I finally got everything back in order and back to the bike…then the rains came down. Hard.

I rolled everything over underneath the “white building” landmark I had used the night before to get a little cover. Turns out its the main office of the campground.

A park ranger came out and said hi and shot the shit with me as I waited out the rain. His name was Terry, and he offered me a place to stay. He’s a host on couchsurfers and warmshowers and said he’s got a Canadian cyclist who’s on his way to key west and a girl from Thailand at his place right now. As interesting as those conversations would have been, I knew I needed to keep going, so I declined. He also told me of this eclectic hostel down in Florida City by the Everglades that I should go visit. I thanked him for his advice, but I had a feeling I wouldn’t be stopping in gator country. I was shootin for the Keys. Very nice guy though.

It was a long, long ride. The east coast’s prevailing south winds picked up at about 10 am and smacked me in the face all day. Reminded me of my stretch of headwind days back in Georgia. At least the sun was out and I was catching some cosmics.

After 15 miles I realized I should probably eat. I swung into 7-11 and they had just finished cooking up their food. No joke, I decided to get the pizza spinning around on that thing at a 7-11. Now I can die happy. My two slices weren’t bad, either.

I rode through stretches of dark clouds and rain, followed by sun, followed by sun and rain, all without changing the wind direction. At about mile 45, I decided I should probably refuel a little and charge all the stuff that I needed.

I had to get off of A1A because there were so many long stretches without anything, and my campground was on US 1 anyway. US 1 was basically a massive Rockville Pike with a bike lane. Franchise America, at it’s finest. I stopped in at a couple spots, but one was under construction, one was closed for the day, and one didn’t have any outlets to charge my stuff. I was getting pretty weak at this point. At 50 miles, I was really riding slow, so I figured the next spot I saw I was going in. Moe’s Southwest Grill it is.

The guy greeted me and I told him I was hungry but also needed to charge my phone. His name was Edgar, and he was also the manager. He pointed me to the free outlets and I was happy. I was pretty wiped, and I was covered in two day’s worth of sweat and grime, and I think he could tell. After he finished making my quesadilla and rang me up, he asked me what I was doing. So I told him, and he smiled and shook his head. “You’re crazy man,” he said. Then he pressed a few buttons and my sum total for lunch all of a sudden became $0. He said it was on him. Made my day.

So I sat down and stretched a little and took my time enjoying my meal as my phone charged. Then the next few guys that ordered after me came up to my table. They said that the manager had informed them of my trip, and they sat down and asked me all about it, and even said they wanted to donate. Everyone at this joint was so nice.

So I hopped back on the bike for my last 15 miles. For some reason, those miles didn’t feel as long as the other 50. I pulled into the campground to meet the manager, Jimmy, who I had spoken with a few hours before. The place was really an RV park, but he said he could find a spot for me to pitch my tent. They also had showers. Life is good.

He directed me to an open area and said go for it. I began unraveling for the day and pitching my tent. My neighbors in a massive RV greeted me. They were French, and they were also blown away about my bike trip. They offered me a beer, and then said if I needed anything, to let them know.

I checked in with the rents, and then I took my time trying to get dinner going. It started to rain a little, and the mosquitos were everywhere again. So I was trying to figure out what to do when it really started to come down. I ran over to my tent with my food stuff and got in. Then it REALLY started to come down.

Unfortunately, the area I had was in a lower part of the grounds, and it quickly started to pool up around me. Water got in between my footprint and the bottom of my tent, and all around me was a thick layer of water. Then the lightning started, and I realized I might be hunkering down for a while. Soon, water would be coming in my tent door and there’s no way I could open it. Looks like I was gonna be peeing my pants tonight.

Then all of a sudden, I hear a horn and Jimmy yells, “hey man, let’s get you outta this mess!” So I don’t think, I just open my tent and try to get to him as fast as I could. I almost totally eat shit (ate a little) on a tent stake and then the rain fly wouldn’t close behind me. Im in sweatpants and a sweatshirt, mind you.

I get in his truck and he takes me to the clubhouse. He opens everything up and says that I could sleep there tonight. I thank him profusely, and we say goodnight. Then I realize I have nothing with me, and after about 25 minutes of trying to wait it out, I take my sweatshirt off and put on my headlight.

The next 20 minutes were spent in my soaked sweat pants, sprinting back to my camp, retrieving something I’d need for the night and sprinting back. Of course, I’d forget something, so it took me three laps to get everything. Then I remembered that I had hooked up my wireless headphones to an outlet near my camp. I sprinted back for those and grabbed them. I brought them inside and tried to turn them on–fried. Looks like no more Spanish lessons. These last 300 some miles were gonna be quiet.

Finally, I was all set under a roof. Even though I didn’t get to shower, it felt like I took about three. I got set up for the night and enjoyed a quick (and late) dinner. Looks like I had brought a little dinner partner in with me. He was a little fidgety.

A neighbor of the club house swung in to see what all the fuss was about. His name was Michael, and we chatted for a little. He also thought I was crazy, but he offered me a couch to sleep on in his RV (instead of the floor). I was already set up, so I turned it down, and he left me saying, “your efforts are appreciated.”

After another long day on the road, and after some wild events off of it, people like Terry, Edgar, Jimmy, the French couple, and Michael make it all worth it. In the area where I had heard they were least welcoming to bikers, I met some of the kindest series of people all trip.

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:

I woke up feeling like a new man, and I was excited to get back on the road. I almost felt bad for taking so many days off, but I guess it was pretty needed, and Jake was a great host. It was an awesome break from the road, and it was a lot of fun to enjoy a little night life after so many nights of going to bed at 8:30.

My next stop was Cape Canaveral. The winds were still straight easterlies, and Jake took me out of town and scooted me through a bit of the wind fight. We said our goodbyes and I hit the road. From this point until Key West, I was flying solo.

The road I chose was a straight shot to Canaveral, and it looked do-able from the drop off point. It reminded me of 17 with a wider shoulder. Outside of a few honks, the first 15 miles were fine. Then I got to the first bridge, and it got skinny, quick. It was a steep bridge, and getting out of the saddle swings my bike a good amount. It was definitely a little sketchy, but my legs felt strong and I put my head down and charged. More honks and a few yells, and I made it over the first bad boy. Fortunately, the downhill had a shoulder, so I pulled off and snapped a few shots. I’m more worried about going downhill with a 45 pound trailer pushing and swinging around behind me than lugging that thing uphill–especially when there are those breaks in the bridge sections that can catch your rims and pop your tubes. This time, I made it through unscathed. Uncommon sign (at least in DC), and tropical vegetation:

There were a few points where I had to merge and watch for mergers, but it was nothing like that one time on 17. I was fine. And I was mentally prepared for the second bridge. The wind was really kickin’ at this point, and outside of taking me a good hour for the final leg, it was pretty uneventful.

I weaved my way into Cape Canaveral.

The place was pretty cool, but they hadn’t scheduled any rocket launches for that afternoon. Unbelievable. However, there was a huge port with massive cargo and cruise liners. I couldn’t get a good shot of them, but I did snag one of the Coast Guard.

I got a good stretch in, and contemplated falling asleep sans rainfly. Then I saw this guy by my tent, and I decided to put it up.

I woke up at 1 AM to a massive storm with winds that I thought were going to rip my tent pegs out. It was hard to sleep through it, but after a while, I managed.

We woke up nice and refreshed. Sunrise in Jake’s backyard:

I did a lot of work on the blog–it’s amazing how much time it takes to upload pics, record all your thoughts, and then make it somewhat readable.

Then we decided to make the trip east to Satellite Beach. It was supposed to be onshore and small, but no matter what, it’s better than not surfing. Jake spread the word we were going, and within 15 minutes, we had rallied about 12 surfers to make the 45 minute ride.

We were the first to leave, and Evan joined us as the scout team. We made the rounds at High Tower, RC’s, Second Light, Hangers, and even debated Cocoa Pier (Kelly Slater’s home spot). Again, December:

At the last second, we decided to try the little spot they had been surfing recently: “Our Spot.” We pulled in and ran up the stairs. It looked like fun and we decided to go for it.

Turned out to be A LOT of fun. The other kids were ripping; I even got a few fun ones, and that’s all I needed. Unfortunately, surfing is not like riding a bike…in more ways than one: you use your arms a lot more, and when you’re on a vehicle that’s not your own,  it doesn’t come back to you like second nature. Either way I still caught some waves, barely wetsuit conditions, in December in America.

Outside of solving the world’s problems, a few other topics of discussion in the lifeguard stand tend to revolve around women. I guess you could say that this is a world problem, too. Advice and psycho-analysis are incorporated a lot, and sometimes people even talk about their feelings. There are up days and there are down days, and we do our best to keep each other on an even keel, but it can be pretty stressful.

One thing I’ve learned: when we go surfing, we forget about all of those world problems. We also didn’t worry about finals, about where we’d sleep that night, if we’d run out of food, the weather overnight, how my bike felt under me, etc. We were released from everything but the water we were in.

Then, all of a sudden, this massive rain cloud formed above us and it started pouring. Cats and dogs. We could barely keep our eyes open at the waves coming in. But then I looked over at Jake and we smiled, laughed, stretched our arms out and soaked it in.

We were surfed out, and we refueled at their favorite post-surf grub spot, Dakine Diego’s. It definitely hit the spot.

We headed home at sunset, wiped, but happy.

Somehow we found a second wind and hit the town. UCF was pretty wild–it reminded me of my alma mater, except it’s virtually impossible to get frostbite here. The bar we went to was called, “The Library.” I was definitely out of my element and not used to staying up past 9, but somehow I found a way to have a good time.

In the morning, I groggily prepared to head out. We got breakfast and went back to Jake’s place. Even though my legs felt pretty recharged, now my head felt like I was wearing my helmet and my GoPro, but I wasn’t. We flopped on the couch, and next thing I knew, it was 3 o’clock. I felt much better, but there was no way I’d make it to my next stop before dark. It was also Sunday, and I hadn’t watched football in forever. We agreed that I should probably stay for one more night. I definitely didn’t complain about it.

We decided to get off our asses at the tail end of the afternoon, and we strolled around campus as I tried to fit in. They like to have fun at UCF. The local campus Ferris wheel:

I even stopped in the library to continue working on my blog. Here’s the more classic college scene at, “The Library”:

The rest of my time was spent relaxing, cleaning my disgusting gear, and enjoying the company of good people. I had my bike fixed up–there were some pretty ominous noises coming from that thing at this point, and I couldn’t fix them with all the grease in the world. We fell asleep to “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid” two nights straight, but I finally finished it the last morning. I also re-affirmed that Jake is the man. And here he is, on that incredibly comfortable couch, with the only thing that reminded me it was December.

I woke up to a few last mosquitos hanging inside my tent. I slapped away at my roof until they were nice and dead. Great way to get the body moving in the morning.

It was a little chilly and I didn’t want to do the “bundle up, strip, unpack, repack” move…so I headed to the bathroom. I’ve found that I’m not above breakfast in the heated bathroom, in fact, I have absolutely no problem with it. I also have no qualms wearing the same clothes everyday, licking my spoon until I see my reflection (hence, clean), or giving my water bottles the old sniff test to make sure they’re usable for the day’s ride. And if they fail the test, I just throw some water in there and splash it around. Then they pass with flying colors.

I stopped in town at a library to use their computer and update my site. Apparently, Thursday mornings is “teach the elderly how to use Facebook” class, and there were no computers available.

I headed south to Mims. The wind was straight onshore, so the crosswind was running me off the road all the way there. When I pulled into town, I was craving a real meal. All I got was a gas station, but they sold holiday-themed cliff bars, so I was happy. I plopped down on a curb, munched away, and contacted my friend, Jake, who lived outside of Orlando.

He goes to UCF and lives in Oviedo, which is northeast of the city. It was a straight shot west from Mims, and I hopped on my bike and let the wind do a lot of the work. I felt like Nemo on the EAC. Then I saw Crush on the side of the road. He was cool, but I totally almost clipped shell, bro.

I also knew that Miami was in my future, so I have been listening to a “Learn Spanish” audiobook. I took my time rolling westward, and most of it was spent yelling Spanish vocabulary as I headed into town.

It was absolutely beautiful out. It was the first day all trip that I went short sleeves the whole time. Jake had work through the afternoon, but he sent me his address and I pulled into his neighborhood before he was done. I unhitched, and sprawled out on the soft grass. Maybe it was the weather, maybe it was because my legs felt great due to the helpful tailwind, maybe it was all the pretty ladies in the neighborhood who walked their dogs at this time of day, or maybe it was because I was going to see a familiar face, but I was straight up giddy.

Jake pulled into his neighborhood horn blaring. I jumped up and we greeted each other with open arms and huge smiles. He’s a fellow Bethany guard, and we quickly caught up about life since the summer. That patrol is awesome–we can go months and months without seeing each other, and within five minutes, we’re right back at it.

There’s something to be said about “riding the pine” together. On those real long days, you end up “doin’ time” with your stand partner–you’re not getting down unless you have to pee or there’s an emergency. Either way, you log a lot of hours together, and you end up knowing everything you’d want to know about them and then some. Whether its sweating through workouts, getting drilled countless times to simulate every scenario possible, recounting stories of rescues and after-hours debauchery, or actually experiencing those things, you do them all together, and you end up getting pretty close in 3 months.

We enjoyed some killer fish tacos over a few beers and decided to chill for the night.

It gets a little nippy post sun-down (almost forgot it was December), so we built a fire in his backyard and I got to know the good people he surrounds himself with down south. Jake on the bean bag, Evan, who surfs his face off, neighbor Briana, and boyfriend of Briana/Jake’s roommate, James.

They were awesome people–made me feel a little old when they spoke about their upcoming finals, but I wasn’t really envious of that part of college. They were really diggin’ my trip, and we had great conversations ranging from school to travel to the future and to the past. I’ve also noticed young people have a certain excitement about life, which is contagious and so refreshing.

I knew I had to keep trucking, so in the morning I thanked them for a great time and headed south.

It’s amazing how many goodbyes I’ve had to say on this trip, and most often it’s to people I had just gotten to know. Either way, they’re always a little awkward and they’re never easy. I’d definitely like to log some more hours at this place, but I’m on a mission, and I was excited to continue on my adventure.

Those northerlies were still blowing through, and with the wind at my back, I chugged the 85 miles to New Smyrna. I made it to camp right at nightfall.

I went to the beach to check out the scene, but those north winds brought on a cold rain that persuaded me to stay on shore. That and the fact that it’s the shark bite capital of the country.

I headed to camp and found an opening in the jungle to rest my bones. My Ramen batch was really good that night and I found a great spot to hang the bear bag. After that I attended to nature’s call and walked back to my tent for a night stretch and to catch some Z’s.

I realized that I had left my tent wide open during this period of time, and there were quite a few mosquitos hanging out inside. I did my best to kill a few, and then resigned to the fact that I’d be itching no matter what.

After a long day on the road, I was able to fall asleep even with the skeeter party.

Aside from the interesting conversations, these people were full of life and killer tour-guides. I spent the entire next day riding with them around town checking out the sites of the “Oldest City in America.”

We cruised around all day–it was the best tour of any town I had been through this entire trip. Bikes are pretty cool ways to go about something like this, especially when you leave the 40 pound trailer behind.

Figured Longboard Santa should make the cut:

We also checked out the beach. There weren’t any waves, but we took our bikes out and rode them on the beach. That was wild, and when the tide is low enough, you can really get moving…Then they took me to a spot that might have sealed the deal for a return trip. Apparently, this place gives Seacrets a run for their money:

We found some shade and took a breather:

Then Frank almost took us out on the Hobie Cat. After being inspired by my ride, he’s hoping to go on a big sail with Ryan in a few months. I wish I knew the first thing about sailing.

We crossed the bridge into the main part of town for a late lunch. They took off as soon as the bridge connected back down. I’m a newb, and waited for the little things to move out of my way–I almost lost them.

Found them for lunch:

Then we checked out the fort. The thing is made of tiny seashells! This allowed for it to absorb cannonballs, and it is one of the longest standing fortresses in the US.

This town is a hidden gem. I was going to roll straight through it if Alex hadn’t told me otherwise. I had made some good friends in St. Augustine, and I was happy to get to enjoy my surroundings instead of riding straight through them. They were even kind enough to let me stay for another night.

I headed back out to the beach in the morning for a good long stretch.

After I loosened up, I saddled up and said goodbye to Camp Hanna. It was another beautiful day out. A little chilly in the morning, but it really started cooking by noon.

With the wind at my back, I rolled through Atlantic Beach (which was a little different than the Atlantic Beach I had passed through on my way to Emerald Isle), Neptune, Jax Beach, and Ponte Verde. After about 10 straight days of headwind, I was getting used to holding 13 mph. But it was my lucky day, and winds were coming from the North.I experienced my own little second wind to accompany the tailwind. I put my head down and pushed it for all 60 miles to St Augustine, holding about 19 mph.

My little phone has been so great. It’s blasted tunes on the long days, navigated me through countless streets in unfamiliar areas, and has kept me connected to people even in the middle of nowhere.

When my roommate from Australia found out that I would be rolling through St. Augustine the next day, he told me that I must stop in town. He had a few buddies living there and told me to reach out to them. Knowing Alex, I’m sure they were good dudes, so I went for it.

I was hoping to save a little dough and set up my tent in their backyard for the night. Because of my swift ride, I made it to town by mid-afternoon. I met Frank, Ryan, Kelly and Alex (different Al than my roomie from Oz), and after half an hour they offered me a place to sleep indoors. Great, great people.

A couple of pilots, students, and grinders, these guys lived an active lifestyle that was exciting and different than the typical Joe-jobbers back up north. Over some beers and a great meal, we spoke about flying, surfing, fishing and sailing. I began to realize that my current location offered these things year round, and I couldn’t get over the fact that it was late November and 70 degrees. They also liked to have fun:

I took my time in the morning. It was 35 degrees when I woke up, and I didn’t feel like wearing a million layers and then stripping them off and repacking my bag as the day wore on. They were also serving free Belgian waffles.

After my waffles, I packed up and hit the road. It had warmed up a ton, and the sun was shining as I entered the Sunshine State.

I had planned on heading east around Jacksonville and then to head straight down the coast. Today was the day that I finally got off of 17. At the intersection of 17 and A1A, I reflected back on the road that had carried me from North Carolina all the way to Florida. I went through about two cycles of lights, drinking some water and drinking in my memories of that road. There were so many times where I cursed this road, and it seems like there was an assigned headwind no matter where I was. I experienced some of my sketchiest riding and popped about five tubes along the way. But either way, she had gotten me here, and what a ride it had been.

I hopped right onto A1A. It’s about 17 times as beautiful as 17. Some parts remind me of 12 back in the OBX, but the beach towns are more expansive and the weather is a required 70. I rode through a state park and stopped a few times to appreciate the my surroundings.

I also found time to enjoy a snack. So did this fella:

I took a ten minute ferry across to Mayport, and then found my way to Hanna campground. That place is awesome.I took a late afternoon snooze on the beach and then headed back into the dense green to set up camp. There were bike trails everywhere, but for some reason, I had no desire to hop on my bike and ride through them.

There weren’t many people around, so I got to enjoy some time to stretch and reflect. I could hear the waves from my tent.

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.