It’s early morning I should be ready to go. I should be ready to get on my Four Corners Marin gravel bike, with a Burley COHO XC single wheeled bike trailer, two Orlieb saddlebags with a Topeak track bag all fully loaded. Little do I know at the time this is my first mistake of many. I packed my entire apartment into my bike and backpack. At least whatever was left after giving everything away. I thought at the time I would never return to the place I called home for twenty years so instead of being responsible and cleaning the apartment I visited my familiar places I loved: local bars, tourist sites and beaches. Now it was time for some adulting and house cleaning. By two in the afternoon I was done cleaning and ready to ride my untested weighed down bike.

The first challenge after take off was steering. Turns out having two full water bottles on each side of my handlebars made things quite wobbly. Immediate regret as I pedaled down Anastasia Boulevard heading to A1A Daytona beach. My typical speed would be eight miles per hour. It’s February first when this story begins so I’m bundled up, jacket and scarf weather. There are two feelings simultaneously battling out. I’m free, no job, no home, nothing tying me down. It never felt truer the words of Janis Joplin, “freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose” and at this moment I was truly free. The other feeling was: “what the fuck am I doing?”.

I had my Airbnb set up in Holly Hill, Daytona. The first step in the tour was getting there. It’s early afternoon then its sunset. My one rule from the planning stage was to be broken the first time. Don’t bike at night in unfamiliar areas. It would not be the last. When I made it to Flagler beach in was night time already and I stop for a burger and a beer. Here I locked my bike and trailer however I left my Mr. Bill doll in the Topeak bag fully visible to someone to steal. “Oh Noooo”. This mildly angered me but reminded me that people are assholes sometimes. I know this due to a career in customer service I just walked away from. After a good meal I pedaled and found myself in the eternal nothingness of Ormond by the Sea. Its a sidewalk I pedaled forever the ocean is blocked by sand dunes and you have no idea when this will end. However eventually it does and you finally see civilization.

The navigation on Google Maps shows I’m close. Exhausted but hopeful. Its mile 23 of a marathon. Finally I arrive to my first of many Airbnbs. The title of the rental was “Tropical Getaway” the hosts were from the Keys which was a sign I was on the right track. The room was converted from the garage and included a private entrance and a private bathroom. Also included a big screen TV in which I began my new addiction, Murderhouse Flip. It was bad TV in the best sense of the term. I was also able to catch The Weird Al Yankovich movie staring the Harry Potter kid. Sure this wasn’t what the trip was about. I could easily stay at my job and in my apartment and continue vegging out on the latest show to talk about at the watercooler. However vegging out was needed at the time. I biked fifty miles carrying my life on my back like a dung beetle. This was a lovely place to regroup and cut weight.

Did I really need a Franklin Covey Day Planner (in hindsight yes) not really? An extra notebook nope. How bout half the pages from my Road Atlas? Nope. Maybe a couple pounds gone. This would be a constant habit of my trip. Asking, “Do I really need this or is it weighing me down?” All the weight on my saddlebags and trailer made my rear tire bald and I had to rotate my tires in Tamiami weeks later.

After I left my lovely sanctuary in Holly Hill next was Port Orange to visit my uncle that offered a place for the weekend. He was going away for a concert. He’s the life of a party. The type of patron that is a regular at any bar he walks into. Anyhow as I was biking toward Port Orange I could see the ominous clouds rolling by and the wind pick up. Luckily that wind the Weather Channel warned me about was at my back. My bike would get it’s first baptism of the trip right before I arrived at the first open establishment.

Ten minutes to eleven First Turn, a Nascar themed bar, was just opening as the temperature dropped to fifty five and the rain came down heavy on the canopy of the outdoor bar and my Marin with waterproof bags to be tested. I called my uncle he says put the bartender on the phone because of course he knows the bartender. At First Turn I happen to be there while they record a radio show for a crowd of boomers that are nerding out over NASCAR. The show would stop for ads then when they started again someone held an applause so sign so I’m day drinking yelling “Woooo!” before someone asks a technical question about people driving in a circle that goes over my head. Then another. I watch these people sincerely query about pit crews and rule changes and it looked no different from people at a convention asking if the Gorn was a worthy adversary to Captain Kirk.

A few drinks in and the rain passed I got to my Uncle’s trailer in one of those over fifty-five communities. I would find more stuff to get rid of and prepare for the road ahead. At this point there was no turning back I left my job in good standing letting my boss know daily I was still alive. I left my apartment clean but could have done better. I didn’t burn any bridges but I was on an adventure and there was no turning back. My goal at this point was Mile marker 0, Key West.