I put this photo of a Piliated Woodpecker up today because for the first two hours of Bike Church yesterday this was the lone thing I remember seeing other than my handlebars. Fifty-five miles of riding that included hiking through snarled thickets of briar and muck, a 20 mph peloton for 40 minutes, and one endless hour of sugar sand riding exposed under an 80 degree January sun. All of that was just to get to the entry point for the real ride deep into the Wildlife Refuge to the fabled Pinhook River.
I missed the Pinhook, yet again, happy to escort my old friend Mystery back to town. I promised him a 3 hour excursion that ended behind a dewy pint of ale, and his accusing eyes, so far far from home, made me feel guilty for being the liar that I indeed was at that moment. Besides, I could have gone on, and ridden further into the salt-marsh and possibly even out of it, but at some point I would be left broken and alone and far from a pint myself.
We turned around and bid the other church-goers adieu, and the day immediately brightened into a benevolent place. Lunch by the St. Marks River, a dirt road track to a newly discovered swimming hole, followed by the final soul-crushing miles back to town.
Mystery gave it up after 44 miles, many of which were unfriendly in pace and surface. He sent me ahead with his blessing to get the van and return, but I found I could not do it. A mile on from our parting I called in a rescue, thanks Magnum! I went back to tell him the good news only to find him darting into the grass behind a church and curling up for a nap. While he mewled and moaned, I coaxed him back into the saddle and up the road to a rendezvous point.
Me? I felt fine thank you for asking, and I sampled some Munson single track on the way home just to put a fine point on things, then I ached and creaked across town, arriving at the van 5.5 hours later, with 55 mixed-surface miles that nobody can ever take away from me. That is 68% of the 80 mile total the rest of the group completed, and that is a D+ in any school district.
Juancho
I am not even fit enough to read this.
Sorry I was operating under my secret identity….^
Both of you could hang I bet.
I grade on the curve and give you a B+. My curve is so generous I give myself a C+ for 25 road miles Sunday. There were hills.
This swimming hole you speak of…
Was she the sulfur spring with the rope swing?
The story was awesome. I could smell the cooked dry sweat, and hear the creaking of bottom brackets, knees, and the will to live.
Great blog, John! You’re a real writer!
Judging by the jpeg, I thought your ride might have taken place behind the pyramid on a pack of Camels.
Climbing out of a pack of Camels once was quite enough thank you.
Yes Big Worm? What’s the scoop? It looks like a gem if you can get it to yourself..like tomorrow.
Whore schlep. That sounds like a real good time. Broken, alone and far from a pint sounds damned familiar. You chose wisely.
I liked Still Life, but Jitterbug Perfume is my fave.
She’s a sulfur spring, and it’s been a hot swimming spot since before our parents were little kids. Apparently, there’s a whole abandoned town back in those woods. Folks would take their horse and buggies from N GA all the way down here, just to get in that water, or so the story gets told by Wakulla Ol’ Timers. I heard all those tales as a kid, and once the wonders of the interweb and instant knowledge came about, I never thought to vet the stories. Besides, some stories are better just the way you remember them. Anyway, the sulfur odor waxes and wains, based upon what, I don’t know, but I spent many a hot summers afternoon in there. The sulfur smell helped keep the sand gnats at bay, too.
Interesting. Sulfur as a deterrent for bugs? I will sit in that egg water all summer long.