We had little idea of the road conditions on #53 and federal road # 27, but were willing to take a chance. A Florida state trooper was gassing up last night and he told us that 27 had a decent "skirt" or shoulder, and that he remembered it being resurfaced not so long ago. We'd take it.
Up at 4 am, everything organized and ready to go from the night before. We ate in the room, filled our bottles with ice from the ice machine, pulled the door closed and took off. With no city lights polluting the darkness, it was pitch black out. Sunday at 4 to 5 am is too early for church. The only drivers on the road are typically those coming home from bars or parties.
Chris's red flashing light needed batteries so we dropped into the market attached to a gas station next to the motel. We rolled up and a surly group piled out of a car, a drunk girl screaming some choice words and phrases at the driver as he walked toward the store laughing over his shoulder at her. Ah, true love.
Once we got 100 yards from the station, it was like riding into an ink well. Our headlights provided ample light for the road in front of us, but not enough for the sides of the roads. I'd pivot my light back and forth occasionally when approaching a side road or driveway. Chris gave me a Surefire flashlight a while back. Finally, a chance to use it. The light is incredibly bright and tough, made to military and law enforcement specs (http://www.surefire.com/).
We'd hear cars coming miles off, before we saw headlights. The whining, white sound of a single car travels far in the vacuum of no other noise. We decided to pull off the road, douse the bike lights and hide out from the cars. Call it paranoia, but we turned it into a game; hear the car, see the lights, find a driveway to hideout - this usually coincided with a pee break anyway, no harm, no foul. At one point we heard the high pitched whine of 4WD pickups screaming down the road behind us. We scooted to a side road, turned out the bike lights and waited. The pitch of the tires wound down as both trucks slowed to take a hard right onto a dirt road less than 100 yards behind us. Any conversation with the natives at 5 am would probably not be a good one.
The horizon on our left turned from black to purple to deep red, red, than orange as the sun rose. By the time we hit federal road # 27, daylight flooded the woods, and we felt much safer. 27 was the perfect road, all requirements filled; good shoulder and surface, flat, dry weather. We chewed away at the miles until a red rental car slowed down with Peter and Max inside.
Peter, pale Max and Chris
We met up with them between Mayo, Florida and Branford, Florida. Max got out of the car looking a bit pale. He said hello than said "I'm not getting back into that car again, I think I'm gonna throw up." One thing I've discovered about kids, when they say they're going to puke, they usually do. Irony and sarcasm don't apply in these cases. He puked, several times. We could do nothing but feel bad for him while trying to aid in keeping the stuff off of his shoes. His technique will no doubt improve over time. Practice, practice.
25 miles left to High Springs, Peter and Max took off and did some sightseeing. We put our heads down to finish as soon as we could, taking advantage of our early start. One last food stop and I called Bob to let him know the wheel held together, and should make it to town where we'd take it in for another repair. 95 miles on a broken spoke. We finished just after midday, again meeting up with Peter and Max once we hit main street. We followed them to the motel, not just any motel, the Cadillac Motel. $45 a night and well worth it. Diving is popular in the area. The Cadillac is base camp for hoards of middle aged men, staying for weeks at a time, diving the local hot spots.
the wheel I know and love
We pull into the motel. As Chris checks in, Max gets that pale look again and suddenly blows vomit all over the walkway in front of the rooms. A total surprise attack. Was it us? The red paint on the rental car? Video games in a moving car? The state of Florida? What could possibly incite his stomach to hit the reject button? I asked the motel cleaning person for a bucket. Filling it with water, I rinsed the globs off the walkway, double power rinse. Doctor Peter said it was a 24 hour bug.
The Swamp
We cleaned up and dropped the wheel in the trunk, ran it to the shop. The shop guy suggested a Mexican place for lunch. The food was good, but I chose a coconut drink, expecting a sweet liquid. It was bitter with small chunks of diced coconut floating around in the can. Take a drink, chew, take a drink, chew. It sucked.
Peter wanted to take pictures of the Gator stadium (Ben Hill Griffin Stadium). We stopped by, saw workers with a gate open and walked right in. We crawled all over the place and even saw a few nuts running stairs in the heat. http://virtualtour.ufl.edu/campus_sites/stadium.htm. Once inside, it was like a heat sink, the sun beaming down into the center of the stadium, magnified by the bowl-shaped seating structure.
Max, throw up over there, not here
I walked up the stairs to take this picture. The next day on the bike, I couldn't figure out why my calves were on fire. Duh . . . When you do one thing everyday for almost six weeks, your body protests when asked to adapt to a new activity
We drove around for 30 minutes (thanks Peter) looking for Dos Equis. The bike shop guy said it was the shop beer of choice, so we promised a case for saving our asses. Beer as a peace offering or sign of appreciation works. There is nothing better than a free buzz. Enjoy this bit of beer trivia from Wikipedia:
Dos Equis is a Mexican Beer. It was first crafted in Mexico by the German brewmaster Wilhelm Hasse in 1897. Originally called "Siglo XX" ("20th century"), the brand was named to commemorate the arrival of the new century; since the Spanish language uses Roman numerals for centuries, the bottles were marked "XX", two Xs, or "Dos Equis".
On the way back to the motel, Chris treated us to smoothies ($24 total cost, wow), then back to the room for some down time. A fifties style cafe sat 1/8th of a mile down the road for dinner. burgers, salads, fries, Linguini (we taught Max the word - LING + WEENIE, it worked). Then Coronas on the freshly rinsed walkway outside the rooms. Thanks to Peter and Max for coming down to visit us and making the day a great success. Chris summed up by saying that it was a touch of reality, of family, of things that really mattered. It lent perspective to being on strange roads, seeing strange new things, day after long day. Riding every day like this is not real life. Family is always the truest connection to our lives.
over and out
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