The bike trail across the Everglades splays out without a curve anywhere, just a single shot of colorless gravel all the way to the horizon. For adventurous tourists in South Florida, riding the levees offers undisturbed views of the stat in its original form.Eric Barton/The Globe and Mail
We came to a crossroads about an hour into our Florida Everglades bike trip. Tracks made of crushed seashells drifted off to the horizon, so straight they looked planned with a giant level. Around us, on every side for as far as we could see, the sea of grass waved lazily, as flat as a calm morning ocean.
“Last time I was out here, somebody had put up a huge American flag in the middle of nowhere,” one of my companions said.
So we sped off, taking the right fork instead of our planned left, in search of this mysterious flag.
Our ride that morning took us on top of the levees that hold back the Florida Everglades, a 1.5-million-acre swampland sandwiched between Miami on the east coast and Naples on the west. The levees are nothing more than earthen berms, looking like massive speed bumps. They create a grid system that spans 3,427 kilometres, farther than a drive from Toronto to Calgary. Like the best off-road cycling adventures, there’s a sense of the unknown, even a bit of danger, because alligators as long as a Volkswagen could be waiting just up ahead.
For tourists coming to South Florida, riding the levees isn’t as simple as, say, renting a city bike on South Beach or a mountain bike at Miami’s Virginia Key Beach Park. But for the adventurous, the levees rise a couple meters above the swamp, offering undisturbed views of Florida in its original form.
Puffy clouds seem to rise up from an ocean of pale green grass that extends in every direction over the Everglades.Eric Barton/The Globe and Mail
The plan for the ride that Saturday had begun a few days earlier, with a post on two Facebook pages dedicated to Florida gravel, seeking fellow riders to tackle the trails. Six of us set off a few minutes after 8 o’clock from Everglades Holiday Park, west of Fort Lauderdale. We headed southwest, going through a turnstile that keeps cars from venturing onto the levees.
The parking lot behind us sat at the water level, and so heading up onto the levees offers a view that seems to never end. It’s like an artist set out to draw a landscape and stopped with only a horizon. Just a flat world of flowing grass, only an occasional patch of tree or ragged bush. The sky that morning hung battleship grey, creating a view that looked washed out, as if by an Instagram filter.
Leading our pack was David Bohl, a graphic designer from Fort Lauderdale who makes a habit of riding across the Florida peninsula with barely a stop, a three-day journey. His pace of about 20-25 kilometres an hour left the oldest among us falling far behind, and we could see him fading farther and farther ahead on the arrow-straight trail.
All five of the remaining riders had ridden the levees many times, and the conversation turned to the weirdest sights we’d seen on them. Greg Sellentin, a photographer from Washington State who was in town to help his aging parents, talked about the wildlife he’s spotted: killdeer, red-shouldered hawks, coyotes and river otters.
A couple of riders told tales of alligators refusing to leave a trail’s sunny spot. One story involved a brave (foolish?) rider who threw rocks at a gator until it scurried off. Another risked taking a route around the animal by climbing down to the swamp’s edge. One rider talked about a near-hypnosis from the monotony of the levees that caused him to drift perilously toward the edge of the trail. Instead of tumbling down the embankment of the levee, a head-over-tail fall of 10 meters or so, to whatever waited in the swamp, he corrected too hard and went head-first over his handlebars onto the sandpapery gravel.
The story I told involved spotting a deer ahead of me one morning while riding alone. It was a lanky creature, like a South Beach model version of a deer. It trotted along in front of me for a half of a kilometre before I realized it was trapped. Turning left or right into the swamps would mean the deer would risk pythons and gators, and ahead of it was a fish camp that occupied the end of the levee. With no choice, the deer turned and charged. No idea what to do, I dismounted and crouched down on the side of the trail. I held my bike like a shield. As it darted past, I could hear its adrenaline-fueled exhale, smell its gamey sweat.
This is biking in the Everglades, on trails on top of the levees that hold the swamps in place.Eric Barton/The Globe and Mail
After the crossroads, we continued for maybe two kilometres along a rougher stretch of levee, our gravel bikes bouncing over rough rocks, tires pinging as bits of shell spit out to the sides. With no massive American flag in view, we decided to turn back and head toward the fish camp.
We could spot it for miles before it arrived, hidden in a patch of scraggly trees that rose from the levee in front of us. Mack’s Fish Camp is a collection of buildings and trailers that appear built from salvaged material, old pickups left to rust by the canal, a stray dog trotting up looking for pats, homemade swamp buggies on bulldozer tires. The camp serves as a spot for fishermen to gather and offers airboat rides into the Everglades. It feels like trespassing, and some among us talked about times locals yelled at riders to walk through the camp. A friendly wave from a man holding a coffee cup was our only greeting that morning, and we travelled on to a rutted dirt road that connects the camp to civilization.
From there we turned on another levee that headed north back to our cars. It’s then that we realized how much we had been fighting the wind. Now, a hand on our backs propelled us forward. We left behind talk of close calls and instead chatted about what’s to eat nearby. (My choice: a Colombian spot that serves rustic plates of red beans and eggs.)
Up ahead, the sky faded a drab gunmetal. “That’s rain,” Sellentin warned. But we pulled into the parking lot before the storm. No gator attacks, no pinned-in deer, no lightning storms, just a sample of gravel stuck to our legs and 32 bumpy kilometres behind us.
Like all the best bike rides, the levees take you into something new, something unlike the places most of us live. It’s different from the outdoors elsewhere and a world where we’re constantly surrounded by things. The Florida Everglades lacks almost anything but grass. But there’s beauty in its starkness.
Hundreds, maybe thousands of kilometers of trails crisscross the bottom of Florida.Eric Barton/The Globe and Mail
If You Go
Riding the Everglades levees isn’t as easy as more tourist-friendly biking destinations, like Shark Valley in Everglades National Park, with its paved trail and bike rental right at the entrance. But the payout is unobstructed views and a ride where you’ll likely not see another person.
Bike rentals
Several bike shops in South Florida rent bikes that can be ridden on the levees, including Mack Cycle and Brickell Bikes. Hybrid bikes would work, but better are mountain bikes for a smoother ride or gravel bikes for those who want to travel faster.
What to bring
Once out on the levees, there are no facilities and little shade, so bring several water bottles and backup sunscreen. Patch kits are recommended since a walk back with a flat is a monotonous trek. Mosquitoes and horseflies can be fierce, so bug spray is also smart if you plan on stopping.
How to plan
The levee trails can be found on cycling apps like Strava and even running along the Everglades canals on Google maps. But for first timers, joining a group ride is better. Find them on Facebook on pages including Florida Gravel Biking and Dora & The Graveling Explorers.
Dinosaur encounters
Wildlife is common on the levees, with everything from skinny deer to vultures the size of labradors. Alligators are the most treacherous among them, but attacks are unheard of if you stay on the trails and don’t approach too closely.
El Balcón de las Américas
The South Florida chain El Balcón de las Américas serves traditional Colombian food from nine locations, several not far from the Everglades. After a long ride, refuel with the country’s national dish, bandeja paisa: steak, pork belly, a fried egg, white rice, red beans, arepa, avocado and sweet plantains.
Special to The Globe and Mail