Circumcyclation of St. James Island,
or
What’s an old runner with a torn meniscus to do.
 

Craig Willis, May 26, 2009
 

I had intended to rise early to do the solo run ( oops, Freudian slip, I meant “ride”) I had thought about making, but was tired due to scuba-diving in the St. Marks the day prior. By the time I started out at 10:30 a.m. on Sunday, I had decided to ride only 10 miles and turn around, saving the longer ride till the following morning when it would be relatively cooler. The full ride was to be around St. James Island, starting at St. Teresa and traveling clockwise along Hwy. 98, up S.R. 319 to Sopchoppy, down Surf Road (CR372) to Mashes Sand and then home. St. James Island is a bit of a misnomer since its character is defined by being bound by various rivers (Carrabelle, Crooked, Sopchoppy and Ochlockonee) in addition to the Gulf. But you have to cross water to get there, so that characteristic stakes its claim.

As I rode off that morning, I was upset to discover I did not bring a headband to the beach to keep the sweat from running into my eyes. This is a great source of irritation for me, for unlike with my running attire (a simple sweep of a sweatband on my wrist is sufficient to clear my eyes) on a bike with a helmet and shades the sweat builds up and slowly burns my eyes. However, since I wasn’t planning to do the full circuit, I accepted this disability with aplomb and ventured out onto the open highway. My bike was a Trek cyclocross XO1, which was a compromise between a road bike and a mountain bike – as with all compromises there had to be something sacrificed from both purer choices. I decided on the cyclocross based on Tec Thomas recommendation. He said the bike was capable of delivering a hard work-out on the road, but rugged enough to take off-road on grass and packed sand. I would not recommend it for heavy rocks and roots, or trying to do 30 for 110 with Lance, however.

My training leading up to this ride was doing several hard 20s on the St. Marks Trail after work. With the Trek I could maintain 18 mph solo for the 20 on the flat trail, so I figured I was fit enough to make the complete St. James circuit – just wish I had loaded up on electrolytes when I left – but like I said I wasn’t intending to do the whole damn thing so unprepared.

As I started to roll west on 98, traffic was light, and FDOT had built a nice, wide bike lane, so the trucks and cars didn’t have to knock me off the road as they passed. The fear of being crushed from the rear by a large truck going 70 mph was a new experience to this runner’s delicate psyche. Anyway, I quickly found, to my surprise, that I was cruising along at 18.5 with a nice spin going, and with very little effort necessary. As I later made the half-way turn at Sopchoppy and started back down CR 372 (Surf Road), I made the unpleasant discovery that for the first 16.5 miles, I had been riding with a nice tailwind. In any regard, I made the first corner at the Marine Lab in a flush of biker euphoria and turned north on 319. Still the going was easy. Sadly, about 9 or 10 the sweat began to burn my eyes, and I looked for a place to pull over and turn around. Serendipitously (for good or ill), the place I picked was the Fire Tower and Forestry Station on the east side of 319. I pulled over and de-clipped – the egg beaters are so much nicer to operate than the straps on my old 78 Peugeot. Took my helmet and my cool Italian shades off, and wiped the sweat out of my eyes.

Suddenly, I heard a young woman’s voice calling out to me from across the lawn. Was this a mirage that I was witnessing in my delirium? No, it was a real person asking me if I was okay or needed anything. This is somewhat embarrassing to me, as I have never had to ask for assistance before, even when I broke my big toe while running 6 minpermi with Ryan Deak around Lake Overstreet a few years ago. She asks me if I need any water or want to use the restroom. No, I tell her that I’m fine, I have water with me – I had enough sense to bring water. It turns out she’s the Ranger and has only recently started her tour of duty at that station. I tell her that because of the problem with the sweat in my eyes I’m turning around and she offers to give me a scarf. I couldn’t believe it. She gave me a new red, paisley scarf that helped make my decision to press on, at least to the Ochlockonee River Park, as she suggested – that still would not get me in too much additional trouble and still be within the range of my nascent biking fitness. No worries mon! Her name is Tiffany Vickery, and if you ever need to stop in, you will find a kind soul willing to help you.

So, I pushed on north on 319 towards Sopchoppy. Again, the tailwind created an illusion of the level of my fitness. I was gliding along a 19.5 and gearing down to an easy cadence, enjoying what I thought was symptomatic of a easy, no-problem tour around the island. As the miles rolled past, the bandana was doing a superb job. But it was slowly getting drenched, and there would shortly come a time of reckoning. Fortunately, I soon rolled into the outskirts of the little town of Sopchoppy. You can always tell when you are approach a small town in the South. First, there are the homes right next to the highway (why would you want to live out in the country, but be right next to the road), then come the junk yards and the lumber trucks, and finally the churches and convenience stores. I stopped at the store on the corner of Smith Creek Road and the Sopchoppy Highway. The start of the Worm Gruntin 5K is just a short distance from the store and I still have my 2004 Grandmaster’s Trophy from that race. Actually, I won the Master’s Division, but I guess they thought that since I was over 50, they’d just give me the Grandmaster’s Trophy instead. I think that Jeff K and I ran that race stride for stride most of the way. But back to the present ride. I go into the store and get some red bull type of drink and an apple turnover – at this point I was looking for as much cheap energy as I could get. Yes, I had decided to do the full circuit, or call my wife at Mashes Sand and cry uncle – you, dear readers, many of my personal running pals, know that was not going to happen.

As I drank my foul-tasting brew and munched on my pastry, I took in the local Memorial Weekend sights. Wow! Red Necks and Red Indians and tattoos of every description. Reminder to self: go buy some beer stocks, this little corner of the world by itself can keep a couple of the big breweries in business. As I shoved off towards Surf Road, I felt refreshed and reinvigorated for the ride ahead. I would need it. As I turned south on CR 372 (aka Surf Road), this should have been the most scenic and enjoyable part of the ride. Alas, it was not to be. It was here that I discovered the source of my herculean-like, but chimeric, level of fitness. I had been riding with a 10 to 20 mph tailwind for over 16 miles. Now, it was time to pay the price. My speed slowed to 14.5 mph, and I was grateful for the lower gears on my trusty Trek. Philosophically, since I had no other choice but to be so, I found a quick cadence I could sustain and began to grind out the miles. Truthfully, I never expected the entire ride to be easy, but I ruefully regretted being lured into doing the big circuit in the heat of the day – it was that scarf and the tailwind that gave me a false sense of empowerment. The scenery on Surf Road, however, was great, and I was soon miles into the National Forest with only woods and waters to share the road. For the entire segment from Sopchoppy to Mashes Sand on 372, only 6 vehicles passed in both directions. I highly recommend this portion of the ride (perhaps going north) to future sojourners.

I rolled into Mashes Sand 45 minutes later with another 10 miles under my belt (on my sprocket?). Stopped at the old closed-down convenience store on the corner and stretched my tired legs. I was surprised the see the old store closed, as it had been in business for the 40+ years I had been going to Alligator Point and later to St. Teresa. It was always the scudzier twin to the BP across the street, but the gas was cheaper and the drinks just as cold. Sheriff Harvey, despite all his own personal problems, had found time to post a Summons for the listed operator, Chazmire Tellihaney. Mr. Tellihaney was directed to turn himself into the Sheriff or face the possibility of having a warrant issued for his arrest. I guess we all have our problems in these tough economic times.

After a short break, I pushed on for the last 6 miles of my ride. Even though my legs were starting to cramp from dehydration and loss of minerals, I decided I was going to enjoy this last part of the ride. I was now confident that I would have no problem completing the ride, since I had previously run this segment, after stumbling out of the woods the previous year on the way to an 18 mile unintended run along the Bay, after I took a wrong turn on a St. Joe logging road. The view going across the bridge over the Ochlockonee was magnificent; and I felt like a returning road warrior, proud of my grand, but impromptu and impetuous decision to go all the way around in the heat of the day.

I picked up a little of the temptress tailwind for the last part of the ride, and glided on back into the homestead. Mission accomplished! A nice swim in the Gulf, a beer and left-over Pizza from Biancas - ah, life is good. Now you know what an old runner with a busted knee is doing with his time in purgatory.