We don't need no stinkin' mountains! Wekiwa Springs State Park

It's windy today, the first day of fall. 

Way offshore Hurricane Igor is pestering Bermuda.  Here, there is bright blue sky and big waves at the beach.

I am reminded of a tee shirt I bought on the last day we rode at Reddick.  It read:  "We don't need no stinkin' mountains!" on one side, and "Ride Florida!" on the other.  And in that time, a time before it seems we all lost so much, not the least of which was Reddick itself, it was true.

We had Reddick.  Who needed mountains?


The wind is out of the NE today.  The windows are wide open for the first time since May.  It's still warm, probably 80.  But the breeze and lack of humidity make it fine weather, both inside and out.


Today's wind is a reminder.  It's possible to invite a little oomph into flat coastal riding.  Upwind is like uphill, a hill without a top.  Go "up" as long as you can stand it.  Turn around and go "down".  Summer wind is from the East.  To go "up" from here, you'd have to paddle, not pedal.  But today it's got some north to it and it feels like fall.  Upwind opportunities are on their way.


Yesterday, our original plan was to drive to Lake Okeechobee and check out just how rough the "rough section" actually is.  We got up late and I went though my mental list of what else might be a different sort of workout.  Or at least a workout with different scenery.  And closer.  


So, instead of another Sunday at the Econ, we loaded up the bikes and headed for Wekiwa Springs, an oasis of clear, cold water in the midst of Orlando's suburban sprawl.  

Wekiwa Springs State Park is less than 5 miles from I-4 and the Altamonte Mall. The neighborhoods are pretty, with big trees that we don't see on the beach.  The river is pristine looking and so is the spring, in spite of being filled with humans of all shapes and sizes.


The line is long at the canoe rental.  Duh.  Beautiful Sunday afternoon.  A State Park literally surrounded by a major city.


So once again saved by the bikes, we change to bike shorts, fill camelbaks, and set out to find the trails. 


At pavement's end there is a kiosk with trail maps.  Even though Popeye has one, I take another for myself.  When separated, we often make totally different choices.  He is a straight line sort of guy.  I am a road less travelled type, frequently sidetracked into exploring shady winding paths to nowhere.

The trails weren't much.  At least they didn't start out that way.  The first couple miles of multi-use double track, riddled with horseshoe digs, didn't impress me much. 


Suddenly, a buck with a full rack of antlers careens around a bend and straight at Popeye.  At the very last moment the buck turns, leaping over the bushes to one side.  We hear him crashing through the brush, as he disappears toward the woods. 

Later Popeye said that, just for a second, it was as if the buck were charging him.  But moments later some hikers come ambling around the same bend, proving that the panicked deer was fleeing not charging.  Whew, no rabid deer at Wekiwa! 


We ride on the grassy edges whenever we can to avoid the sandy track.  I was ready to go wait in the canoe line.  But Popeye wasn't willing to turn back just yet. 


We cut over to check out the hiking trails, maybe find the river.  Huge eroded tree roots and alligator dung tell us we are close.  A low tunnel of shade leads to a 20 foot expanse of lily pads and a ten foot wide swath of clear beautiful slow flowing river. 


Even here, five miles from the pavement, there are people.  A towel hangs from a tree.  A minute later, a couple wades, waist deep, into view from upstream.  I wonder if they noticed the alligator dung, as I step over it on the way back out to the bike trail.


Now, an expert blogger/biker would have taken pictures.  I did have the means - right in my jersey pocket - but I was busy just trying to pedal. 


At the north end of the park, the trail turns back west and south.


Suddenly the bike trail veers off the doubletrack.  Red blaze marks lead through stands of tall pines.  Two sinkholes, a mile apart, and old enough to have half size trees growing in them, add depth, and character, to the forest. The sand is gone.  Single track, hard packed and covered with pine needles, changes the grinding laborious character of the ride to pure pleasure. 

I feel like I am flying.


The trail takes a turn into open meadows with deep green woodsy edges.  The view is unexpected, almost Appalachian; deer, a tiny brook.  A white farm house (or so I imagine it to be) graces the far side of a sloping meadow; a meadow in a green so pale, it appears misty.


It is beautiful.


The springs call to us as we ride up to the car with fourteen miles, and we head to the bath house to change.  So anxious am I to get into the water, I forget about the camera yet again. 


It's late afternoon.  The crowd has thinned out.  I get down the stairs stepping carefully over the one huddled child hanging onto the rail at the waterline.  The water is pale glass blue, clear, inviting.  Every pebble on the bottom looks close, about as far away as my arm is long.  I step off.  It's deep!  And COLD!!!! 


And yes, the cold is refreshing - for about 90 seconds.  

Then it is just plain COLD.  My teeth haven't chattered this much since...  Ok, since the Tour de Felasco, almost 3 years ago.


Only after we are dressed and nearly to the top of the hill and the parking lot, do I remember. 

I have a camera.

Wekiwa Springs 

So, next time you are stuck in the heat on I-4, pull off one exit after the mall, and dive into an oasis of old time Florida right there in the suburbs.

Watch out for gators in the river, and bucks on the trails. 

And mall sprawl on the way home. 

You could end up with a new blu-ray player from Best Buy.  

You know.  Since you're right there in town...