Day 1: Jacksonville to Saint Augustine
Prep is over, time to work. My goal was to ride the entire length of the state of Florida, which means I should have started somewhere just south of Saint Mary's, Georgia. Jacksonville is the best I can do for now. Perhaps I'll ride the remainder when I get back to make up for it.
Since it's late January the weather is divine. Not a cloud in the sky. Temperature makes me want to hug a kitten. Glorious.
Today will take me through downtown and east to the ocean. The stretch of A1A between the two cities is a favorite: gorgeous houses, tall ocean grasses, velvety marshes, and roads that go on forever.
Song in my head: New Day by Celine Dion.
Since it's my first night out, I have no survival skills (yet), and I've never camped alone before, I decide to spend it at Anastasia State park. Love this spot.
The ride is exactly as I'd envisioned. Breathtaking, serene. I manage to have lovely thoughts and look at nature. And, of course I believe that this is how every day traveling by bike will be. I chuckle now at this.
I cross the last bridge into the nation's oldest city, downshifting on my way up the steep stretch of concrete. A loud grinding noise, but nothing I've not heard before. The wheels lock up.
Chain came loose, fell off, and got lodged between the spokes and a plastic guard. No problem, proclaim I, I'm prepared!
I worry not, for I have all the bells and all the whistles. All the tools, and the lubes, and the things to tinker and prod.
I quickly realize this is no ordinary chain situation. I can't seem to dislodge it from its position and it's holding on for dear life. Well, darn. I flip the bike over and begin the surgery. The surgery does not go as planned.
Thirty minutes. Forty five. That chain decided it wasn't coming out. Not for me, not for nobody. Frustration commences. Kid-gloves come off.
After an hour it's settled. I'll cut the *&#$%@ thing off, and take it to the nearest bike shop. Not a good start to my fantastic adventure, but hey, this stuff happens.
Little did I know, one cannot simply cut a bike chain off with a multi-tool. (Insert your favorite meme here.) They're made extremely strong for a reason. They will not be cut. They will not be broken. They will not snap when you hit them repeatedly with blunt objects while pulling, jerking, sweating, and f-bombing.
They will not dislodge for strangers, either. That nice man had to give up after 20 minutes with yours truly on the bridge.
Plan B. Attack the chain guard. Turns out these are not easy to cut either, especially with a tiny pair of scissors. I throw every cutting implement in my arsenal at the sonofabitch. Many f-bombs later, I rip its mangled corpse out of the frame.
The wheels move, but I've destroyed the chain. And probably a lot of other things. Off to the bike shop with me. It's 45 minutes away and I'm hoofin' it.
I realize quickly walking is stupid. I have a thing with wheels! So I hop up on the seat and sort of “row” the bike through the ancient streets. Big foot push, roll. Other foot, roll. I look like a lunatic.
If there's one piece of advice I could give my past self in that moment it would be this: get used to looking like a lunatic.
The nice hipsters at the bike shop fix me up and it's back to the races. I have no time to do anything because I've spent half the day battling the fearsome Chain Lord. It's time to meet a friend for dinner and get my ass to camp.