If you spend enough time exploring the Gulf Coast, you’re likely to cross paths with an alligator. Instead of avoiding them as I typically would, today I’m confronting these gators head-on. Well, from the perch of a boardwalk anyway.
Standing at Daphne’s Gator Boardwalk just an hour after sunrise, I spot a “Beware of Alligators and Snakes” sign overlooking D’Olive Creek. While most visitors come here by car, I’m traveling on two wheels today alongside my good friends Louise and Steven. Our mission? A day-long adventure on the Eastern Shore Trail.
The 24-mile trail isn’t one continuous greenway; it’s stitched together through wooden boardwalks, sidewalks, bike lanes and paved pathways hugging Scenic 98 and County Road 1. Stretching from Spanish Fort to Weeks Bay, the trail’s variety of landscapes is much like the Eastern Shore itself: a collection of distinct yet interconnected communities.
Given the mix of terrain we’d encounter, I opted for the comfort and versatility of my sturdy mountain bike. Louise and Steven took a different approach, choosing the speed of their razor-thin road bike tires while using the ride as cross-training for an upcoming marathon in celebration of Louise’s 40th birthday.
Over the next 24 miles, we’d pass through six communities, cross four creeks, traverse two bays and refuel at numerous pit stops. But before the first pedal stroke, the trail already reminded me of one simple lesson: You notice things differently traveling on two wheels instead of four.
9 a.m. | Daphne in a Different Light
Pedaling south from Gator Alley, we crossed the highway before disappearing into the brush of Scenic 98. Our first stop awaited us at Village Point Park Preserve. Rich in history and scenery, the park is shaded by towering oaks draped in Spanish moss, with boardwalks lined by cypress knees cutting across its swampy interior. The path felt like a secret passageway that led to Mobile Bay.
On the other side, we stepped onto the sandy beach and were treated to morning Bay views. Feeling the sand beneath my toes, I heard coastal birds singing and cicadas buzzing while a few fishermen cast a line from the pier. Across the Bay, the RSA Tower and downtown Mobile skyline were faintly visible on the horizon.
I was amazed that I’d only visited this preserve once before, and this was Louise’s first time. How had two people who grew up here barely stopped to notice this gem of a park? Though only a few miles in, I realized today might be more about rediscovery than burning calories or capturing Instagram highlights.
By mid-morning, our next stop called for a pick-me-up. Cruising into Olde Towne Daphne, we stumbled upon peak patio brunch hour at Press & Co. before finding bar seats inside. The shop’s bright Mediterranean aesthetic reminded me of a 30A-inspired cafe and market. Though my stomach tempted me with heartier menu options, we stuck with a liquid diet knowing we were only four miles into the ride.
After a round of berry smoothies and espressos, we cruised past churchgoers at Christ the King Catholic Church and pedaled out of Olde Towne for the hills of Montrose.
10:30 a.m. | The Mystery of Montrose
Though our steepest climb was up ahead, this was one of the ride’s most scenic stretches. In cycling, gravity rewards those who push through the uphill burn. We cruised across boardwalks over Rock Creek and Fly Creek and gazed in envy at the string of bluff-side homes.
This elevated stretch of bayfront has always felt too mountainous to belong in our low-lying coastal backyard. According to the Ecor Rouge historic marker, this “Red Cliff” is the highest coastline point between Maine and Mexico and was once home to Native Americans, French settlers and a British hospital camp.
Then came an unexpected detour: Flying Creek Nature Preserve. After paddling the quiet twists and turns of Fly Creek many times, I’d always wondered why there wasn’t more public access to this largely hidden gem. A quick walk on the nature trail led us beneath muscadine vines and maple leaves to the creek. Resisting the temptation to jump in and continue the ride in wet clothes, I compromised with a quick splash of creek water on my face.
Leaving Montrose, the oaks draped over the trail created both a shaded canopy and scenic distraction for the climb into downtown Fairhope.
12 p.m. | Beers on the Pier
Now about halfway through the ride, gravity returned the favor once we reached Magnolia Avenue and shifted into downhill cruise control. Hardly pedaling, we rolled down to the Fairhope Pier and enjoyed a scenic loop around the duck ponds. I was stunned by the park renovations since my last visit, especially after spending many long days here as a former staffer and racer for the Grandman Triathlon.
For lunch, we retreated to the Blind Tiger for a bayfront breeze. Saving room for a larger feast at the end of our ride, we shared the mahi tacos and fried grouper bites and clinked a round of Blue Moons and Corona Lights. There are few things better than cold beer and seafood on the water, especially for a mid-workout reward.
With a full belly and light buzz, we trudged back up the infamous hill as I suffered race-day flashbacks familiar to any Grandman triathlete. From there, the next few miles were smooth sailing until we made our way to the Grand Hotel.
1:30 p.m. | Postcards from Point Clear
Few stretches of the ride stirred up more nostalgia than Point Clear, or “Point Cleaaa,” as your older family members might have pronounced it. We slowed our pace while drifting through the pristine Grand Hotel property.
Pedaling through brought back familiar memories: sneaking into the pool on summer days, grabbing cookies and lemonade during afternoon tea time, hearing the cannon blast and watching sunsets over the Bay. It’s easy to take this place for granted when it’s always been in your backyard.
Beyond the Grand begins the Boardwalk, where time moves a little slower and Bay life is a different breed. Weaving between weathered picket fences, screened-in sleeping porches and wooden swings hanging beneath sprawling oaks, the intimacy of the Boardwalk cruise gives you a firsthand look into a way of Bay life that families have passed down through generations.
Our next excuse to hit the brakes came at Punta Clara Kitchen, where we sampled our way through fudge, preserves and fruit butters. Vanilla and praline fudge satisfied my sweet tooth, while apple butter and watermelon preserves delivered my favorite surprises.
With sugar levels replenished, we climbed back on our bikes and continued south on Scenic 98 for the final stretch.
2 p.m. | The Long Road Home
Leaving Point Clear, the final nine miles stretched along Scenic 98 before turning onto the quieter County Road 1. By now, our sightseeing had turned into a game of spotting the most creative names decorating family bay houses along the way.
There was Squirrel’s Nest, Grandfathered Inn, Hunt and Gather and Baywacker. I also reminisced while passing family and friends’ homes where I spent time as a kid, like Linger Longer and Demeranvilla. After a quick visit with our friends Doug and Morgan at their brand-new bay house, On Deck, we rode against the wind for the final leg of the ride.
As Scenic 98 gave way to County Road 1, houses hugged closer to the road and unobstructed bay views opened beside us. This is also the moment I wanted to trade in my mountain bike. On the smooth straightaway, Louise and Steven cruised ahead on their skinny road tires while it felt like I had to work twice as hard on my mountain bike to maintain pace against the wind.
As we rolled past Mullet Point Park, Mobile Bay soon faded into the marsh grasses of Weeks Bay as County Road 1 ended at Pelican Pointe. After a quick celebratory photo and water break, we returned to Louise’s parents’ bayfront home — Crow’s Nest, Too — tired, sweaty and seeking just about any form of hydration available.
3 p.m. | Post-Ride Reflections
For our post-ride meal, we enjoyed takeout focaccia turkey and mozzarella paninis from Fairhope’s Osteria South paired with sliced oranges and cold drinks on the wharf. As we indulged, I reflected on everything we saw along the ride. Much of it wasn’t new scenery; it was a route we’ve all driven countless times.
But the seat of a bike offers a unique reward. You notice your tires gliding across different surfaces, historic markers that provide a sense of place, local shops that invite you to linger, chilly creek water splashing on your face and familiar Eastern Shore scenery you once took for granted as a kid.
Maybe that’s what I appreciated most about the ride. You don’t need to travel far to gain a fresh perspective. Sometimes it’s about slowing down to notice what’s sitting right in front of you.
