Ormond Beach is a small city with a big place in the history of going fast. Early in the twentieth century the hard-packed sand here, together with its neighbour Daytona to the south, was where the world's first speed records on wheels were chased, long before anyone thought of building a speedway. Henry Flagler's railway brought the winter crowds, and his grand hotel in town drew millionaires; John D. Rockefeller wintered a short walk from the shore in a house called The Casements. A motorcyclist rolling in today is following a very old tradition.
The loop and trail that start here are the quiet side of Florida riding. Inland of the beach, the old roads lean under live oaks hung with Spanish moss, and the canopy keeps the tarmac in dappled shade through most of the day. The surface is mostly good and the speed limits are low, so this is a ride for looking rather than leaning: slow bends, a few tidal creeks, old plantation-era ruins among the trees, and the broad flat water of the Tomoka River and its marshes not far from the road. Look for ospreys, herons, and in the right season the odd manatee in the shallows.
The coastal road itself, A1A, runs along the barrier island and is the other half of the story. It offers the ocean on one side and a crowded line of condos and beach bars on the other, and at weekends, bike week or school holidays it can be slow and loud. Early mornings are better, and so is winter, when the air is soft and the humidity gives you a rest. Summer afternoons bring brief violent thunderstorms, usually clearing as fast as they came.
As a start or finish this is easy. The town has forty thousand people, so fuel, a decent meal, a motel and a mechanic are all within a few minutes, and Holly Hill is next door if you need more. Wander down to the sand if you have time. The beach is hard enough that Volusia County lets cars drive on parts of it, and it is a remarkable thing to stand on the same flat shore where engines were first tested to the limit, with the Atlantic just ahead.