At Cocoa Beach, a large and not so exclusive holiday resort, my direct route north finally ended. Above here, you reach land belonging to NASA and access is heavily restricted. So I cycled across the penultimate bridge and headed up a lakeshore road a little inland. Unfortunately I went early, before I had reached the mainland, and managed only to reach the last of the east-west bridges as it crossed Merritt Island. This was a much busier road that bore more resemblance to a motorway. No matter, though, because as is often the case in the US, there was a frontage road that ran parallel to it, serving businesses. This was quiet and cycle friendly and served my purposes very well for a couple of miles. Then I reached a fence and signs belatedly telling me that that a bridge was out and the road was closed. Oh. Thanks for that.
There was nothing to do except turn around and ride back where I had come from. Half a mile back in the wrong direction was a marina and waterside restaurant, Dixie Belle’s Grill and Bar, and I remembered that I hadn’t really had any breakfast. I made the decision to stop and get at least some value from this frustrating detour, and it was a good move. They served up a tasty brunch while I admired all of the fancy yachts, including many smaller craft that appeared to be stacked on several levels in what I took to be huge boat warehouses! This country continues to surprise me.
I still had to ride the extra miles and put up with cycling on the shoulder alongside the trucks – and into a strong wind – but it was over quite soon. Where the roadside pavement came to a very sudden halt, I took the next turn north, which pointed me towards Kennedy Space Center. And that is exactly where, a few miles later on, I found myself, on the closest public road to the Florida coast. I got close enough to see some rocket shapes sticking up into the air, and a sign telling me the name of Astronaut of the Day (really!). I don’t know how you win that particular award, but today’s lucky astronaut was the wonderfully named Heidemarie Stefanyshyn-Piper. Luckily it was a very big sign. They had signs at the visitor entrance counting down from 10 every twenty yards or so; but my business today required me to head elsewhere. So I continued past the shiny new campuses of well known air industry names like Airbus and Lockheed, and headed west into a fierce wind towards the huge NASA Causeway bridge to take me back to the mainland and route one. Turning north again brought almost instant relief.
I felt like I had worked hard already today, but I still had 55 miles to go and it was hot. Unless I wanted to add even more miles, the only sensible route now was to stay on, or close to, route one. That made for perhaps the least scenic part of my trip so far and I pretty much put my head down and ground out the miles. There were just a couple of highlights. First, as I was getting hungry, I happened upon a small roadside beer garden. It was really just a shady outdoor bar with stools all around it, next to a small caravan that acted as a kitchen. Two young girls were running things and the customers all looked like they had arrived on motorbikes. It was cheap and friendly and served at least one decent beer and a wicked BLT sandwich. I got chatting to one of the older guys next to me, who was originally from western Pennsylvania, like my wife, Jenni. There was a mutual interest in beer and travel, and the time passed easily. We even drank the same beer: Yuengling (also from PA), which I recommend in a crisis, if you can get it. It comes from the oldest brewery in the USA.
My other highlight came in the very pleasant small town of New Smyrna Beach, towards the end of my day. In the attractive Main Street they were holding a street fair, with all kinds of interesting stalls and a live bluegrass band. It was what I think of as the best of American small town life. On a side street were the preserved petrol pumps of a classic 1960s (or before) gas station that looked straight out of a Wes Anderson movie. All very pleasing.
I arrived an hour later at my quiet Airbnb in a suburban estate in Port Orange, close to Daytona Beach. This would be my home for two nights and a day while I – and my uncharacteristically sore undercarriage – enjoyed a well earned rest and caught up on unfinished business. And then it would be onward and upward to St Augustine on Saturday.
