Riding in Secret. Scouting trail for the Full Moon Hash.

My very first job - after babysitter - was kitchen worker.  My ride to work was a bulky blue Schwinn that was my sister's before it was mine. 

There were fewer No Trespassing signs back then, but I met my share of dead ends checking for shortcuts between home and the back door of the village diner where I leaned my unlocked bike every morning at 6.

Some things change.  Some things don't.

Strava in privacy mode.  I duck behind the strip mall.  Looks pretty promising.  There's a long skinny strip of grass between the long shabby building and a long skinny fence.  At the very end I can just make out an open gate.  The bike rolls through a narrow stream of cloudy water seeping from the back of the 24 hour laundrymat.  Hmm, a little closer and I can tell that, yes, past the gate hanging open, there's a walkway leading to the right.  

I roll right up to the gate before the No Trespassing sign is actually visible.

"Dead end," someone chuckles behind me.    

Two young guys are schlepping paint cans out the open back door of the soon-to-be out of business hardware.

The guys don't seem a bit surprised to see a middle aged woman on a full suspension Lefty fetched up at the end of their particular back alley.  Or even surprised that I add my laughter to theirs. 

"Yep, another one," I say.   As if I do this sort of thing all day long.  (Which sometimes I do, but usually just for an hour or so at a time.)

This is Florida.  It is not safe to ignore No Trespassing signs, but I am curious.  "So, where's the passage go?" 

"There's like, a patio back there.  Total dead end."  And I know a kindred spirit.  Of course he's checked.

We all check.  Shortcutting kitchen workers, teenage hardware employees, and of course, suburban hashers looking for new trail.  There is just no passing by a double track, back alley, or hole in a fence without taking a second look.

What I am hoping to find is a way to come out far enough down the block to be out of sight of a possible halfway stop across the street.  Oh well, the answer is not here.

Today, my local quick suburban route of about 15 miles has yielded 3 surprises.  I've ridden this way dozens of times, so you'd think surprises would be, well, surprising.  But no, there's always something new if you're really looking.

"There's a shorter way past the soccer field, but I'm not sure they always leave the gates open," I told my co-hares last Sunday as we scouted trail.  Mental note: check later when I happen to be nearer the other end of the block. 

So, my second surprise of the day is a good one.  Not only is the gate in question hanging open in the middle of a weekday, but there is an enormous gap in the fence not far away.  As for No Trespassing signs.  Not a single one.  Yes!

I continue riding, with no intention of further scouting, just the need for an hour's worth of miles.  But something unusual for our flat suburban neighborhood catches my eye.  Clouds of black smoke billowing up a few blocks from the beach.  It could be one of the countless shoe-box houses in this town... or, oh no.  It could be the tiniest patch of wooded park in the county.  

Sure enough, the one and only patch of wooded singletrack in town, a postage stamp sized patch of woods behind the public library is on fire. Not just smoldering, but really on fire. Flames shoot straight up from the cabbage palms next to the parking lot.  Black smoke billows skyward while county workers watch from their white pick up.  Caution tape is warped across the road out of the park, which also happens to be my route home.

I roll up to the truck.  If you are simply curious - and nice - nearly all public workers are more than willing to answer questions.  

Down comes the window obligingly.  Controlled burn? Downed power line?  Arson?  I'm just curious!

This time the answer is controlled burn.  Supposed to be done a month ago. 

Beats crazies in the neighborhood.  I guess.  The result is the same, though.  Another bit of shiggy (hasher speak for off road trail) gone for now.  Hopefully in a month it will be passible again.  We'll see.  Meantime, not a bad idea to scout some bypasses as soon as it all cools down. 

Meantime, the fire may be just getting started, but the day is getting on.
 
Fortunately there are other exits for someone looking to elude a bunch of caution tape and just get on home. 

At least there are if you're on a bike.  And you know where there's a hole in the fence.
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Full moon hash...  Feb 11, 2017

Waiting for the hounds to arrive.

Hares re-upping flour at LongDoggers halfway.

Hounds begin to arrive at halfway.

Hounds begin to arrive for slam bang beach bonfire ending.

The Santa Cruz, my ex-bike.

Finger owns Flash now. 

And definitely dresses him better!

Down-downs under the full moon.

Swing Low.
   

* If the idea of a hares and hounds sort of bike chase appeals to you (and you're over 21), check Bikehash.com.