I took an Amtrak Train from Tampa to West Palm Beach, then rode my bike back to the East Coast (Venice, FL) .
It started with a dream of riding across the width of Florida. After some minor planning, I waited for an opening in my schedule. This was MLK Jr weekend. I made it to Union Station, Tampa FL, at 601 N Nebraska Ave, Tampa, FL 33602 at about 11:00 am on Friday, Jan 17th. The train was about an hour late coming into Tampa. I arrived a little later than I wanted to West Palm Beach Train Station, at 209 S Tamarind Ave, West Palm Beach, FL 33401. I first grabbed a charging cord for my phone at a local gas station, where the middle-eastern owner told me to watch out, I was in the bad area of town (literally about .3 miles away from multi-billion dollar mansions). I made my way to the beach where I thought I could get some sleep. Not so much. The freezing sea breeze was howling in my face, the noise of the breaking waves and the wind were louder than the train I rode in on, and drunk ritzy people walking the street and beach kept my brain from shutting down. One drunk woman peered over the railing, and asked if I was a bike cop, then accused me of being the paparazzi. I decided that sleep would never come, so an Irish Pub was the only other solution. I made my way from the clock tower (423 S Ocean Blvd, Palm Beach, FL 33480) to O'Sheas Irish Pub. There was an Ybor City ambiance, just a lot shorter of a street. I was decked out in cycling gear, and my bike was loaded with gear, so I sat outside to keep watch over it. I crushed a huge double-patty Irish burger and some pints of Guinness and then some IPA's for pre-ride energy, and talked cycling to two local patrons who were cyclists as well, one of which was a delivery guy who said he did 20-30 miles a day delivering for Jimmy John's, and the other was a pedi-cab owner there with his bike and trailer every night to make money. They both took me on an tour of their bikes and told me what parts they swapped out, just like Jay Leno would have done with his cars. I reciprocated and showed them my Cannondale Quick 1 loaded down with all my bikepacking bags and gear. I avoided the idiotic and immature, almost fights, and high school drama which unfolded right in front of me all night, which happens when idiots drink more than they can handle, and left at 3:34 am on my ride.
I made my way to the sugar cane fields, taking a left in the pitch-black night, and then turning right, ducking under a pipe gate, and onto a dirt road. I was unsure why this was my route that I planned, but I was trying to avoid main roads and traffic, and this looked very promising and safe from satellite views on my computer, so I went with it. The white sandy dirt road was packed just enough to keep my road tires from getting sucked in, and after three miles, I was confronted with a 6-foot-tall chain-link fence that went all the way into the water on both sides. I had no choice but to unpack some weight and throw it over, then hoist my bike over, and follow all my stuff over, and then reassemble everything. Then, I got back on the main road and vowed never to leave pavement again.
The rest of the ride was long and sunny (after the sun rose as I was scaling that fence) and I headed through miles of sugar cane fields and sod farms, typical old abandoned looking South FL towns, and crack shacks, and finally about started to fall asleep on my bike while my right arm started giving out a couple times. I needed fuel so I pulled into a plaza and found a Pizza Hut. After eating a very subpar, not hot enough, medium Hawaiian Chicken pizza and drinking half of a raspberry flavored Mountain Dew (disgusting), I went to a close-by Walmart to get two gallons of water and some bungees. I needed to secure my gear better. Walking around in cycling clothes and cycling shoes in Walmart wasn't easy even for Wal-martians, and the only thing I could do about it except act like I belonged, because I did. I too am a smelly Walmart person and I hope to make the People of Walmart photo reel one day, if not that day! After getting refueled, I took off again and kept going until it was nighttime. At this point the, "Just stop and finish tomorrow Monster" came to me when I started up through Babcock Preserve.
I had a long way to go yet and this was a long stretch to pedal into the night with no street lights and hunting trucks, semi-trucks, and the occasional cars whizzing by. I was almost to my "too sore to continue point" but a heavenly choir sang to me as I saw a Subway in the plaza marking my turn left point onto 17 W, heading into Port Charlotte. I almost could not get off my bike, and was shaking from the cold at this point, and almost could not lift my leg back over the bike, but I did because I needed to get going to generate heat and my legs started cramping. I made my way through Punta Gorda, onto a river walk, and over the Peace River into Port Charlotte where all the restaurant smells and live music kept inviting me to stop like a siren song and that smoky cloud that forms a finger motioning the "come here / right this way", like cheese does the mouse in the old Tom and Jerry cartoons. I pedaled on! Every mile kept getting longer and longer. Towards the end, every tenth of a mile felt like 10 miles and I had to pedal standing up 90% of the time as my butt was so saddle sore. I made it to Selena and Brooklyn (wife and 8yr old daughter) waiting for me in the car at Sharky's Pier in Venice, FL, at approx 11:50pm, just before midnight. My total time for the trip was 20 hours and 1 min, and about 13 hours of that was moving (I don't believe this as I can't imagine 7 hours were off the bike, what the hell was I doing? I was on the bike almost all the time and my stops were short, but I may have been delirious from no sleep, who knows?). Between my stops along the way, I guess they really dragged this trip out, but I was prepared for warm Florida, not the cold front Florida, so shivering and trying to sleep outside did not seem appealing at all. The time readjusting gear was a real bummer, so I have some more learning to do on the topic of bike packing. Too bad I will miss the free class this weekend in St Pete, as I am committed to running my Uncle and Aunt's 10k in Tallahassee.
The time between sleeping Friday morning and Sun Morning was 43 hours. I can't claim this as a record, as I was awake for a whole week through my frat's hell week in college.
Total Distance: 189 miles Total Duration: 20:01 Moving Time: 13:10 Stopped Time: 6:50 Max Speed: 23.7 mph Avg Speed: 14.3 mph My trip map: https://ridewithgps.com/trips/43845620
A Surprise Visitor: A couple of min after walking in the house at 1:01 am on Sunday morning, while I was relaxing in my backyard in the hot tub and enjoying a well-deserved Natty Light, a female decided to walk our block and check for open car doors. She got my helmet bag and some of my best clothes and shoes, and my catch-all cup holder with who knows what in it (pens and post-it notes mainly, but I know there was something important in there). We are still pursuing this Ali-Baba and I hope to get my stuff back. The surveillance photos are of her with my bag, dropping it and picking it back up, in front of a neighbor's house.
Link to the story here/ she is the middle pic... https://www.fox13news.com/news/deputies-on-the-lookout-for-suspected-ruskin-car-burglars
At least she dropped my barber's CD case, and I got that back. He is one of a kind!!! A musician Barber that sings his songs to you while cutting your hair. Hey, his song was #2 across the world (Thailand maybe?) in for a record number of weeks! Here is an article about the former Air Force pi9lot, Gulf War Vet, private pilot, lawyer, barbershop owner, barber, musician.
If you know of anyone who wants to come on the next trip, tell them to contact me and we will arrange a similar adventure. email me at duanestamm@gmail.com
Ride on,
Duane C Stamm
Natiive Cycler
UPDATE ON CAR BURGLAR. They have identified these individuals and I will see them in court, if they show up. I want my favorite shoes, shorts, and my helmet bag back!!!
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