Kingston lies in a bowl between the Blue Mountains and a long sandbar called the Palisadoes, which curls out to shelter one of the finest natural harbours in the Caribbean. About a million people live in the city and its surrounds, and the first thing to remember is that Jamaica drives on the left, so if you arrive from Europe you are fine and if you arrive from anywhere else, take the first roundabout very carefully. Traffic in town is quick, honking is a language, and minibuses stop wherever somebody waves.
The city has more culture per square mile than almost any place its size. Reggae grew up here in the studios of Trench Town and Hope Road, and the Bob Marley Museum sits in the house where he lived, which is worth an hour even if you only know three songs. Devon House, a Victorian mansion in the middle of uptown, is a pleasant stop for ice cream, and not far away the National Gallery holds a serious collection of Jamaican art. Across the harbour, the ruins of Port Royal recall a pirate town so rich and wicked that an earthquake in 1692 dropped most of it into the sea, and people have read the event as a judgement ever since.
For a rider, the reward is what lies north. A short way out of town the land rises, and the road toward Gordon Town and Newcastle climbs through the foothills in a string of tight, shaded bends, with banana and breadfruit trees leaning over the surface, and the air cooling fast as you rise. Expect potholes, a sudden patch of gravel after rain, a goat in a corner, and drivers who overtake on blind bends. Ride it as if everyone else were improvising, because they are.
Kingston is a big city, so fuel is easy and abundant, with plenty of stations along the main roads. Plan the afternoon ride to be back before dark, since unlit roads and sudden showers are a poor mix. The best months for a clear mountain view are December to March, when the afternoon cloud sits higher.