Day 9 - 60 miles (482)

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I had a heartfelt goodbye today as I departed from Anita's. I had a time doing what her and I do best, having rambling conversations that we get lost in. We talk about everything under the sun and always leave our conversations satiated with laughter. Now, I was returning to my bike and the loneliness that that entailed.

I rode through rolling hills and quiet fields, all fenced off and demanding trespassers stay out. I never knew Florida was so beautiful in the interior.

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I also had the opportunity to test out my bike's off road capabilities. 

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Passed with flying colors. 

As far as my video blogging abilities go though, that's a failure.

I apologize for this very quiet video that has no real quality or substance.

Today was spent split between the urban and rural. I weaved my way on top of the sizzling stones of gravel to the hot, fast ribbon of asphalt, moving between houses, amusement parks, and areas devoid of immediate human activity. It was a day very reminiscent of riding in the middle of anywhere else in the country, solitary views of surroundings punctuated by pervasive people with fast moving cars and buzzing scooters with a incessant engine whine following you for miles and miles with chatty mouths all the while following along, inches behind your ear and rear until—and all at once—emptiness. People complain that the Untied States is far too spread out to make public transit efficient. I declare that’s not the case, but words are just hot air.

A long day of riding lead me to Ocala National Forest. In Florida, I ignorantly assumed the state consisted of beaches and Disney World. I don’t even particularly like Disney World, but such is the state of the far-reaching tentacles of the Mouse. To my pleasant surprise, the day was full of tall, thick forests rife of evergreens. While the air still had a salty, sea-like quality, hung heavy with humidity, and was full of unfamiliar fauna; I still found myself reminiscing of the familiar woods that surrounded my grandparents home in the far reaches of Up North, Michigan. I eventually made my way to a National Forest campground, proudly showing a sign that was begging for the perpetual group of ne’er-do-wells in the nearby area to vandalize.

The sign read:

BIG
BASS
CAMPGROUND