Blazing Saddles: San Diego to (hopefully) St. Augustine: Sara: Day 42

At some point every morning one of us asks the other “are you in the groove yet”? Lately it’s been taking us a couple of hours to get there. This morning, despite the early start, heavy fog, and city traffic, both of us hit our groove virtually out of the gate. I guess you could say we were powered by some last-day adrenaline.

I couldn’t imagine a better final ride than today’s 81 miles from Gainesville to St. Augustine. It wasn’t my favorite of the trip, but, as the perfect conclusion, the ride ended up featuring all the highs and lows of the trip. We had darkness (which meant digging out the bike lights for the first time since the desert); we had fog; we had rain; we had a tailwind; we had a headwind (which meant more drafting); we had tons of roadkill; we had live deer and snakes; we had a bad road (literally, our first in Florida – pitch and tar and covered in crap); we had construction obstacles; we had an (unsuccessful) highway fence climbing incident followed by a (successful) off-roading experience; and we had a flooded road crossing. It was hectic, it was fun, and it was quick. It was a great day!

The flood crossing was particularly crazy. We were on a bike trail for about 10 miles today and, a few miles into that stretch, we ignored a “closed for flooding” sign because the flooding we could see was a couple of inches deep. No big deal. A mile down the road we encountered the Big Deal. The trail was completely washed out in knee-deep sludge from the surrounding swamp. And we went right in. Our chains and half of our wheels and legs were submerged in the thick, mossy, reeking water as we pedaled across the 100 yards of invisible trail. I didn’t even know bikes could do that! It was awesome. The smell staying with us the rest of the day, however, was not awesome.

I’d be remiss to close out the blog for this incredible journey without acknowledging the two reasons I am sitting in St. Augustine tonight. My mom made this tour a trip. The woman drove across the country, essentially by herself, at an excruciatingly slow pace. She never tired of finding new and creative things to feed two starving vegetarians out of a van. She dragged around blankets and pillows from home so she could spruce up the particularly bad motels for two helpless germophobes. She did our laundry. She always found something good to watch on TV. And she worried 6-8 hours every single day about her loved ones out in the elements she was witnessing first hand. What I’m saying is, she got nothing out of this trip. Yet she’s been on the road for more than 6 weeks with an unwavering smile on her face. She's a damn saint.

And my dad. Sure, the idea that set this trip in motion was mine, but my contribution abruptly ended there. The execution was 100% him. He spent hours upon hours putting together the perfect route, ensuring every single day had safe roads, reasonable distance, stops along the way, and motels on the end. For 42 days on the road he was my navigation system, body guard, drill sergeant, entertainment, bike mechanic, and cheerleader. He knowingly embarked on this trip with someone who, 6 weeks ago, had no business starting it and he patiently put up with her all along the way. The energy and enthusiasm of that man never fail to amaze me.

As for me, this was the hardest thing I’ve ever done – and probably the best. Turns out I actually like riding bikes and plan to continue this moving forward. Sorry, Mike, that means the Colnago is moving back in!