Hill repeats anyone?
Shorter day, more sleep. We got on the road at roughly 6:30 am. Road 188 T's at Road 193. Take a left on 193 and the road ends on Dauphin Island, Alabama. The bridge to the island is huge. A few miles before the bridge a sign read First ferry - 8 am. I looked at my watch and it was 7:20 am. We had 5 miles to go, no problem except for the severe headwind that we've tried to shake since we started out in California. Although we were heading due south the wind was crazy strong, kicking back 
at each pedal stroke. Sweat poured off us while the headwind offered little evaporative effect. We were grinding to make the first ferry, since the next one arrived 90 minutes later. The apex of the bridge offers a view of the area unlike any other since there are no high points. The bridge height allows watercraft passage underneath, bomb proof enough to survive Katrina without sustaining any damage. The bridge replaced the causeway swept away in 1979 by Hurricane Frederick in 145 mile wind gusts. (below).
A full time ferry service as a long term solution proved too expensive for the state of Alabama. The Figg Bridge Engineering Group (figgbridge.com) designed and built the bridge in just 34 months. The highest point consists of three spans, the main 400 feet in length. This is the first 400 foot span on a precast concrete segmental bridge. The dual, I-shaped piers feature an integrated driving surface. (details courtesy of Figg Bridge website). Words fail in describing how big this bridge is. As I write I realize I have a crush on the bridge. It has what I need. Twice in my life it quietly channeled me away from difficulty, delivering me to where the colors run brighter, the land lay flatter, closer to the end of the ride. 
The significance of this bridge can't be overstated in the context of the entire ride. By the time you step onto the Fort Morgan ferry from Dauphin Island, all the effort, stress and challenge of the past 7 states unhinges from your primal brain. The ride experience suddenly vibrates with renewed energy. You're still in Alabama at the ferry dock on the Gulf Shores side but the new land is near and that new land is called Florida. That square-wheeled trailer you dragged across Texas finally falls away and your mood changes. The going is flat, faster than before and more rewarding. Hurricanes, floods, sticky heat and love bugs are all the price paid for the warm life on the gulf. Be sure to visit Dauphin Island sometime. We suggest using a car, but it's not too bad on a bike.
Fort Morgan Parkway whisks (yes, literally whisks) you east toward Gulf Shores. By the time we reached the far side of Gulf Shores we stop into The Waffle House for gut bomb extraordinaire breakfast number two. We ate, sat for another twenty minutes, acclimated outside on the curb for a few more, then fork lifted our full guts onto the bikes. Dessert was the cleanest, most amazing (superlatives fail once again) bike path we've EVER ridden. Behold the shining bike path of your dreams:
Chris refused to pose for this one-Perdido Beach Blvd Note the rumble strip barrier - an early warning system
designed to prevent squished cyclists
Perdido Beach Blvd morphs into Gulf Beach Highway. They should call it Condo Row. Nearly every free section of beach front on this stretch either has a huge finished condo, a building in progress or, where there is a view, a notice of land use sign standing proudly, a parking spot reserved for an even bigger building. This stretch of road is not very scenic from a car, unless you're shopping for a condo.
We skirt the southeast rim of Pensacola, heading northeast on Barrancas Avenue. Traffic seems tuned into cyclists, probably a result of all the triathletes and roadies training out on this perimeter road. Pensacola is home for many triathletes given the number we saw in just a few miles. The temperature is low 90's and all we have is warm Hammer mix in our bottles. I can barely stand it on ice, let alone at armpit temperature. As we looked out for the next corner store, I hear a strange aircraft noise, unlike anything I've heard before. here are a few details, courtesy of fas.org:
The V-22 Osprey is a tiltrotor vertical/short takeoff and landing (VSTOL), multi-mission air-craft developed to fill multi-Service combat operational requirements. The tiltrotor design combines the vertical flight capabilities of a helicopter with the speed and range of a turboprop airplane and permits aerial refueling and world-wide self deployment.
I'd never seen one in flight before, and it was a strange sight. The oddest aspect is the 38 foot diameter "proprotors." From the ground it looked like it was gliding, although it may have been on approach for landing. There have been three crashes between 1989 when the first prototype took flight and 2000. At over $80 million each, it is an impressive aircraft.
We took a bathroom/juice break at a corner market, remounted the bikes and started jamming. We passed by the front gate of the Naval Air Station and also saw three Blue Angels cruising around. Everything seemed great; we were out of the headwind, about 12 miles from the motel, hitting speeds of over 20 mph (finally), just soaking in the day. suddenly I hear a yelp from Chris about 15 yards behind me. She yells in pain again. Oh shit.
We roll up to a church driveway, pulling off at a safe distance. Chris's left knee gave a shock of pain and she could not fully straighten her leg. It was not that the pain prevented her moving it past 30 degrees, the joint simply bottomed out at that point, range of motion finished. If she tried to flex or extend at the knee joint the nerves would fire and I'd watch the blood run out of her face. Pain is an extraordinary thing, and this was the most pain I've seen her responding to. We got her off the bike and sat down, all while several tractor ditch mowers made passes along the road, kicking up dust, chopped grass, exhaust.
The knee finally gave in after the rough section yesterday. Chris described it as lateral cartilage shifting. We sat there in the dust and flying grass, formulating our new plan: OK, we call AAA, they deliver a car, we load your bike in the back, I keep riding and finish the day, then we hole up in the motel and ponder our options. Florida held such promise, now this. It was one of those moments when you stare off into the distance and ask yourself if this was really happening. Sounds greedy, doesn't it? All the things that DID NOT go wrong, all the times we did not get hit by cars, all the weather we dodged, bad food, dogs, ditches, logging trucks, heat, cold, snow and fatigue. After all of that, we sit on the side of the road mourning her left knee.
As a physical therapist, Chris has the wisdom to just sit still for a bit and see what effect if any, time produces. After 20 minutes or so, she stood up, gave a little knee movement, a bit more. The pain seemed to drain off a bit and she said it felt like the cartilage "unfolded" and smoothed out, releasing pressure on the noisy nerves. We then lowered her saddle, to a point where she looked like a BMX'er in the saddle after a long day spent terrorizing an empty lot or school yard.
Back on the bike, the cranks turned slowly at first, then up to a moderate speed. I kept looking back to make sure her pedals were still turning. Looking back stressed me out, I can't imagine what she felt and thought as the owner of the knee. I'd look back half expecting her kneecap to simply pop off.
We had one last rest day after two more days riding after today. Rest day sorely needed, we need it right now. The Seville Inn sits in downtown Pensacola. Again, the place was nearly empty, and the room big and clean. We showered, gulped hammer recovery drink, then got Chris's knee on ice as she called AAA about our situation. They said that each AAA field office makes their own decisions but that it was likely they'd deliver a car to her as a long-standing AAA member. We held out hope for our first option; convincing her knee to get with the program, but contingencies are always useful.
The front desk clerk pointed us to a corner pub just down the street and what better time than now to get our buzz on? We ate, drank beer, shook our heads, wondering about the next few days. As we sat there, several cyclists rolled by along with a steady stream of runners. Why don't we just buy a little place here in downtown Pensacola, call it a day? We found out later there is a running club that gets together for a "Pub Run." They log miles between bars, get free beer upon arrival, socialize, plan the next outing. After dinner we needed a few supplies. We walked around downtown for about one hour and still did not find anything open. With Chris's knee no longer locked up, full stomachs and beer buzz, maybe we had everything we needed at that moment.
over and out
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