Home Recreation: A Way of Life Modern society tends to fragmentize life Sports Films History Baseball: The Components of Profit Estrogen and Antagonists Diet and Nutrition The Vitamins Vitamin B Vitamin C Vitamin D Vitamin E Let the stars size up your shopping style Astrology: Magic or Science? Jamaica For Cyclists Maine: Earliest Inhabitants The passion for football Changes in Body Weight The Metabolism and Energy Transformations of Healthy Man Normal Activity Restricted by the Conditions of Experiments Metabolism During Specific Activities and Movements Public Colleges M to N N to Z What Is It We Want? Directed Thinking On Being Oneself Economics Is a Branch of Biology Life Is Also Frustration How Goods are Bought and Sold Leisure and work The Pecuniary Standard of Living The Uses of Time Teaching People to Want Things Art as leisure The Loss of Privacy The Great Emptiness	Jamaica For Cyclists I am not a cyclist, and do not own a wheel, but I have traveled pretty thoroughly over the Island of Jamaica, in the West Indies, and I have often wondered why cyclists, and especially Americans, who can reach Jamaica so very readily and comfortably, have not yet invaded this most beautiful of all the islands of our tropics. I am, therefore, inspired by its many advantages to cyclists to describe from my own experience and observation, some of the attractions of the “Princess of the Antilles”—a field yet new to the wheelman, but possessing most wonderful allurements, not only on account of its magnificent tropical scenery, its towering mountains, its swift running streams, its wonderful natural phenomena, its fertile valleys and vast plantations of cocoanut, pimento, coffee, bananas and cane, but on account of its good roads and the hospitality of the people, black and primitive though most of them are. Jamaica is of easy and comfortable access from the United States by the New York Atlas steamship line. The distance from either Boston or New York is about fifteen hundred miles. The north coast of Jamaica is exactly ninety miles south of the southern coast of Cuba, and it is four hundred and fortyfive miles north of Colon, on the Isthmus. The climate of Jamaica is beautiful and healthy the year round, and there is no objection to going there any time in the year. September is the hottest month, however. The average temperature the year round is about 85° Farenheit, and with an atmosphere pure and wholesome, no uncomfortable effects are felt from the tropical heat. From New York there is a weekly steamer to Kingston, the principal port. In setting out for a tour of Jamaica on the wheel, I should much prefer to go from New York. The voyage to Jamaica is delightful, lasting from five and one-half to six days, and takes one through the Bahamas in full view of those interesting islands; the steamer approaching so near the coast of some of them, like Fortune Island and San Salvador, or Watlings Island, that almost any ordinary object on shore can be plainly distinguished. Then for several hours the steamer skirts the coast of Cuba, and just after losing sight of the “Queen of the tilles,” the lofty mountains of that turbulent black republic, Haiti, rise into full view; and scarcely have they disappeared when Jamaica’s mountains loom up ahead. Taking the coast steamer early in the morning we pass the beautiful little harbor of Port Antonio. This is the American’s paradise, for here are the headquarters of several fruit companies, and here are many American residents. The little town of eighteen hundred inhabitants nestles at the foot of lofty mountains which rise in the back-ground, while the little harbor, hemmed in by coral reefs, and fringed with palms, forms a pleasing foreground. The roads of Jamaica are constructed and kept in repair by the Government. They compare favorably with the turnpikes and thoroughfares of Europe, though Jamaica is a mountainous country. There is a fine government road extending entirely around the island, which is about one hundred and fifty miles long by fifty miles broad in the widest part. This road passes through some of the most lovely scenery, with the lofty mountains covered with luxuriant verdure to their peaks on one side, and the bright blue Caribbean on the other, the whole route being replete with wonders. As this road follows the coast line closely, its ascents are nearly all very easy, and few of them would require the wheelman to dismount. The prevailing rock of the island is calcareous. The white limestone is broken up by women, who sit on heaps of broken stone pounding away with hammers throughout the long day, with the hot rays of the vertical tropical sun beating down upon them. They break the rock—and break their own fast only by chewing sugar-cane, which they do as long as they ply the hammer. The broken calcareous rock is used for macadamizing the roads, and the white stone and the yellow earth give the roads a clean appearance without imparting to them a dazzling whiteness. The traveler cannot look in any direction without seeing that stately tree of the tropics, the cocoanut palm, which is the prevailing tree of the island. It flourishes particularly on the coast, and shades the great Caribbean road for miles at a stretch. As the wheelman trundles along here and there, bread-fruit trees cast a delightful shade. Giant creepers, lianas as thick as a man’s leg, twist about among the trees, encircling them in their sinuous embrace. Delicate tinted and exquisitely perfumed orchids cling to the bark of the trees, and the pineapple parasites, many of them as large over as a bushel measure, are seen perched upon the branches of large trees, drawing their nourishment from the air. Here is a tall cotton or cieba tree, from which the maroons hollow out their canoes; and high up in a fork of the limbs is a huge black cone, large enough to contain two good sized dogs. This is the home of the nestbuilding tree-ants. Lovely convolvuli bloom along the way, brightening the roadsides at every turn, and beside the cocoanut palm are seen the oil palm or macca-fat, the cabbage and the queen palm, gourd and calabash trees, and lime and orange trees, all growing wild, the two latter laden with green and golden fruit, while on some distant rise of land a slender trumpet tree not infrequently stands against the sky. Now we ford a stream whose sparkling waters are overhung by great mango trees; and here is a company of native women washing their clothes in the water, by laying them on a rock and beating them sharply with a paddle. The cotton dresses of the women are tucked up around their hips, and their round limbs shine like polished mahogany. They are busily talking in an unintelligible jargon among themselves, but stop to courtesy with a “Marnin Buckra” as you pass. Next the cyclist will bowl along a level piece of road that winds around some cove close to the sea, the beautiful sparkling blue Caribbean stretching away beyond the line of foam which thunders over the coral reef that shuts in the placid little bay. Presently he skirts along a vast mangrove swamp, the home of innumerable crabs and wild water fowl. Veering around from the coast at intervals, the cyclist passes by ruined sugar mills and crumbling stone buildings, covered with creepers beneath which little green lizards find a safe retreat. These ruined sugar mills are the relics of the palmy days of the old sugar kings of Jamaica. Occasionally a great stone aqueduct spans the road, now dry and crumbling, but once used to convey water from mountain streams, miles away, to drive the great overshot wheel which ground the cane. But not all the sugar mills seen in Jamaica to-day are in ruins; many flourishing estates of waving cane, and rumbling mills, are passed. A river, its banks fringed with wildtasseled cane, compels the wheelman to dismount and wade a few rods, and he is not alone; for scores of native women, carrying on their heads great trays, baskets and calabashes filled with yams, plantains, oranges and limes, across which is nicely balanced a long sugar cane, move slowly across the river on their way to the nearest market. Taking for granted that Outing readers will go to Jamaica by the Atlas line steamer from New York, I would suggest a careful adaptation of the following schedule, which I necessarily took, as I went via Boston to Port Antonio. Setting out from Port Antonio, St. Ann’s Bay, a pretty little coast village sixty miles away, can be easily reached in a day, giving plenty of time for rest through the middle of the day when the sun is hottest, at Anotta Bay, Port Maria, or Rio Novo, all pleasant little villages, whose inhabitants are kind and hospitable. There is an excellent hotel at St. Ann’s Bay, where supper, a night’s lodging and breakfast can be had for four or five shillings. From here the wheelman will take the parish road, which crosses the island in a southerly direction. This is an excellent road, and rises at an easy incline to the summit of the Blue Mountain range, passing the little government telegraph and mail posts, mango grove, Monleaque, St. Faith’s and Mt. Diabolo. The latter is at the highest altitude of the Blue Mountain range over which the road passes. This route takes one through the Parish of St. Ann’s, which is sometimes styled “The Garden of Jamaica.” From St. Ann’s Bay the road winds up the side of the range, but so spiral is the road and so gradual is the ascent that the pedals need not be abandoned. After proceeding three or four miles the village of St. Ann’s is seen lying like a mere dot, far below, its white roofs glistening in the sunlight, in striking contrast to the fertile valley which surrounds it. The beautiful Caribbean glitters beyond, stretching away toward Haiti. The air at this altitude is perfect ozone, and is laden with the perfume of the pimento trees, of which there are many large groves along the way. Coffee trees, with their bright red and green berries and shining leaves, majestic tamarind trees, cocoa trees, cinchona or Peruvian bark shrubs, and magnificent tree ferns, as well as lime and annotto trees, line the road-side; while palm trees, their long, feathery leaves gently waving in the soft breeze, are a constant delight to the eye. Hundreds of brilliant feathered birds fly across the road, and humming birds of iridescent plumage, and other beautiful denizens of the tropical forest, flit about. The wheelman will pass broad and rich savannahs, and at the end of twentyfour miles reach Mt. Diabolo. From here, for five miles down to Ewarton, the cyclist may coast nearly all the way. From Ewarton it is thirty-nine miles to the city of Kingston, on the south coast, the seat of the Colonial Government. The traveler may, at his pleasure, either take the train from Ewarton to Kingston, or keep on a few miles until he emerges from the parish road into the coast road, and, following the Rio Cobre, pass through quaint old Spanish Town, easily covering the entire distance on his wheel. Kingston is a city of about forty thousand inhabitants, and is filled with the quaint and curious. There are several fine hotels, where all the luxuries of West Indian hostelries, good board fruits, beautiful gardens, luxurious verandahs, and canopied beds at night, may be obtained for from twelve to fifteen shillings per diem. Two or three days will suffice to do Kingston . T h e tourist should at least visit the ruined forts, which are relics of the Spanish occupation of the island, run over to the Palsados, and go over to the new city of Port Royal, which is situated on the opposite side of Kingston harbor, beneath whose waters the old city of Port Royal lies. This was ruined by earthquake more than two hundred years ago. From Kingston to Port Antonio is sixtyseven miles across the island. This trip will repay the tourist, for it affords an opportunity of seeing the wonderful salt ponds near Yallahs Bay. Arriving again at Port Antonio, the cyclist has been half around the Island, crossed it from north to south, and wheeled one hundred and ninety-six miles. Those preferring a novel trip by water may take from here the Atlas coast-line steamer, which affords a magnificent view of the south coast. The expense for first cabin is a little more than five dollars, which includes breakfast, lunch and dinner. When the cyclist returns to America he will have seen what few Americans have seen, the beautiful Queen of the Antilles.