Key West The Newspaper

by Bryan Baese……………

I was on the back patio of a mail center in Key Largo when the greeting came from the foliage that topped the pergola in the adjoining retail space. HELLO. The voice was high pitched, slightly metallic, and had a back-of-the-throat kind of sound to it. I never saw the speaker but it was the first indicator that my adventure was off to a good start.

Three days, two campsites, one snake, and a hundred miles later I failed spectacularly at a well-intentioned powerslide on my bicycle outside Sloppy Joe’s in Key West. The attempted maneuver – predestined to end in disaster I’m sure – was meant to provide the contrasting bookend to my interaction with the talking parrot at the upper end of the Keys. Equal parts Moby Dick and Wild Hogs, I decided to ride my bike the length of the Keys to celebrate my 50th birthday and reaffirm that I was holding Father Time at bay. While wrought with challenges, it was one of the most rewarding trips of my life.

I’d shipped my bike to the mail center a few days earlier. John  Pennekamp  State Park is about two miles from the center, so I camped there the night before and walked over the next morning to  pick up my bike. The proprietor, also named John, was a friendly young man that offered his back patio so I could reassemble the bike in the shade. You met the bird already.

With my bike put together, I got under way at 10:30 that morning. I had 35 miles ahead of me to reach my campsite at Long Key State Park. At approximately 10:33 I realized my pack was not properly stored on the luggage bar and a complete re-positioning of my gear  ensued. Similar stops took place at 10:47, 10:58, and 11:13. By noon I had traveled three miles. Despite the foreshadowing of an  auspicious start provided by the parrot, doubt began to creep into my mind.

I’ll mention here that I had not trained for the ride at all – unless you count the trip around the block back home in Texas to make sure the wheels still turned. That ride lasted maybe two minutes and immediately preceded my bike being disassembled, stuffed in a box, and shipped to Key Largo. I make a point of mentioning this because sometime early in the trip, the lack of training became apparent. And the problem wasn’t with my legs. Three days later at Sloppy Joe’s I would use different language than I’m using here, but my derriere was starting to hurt.

Fast forward several hours to the closing miles of the first day’s ride. After eight hours of battling the Overseas Highway, I found myself looking up at a surprisingly sweet sight – Mile Marker 72. It was mid-April, and at 6:30 in the evening the sun was low in the sky with the light mellowing. The trees in the background diffused the soft light still further and all this came together to give the mile marker sign something that looked surprisingly similar to a halo. It had  been a struggle to get this far, but there was something about that moment that  let me know it was going to be alright. I was going to make it. With 72 miles to go I really wasn’t even all that close to my final destination; but it didn’t matter. All  that mattered was that the first day – by far the hardest day – was about to be added to the win column. I relished the moment then put my shoulder to the task and trudged through the final five miles to the park. The last vestiges of daylight were slipping away when I finished setting up camp and collapsed.

With no bike to assemble and my gear situation pretty much figured out, the next day was less intimidating. It helped too that I was getting an earlier start and had only 30 miles to Bahia Honda State Park. One obstacle loomed though – Seven-Mile Bridge. Coming at the end of the second day’s ride, the bridge was imposing. As a native Texan, I’m not familiar with the Keys and was surprised to find that when you’re standing at the Eastern end of the bridge, you can’t see the Western end. At least I couldn’t. Not that day.

I stared at my white whale for probably thirty minutes, and then without even thinking about it, I put my foot on the pedal and started across. I was surprised at how easily the miles came once an incentive was put in place. I pedaled hard but not so quickly as to risk tiring too early. Stopping was simply not an option. I don’t think anyone would be surprised to hear that reaching the apex of the bridge was, literally and figuratively, the high point of the second day’s ride.

I’ll skip to the fourth and final day that would bring me into Key West. It was the final assault. I had 29 miles from Middle Torch Key to Sloppy Joe’s and having offloaded my tent (just didn’t need it anymore) I was traveling a little lighter. An overwhelming sense of victory began to take hold somewhere around MM 15. At MM 9 I thrust my fist into the air victoriously and yelled, “America!” At the time I don’t think I knew why. All I knew was that it felt right. Every MM thereafter received the same exhortation.

Every place has its own kind of beauty. My home state of Texas has some really beautiful terrain. I’m especially fond of the rugged desert landscape of West Texas. But after taking in the Keys up close and personal, I’ve decided that they really are an American treasure. Maybe that’s why I hollered out the way I did once the MMs fell to single digits. Days later, pondering my state of mind during the last few miles of the trip, I decided that I hadn’t felt as Texan or as Southern as I usually do. I just felt American. Thanks Florida.

Check out Bryan Baese’s novel, Gohorse, at www.gohorse-book.com