Four and a Quarter Hours on the Hawthorne Trail

The Hawthorne Trail: the epic, serpentine rail-turned-trail that graces Gainesville’s backyard and offers a smooth 32 miles of uninterrupted earth and clarity. I first started biking the Hawthorne Trail when I acquired Luna, a mint-green Admiral Schwinn with sticky gears and a seat that resembled a tortoiseshell. I was never a serious biker before I bought Luna. I would hop on the odd beach cruiser at home and wind throughout my neighborhood like it was the suburban Tour-de-France. But it wasn’t until I realized how close the Hawthorne Trail was from my apartment (the trailhead starts at Depot Park) that I started biking on it regularly.

My casual rides before the big ride were countless. I would push off from Arlington Square Apartments, snake down the Depot Park path and cross Williston Road as dairy semi-trucks and impatient ACRs would zoom past me. More than once, I thought I would lose my life on that deadly stretch of a seemingly “innocent” trail. Then I would crawl past Evergreen Cemetery (where Dr. Robert Cade, inventor of Gatorade, is buried) and Jackson Stoneworks, the burly men operating loud, buzzing machines while the sides of the building were open to the trail. Into the heart of Sweetwater Preserve - into the muzzling cave of trees, joined together like two prairie lovers kissing - and to the genesis of La Chua Trail. The Hawthorne Trail, including the Depot Trail I’m relaying, is the premier North Florida natural experience. Even just riding a few miles down Depot Trail, before you reach the official Hawthorne Trail fork, is a menagerie of insect sounds, balmy winds across tall grasses and leafy greens. The first time I went on it, I was flabbergasted. I always associated North Florida with missing teeth and street cats, but this other side was brilliant.

On the morning of May 7, 2020, I decided to bike the entire Depot and Hawthorne Trail, a whopping 35.40 miles from my messy apartment. My longest stretch before May 7 was ~8 miles, so I didn’t know how my legs, conditioned only by vinyasa yoga and walking, would hold up. Nikhil and I packed peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, Cliff bars we stole from Facebook (thanks @zuck) and bottles of SmartWater. I have this problem where I overestimate how strong and capable my physical body is. But who am I kidding? If I don’t eat for a few hours, I feel faint, loopy and as robust as a millipede. I didn’t want to pass out on the trail and have Nikhil drag my limp body back on Luna - so we ate a hearty breakfast of eggs and set off around 8:30 a.m.

Nikhil’s eyes were droopy and his internal battery was at 60%, but I was pizzazzed and a little too snappy for so early. I was exhilarated by the wind chill and the tantalizing promise of my taking my shirt off - revealing my Walmart sports bra underneath - when the sun peaked out. We were also in a time crunch; I had to work at 1:00 p.m., so I was anxious to ride fast. We biked all the way to the Hawthorne Trail fork before taking a short water break. (For reference, the Depot Trail goes for about 3.6 miles before reaching the split between Hawthorne Trail and Alachua Lake Overlook. The Hawthorne Trail then goes for another 14 miles one-way).

Our mouths were wet and our bones supple. I was ready to tackle this historical, “home town hero” trail that had been calling to me for so long. The Hawthorn Trail is the most challenging the first couple of miles - once you conquer the massive hill (which goes deathly fast on the decline) and survive the hammock hill and curves, the trail is friendly. Tortoises and armadillos lurk in the hammock hills, the filtered sunlight making a checkerboard out of concrete. Cavernous trees and shade surround you on all sides, like a maze that is verdant and warm. Pro tip for first time trail bikers: go slow and don’t wear out your knees on the hammock hills. Although older bikers will be zooming past you, yelling things like “On your left!” and “Excuse me dear,” they’ve probably been biking these trails for years. Get used to grandma showing you up on her hybrid Cannondale while you trudge along, dreaming of sandwiches and hot tubs.

When Nikhil and I biked, it was about 70 degrees with slight wind-chill. The weather was glorious and the best Thursday morning we could’ve chosen. My dreams of revealing my indigo sports bra were dashed because I was actually chilly. {I also biked half the trail (around 20 miles overall) later on in May, and it was sweltering - dirt streaked my legs like prickly hairs and my head was spinning because of the heat.} After the hammock hills, the trail straightens out and swells harmoniously throughout Gainesville countryside. The trail parallels Southeast Hawthorne Road and hugs the woods until a little past Hawthorne High School. We passed Red Wolf Pond, Prairie Creek Bridge and a grove of looming cyprus trees in bogs. No wonder the University of Florida is affectionately called “The Swamp” - there are literal swamplands and bogs a few miles from campus. The canopy wildlife was stunning. We saw cardinals, blue jays, blue herons, hawks and a myriad of other creatures I can’t describe. The words “pristine” and “in situ” come to mind. In my notes for this journey, I scrawled “it smells like Europe on a Monday morning.” It’s a bizarre analogy, but it was true - the air was heavy yet rarified, grainy yet littered with dew and boggy scents. It smelled overwhelmingly of nature and her children - mother nature’s son.

We stopped for sustenance around Prairie Creek Preserve, a natural landmark with trails, private hunting grounds and a Paynes Prairie overlook. The Hawthorne Trail is littered with smaller side trails (i.e. Phifer Woods and Preserves) that bring the curious into muggy hardwood forests. You could spend many hours loafing around the trails, munching on a sandwich and swatting mosquitoes off you. There’s something captivating about North Florida nature. It has a crunchy, native quality that differentiates it from the sexy forests of California or the lush Blue Ridge forests. One thing to briefly mention is bathrooms on the Hawthorne Trail. There are portables near the beginning and Prairie Creek Preserve, but it’s slim pickings until the end of the trail. Boys are obviously fine, but girls had better wear loose-fitting shorts and pee quickly.

The Hawthorne Trail feels like stepping into Alachua County’s indigenous, agricultural and religious history. We crossed the Little Lochloosa Creek and Big Lochloosa Creek, engulfed by soaring trees and brown creeks with fishing decks. North Florida is replete with Native American history; the Seminole Wars were played out in our backyard and Osceola’s portrait can be found in the Micanopy Native American Preserve (across from Tuscawilla Preserve). The Hawthorne Trail was originally part of a railroad “trader’s path” that stretches back to the days of Florida’s first settlers.

Rustic farms and cow pastures line the trail as well, and it’s not uncommon to hear a startling “coockadoodledo!” around a bend. After Prairie Creek Preserve, the trail straightens and crosses smaller county roads and gravel patches. The scenery blurs together in a mass of farmland and trees, the quiet whoosh of SE Hawthorne Road keeping your ears company. This stretch of trail is peaceful and humble. The steady stream of bikers thins and a spiritual feeling prevails as you pass Third Bethel Baptist Church on the right. More cyprus groves, more dried-up creeks and black butterflies that fly close to your brows. There are grottos where cars can park and join the trail, but they are mostly unused and left for the sunlight’s pleasure. This area - near Prairie Creek and Third Bethel - is also colloquially known as “Rochelle,” an unincorporated town that was home to Native Americans and Missionaries in the past. The trees may appear to be mangy and unchanging, like the fat cul-de-sac cat, but the people passing under them have changed greatly. We had to stop for several water breaks and spontaneous back/butt massages (biking for hours leaves everything sore), but it was comforting viewing nature from a standstill. Biking induces motion parallax and a sense of urgency, even though we have no real place to go.

The last two miles of the Hawthorne Trail are mostly unshaded and a desperate claw to the end. Our legs pushed to their maximum, and I was sweating profusely in my long-sleeve shirt. We passed Hawthorne Middle and High School on our left, but the small-town football stadium and grounds were deserted (courtesy of COVID-19). We were transported to a ghost town, for rusted-out Fords and tractors were also adorning the grasses on the right. It was a stark juxtaposition of abandoned knowledge, of transportation glory. For all my talk about moving to big cities in California or England, I can’t deny how drawn I feel towards these down-and-out locations.

After two hours and ten minutes, Nikhil and I finally coasted to the Hawthorne Trail finale: a simple parking lot. The parking lot held ~twenty spaces, a portable toilet and a few signs extolling the beauty of Florida nature - over 16 miles to end in concrete and waste! Although the ending was anticlimactic, I felt elated and accomplished. We scarfed down our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, I ripped off my long-sleeve cotton and peed with liberation under a tree. I had never felt so strong and tied to a natural, ancient landscape. Houses bordered the parking lot and according to Google Maps, the Hawthorne Historical Museum was one minute away. The triumph was sweet….and short-lived. We still had another 18 miles of biking on the way back, regardless of how loud our muscles were screaming.

The way back was stunning and an unexpected reprieve - it was only the last few miles, starting at hammock hills and curves, that were grueling. My right knee was groaning steadily and the ache only intensified as my kneecaps battled hills, growing sunlight and steep curves. I recommend taking Advil as you’re biking along the trail - especially if you bike hard/fast like I do, 35 miles will take a toll on your joints. By the time we arrived at Depot Park, my buttock was numb and my breathing was ragged. My knees were screaming, but we had to finish by 1:00 pm (when my hours for Spoon University started). I remember resting by the bench near Depot Park Reservoir - Nikhil had his curly head buried into my belly, and we couldn’t believe our accomplishment. The sun beat down on my exposed shoulders (the sports bra didn’t cover much), and for once, my energizer bunny battery was exhausted.

We managed to drag ourselves home. We collapsed on the bed and guzzled down icy water and eggs. And I proceeded to start working for the next 3 and a half hours - with a happy hour meeting at the end! My legs were prickly lead and my mind was trying to comprehend food trends and Google docs. Let’s face it: I was Hawthorne Trail mush, the consistency of an undercooked bowl of oatmeal. But I was still marveling at how strong I felt, how connected and at peace I was with my surroundings. If anything, the Hawthorne Trail taught me patience, love and the memento mori caution only a half-deserted town can impart. I can’t wait to bike the entire trail again, even if only in my dreams.

Hawthorne Trail Stats:

Hawthorne Trail Survival Guide {For two bikers}

• Loads of sunscreen
• Three peanut butter & jelly sandwiches
• Two Cliff Bars
• Two 1-liter bottles of water (we used SmartWater)
• Disposable camera
• Napkins and sanitizer
• Helmets and sunglasses
• Chapstick

We used a backpack to carry everything and the water compartment on our bikes - I recommend getting a smaller backpack like this Jansport one.

Hawthorne Trail Maps

Depot Park Trailhead

Split off between Hawthorne Trail and Alachua Lake Overlook

Prairie Creek Preserve and SE Hawthorne Trail, Rochelle

Hawthorne High School and Trailhead