After an all-too-short visit with Kevin, I was prepared to get back on the road. Kevin gave me a huge hand by sending back some gear that I decided I no longer needed and exchanged it for some snacks I could eat on the road. I carried Kona and all my gear down his apartment steps, gave him a big huge goodbye, and set off North to Lake Okeechobee.
Today largely consisted of me riding North on US-441. As I headed up the road on my left laid an endless patchwork of protected wetlands and miles of farm land. On my right, I rode pass miles upon miles of nameless retirement villages. They all seemed to pop-up out of the endless miles of farm fields as independnet islands all isolated from one another. Fortunately I took a left turn after a few dozen miles and peeled off towards the protected wetlands. I rolled past throngs of pedestrians and mounted up onto an off-road path and continued my way North, hidden away from the road and the cars amongst nature. After an hour on this trail I returned to empty, grey ribbon of road for the final twenty-mile haul.
And what a haul it was.
As I hooked West heading straight towards Lake Okeechobee, the wind had shifted. I was no longer riding with the wind hitting me laterally along my right side, it was now at my back. And while I may be loaded-up with eighty plus pounds of gear, a twenty mile per hour tailwind is a welcomed change in luck. As I turned, my computer showed me my average speed for the first fifty miles of the day: 12 mph. Then, as the wind slammed into my back and surged me forward, my average spiked to 22 mph. I was now doing what some experts would call: “hauling ass.”
Then BAM.
I came to a wobbly halt. My rear tire had gone flat. My first one of the trip. I quickly jumped off and began the tube-repair ceremony. Fortunately I had plenty of experience changing out tubes and having a touring bike made that process only easier. However, what I failed to notice during my ride was that I was taking a gradual hook from North-facing to West-facing. A subtle shift in wind direction during the repair process had me back on Kona facing a stiff headwind.
Great.
I trudged my last handful of miles into camp, desperate for a shower and some sleep. I rolled up to the campground front office and got a tent site. The lady politely pointed me towards where I'd be sleeping for the night: a small peninsula sequestered away from all the other campers. "You'll be here darlin'. It's quiet, just mind the 'gators." She wished me a goodnight and I shakily walked out of the office, reminded that at night I was never truly alone in my tent. Despite being on a small peninsula potentially surrounded by alligators, I'm still at peace. Being on a lake of this size makes me feel like home. Between swatting annoying mosquitos and the lazy lap of boat wake on the land, I was almost convinced I was standing on Lake St. Clair during a quiet, peaceful summer sunset.
