I begrudgingly left my hotel room the next day. Maybe it was the beers, or maybe it was because my legs felt so damn good in that bed. But I had to keep truckin.

I lucked out with the bike shop in town. I was very thankful for that, because I was pretty much at a loss as to what I was going to do. I had even tried using a presta-valve converter and an air compressor at a gas station to top off the tube. Two different times. But that didn’t work and I was running out of quarters. Fortunately, the bike shop owner would rather fill my tube than stand in line on this Black Friday.

I finally got out of town and back onto 17. Same road as always. The sun was out, but I had a headwind the entire day. There was one stretch of 17 that was the straightest, flattest road I’ve ever been on. It stretched like that for about 14 miles–so with that wind it took me over an hour to get through it. The only moves I made were to avoid the roadkill and dodge the rumble strips. There was a dense forest on both sides, and it funneled the wind right into my face. It was like I was biking on a treadmill and I just hoped I hadn’t been transported into the Twilight Zone.

But I made it about 65 long miles to the “historical town” of Darien. There were no campgrounds within 15 miles. My legs were shot and night was coming. I decided to get a motel in town instead of winging it in the woods somewhere off 17–I could tell that people took trespassing pretty seriously down here, and they didn’t take too kindly to it.

I called ahead to a motel and got the rates–it was going to be cheaper than some campgrounds I had stayed at. Sounded good to me. When I showed up, I understood why. The place next door blasted music the entire time I was there (and through the night) and it was definitely a rough part of town. I put my head down and pulled all my gear inside the room with me.

The one thing I kept thinking about was the kids at the WJA and how tough it must be to live everyday in a place like this. I was only passing through, but I could imagine a place like the WJA could be a complete life changer.

The bed wasn’t anywhere near as comfortable (or sanitary?) as my previous night’s set up, but I didn’t really care. I was able to get some writing done and I fell asleep early. I had another long day ahead and hoped that I’d wake up ready for some more wind in my face.

I actually woke up to a screaming match outside. So I guess I woke up to something in somebody’s face. I packed my things quick and hit the road out of town. It was 75 miles to the Georgia/Florida border, so I put my head down and charged.

The wind was in my face all day. It really picked up in the afternoon, so I was lucky I had an early start. It was a long one. My legs were burning and it felt like I was going nowhere. Then my hands, my ass, and my neck started to go. I would go about 15 miles at a time. It took all day, but I finally got down to the border of my final state.

I felt like I deserved to enjoy a little something, so I reserved a campsite at the Ritz of campgrounds, a KOA. I got a shower, got to charge my phone, and even scored a little TV.

I enjoyed the Florida game in the TV room with some Florida fans. I figured when in Rome, why not cheer for the Romans? The Terps were getting crushed, anyway, and Steve and Karen were super nice. They also gave me some solid suggestions on how to navigate Northern Florida, and even offered me dinner and drinks at their camp. Even though I don’t really know what it means, I’m pretty sure I was the definition of plum tuckered out, so I had to decline. I passed out right after I zipped my tent shut. Tomorrow, I was heading into Florida.