It was another morning of packing my tent up soaking wet. And once it’s packed like that, it’s a guarantee that later I’ll be unpacking it soaking wet. I went to the beach in the morning and did a little workout to try and give the tent some more time to dry off. It felt great to run on the beach again, and after I was nice and sweaty, the water was totally do-able.

I got back to a slightly less-wet tent, and I packed her up and hit the road. I headed south on A1A, and I biked some of the same roads we had driven through a couple days before. My morning workout took up more time than planned, so I rolled right through Cocoa Beach. Then I rode past “Our Spot,” and I pulled my steed into the spot we had parked for our surf sesh.

Then there was Indian Harbour and Melbourne Beach. By now, it was hot. I stopped at a gas station to configure my new set up: needed room to allow for more water.

James had told me about a surf spot near Sebastian Inlet that I should check out. The spot was called, “Spanish House,” because of the Spanish style home built right there on the east side of A1A. Pretty creative. It’s at the start of a massive campground, but the rest of the areas charge for a place to set up camp. He said that he had camped out at the surf spot before and highly recommended it. I’m always lookin to save a few bucks, and this would be my first night of sleeping directly on the beach.

There is a trail right next to the house that leads out onto the beach, and I figured that no one would bother me if I went down a few hundred yards.

I had to unhitch my bike, lock that up in the parking lot of the actual campground headquarters, and run the rest of my gear across A1A. I found an opening in the trail right underneath the sign to hide my stuff.

I lugged all my sleeping gear down the beach about a quarter of a mile to a little clearing at the front of the dune. It was dead low tide and there still wasn’t much beach, so I clambered up onto the dune to be safe. I set her up and walked back to my trailer to grab dinner.

I posted up at the mouth of the trail and cooked my Ramen as I jealously watched the surfers. This wild lookin cloud came over us and unleashed it’s fury a few hundred yards out to sea.

The squad out in the water dwindled as it got darker, and I chatted with a few as they left. They were all pretty nice and when I went back to my trailer to grab my sleeping clothes, nothing was stolen. Gotta love the good karma folk.

I strolled on down to my abode, past the first dead bird and taking a right at the second dead bird, and snuggled up for a night of rest. It was perfect out. The wind was blowing onshore (right into the tent opening), and the moon was out in full effect.

It felt like I was sleeping underneath a street lamp. I got a great stretch and soaked it all in. I didn’t even blow up my sleeping pad–the sand was soft enough as it was. Last minute, I decided to create a man-made tree out of driftwood to keep my bear bags off the ground and air-dry my boardies. The things I do to entertain myself:

I was too hot in the sleeping bag, so I hung out on top. I woke up in the middle of the night to go pee. For some reason, I sleep-walked right out of my shorts, and I found myself stark naked on the beach. There I was, under the moonlight, in my birthday suit, illegally sleeping on a deserted beach in Florida.

Some images that I woke up to:

I saw the guys that forged those ATV tracks the night before. I hadn’t put my tent up all the way yet, and I was over by the trailhead eating dinner. They waved and kept going. Then they slowed down at my tent and I thought my first night on the beach was ruined. But then they kept riding, and I think it was because they were dodging the dead bird. They were the beach replenishment guys and they didn’t bug me at all.

Then I packed up and moseyed down the beach to the trail head and watched this dude almost get barrelled.

View from the trailer hiding spot: