Monthly Archives: November 2007

Florida folk ramblings


Juancho is still still off gallivanting in the greater southeastern wilderness of Tennessee with his cell phone off, so I’ll keep things going with another post.

I spent the weekend at The Florida Folk Festival, which was rescheduled from Memorial Day weekend to Veteran’s Day weekend this year because of wildfire smoke across the region in May. I grew up attending the festival — we’d make the pilgrimage up from Manatee County every year — so it feels like home to me. It’s usually hot, sweaty, soulful fun, punctuated by dips in the Suwannee River. This year the weather was perfect. It was cool and bright, and in the evenings the campfires were absolutely necessary.

Every year I marvel at the number of families who are bringing their children up with folk traditions. I keep thinking with all the electronic distractions, the number of clogging, picking, fiddling, square-dancing, and country harmonizing twelve year olds are bound to trickle off to the young-uns of a few families who live off the grid near Live Oak, but every year there’s another set of fresh-scrubbed children and their sturdy, square-shouldered parents on the Old Marble stage. I had so many moments of sublime listening pleasure at this year’s festival I broke out in anticipatory goosebumps just passing through the gate into the park on Sunday morning.

And the riding was fun, too. White Springs boasts the Bridge to Bridge trail and trails at the Shoals, and they’re well-ridden and tended. Picture bright sun reflected off palmetto scrub, gatorback bumps, Suwannee ridgeline with the occasional view of black water and white sand, startled birds of prey, and nobody around but you and your crew.

There’s also The Suwannee Bicycle Association, which lives in a big brick storefront off one of the main streets close to the park. It’s the ultimate clubhouse for local cyclists, complete with comfortable sofas, a lazy dog or two, a big screen T.V., and the cycling version of Hee Haw girls. These folks sponsor the IDIDARIDE, which is a 50 mile off-road tour where they cobble together a route from the local trails and throw a huge party afterwards. I stopped by the clubhouse to pay my respects, and they said the IDIDARIDE had 200 registrants the first three days. These mountain bike “tours” are damn popular. Makes me think we should put something together around here. What would we call it? Where would it go?

Sasquatch

Perception


I would see them everywhere. I would mock them silently from my car.

“Spandex geeks!”

It was like a racial slur no one would ever hear. I would see them riding along and wonder where they were going? On the road one minute, and disappearing into the Park Avenue woods the next. They sucked; I was stuck in traffic. I hated them.

Who did they think they were? They can just cross the road and jet into the woods like we aren’t here.

My career as a drummer ended; it was a pretty good run. No MTV but I traveled around the world. Another entry on my “almost” resume.

Alright, I would get a bike but I would never wear that stupid stuff they wore. I would never be one of them. I got the Kona I could afford. I rode three miles and vomited. I repeated the process for several days. I was out of shape. Apparently drinking beer and playing “Cure” covers was not a good fitness plan.

Slowly things came around. I could ride a while without wanting to die. Then one of them would pass me.

“Why do they have to go so fast?”

They were such assholes. They cared not about the woods and birds and the nature all around them. They were sinners in the temple.

I ordered a pair of Lycra shorts from Campmore, you know, just to prove how stupid they were. Then a couple jerseys from Nashbar. The truth set me free. I had the kool aid and it was good! No more riding sores. I wasn’t as hot. They still rode away from me at an alarming pace.

By chance I rode with some guys I saw once in a while out on the trail. One of them was from the bike shop. I found my way in like a reporter into a Montana militia. I became one of them but the transition took a long time.

One day I went by a guy with denim shorts, a cotton tee shirt and a confused look on his face. He barely made it off the trail before I went by him. His bike was cheap and too small for him.

“Thanks Man!” I said to the dork in the Levis shorts.

I am lucky that cycling found me. I am lucky I have a crew. I rode in the woods in the dark tonight. I hope I am never one of “them” again.

Guest Blog by W.B.

About that ride yesterday morning- what can I say- getting out of town is a lot of work.

I will be blogging from the cradle of country music, bypassing Ruby Falls, and looking towards the great outdoors by Friday. You can pick up one of those hurricance tracking maps they print on the grocery bags at Publix and follow my progress. Doesn’t that sound fun!

With the Spaghetti 100 over, and the official closing of Razorback I’m sure people have things to say about the weekend riding, but they probably won’t say them here so good luck finding that.

Me? Why yes, I had a nice weekend thank you. W.B. and I rolled out at 3:00 on Friday and put the crush on all of the North side trails. We even rolled the skinny little bridge and the big lop-sided bridge. The orange trail (sshh!) and Redbug. It was big fun. That W.B., he’s a real tough guy out there.

After that I stayed up all night singing and playing hits of the 80’s on the back deck with a couple of local rock legends. Ever heard of the Elcan Boys? No? How about Betty’s Beauty School? No?

Oh well, trust me, it was epic all the same.

See you around the way,

Juancho

The Round Up

Good morning everybody,

Some of you will be trickling out of town today and tomorrow to give the Razorback MTB trail the big kiss, I mean send off. Have a great time and throw something on the fire for me, like a Cobra kai jersey or something.

Others in the local area may be psyching up for the Spaghetti 100 tomorrow. You might even be psyching up for the Spaghetti 68.4 otherwise known as the “Metric Century”. Calling that a century holds about as much water as, My band is huge in Luxembourg”,”of course my breasts are real”, and “I will seriously consider the recommendations of the 9/11 Commission”. All the same, whether you are riding the entire 100 miles through the rolling Plantation lands or just slightly more than half the distance, have fun out there. Me? Why no, I didn’t register for the event as a matter of fact.

Speaking of not registering for an event, I am out of San Felasco. I didn’t make the cut. I believe Jim Ebling begins the process with about 385 riders already picked of the 400, and I have not had the chance to buy the man a beer soooo, Jim- if you’re out there, we should meet. I’m a great guy. Ask any one of my hand-picked references.

This leaves me free and clear to bulk up through the holiday season and really lay into the mashed potatoes.

It is FAMU homecoming this weekend, so take that into consideration as you plan your routes around town. I ain’t hatin’, I’m just saying, you could ride right under some of the Impalas that will be rolling into town and they might not be able to see you from up there on them 20’s. Go Rattlers!

I don’t know about you, but I rode five of the last seven days, and all of them good rides. Big respect to those of you who got, and kept, me moving. Of course we will get some more this weekend I hope.

What else? Anything I’m missing? Report in from the field…

Juancho

Dropping in

It sure has been nice to be back in the Bridge of the BRC. Drinking coffee of mine own making. I use 8 O’Clock Bean regular in the red bag, grind it myself, and then pour hot water from the tea kettle through the same plastic Melita cone I have used for years on camping trips. I drin it black, and usually float an ice cube in it to facilitate the slurping process.

For the next three days I can indulge myself with this routine, and then it is back in the car and away to Nashville, TN. I have a few guest submissions in the dugout and welcome whatever you have a mind to share. Please keep in mind that style often trumps substance so don’t pull a muscle or anything trying to get all deep. Of course, I think we all appreciate deep too.

After a week of David Blaining it (living in a hotel for four days and never coming out) I will roll towards Chatanooga for the 17th annual Cheaha but it ain’t Cheaha Camping Trip. This years finds us converging on the Ocoee River Valley for a week of riding singletrack, caving, staring at trees, and shmelting bottles in the fire. As usual, $100 goes to the shmelter who can create a functional ashtray with no cracks in it. Can’t be done I say!

So, more time away from home, the continued postponement of developing a conventional life, but the road calls- and I’m late for supper.

Juancho