The tent is soaking wet.
Well that’s nothing new.
But yesterday, I was so discombobulated and exhausted, I didn’t take the time to dry my gear in the mid-day sun. I somehow thought it might dry in the light breeze in the evening, which it did not.
And this morning, it’s extra soggy.
But there are no bugs.
I head into Cindy’s house and take a magnificent hot shower. Amazing how good a clean body can feel.
We chit chat and eat. Cindy has lived in this very spot her entire life in tiny Pahokee, “where nothing ever happens.” I tell her she has a lovely library and she responds it’s a county library.
Still, she seems content taking care of her daughter’s seven dogs and staying sassy. I am so glad I met her.
She shuttles me back up to Canal Point to begin where I left off, taking along bread for the birds, and off I go.
I must say, I feel revived. Or perhaps it’s just the food and drinks and general friendship that has me feeling like a new woman. Don’t count on that lasting. Once the afternoon sun comes in full force, I’ll be on my death march to finish the miles.
But for now, I enjoy the feeling of moving well on this endless bike path as the morning light dries the dew. I find a bit of shade a few miles in and rest my feet, not sure when I’ll see shade again in the nine miles to the bridge.
There are no hills in Flordia, certainly no mountains! but I did climb something to get up to this levee – which I walk for nearly three solid days.
Birds, grass, massive lake and sun, all on repeat. Ahead, I see a person and try to figure if they’re coming towards me or away from me.
The flatness plays tricks on the eyes and far off figures appear much closer. I can see the bridge in the distance too, still a good five miles walk. It looks less frightening than other hikers make it out to be.
Now I see the figure moving towards me. Who would be walking on this hot day? Ah, it’s David, my high school friend!
We had planned to rendezvous after the bridge so I wouldn’t need to carry water for the entire day. But he was curious about what I was walking, so parked at the LOST (Lake Okeechobee Scenic Trailhead to walk up on the dike and check things out.
We decide to take a break here in a bit of shade, and I wisely place all my wet gear in the sun to dry.
I can’t tell you how great it is to meet a friend on trail. David brings the comfy folding chairs we picked up together last week when I bought my gas, plus water and snacks. It’s a little party.
Just as we start to leave, four backpackers are dropped off. I ask them if they are headed to the lake but they are doing a different trail – the Ocean-to-Lake Hiking Trail, a 70+ mile east/west trail working its way to the Atlantic.
I take their picture and we share a few stories of past trails conquered before heading our separate ways, mine now to Port Mayaca and its high bridge three miles ahead.
It takes a bit of maneuvering to get myself off the levee and onto the road, but the shoulder is enormous and no one speeds over this wonder.
The view is lovely over the lake as well as below watching boats working their way in the canal or out to the expansive lake.
But also to the north where the deep rim canal begins. I will walk above it as well on the outside and I already spy interesting houses and boats.
I’m wondering why I see so few boats on the lake, only fishing boats plying the reedy shoreline and a pontoon or two.
The lake is very shallow, just 10-12 feet, so not suitable for sailboats. It plays an important ecological and commercial role, but is mostly an empty expanse.
David meets me on the other side, setting the chairs in the broad shadow of the bridge itself. I drink up and pack a liter for the final eight miles, then, since my break was so long drying gear, I get moving.
Indeed it is lovely looking at the large homes, the fishing boats and a few alligators along the canal. One large building has a live band and I can hear every word.
There should be three shaded benches spaced evenly apart along here. I get to the first and guzzle a third of my liter and rest my tired feet. This continuous repetitive movement is exhausting.
But when I move on to the second bench, I see it’s gone. Vandalized? Rotted? There really truly is no shade whatsoever. A hiker simply bakes out here in the exposed space for hours.
I suppose I could hike at night.
Too late for that now.
My body is achey and I want a rest, but just keep plodding forward. Then I do something I hate seeing other people do: I turn on music.
I am absolutely alone, so no one to bother and it gives me the boost I need to get to that final covered bench.
I even sing and plod along in time. And before too long, I reach the bench and find a small bit of shade to relax in with the last bit of water.
Am I glad to have walked this? Yes. It’s interesting and a part of the world I have never seen.
Do I recommend it? Maybe. It’s much more tiring than mountain walking because there’s no variation and very few places to rest or get water.
Still, I’m happy to be out and reach the lock, where Frank, the lock tender welcomes me with a cold drink and an invitation to use his very clean porta-potty.
I even get to see a boat come through the lock, which is kinda cool.
I see David’s Taj Mahal-style tent set in a wide grassy area. He borrowed a six-person tent with a screened in veranda.
We first sit in the shade it makes until the sun gets lower in the sky, then take tons of pictures and enjoy the show until the mosquitos chase us inside.
Hiking is good, and having friends meet me with food and drink and stories is even better.
