Across a Bound

I couldn’t believe it. An entire year and a month passed. Decidedly curious I wifi’d off of a van’s internet. If that sounds strange that is what I had to do in the backyard of upper florida. It was a mucky swampland. The right combination of florida rain and sun in succession would turn less than a football field walk into a 30 minute trek. You needed those rubberized boots that went up past your knee. Fences lined both sides of this neighborly driveway marking the slow passage.

Neighbors would help neighbors in that part, as long as there was not a long standing feud. So there wasn’t an outstanding need to leave. There was something I missed from my not home.

Scrolling past with what limited time I had there was a trend growing. Friends getting sick. Family kind of acting weird. Calling up would net the same response and there was a concern. Then one about a blood clot and my skin kind of went cold.

Port Richey has a few sides to it. It seems to attract bad decision after bad decision. Even two of our mayors are guilty of some things. I originally left because I got assaulted and mugged for 10 dollars.

So I made a plan to escape from Palatka. Yes.

Palatka, Florida like from that one movie.

Initially I thought of every single method possible to effectively travel the distance. Three weeks went by and every plan I had thought of struck out. I was left with bicycling with a one speed beachcruiser tank and hitchhiking.

I decided upon the idiotic move of riding the cruiser.

There was a pack list of everything I really didn’t need. Pounds of stuff. Provisions. Food. Then there was the concern of weather and planning around a wet spell or two.

The day was set after feeding the livestock on that tiny farm. Time to go.

The black and chrome beachcruiser had both red lining and rust that had penetrated the chrome. The gear was strapped on with a network of belts and clothesline. Honestly I had way too much stuff and I had intended to bicycle back with far, far less. There was a jug, tarp, knife, blanket, and a few changes of clothes as well as food items. The food selection was random bars but the king was to be the oatmeal and peanut butter. Additionally I had the challenge of transporting an assortment of crustacean themed beanie babies to my father. Why not.

So off I go… 

save for the walk out. That usually wet driveway was a silty dune. With the extra weight on the bike and it being slightly top heavy I pushed the useless brickwheels through the dunes.

Anti-climatic start but now that the road is pavement and not desert driveway off I go. 

Oh.

Oh wait.

Let me…

…

…….

………...AH

I have to adjust this strap and change the orientation of the gear so I don’t veer left. I would learn that I would readjust constantly after this initial tiedown. Aaaaand we’re off.

The piece of road I was on had no shoulder to speak of. At one point trash littered both sides of the entire stretch of tar. Beer cans, food service wrappers, animal entrails of unknown species. At one point someone had to dispose of a bag of sextoys. Animals tore into a silicone proxy of a wasteline plus appropriate anatomy. There was a penis pump too. Disturbingly it sat there for weeks until I dubbed it the Penis Pump of Palatka.

As I started out this journey the trash was gone from its usual hangout. It was a pleasant wood to leave with younger pine trees being select cut for the local paper industry. I turned onto a dangerous country road. Here the beer cans and trash returned. The country road was the new spot.

I could have hitched but this road by foot I had already walked. It’s four hours from nothing to where the Walmart is. The time was increased every time I heard a car or trucks tires sticking on the pavement hundreds of feet away. As a precaution I would jump off the bike to avoid getting struck. This also was a reoccurring theme and a nightmare.

Successfully reached one of the main roads that actually lead into the town of Palatka. But I was not going there. A bicycle trail extending southwest was built and it accommodated my phobia of cars well. I also ran into a bit of luck with navigation as well. Even though the cell phone I had didn’t have service as long as I conserved the battery the cell towers still triangulate gps on the map precisely. No, it could not tell you directions but it was definitely better than going without.

Also I made this in good spirits right before the trip is a millipede marker:

https://twitter.com/ChristoKelm/status/1118227332479758339?s=20

An Omen.

So the adventure was invigorated by going down this special path built for pedestrians and bicyclist. It lasted quite a while. In fact… far to long. I had missed a crucial point that would have shortened the trip by a bit through the country side roads with nothing between them for a while. It is at that point the next decision probably saved me. I thought why not find my way back but screw back tracking. I have a map. That I didn’t read right at first and travelled far from the bikepath.

Disheartened and a bit lost I decide why not travel through Gainesville. Go see something different.

The cut through I decided to take was a dirt road. It was fine for a third of the stretch… luring me in with the sweet promise of an easy ride. It didn’t even last past the treeline. That’s when it turned into speed bump hell. It tore apart the straps of my gear and countless hubcaps from tires alike. That is when handling the carried gear became a constant struggle. In the distance where I stopped to keep the binds of my whole world from coming undone I saw graveyards of macerated and broken tires.

Out of the shortcut I went through a town that lead up to an intersection. This town was incredibly barren. Once it held business and care. Now it was broken glass, a dilapidated gas station, and a few sparse dots of places that trickle in money.

Finally. I reached this intersection. I had been moving the bike for a full six hours or so. Long enough to tell I was going to run out of light if I didn’t hurry the pace up. As I passed a blues brother statue I went to the promised land of Gainesville.

Little did I know it would lead me through unpleasant car only highways and bridges. In the dark. As someone who has a phobia of cars in a dangerous situation I can’t say I held it together well. Made it but there were a few times the cars came too close even when I was far on the other side of the shoulder.

It was well past dusk when I reached a literal fork in the road. I took out my digital map and tried to divine to the best of my ability. Take a slightly less longer route with unknown risk or the shorter route. Both could be equally as dangerous. Decidedly choose the shorter route with how tired I was.

Passing what I found out to be a correction facility right outside of Gainesville I thought it would be nice to get murdered in the dark for a get away bicycle. So I kept peddling until rural turned to suburbia. Houses. Apparent bad crime rate. The usual one mart in the whole neighborhood that’s been robbed so many times it closes earlier. May have passed some of the marts bandits earlier.

Suburbia morphed into city twilight quickly. On a Tuesday their were young women dressed in impossibly tight miniskirts paired with boys in baggy clothes and caps. Not sure how that polarity is kept in orbit.

There was quite a surge of people. Far more than I expected. Taken aback I surmised that the lack of direct human contact and socializing made me feel blunt and outside of my comfort zone. Also I was starting to develop a fabulous wrecked look. It was great.

Staying on the same street I rode into I walked my bicycle to another intersection westward. The southern part of the main artery held the giant College Campus. I found SW 13^th street and a homeless older man squinted at the burdens I was walking through the city. Nothing was said or mentioned until I turned away and he howled at a stone planter.

There was an amazement at the sheer scope of the buildings. An organization of young brains and stupid chemicals that paid to be shaped by academia only to be lead off by hormones. Electric scooters, student apartment buildings. Here I was this rough sweating looking skinny thing wide eyed at it all. Until I got to the center of the main hub of this campus.

A dead crow. Murdered in his prime. Bloody. Poised but defeated in a raised flowerbed a few feet above the sidewalk with expensive bricks.

I felt unease and I shed any thoughts of sheltering in Gainesville.

SW 13^th slopes a long way down so I let the weight of the situation coast me down. At a minimart still open I met another homeless guy. This one pretty much plastered. He is black, sitting on the sidewalk that led to the entrance of the minimart. His venerated scruff blanched white stood out on his skin. As I am looking at directions and guessing spots I could nap and hide my bike at the man starts to sway and talks incoherently.

He asks another person and another. Decidedly feeling a gram or several over my weight capacity I give him the rest of my change and speak with him for a minute. There was nothing learned.

As I had discovered the SW exit that lead out of Gainesville was lined with gated apartment complexes with zero bushes or cover. It was not until I reach outside of Gainesville where I encountered the forest again. Large houses with huge properties I will never own. I pressed on until I felt like I could rest. Just for a second.

It’s likely 1 am in the morning and I am standing in pitch black. There are no street lights anymore. I stop peddling my bicycle for just a few. Scouting for maybe a fire ant free ground I can lay a tarp on and crash with a blanket wrapped around me. I searched through my bags to begin the ninja camping process.

Except I heard what sounded like pissed off boar in the distance. Unhappy with that I jumped on my bicycle and booked it. I used what little light there was to travel on the road. Perhaps one of the strangest things I encountered on this journey was quite a few feet after the boar noise I heard shrill screeching and the treetops violently shaking. Never in my life did I want to think about that one. Was it the herpes monkeys I have heard so much about that were loosed upon Florida? No, no time to think about that one.

A red backlight and flashlight to get through this entire journey. To whatever cars that were traveling this late at night it must have looked like a single red star on the horizon until I was in front of their headlights. During this night movement there was a need to alternate walking and biking muscles.

I wouldn’t rest until I reached the start of a small town. Decided an hour and a half of sleep would do me well and the brain was tired of figuring out steps in the dark. A large blue warehouse that was empty and for rent had enough palm trees and bushes to obscure the rest. Too tired to retrieve items of comfort I laid down a tarp and crashed sitting up, back resting on the cold sheet metal.

There were no dreams.

Waking to the scream of tires mashing pavement and squeaky bearings of vehicles out of slight disrepair I jumped to my feet. If you could call it rest I could say I was ready to go. Again.

The travel into the heart of this small town of Williston was eye opening. Tightly packed small businesses. Colorful custom art on the front porch of rustic but kept up houses. I could tell this was a place that was so tightly knit by the time I left I assumed everyone was aware of my presence.

Of course there was a logistical hang up on which road to travel. With three paths to pick from I had to make a decision. Water was becoming imperative. The constant stress on the body was requiring a constant flow of aqua. Also I had forgotten the peanut butter.

How can you forget the peanut butter you jester?

The endurance levels were waning. Sodium I could acquire from a food joint as I could sugar. The oatmeal I had left provided carbohydrates. Without the PB I knew I was at the mercy of muscle entropy and fatigue. Standing at the crossroads of this small folksy town was this young disheveled man staring at the one lifeline he had left on the phone. This was Determination. Go through Goethe Forest.

That determination was about to be tested in what was called the Highlands. The geography of florida is typically flat and gets flatter the further south you go. It stops being a Karst geography and the sand lays down into giant swamp beach.

Well these Highlands must have been the hands of this Giant Florida Man. The last bastion of stone and drainage before the dust washes away any semblance of nutrients in the ground. And you could tell. There was farmland and wide expanses around me. At first there were only small slopes and it was possible with the energy I had to power through these tiny hills. The outer tips of the phalanges clasped over knuckles.

The gradient eventually steepened and it was no longer possible to power through anything. At the crest of these hills I would think about the hills and valleys in Deerfield, Virginia. These were nothing compared to the insanity of those slate peaks. Yet they still had the character of knuckles. Mine started to whiten.

These hills were not modest for Florida and even coasting down these hills my grip and tension of my arms were weakening. Coasting down the last hill I was finally done with that hot expanse. Being on the road with all of that black body radiation and between two parabolas concentrating the sun cooked me. Even with a wide brimmed hat and long drenched sleeves.

Goethe Forest had spats of shade but mostly was open to the sun on the road. There was a bend and a clearing with workers clearing out trees and forest management inspecting. I sat on an open spot for twenty minutes consuming the rest of my water. The workers of the forest didn’t mind and I continued through Goethe Forest feeling dehydrated even though I just consumed. Hyperthermia was approaching.

I was spit out of the forest wet onto Highway 98/19. The plan to stay on this road until two more streets. This far north there was a definitive difference in development. If there was an urban sprawl this was its cousin, rural spreading. All of these houses were tucked into the treeline and artificially raised with time and human intervention. Prisoners were busy picking up trash on the side of the highway while a lone warden looked on.

Stopped sweating with quite a few miles left to get into town. There were vague distant memories of that driveway of dunes. A lack of sleep will make yesterday and a mile seem like forever. There was a critical point where the hyperthermia was close to leading into the more fatal symptoms and I happened upon a store where they sold Seashells and other amazing things. The shopkeep was an older woman and I asked to get some water from anywhere. “Sure, the bathroom over there” she responded. I must have been beet red. I asked a few questions and told her a few details and left.

There was a theme to this town for sure. It tried casting itself as a Georga style fishing community transplanted fifty years ago. As I passed over the bridge in Inglis there was a 70’s style plaza with odd angles built into the structure of the oldest building off the path some. Even the signage that towered over the barren adjacent allotments had a “This is the 70’s aesthetic you remember” vibe, an obvious tell it was likely built in the early 80’s. What an important detail I mused as I filled my water jug several times at a nearby fast food place. Water loss is quicker now.

Cooling down I decided rest would be important and since every person in town saw the savagery of my travels thus far I must have looked ripe to be picked up for vagrancy. Dipping into a sparsely wooded lot and beyond exhaustion I tried setting up camp once again. For whatever reason in this haze I decided to cut a fresh palm frond down. Maybe it was an attempt to hide the shine of the chrome of the bike from the street. I also cut myself pretty deep with my folding pocket knife.

Traveling back to the fast food place I had to conceal the blood on my hand. It looked as if I had just stabbed someone. Washing up I made an emergency band-aid from toilet paper and a walmart bag. The adrenaline kicked into hyperdrive. Just power through, I thought. Just power through.

So I went back to the site where my blood blessed the earth and retrieved all the gear and bicycle. It was the only time I was distanced from my Stuff. All those unnecessary provisions that I didn’t really use.

I hit Crystal River at night. The homeless population must have been bad around these parts. An officer immediately stopped me to tell me Im not allowed to use the wifi on this property anymore.

“Any more?”

“Yeah aren’t you that…?”

The officer with his crew cut takes a second look at me. His eye brow raises in slight confusion.

“Really I just got here from a bit away and will continue through.” I told him. At this point I didn’t care what he had to say. At some level he respected my drive forward because he just said “Ah no you’re not that guy, good luck man.”

There was an attempt to sleep but this time it was interrupted by a slight drizzle turned heavy. I had picked a side yard of a wholesaler of something I can’t clearly remember and it was exposed to the sky. I searched everywhere for cover from the coming storm.

It started to rain hard at four in the morning. Wrapping my possessions in the tarp I had to protect the gifts. I had no such tarp for myself and so I snuck onto a raised loading dock where semi truck trailers were unloaded.

It rained so hard I was absolutely soaked by just the mist that bounced off the hard rock cement.

There was no sleep at that point. The constant vigilance was automatic. I just meditated until the gray dawn appeared. It was misting again.

Using this opportunity I found church to blink a powernap at. Another wall to lean on, this time brick. It didn’t last long as I jolted my self awake.

This was the perfect time haul down the road. The rain turned to drizzle and I had put on my flip-flops and changed out my shoes to dry, hanging them off the back of the bag on the little backwheel platform. Wobbling through construction cones there was a bridge with heavy and active construction. Fresh work being done on the inside of a concrete barrier. I had a tiny shoulder of loose dirt to somehow and magically cling a bike to. It was the highest slope a pile of loose dirt could be and I had to tap into my goat like characteristics.

It didn’t work. I kept losing strength manhandling the top heavy beachcruiser. Almost fell into the construction waste water that was under the bridge three times. It was the narrowest shoulder to pass over and while it wasn’t personally dangerous there was concern for the well being of the presents I had.

After wresting through a troubled bridge I continued down the road for some time. A mile or two. I check the back tire and see I am missing shoes. I lost it, screaming in the mist.

Cognitive functions were starting to deplete. A mile of back tracking may not seem like much unless you are halfway through a long journey of your own power. It was a punishment for not paying attention to everything all the time. I did get those shoes back from a mud puddle.

The rest of the day was met with sunshine and humidity. Homosassa was a relative breeze to pass through. The impromptu shower I had taken restored some kind of feeling of momentum. North Weeki Wachee had a few hills to overcome. Nothing like the Highlands I had passed through the day before.

I passed a line to the infamous mermaid tanks and water park. There was no time to stop and look at anything. Every sinew and tendon was now trained in a forward direction. Outside of Weeki Wachee society quieted down. Stopping at a grocery store and a Wall of Marts to replenish.

Outside of the Wall of Marts there was a woman carrying on full conversations with people as they walked by while she sat. People would say a thing and walk away and this woman would continue as if it was the same conversation with the same person. Disproportionately overweight it seemed like she may have had a mental problem or two.

I walked by noticing a quarter on the ground in front of her. “Is this yours?” I asked. I wasn’t about to take this ladies dropped change even though I desperately needed it. “Yeah but you can have it. I don’t care I got…” she prattled on as I bent over to scrape the coin off the ground. Then the sound of clanking. This woman threw more change at me.

“Aahhhh” I let out a confused guttural squeak.

“Yeah so if you want to come back to my place I have lots of money in fact its like a mansion oh I own two mansions so if you want to see them thats cool do you need more money I can give you money how about food I can get you food or you can go back to my house to eat my food….” There was no pause and any inhale was used to say certain words. This woman was exploding with words.

“No, I’m good I have to go south.” I said in the most tactful way possible. I thanked and left her there on that bench. Her voice audibly lessened in decibel the further I traveled back to Highway 19. I stopped at a gas station. With the few dollars hailed upon me from the goddess of babble it was enough to get enough fuel for the final leg of my southbound journey.

The great thing about this part is I was so exhausted and sleep deprived I had achieved one of the greatest endorphin highs I had ever experienced. It was at the cost of my tiny pelvis and tailbone being constantly impacted through travel but there is always a tradeoff somewhere. Some greater unknown cost to reap.

I barely remember traveling through Hudson. The sun passed it’s zenith. The wide brimmed hat provided just enough shade so I could keep the sweat down to a minimum. Gradually the place I had left a year plus previous became more and more familiar.

Gliding through Port Richey I pulled up to my father’s house. It was three in the afternoon and he had just finished fishing with his friend unloading the days catch and fishing poles while talking about boats, coordinates, and the like. My father in his fish-gut stained white pants and shirt stood there fidgeting the bill of his Bob Marley sweat stained baseball cap looking for some words. In a years time he became visibly older and grayer. Crystal River Dawn Gray.

“What the….” were the only words in his dictionary.

His friend let out a rabid expletive in complete dismay at my arrival.

“Well how are you doing Christopher?”

My voice was hoarse even though I spoke very few words to people on my trip that lasted two and a half days. Moving in a dream-like state dumbly and proud of my insane maneuvers on that driveway. Even though I had a weird arrhythmic heart I battled that fear after confronting the ailments of others. I couldn’t think of how I was doing. My father handed me his two word dictionary. Typically to justify the how or why the brain can find some logical mode of operation. This was on a calculated whim as guided by the Universe. The birds were still singing telling their bird neighbors to screw off sweetly. Cars were whistling down Highway 19 southbound to where ever their hearts led them. Some of my fear was that highway I’ve aptly named Grinder 19. Glad it didn’t cast its fate my direction. It has a habit of eating pedestrians.

I came out more Alive than I thought even with mistakes abound.

“I brought you presents from a far away land called Palatka.”