Sunshine State Capers

Putting your foot in it is never good, moreover when the ‘in it’ is an alligator’s head. Here I am in the Everglades. I’d heard Shark Valley, part of the national park, has a notable 15-mile cycle trail, so I went to check it out. A flat loop runs straight alongside a canal for six miles to a viewing tower. The back nine returns you to the starting point via a winding path through a patchwork of wetlands. Patiently pedaling my rented, single-speed towards the lookout, I was surreally relaxed in the blue-green landscape, soaking up the sun, the views, watching the tree-hopping bird life… Then inadvertently, or intuitively, I dropped my gaze to the bank, and almost toppled on to the tarmac. Thickset, scaly and menacing, a gator was protruding from the grasses, flexing his giant jaw, and with his beady eyes on me. And he wasn’t alone. His mates were all lined up along my route, hidden at intervals. The guidance is, whether you want to win National Geographic Photographer of the Year or not, you keep 15 feet away from them. This bike ride offers an adrenalin buzz like no other. Want to ham it up a little more? Pull over for a ranger’s vehicles without looking what you are pulling over into. Back to my first line. My weight-bearing foot almost rested on a camouflaged gator’s head. I wonder if travel insurance covers that?

Port Antonio Perfectionism

If you ever need reminding what a beautiful world we live in, head to Port Antonio, Jamaica.

A ramshackle-chic coastal town, with an infectious Caribbean-bustle vibe, Portie has a grand church, clapboard gingerbreads and smart marina. It’s also the gateway to glorious beaches and blessed with a backdrop of rainforest-clad mountains that could be likened to the Garden of Eden.

Errol Flynn, his harem of Hollywood belles, Ian Fleming and Noel Coward gave the town a touch of glamour when they made it their hang out in the 1950s. Their jet-set legacy is apparent in the swagger of the townsfolk, which says: ‘Our resort is a cut above the rest’. And Portie is still frequented by the discerning, independent traveller rather than the mass-market tourist.

But where to stay? That was a tricky one for the luxury market before the new Trident opened. I just got to try it and was suitable impressed. Here, colonial-design villas dressed with plush, Scandinavian-style retro furnishings sit right on the ocean with large private terraces and plunge pools. Seclusion with views, comfort without pretention.

The kitchen completes the escape-from-it-all potential of this pad on a peninsula. The herb-marinated beef fillet is one of the best steaks I have had in Jamaica, and the Trident Chocolate Dream, a sweet potato pudding with mango and scotch-bonnet spiked compote, is a foodie’s delight.

Cycling Jo's Jamaica

A couple of days off so I head for Negril and one of my favourite bike rides in Jamaica – the West End at sunrise. A leisurely pedal along Norman Manley Boulevard, with its avenue of hotels that butt right up to the sand, brings you to a bridge over the river that’s the gateway to the Great Morass. Turn right at the roundabout, go past the shopping centres, and you’re on the home run to rustic Jamaican charm, and a warm and easy feeling.

Sandy beach turns to cliff top this side of town. Pick out your snorkelling spot; visualize the days of pirates past from the lighthouse headland; pick up a hot and fresh ackee and saltfish loaf from the Out of Town Pastry, wash it down with a coconut water from a roadside stall and cycle round the goats that make the tarmac their own.

After a fork in the road is my secret find. Hide Awhile. So discreet is its façade that I didn’t discover it until recently. No trees have been harmed in creating this stylish and understated accommodation. A handful of enchanting abodes emerge from a glade of tropical planting, to claim ocean views across a jagged, natural limestone pavement.

Jamaica has an omnipresent, mystical spirit that Bob Marley, Noel Coward, Ian Fleming, Laura Facey et al have drawn on. The designer of Hide Awhile must have, too, to envision such an address. Simple and inviting, clever and secretive is Hide Awhile. The perfect place to escape with your lover or your creativity.

 

St Lucia's Cycling Time Machine

After some city slicking, I’m back with my other on-going tour, Caribbean Islands. My current location is the very fair isle of St Lucia. Rising from the ocean in a flurry of greenery the south is where it’s at for mountain biking. Behind the beach at Anse Mamin, a 500-acre estate awaits with trails to temp all levels – easy-peasy, moderate and are-you-serious! They take you uphill, downhill, and loop you through grapefruit and banana trees, ginger lilies and ferns, dense and humid. Certain turns reveal the ruins and abandoned workings of this former plantation. An education as well as a thrill ride. Throw in a dip afterwards at Anse Mamin, which boasts some of the best snorkelling on St Lucia, and this ride ticks plenty of sight-seeing boxes.

Taking it slow in San Francisco

My tour continued with a brief stop in San Fran where I played tourist by bike for a morning. October is summer in Fog Town with bluer skies and plenty of sunshine. It's a mainly flat ride along The Bay to and across the Golden Gate. In just over an hour you can be looking back at Alcatraz from Sausalito. A popular route, so hit it early and be prepared for varying speed limits and paths that segregate cyclists and pedestrians. All very organised.
My bike was rented from Bay City Bike, conveniently located a couple of blocks from Fisherman's Wharf, where there's a branch of the fabulous In-n-Out Burger, home of the superb Protein Burger where they replace the bun with lettuce.

Cycling with Snakes in Toronto

In my quest to test the city cycle trails of the world, I saddled up on a cute little three-gear, courtesy of Cambridge Suites hotel, and hit the road in Toronto. I’m told that cycling Canada’s largest city is a controversial activity. The mayor doesn’t keep it quiet that he is no fan of us free wheelers. But while he and other motorists may feel as much love for us as a speed hump, less cars on the road, means gas guzzlers do get around faster. Swings and roundabouts. And talking of swingers, shoppers of Bloor Street, please note, those things on your car doors are not vanity mirrors, glance in ‘em before swinging open. Never have I had so many near somersaults.

Drivers are not the only hazard to cyclists in this metropolis. Snakes and tram lines also need to be given a wide berth. I did a fabulous BMX-style stunt to stay upright when my front wheel got into an altercation with the latter.

The former I was warned of on a leafy peninsula detour from the main waterfront trail, into Tommy Thompson Park.

Toronto’s lakefront is a cyclist’s nirvana. Largely off-road paths weave through desirable neighbourhoods, past marinas, volleyball pitches, skateboard parks and urban green spaces, such as the Music Garden, all with the city skyline as your backdrop.

I started my tour at Yonge Street, cycling from west to east on Queen Street. It becomes trendier as you near The Beaches, a des res delight. How can you not love a community where queues form outside the independent coffee shops, while there are seats free at their major chain rivals?

Turning right at Woodbine Avenue I reached Lake Ontario’s shoreline got into cruise mode and savoured the changing terrain. About an hour later I reached the junction with Yonge. Heading north under the shadow of skyscrapers I stopped in at the Hockey Hall of Fame. From there I cycled through up-scale Yorkville with its designer stores, to the faux-medieval folly of Casa Loma, all formal gardens and fountains. Freewheeling back downhill I popped into the Bata Shoe Museum to learn about the male versions of Imelda Marcos and their vast sneaker collections, finishing up at the Royal Ontario Museum for a history tour.

All in a day’s work, and highlighting once again, that you can get more done and have more fun city sighting as a cyclist.

Big up Biking in Boston

I reported back on my fabulous cycling experiences in NYC – burning up those yellow taxis – and DC - getting the National Mall almost to myself - so it would be remiss not to mention my cycle ride in Boston. This petite city has plenty of roads hugging its historic centre, and Mass, drivers aren’t known for their courtesy. I can report that they haven’t a lot of time or space for cyclists, but there is a great off-road loop along the banks of the Charles River. Little hairy getting to it from the waterfront, where I picked up my bike rental from Urban Adventours, but once you’re on the river trail just beyond the Museum of Science there’s a great view of the city skyline all the way up to Harvard. I took a stroll around Harvard Square with its historic university buildings, milling students and cheap eats, then got back in the saddle and shot down the other bank. Boathouses, playgrounds and the lagoons of Charles River Esplanade are among the points of interest. This way you see Boston at play. Yummy mummies jogging their kids along in aerodynamic strollers, folk walking their pampered pooches, lovers canoodling and old guys chewing the fat on park benches. Nothing gives you such a range of perspectives and insights like a city bike ride.

Mamma Mia!

Bostonians are known for their love of a good debate and a little controversy. The Tea Party they threw for us Brits in December 1773 is a fine example. On a walking tour yesterday my guide told me that the city is currently divided on another matter - who serves the best cannoli in town. The two main contenders are Mike’s Pastry and Modern Pastry both in Hanover Street, ‘Little Italy’. I saw tourists opting for one or the other depending on which guidebook they had in their hand. Being a conscientious journalist I bought one of these Sicilian pastries from each store, then devoured the pair. Which was my winner? Hands down Modern’s. Crunchy pastry crisp right to the centre, dusted with sugar and filled with a super-creamy filling that wasn’t too sweet. Another fact-finding mission completed for the common good.

The Hills are Alive…

Going to the Prince Charles cinema off London’s Leicester Square dressed as a nun for the Sound of Music movie sing-along, is way up there for me as a good use of your time. Imagine, then, getting to spend a night at the Trapp Family Lodge in Stowe, Vermont, established by Maria and the Captain! It’s all very Austrian alpine. Chalet style with floral window boxes and hanging baskets. If you’re lucky you’ll get to chat to Sam. He’s actually a grandson of the Maria, played so beautifully by Julie Andrews. Sam says he never ceases to be overwhelmed by the impact his grandmother’s book, and subsequent movie, have had on millions of people across the globe - an increasing number of which find their way here to tell him personally. So was she a flibbertigibbet, a willow the wisp and a clown? ( Well, admit it, you would have been disappointed if I hadn’t asked). All of the above, apparently, with plucky, sharp and non-nonsense thrown in. The lodge is a winter sports base and in warmer months you can hike and mountain bike on a series of superb marked trails. Sam sent me out on my first ever single track trail. It was like riding a roller coaster on two wheels, total adrenalin kick. trappfamily.com