Partly because I had purchased a new bike, I woke up the other morning thinking about Sugarloaf, specifically the south end of the old roadway. The bike’s disc brakes, carbon forks, internal cable routing, and aluminum frame might have made it a premium bike twenty years ago. Nowadays, it’s a midlevel Trek that goes farther than a Conch cruiser without any sort of suspension, but it’s still about as far as the company’s off-road line goes.
The concept of a bike suspension never appealed to me. It always feels like riding a wheeled pogo stick a bit too much. They are excellent for off-road trails with twists, jumps, and other features in areas like Utah or Montana, but they are essentially worthless in the Florida Keys’ flatlands.
The gearing was the primary distinction between this bike and the high-end mountain bike I purchased in the 1990s. A tiny cog known as a granny gear, which was the third cog on the old bike’s triple front ring, allowed you to ride up almost any hill—as long as you were prepared to do so slowly and perhaps without much dignity. You could choose from 21 different gears thanks to the seven cogs on the back cluster.
With ten chainrings on the back cog and only one on the front, the new bike essentially offers the same range of gearing options with fewer gradations. The largest gear, which is roughly the size of a dessert plate and has almost as many teeth as the front gear, will enable you to ride up almost any hill once more, albeit slowly and perhaps with less dignity.
I purchased the bike in order to gain access to some of the more difficult-to-reach areas of the Keys, such as locations that are difficult to drive to and those I am too impatient to walk, such as old abandoned roads and bridges. It also included a rear rack and a backpack large enough to hold photographic gear and binoculars.
Key West’s driving route wasn’t always what it is today. Until 1928, there was no tanydriving route. Prior to that, if you were rich and trusted all that new and experimental equipment, you could go by rail, boat, or airplane. State Road 4A, the original Overseas Highway, connected the mainland to Islamorada, where it took a boat for 41 miles before resuming at No Name Key. They then constructed an intermediate segment in Marathon, which reduced the eight-hour travel time by one hour but required two separate boat voyages.
The driving route in the Lower Keys followed the southern coast, with rickety wooden bridges spanning between islands. The Florida East Coast Railway sold 122 miles of its right-of-way, including its much less flimsy viaducts, to Florida for $644,000 and the forgiveness of $300,000 in past taxes after the 1935 Labor Day Hurricane. The rerouted Overseas Highway, which connected the current SR 4A with new highways constructed on the former railroad bridges and right of way, was formally opened three years later. However, in the Lower Keys, the road continued to follow the coast until World War II, when the Navy became dissatisfied with its winding course and redirected it over the former railroad bridges between Big Pine and Key West. The new road, which is near the one we currently take, opened in 1944.
A few years later, the ancient wooden bridges were taken down.
Although it is now known as Old State Road 4A, SR 4A is still present on Sugarloaf. A third or so of it can be driven. The remainder is closed off, deserted, and gradually going to seed. I went to the south end, which is my favorite portion because it’s several miles long.
Unlike the north end (the route to the jumping bridge), the south end of Old State Road 4A is not fenced off. It simply constricts in some way. I had to stoop my head to get in through an almost bower-like hole.
One of the things that makes me happy about Florida’s natural environment is that, even in areas where we have cut it back to within a half-inch of its former glory, it usually returns, stronger and more resilient than before.
It seemed that more time had passed since my last visit than I had thought. It used to be more open and wider. The road was now reduced to rubble as the buttonwoods and mangroves closed in. It appeared to be the sort of area where Hansel and Gretel or Little Red Riding Hood could get lost. It was so bumpy and rutted that I began to question whether a bike with suspension was really such a bad choice.
I had to remain hunched over the handlebars most of the time, but occasionally I could sit up and stretch my back. My speed was determined by how quickly I believed I could go without running the risk of blinding myself because it was difficult to go fast without getting a stick in my eye. I rode with my head cocked and slanted forward as a safety precaution, ensuring that the bill of my hat would strike the stray branch before it could reach me.
A pair of north cardinals, which were merely crimson flashes as they crossed the path ahead, were the only birds I saw for a long time.
I don’t know how far I had gone when my hat was knocked off my head by a branch. I halted, pulled the bike to the side, and picked up the cap. I spotted the ovenbird at that point. Instead of jumping off into the thicket as I had anticipated, it bounced in and out of the foliage, strolling and bopping its head in the manner of an ovenbird.
The palm warbler is often the most common warbler in the Keys during the winter months, but I observed three or more ovenbirds and none of them along the road.
For a while, things became more open, but the sun was strong and low, so I kept my head at an odd angle to block the glare.
In front of me, a northern harrier passed, moving steadily and slowly in the wind, perhaps hunting over a salt pond that was hidden from view by the dense vegetation. With its black cutout that lingered in the eye and its long wings and tail in stark contrast, the bird was nearly a pure silhouette in the backlighting. Just as the bird passed in front of me once more, the retinal image dimmed.
I continued biking, wondering what more I would see on the road to a dead end, even though it was becoming dark shortly and it would have been wise to turn around.
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