Day 2 Gator Hell Week

To see the real Florida, you have to stay away from the coastal cities and tourist traps. You need to go inland, and mingle with the locals. And what you see in the inland is often a far cry from what you see in tourism publications.

Not that this is bad, mind you. It’s just that there are real people living here in Florida, not just a bunch of smiling, happy retirees with nothing to do. And our route takes us through much of this “real Florida” by taking the road less traveled, and vsiting cities often bypassed by the hordes of tourists who head south every winter.

In other words, there are indeed some quiet places in Florida, which are ideal for cycling.

And so we rolled out of Clewiston this morning, with the morning’s fog lifting and temps in the 60s. After a few quick turns through a residential area, we climbed up onto the Herbert Hoover dyke and the paved bike path for 15 carefree miles to Moore Haven. Canals on either side of the dyke were dotted with fishermen; Lake Okeechobee was nowehere to be seen, even though rumor has it the lake is nearby. Of course, the persistent drought southern Florida has endured is playing a big role in this problem, with the lake now some five feet below its normal level (and the lake itself is only 12 feet above sea level. You do the math…that doesn’t leave much of a lake.)

At Moore Haven we tackled the biggest climb of the trip thus far…the bridge over the Caloosahatchee River. Otherwise, it was a pretty flat day, until we neared Sebring and the southern extremity of Florida’s “continental divide” (my Garmin said we hit about 130 feet of elevation at one time).

The wind was favorable much of the day, meaning our 97 miles went by exceptionally quickly. The crew had to hustle to keep up. Lunch was at the intersection of Routes 721 and 70 in the Middle Of Nowwhere, with the morning SAG near Lakeport, and the afternoon SAG in Lorida (quite possibly the only rhyming city/state combination).

Topday was a transition day, as we left sugar cane fields in the morning, and traded them for orange groves in the afternoon. And in the middle was the Brighton Seminole Indian Reservation, which, of course, had a small casino. But, alas, gamblers apparently have not yet discovered this little place, for no one was there.

While the weatherguessers say there is a very strong push of cold air haded this way by Wednesday next week, we’re still basking in summer-like weather. Today I noted 89 degrees on our thermometer, while weather.com showed heat idices above 90. Not bad for the 29th of December!

And now we’re off to the Harborside Restaurant near our motel along Hwy 27 between Sebring and Avon Park.  Tomorrow takes us in a rather circuitous route to Plant City (nearly 110 miles), through miles and miles of both orange groves and strawberry fields, and to the quaint Red Rose Inn Motel. Along the way we’ll do a partial lap of scenic Lake Wales, and had back out into the country.

For now, I’m off to dinner to settle a score my stomach  complained about a couple of hours ago. It’s time to refuel.