just continues to float! 

Popeye on left, and Krafty leaning on his Fuel EX 8.

Spruce Creek Overlook

Riding Sugarmill was way too much fun and I did NOT want to get off the bike and run!  Popeye took off on foot for the 6.7 mile loop, while I procrastinated with a third bike loop, but fear of finishing last at the Caloosahatchie XTerra next weekend finally drove me to don the Nikes and get to it.  

Just a quick transition run.

Hey, that wasn't so bad. 

Not good.  But not so bad.

Watch out, TriLady! 

(As if.)

A short case for lifehammers.

At our Easter dinner party, the subject of lifehammers came up.  You know, those pointy little escape devices that break a window if you are trapped in a car underwater?

The discussion generally concluded with Murphy's Law. 

If you have a lifehammer, you'll probably never drive off a bridge.

As far as I could tell yesterday when I came home from my ride and saw the car in the ditch across the road, Murphy had it right.  

The compact sedan fit neatly lengthwise into the ditch.  It was such a perfect fit that it didn't look as if there was room to open the doors to get out.  Thank goodness it hasn't rained for a few days.   In the chaos of firetrucks pulling up and the firefighters jumping out to do their thing, I could see the windows were up.  Any occupants inside likely had water across their laps.

Check out the Today Show video (the second one down) at this website.

A couple months ago, when I saw this video, I bought three hammers.  One for each of our cars and one for the Chick. 

Just in case Murphy's Law holds. 

And especially if it doesn't.

http://www.autogeek.net/inausaeq.html?gclid=CPjUybSOhqACFVZS2godDEjgkw

Zero to 26 in 8? Superfly is here! Easter Dining Al Fresco.

8 weeks, that is.  

I thought the Wickham Park Marathon, 50, 100, and 200 Mile Fun Run started on May 29th.  But it doesn't start until May 30. 

Hooray!  More time to train than I thought!

Check it out!  It's the coolest (um, not literally) run of the year, and the price is right.  Be sure and read the entry form!

http://www.mattmahoney.net/wickham/wickham.html

No, for all you anal types, I have no plan.  Except to get running as much as the knees will tolerate.

So tonight, trail run.  Wickham Park, 6:30pm.  Be there or be square.


But why fixate on a run goal?  

There is a new bike in the house!!!

Superfly is here!

The bike shop called on April 1 to say it had arrived.  Even though we already knew it had shipped on Monday, two months earlier than the initial arrival date, I couldn't help thinking, oh sure, April Fool!

But there it was, and here it is, my very own 29r.

Every bike I have ever owned seems to come up with a name for itself.  As they get older they all become "Nellie Bell" eventually.  

My sleek gray Santa Cruz, "mature" as she is, is no Nellie Bell yet, not by a long shot, but this new guy just might muscle her out of her best-bike-in-the-world niche! 

He's not sleek and he's not stealth, but he is something extra, and I knew after some time in the saddle, a name would surface.


I just wasn't expecting it on the first ride. 

After addition of a bottle rack and a quick zip up to the beach for initial saddle and height adjustment, Popeye grabbed his road bike and we hit Tropical Trail where cars (mostly) go slow, peacocks stroll, and squirrels frolic.

One said squirrel suddenly frolicked the wrong direction. 

There was no avoiding it. 

True to the 29r hype, I never felt the bump, but looking down, I saw the squirrel go under the front wheel, the whole length of him rolled out flat, stem to stern, nose to tail.  Ouch!  True to the nature of squirrels, or perhaps the nature of fat tires, the little guy jumped up in the instant before the rear wheel hit and ran for the nearest tree. 

The name "Killer" came instantly to mind.  As much as it feels like an unlucky sort of moniker, the name is a sticky one and it's just not leaving.  Hopefully something a little less vicious sounding will come along to displace it!


Meanwhile guess who came to dinner?

Dining Al Fresco 

Heron's weren't the only Easter guests! 

Popeye's mom and dad and his niece and nephew from Philidelphia, and the Chickenless Chick and Hubby, all came for dinner.  And what a glorious day for al fresco dining! 

The pool and the kayaks got used, dolphins were spotted, and the campfire wood that has been hanging around for a decent rain-free evening finally got burned.  Cave man TV, now that's family time.

Even after a hefty mixed grill of pork, beef, and chicken, and three salads, the Guinness strawberry shortcake got a big thumbs up! 

The subject of so many cakes in so few weeks brings to mind...

I went to the mall last week to shop for a bathing suit, and the only thing I could find that fit were these earrings.

So when the rels invited me to join them at the beach on Monday while Popeye works, I caught myself backpedaling.

But, ah ha!  I can ride to the beach, appear in my bike shorts instead of a swimsuit, and no one will even suspect I don't actually own a bathing suit!

Saved by the bike.  Again.