300 miles
9:30 wheels are rolling. The single track at Croom is great after Wednesday's rain. That place can get dry fast and turn to sugar sand.
Somewhere in the midst of the single track a small gap opened between Karlos and myself. I could hear the singing, but is was a little farther away than before. When I popped out on the Withlacoochee Rail Trail he wasn't there. I kept an eye on the 6 o'clock and somewhere around ½ mile back is when he hit the asphalt.
Since I don't have tri-bars to give me an aero advantage I meter my effort to maintain the best gap I can without going to far inside the energy stores.
Heading across the twisty dirt roads of a Ridge Manor neighborhood I stop to take a picture of “Cockelberry Street” and post it to Facebook. I thought is was funny. Oops, ¼ back is Karlos.
There is a bushwhack section to jump into Richloam that leaves one wanting a machette.... instead I just get some cuts on my legs from the Palmetto fronds. Hey, there's Karlos, like 50 feet away... what the...?
time to roll. Enough goofing.
Heading through Richloam and all the way across the Green Swamp the effort is strong and the sun is high. It is around noon and the weather is prefect. I keep an eye on the “6” but it's empty.
North on US Hwy 27 can be daunting... especially with a wind out of the north. Guess what? Yep, wind from the north. Since I packed about 3 liters of water I didn't need to stop on this leg. Only pulled over once to grab a sandwich from my Camelbak.
Clermont is hilly. Really. Not Rocky Mountains hilly, but for Florida it's the best we have.
This route actually passes right by my home. Within feet... like, the back door. I could just stop, take a nap, eat some lunch, hell – even just quit and call it a day. So tempting.
I put some water in the bladder of my pack, snap a picture of the Minneola Trail Head sign and off I go. Segment one in the books with 82 miles and still feeling strong.
The North Lake Aopopka Restoration area is beautiful. It may be not so fun to get there... but it is beautiful. The road in had just been tilled up for a fire break and the area burned. Made it impossible to ride. Had to hike-a-bike it till the terrain firmed up again a mile or so later.
The lake is supposed to be one of the most polluted due to farming on the shores. Fertilizer runoff causing all sorts of ecological problems. Shame on corporate farming.... you know who you are.
The area is on the rebound though. I encountered hundreds, possibly thousands, of animals of all types. Bob cats, alligators, cranes, birds of prey, rabbits, and squirrels. I highly recommend a visit. You can get there from Astatula and the roads and trails are very bike friendly, even for a family with kids. Remember, there ARE alligators all over though!
As I pass through Apopka the sun is getting low and I realize the trip to the Ocala National Forest , my goal for a sleep stop, is going to be chilly. When the sun goes down, so do the temps.
I grab a snack and a cup of hot green tea at a gas station. Everyone looks at me strangely... must be something about a fully loaded bike and a guy in Lycra riding around at night that is odd to them... seems normal to me.
Did you know there was a river crossing on this race? Did you realize it's February? At that moment I came to that realization. On the exploratory ride it was warm out and the crossing was no problem. If I had to guess the temps were getting down to the upper 50's F. Being out in those temps and wet can be bad... I have a plan. Garbage bags. Since the water the last time was thigh deep, I figured I'd put the bags over each leg and hop right on across dry and warm. This is spring fed river too, 72 F all year. The water actually felt warm compared to the air temperature.
Don't think for one second that I didn't scan that river long and hard with my headlight for the 'glow in the dark' eyes of a predator prior to setting a toe in that water.
The bags over my legs worked great! Until the extra rain from Wednesday had brought the level of the water up to my chamois in my shorts. Can't stop now. On the other side I made very quick work of getting dry. Clean and dry wool socks, wipe down the legs, try to blot my chamois dry, and whack the bush to the road. That damp chamois will haunt me.
Moving across the Seminole State forest at night, a section of the route I have never seen before, was uneventful and moved quickly. There were hints along the way of the climbs to be seen the next day in the Ocala National Forest. Nothing to demanding, but a hint.
Somewhere around 11:30 p.m. As I'm making my way down Maggie Jones Road, the battery warning on the GPS gives notice. My goal is to sleep at the trail head at Clear Water Lake near Paisley. I'm about 2 miles short of that goal when the batteries give there final flutter of life and the unit shuts down. That made the chore of choosing a camp site easy. Right here will do fine!
About 30 minutes later I'm sliding into my bag about 100 feet into the woods on Maggie Jones. Here is where I should have addressed that wet chamois. I forgot about it. Sleepy time. Somewhere around 2 a.m. I hear voices. Why? I'm in the middle of BFE. Who could be so close to me?
As I unzip the bag a little I can see 2 cars pulled of the side of the road and several people walking about. What are they doing? Looking for me? Confused, I lay still. I can hear laughing, see them walking back and forth... I don't think they know I'm here. About 10 minutes later, they pile into there vehicles and pull away. Only then do I see.... “Sheriff” on the side of each vehicle. Gulp. Makes me wonder if my camp spot was a good choice or not. Of no matter, the sleep monster jumps me and off to la-la I go again.
For an hour anyway. 3:15 a.m. I'm oddly awake and fresh. Pack the bike and rolling in practically no time. Ouch! Taint pain. Apply some lube to the chamois – but as any cyclist knows, it is already too late. Crap.
I pop out of the single track bike trail sometime around 6 a.m. near Big Buck Lake. That time surprised me. I would have thought that I could have covered those last 15-20 miles a bit faster. Hmm. Maybe 3 hours wasn't enough sleep. So, out comes the bag. 1 hour 45 minutes later I'm feeling pretty good. It's also starting to rain. Boo.
I knew the rain was coming. Doesn't mean I had to like it.
Somewhere in here, right after my nap, I got lost. Only for an hour. But I lost the route none the less. I cursed. DAMN YOU KARLOS AND YOUR ROUTE!
The SLOG across the ONF with the damp clay road feeling like riding on Velcro was draining. Because I didn't know when Karlos stopped and where, I never let my guard down. Every hilltop across that forest is a look out. I'm searching for signs of a lone rider coming up behind. Don't see one.
When I hit the asphalt on the other side of the forest I was so relieved to be off dirt... and so g-damn cold. My jacket, as it turns out, is water resistant. Not water proof as advertised.
There is a turn that I miss. I find a Win-Dixie; this isn't on the route. Damn. Map check shows I missed my turn about 2 or 3 miles back. I wasn't mad. This was when the Eye of the Huracan first punched me. I was low. Call for a ride home?
No, I don't have an “off” switch. I must press on. I prayed (and I'm not the praying type) for an electric hot air dryer in that Win-Dixie bathroom. What I got was paper towels and an old man banging on the stall door complaining of “irritable bowel syndrome”.
Grrrr.
That is insult, here comes injury.
2 very tactful and oh so well dressed REDNECKS found my appearance very amusing. “what the fuck is that?!?!” is what I heard while looking for a pair of rubber gloves on the dish detergent isle. The gloves were to help keep the hands warm... back to the 'necks...
I'm sure their flannel shirts, dirty jeans, work boots, and Earnhardt hat clashed very much with my dripping wet cycling get-up. But did yo mamma actually raise you in a barn? Get some class. As their faces turned beet red with belly laughter I took my goods to the check out. I was actually quite calm (exhausted) and only wanted warmth. They could go back to their trailer and tell their mamma/sister/aunt (that is one person, you know) all about it while drinking Bud and polluting the gene pool. I'm gonna win me a race – without an engine.
I find food once I get back on course at a Mobile convenience store. Handmade sandwiches from a Deli counter with seating. 2 sandwiches and a conversation with a nice lady from Libya later I'm on the bike again. A hint of left knee pain and a sore taint. Hmm.
Santos to the end of Nayle's trail is unremarkable – I can't even recall a particular thought about it. I do know I'm really slowing down now. The newly cut single track past the end of Nayle's has some elevation changes bigger than the rest of the Santos Trail network. I needed a break. I ate some more in hopes of getting some energy. I listened to the cars on SR200 and planned the next phase. My math was telling me that I could make the end by 11 p.m. Reality was telling me that my knee is getting worse and my energy is going down. Midnight, let's shoot for midnight – yeah, that's it.
Somewhere in Santos as I'm updating my status from my smart phone on the SingletrackSamurai.com and Facebook fan page, I get a text from Karlos. He is out. Taking a short route back to the car. That was it. All I had to do was finish this monster and I get the record time.... no matter what that time is.
Pruitt Trail Head had a beautiful sunset. Red and orange bands across the western sky. Sun down, temperatures down. I layer up, check the lights, and tear off into the dark.
Heading through Halpata and Potts Preserves goes smoothly. Slowly, but smooth. The next MONSTER is the hardest bit of the entire thing. Withlacoochee Rail Trail. 18 miles of horrible, terrible, deplorable, and shameful – paved bike trail. It's straight, it's smooth, and it's well maintained. Huh? BORING – MIND NUMBING – AARRGGGG!
I could only make Floral City before I had to stop. It's 11:30 and there is still another 20 or so miles before I get to my car. Damn. My knee is killing me and my taint is so sore I yelp everytime I sit on my saddle.
Out comes the sleeping bag and on to a park bench I go. About 12:45 a.m. I get up and get packed – again. The art of making a bed and taking a quick nap in such cool temps served me well. That is my military arctic training kicking in.
My knee is on high alert and all I want is to be done. The pace is slow. Agonizingly slow. There is a moment of joy; arrival at Croom. I yelled out into the night with celebration. When I get to the “12-mile bail out” I know I'm down to the final stretch... 7 miles.
That car was so welcome. 3:15 a.m. and I'm done. That's it. No more riding. Everything get's tossed in the back and I crawl in and immediately go to sleep. I drag myself and my bike into the garage at home around 6 a.m, after stopping 2 or 3 times and napping road side along the way.
The experience of 300 self-supported miles is one I can't yet fully appreciate. Matter of fact, I don't care about the mileage, the average speed, the elevation.... it all sits as binary code still in the GPS. I don't care to look at it.... let it sit in there forever! Bah! I'm sure as the pain and discomfort of the various bits and parts disappears, the desire to 'splore some more will grow. What may be next? Time will tell.
-- As told by Rob Roberts
