Last spring my colleague Noel told me of some adventures he had with friends on all terrain vehicles on Cudjoe Key. (Cudjoe is pronounced Anglo style: Kud-joe, not Coo-joe or even Coo-hoe, just so you know).
It had been my ambition to check out the trails, but summer intervened, season of heat humidity mosquitoes and standing water. I decided November was a good time to check this place out, as the rains have dried up and one has to hope the mangrove bogs have too. The trail looked promising at the start, with a nice big red diamond marking the end of navigable pavement.
I paused to allow the ibis to do their foraging... 
...and took off down what promised to be a simple enough exploration. The trail was hard packed, quite possibly an old planned development that never happened, and left behind a usable roadway. The bicycle coped just fine though I was tempted to ditch it. The problem with cycling the backwoods is that you are essentially using a vehicle and it demands your attention. The benefit is that you get where you are going faster, which, as benefits go, isn't much good if you are just out for a ramble. Pink Crocs haul you along just fine if you are walking.
I have heard some people marvel at my audacity wandering the woods of the Lower Keys, as they fear rattlesnakes, and my defense that I have never met a rattler therefore they don't exist cuts no ice for them. Too bad because these areas are a great place to go for a walk, especially mid week at midday when no one else is around.
Besides, I am not out to chase, kill or harass snakes so I figure they will mind their own business if I walk with my eyes open. So far so good.
And then naturally we met our first impediment, standing water. This particular trail is pretty close to tidal waters on the edge of the island so I guess it is more prone to flooding. At first I planned to ride on through ( and wash the bicycle at home with copious amounts of fresh water), but a glance up the trail revealed the awful truth.
This wasn't just a puddle, this was a state of mind. All I could see was a trail of water disappearing into the horizon. I surrendered. 
It wasn't the ride I had intended, but I got to enjoy a morning out, and as it's only five miles from my house I will have to come back later in the winter, deeper into the dry season, to see what other trails may poke their heads above water.
It had been my ambition to check out the trails, but summer intervened, season of heat humidity mosquitoes and standing water. I decided November was a good time to check this place out, as the rains have dried up and one has to hope the mangrove bogs have too. The trail looked promising at the start, with a nice big red diamond marking the end of navigable pavement.
I paused to allow the ibis to do their foraging... ...and took off down what promised to be a simple enough exploration. The trail was hard packed, quite possibly an old planned development that never happened, and left behind a usable roadway. The bicycle coped just fine though I was tempted to ditch it. The problem with cycling the backwoods is that you are essentially using a vehicle and it demands your attention. The benefit is that you get where you are going faster, which, as benefits go, isn't much good if you are just out for a ramble. Pink Crocs haul you along just fine if you are walking.I have heard some people marvel at my audacity wandering the woods of the Lower Keys, as they fear rattlesnakes, and my defense that I have never met a rattler therefore they don't exist cuts no ice for them. Too bad because these areas are a great place to go for a walk, especially mid week at midday when no one else is around.Besides, I am not out to chase, kill or harass snakes so I figure they will mind their own business if I walk with my eyes open. So far so good.And then naturally we met our first impediment, standing water. This particular trail is pretty close to tidal waters on the edge of the island so I guess it is more prone to flooding. At first I planned to ride on through ( and wash the bicycle at home with copious amounts of fresh water), but a glance up the trail revealed the awful truth.
This wasn't just a puddle, this was a state of mind. All I could see was a trail of water disappearing into the horizon. I surrendered. It wasn't the ride I had intended, but I got to enjoy a morning out, and as it's only five miles from my house I will have to come back later in the winter, deeper into the dry season, to see what other trails may poke their heads above water.
5 comments:
Mr Conchscooter:
I was thinking that you should wait until winter really sets in and the temps get colder. Up here the water would freeze and then we could use our ice skates, probably around mid January.
I think you wore the appropriate Pink footware & shorts, waterproof I believe, and powerful enough to tread water to the other side, barring any water snakes.
bob
bobskoot: wet coast scootin
Dear Sir:
The undisturbed flow of clear water through acres of trees left to themselves always brings me closer to nature in the fall. Your post tonight had me dreaming of the tranquil outdoors, and the fun I used to have shooting geese.
Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad
Twisted Roads
bob: I look forward to seeing water freeze outside a freezer/refrigerator.
riepe: Did you have to run fast to catch the geese? here they fly overhead and vanish in the direction of new jersey in spring and cuba in fall.
Dear Conch:
You can get all the geese you want, depending upon how high you can throw the dog.
Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad
Twisted Roads
You need a folding kayak
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