It’s legit Ramadan, Lent, Passover and the Full Moon all at the same fucking time. Bee tee dubs, that’s listed in reverse order of fabrication, for those of you that observe time as a reality. Or goofy religions beliefs. 30% of Americans now identify as Atheist, Agnostic, or None — I think it’s up time that we rise up and take our the holidays due us by the cold, dark lonely abyss of existential nothingness!! Nevertheless, I digress. Master Yoda says “time traveling, we are” and it’s… time to fast? Wait, time too fast? Wait, maybe thyme two…? No no no. Repetition is not good. Not even a rhyme on rhyme with time, er thyme. Sequels and sophomore slumps. Seriously sucky. Alliteration tho?!!?? ….all my mind sees is the Drake meme, while all of you pathetic souls out there on the inter webs suffer through my mental’s writer’s rust/block shake off while deeming this a blog. I meander slowly onto the spacetime continuum sardine can of a sky convoy packed with veterans and snowbirds that is Allegiant Air. Science damn you Time Child!

I’ve finally quit the brutal winter cold — in April. That’s some Buffalo New York shit right there. Read it again if you like. I will never. An entire season has disoriented and depleted and exhausted me and it is called winter. Apparently she’s coming, but honestly dog, I hope this bitch never climaxes again in my lifetime. After all that suffering, I get out on the right side of the bed and a cheap and direct flight later and — behold!! Praise the Spoke Gods, my environment haseth-changeth 180°, to 93° Fahrenheit, specifically. Uncanny and unreal and yet… 100% appropriate.

It’s my first morning in sunshine state and I beat that lazy fucking ball of fire to rising. For whatever reason, I’m most definitely in full punk mode the moment I set foot outside in southwestern Florida. Like John C Reilly and Will Ferrell farting and wearing matching tuxes to job interviews, my feels are all “we’re here to fuck shit up” — then I realize this state is already so fucked the fuck up — between guns galore, delusional politicians, that whole not saying gay thing and what not. Can I fuck it up? I also realize there’s no “we”, it’s just Me, Myself and I. 🔌 . Despite the De La references, it’s Stiffed’s “Run” flooding my audible sensors as I calm this beast with a 3 mile, 85° morning jog. Sets the playlist off right, title and all. If you haven’t heard of Stiffed before, it’s probably because you have zero digging proclivities and digest whatever crap music is fed to you. Yeah I said it. I mean for. Imagine a dub-punk band from Philly in the aughts led by Santi White (aka Santigold before she was Santigold) with skateboard OG Chuck Treece on drums. What is their lone released album, Burned Again, was produced by Darryl Jenifer of Bad Brains. Shits got a couple hard hitting, driving cuts on it. Maybe you wanna check it out. Maybe you think I’m a snob. Maybe both. I don’t care. Perfect soundtrack to get my remaining wintertime stress out. None of the boring old fart, well-off, cracker-ass crackers in this manicured gated community could give a flying fuck though. That’s for sure. The only shit they rage against are increases in their HOA fees or any sort of information that clashes with their insulated culture of safetyism. They see me inked up and sweaty as balls and literally move the other side whilst giving me the boomer-stank eye. It’s easy for me to open my heart and receive them with compassion, knowing they’ll probably need effective CPR sometime soon.

So, the inter webs, we’re all on them right now. And I’m on them. Like now. Right now. Like a madman. Dr Wiley if you smell what I’m stepping in, Mega Man. I been had been on them like this. Days at a time, site after site, I read tale after tale of bicyclists after bicyclist moving along the south Atlantic coast often on US Route 17. It’s not a pretty picture. Crazyguyonabike says it all. Warmshowers folks message me about their last guests horrific time on it, I think. Florida’s A1A aside this will be my primary route for the first week or so northbound through Georgia and South Carolina. There’s not too many other good options and if I can knock out multiple days on I-8 and I-10 in Cali and Arizona (east coast fascists say I can’t ride I-95) then I’m fairly certain I can manage this. Petra the Pool Noodle is joining me on the journey to create space and this chick has got a whole new glisten and sparkle since I’ve joined the ranks of those that have walked through the ancient city that bears her name. Definite plan to negotiate timing between rush hours, utilize all off-17 shortcuts — at times turning an 8 mile stretch on 17 into a 23 mile stretch off of it — and take the lane where needed. I even got some high vis gear. And of course I’m hoping for clear skies and full visibility… and a tailwind.