Renee and I stayed up past midnight telling stories about all the defective people in our lives. Just kidding. We did stay up late though aided by her kids Rob and Julia. Julia has the darkest brown eyes. Like my son’s. 

After a big breakfast prepared by mother and daughter, I was sent on my way. I forgot to take their picture. I am a shitty friend.

The ride out of West Palm Beach and back to the shore was reasonably easy except for this one dump truck that nearly ran me over. I caught up to it and explained to the driver as calmly as a mindful person could that he was a fucking asshole. I am grateful that his window was open so that he could hear every syllable.

I reached the Indian River and encountered some road flooding. I rode through it because I am so waterlogged after a week of rain that I don’t give a dam (water pun).

Next I climbed over the bridge to Mar-a-Lago. The most impressive thing about the place was the American flag. It was yuge. I couldn’t find the entrance so I took a picture of its rectum.

Then it was down the coast on Scenic A1A. The traffic was not bad at all. There was some more flooding and obvious hurricane damage to trees but nothing too extreme.

Down the  coast then back across the intracostal waterway to the mainland then back again to the coast. Over and over. The houses and resorts were more bigly than Mar-a-Lago from what I could see. And the condo complexes were bigger with each passing mile. When they were on my right, away from the beach, they caused a wind reversal that blasted me with headwinds.

I was earning the miles today.

During my final crossing of the intracoastal waterway an iguana ran across the road in front of me. He was two or three feet long. Then another one ran across. Eek.

My route took me to a non-wooden boardwalk in Hollywood Beach. I slalomed through the tourists. Eventually I was back on A1A which was now a big highway all the way to Miami Beach. It was ten miles of vehicular cycling on a two-wheeled tank.

Not much fun, especially when a black BMW missed side swiping me by inches. I caught up to it at a light. The driver was texting, I yelled at her to put her phone down. She looked away, took a right on red, and nearly hit a pedestrian in the crosswalk. La di dah. Life’s a beach.

As I reached South Beach people looked like they weren’t from Indianapolis. Men dressed like women. (Martha, did you see that! Oh my!) Women dressed as men. Dudes driving Maseratis and Lamborghinis. What a change from the rural poor of South Carolina.

I made it to my hostel a block from the ocean on South Beach. Nice place. Very clean. Could use much better bike parking though. Fortunately, The Mule is not exactly a bike thief's dream machine.

I went to dinner. The street was closed to cars and lined with restaurants. Hosts and hostesses tried to entice you to eat at their restaurant. I told one  of them that the scene reminded me of Melbourne, Australia.

Tacos and a beer cost more than my lodging at the HI hostel. And the hostel will give me breakfast.

I did not go to the beach, I am beached out.

So it was an 81.5 mile day. I’ve ridden 1,781.5 miles so far.

Tomorrow is on to Key Largo. The real adventure begins. The road to Key West is open but I may have to ride through in one day. 108 miles. It’s like a marathon. The first half is 20 miles. The second half is a brutal 10K.

Pedal, pedal.