Bursting your balloons

Sorry not sorry for the disconnect.  I checked out for a bit.  Work has been sorta stressful and life has been life.  

We went to Florida.  That was nice.

Dump the luggage, walk to the beach.

Christmas hits different in Florida.

Long story behind the SS Dickbutt we saw washed up on the beach.  Long and also mebbe sad, but the guy did have "boat money."

I don't know how much money is "boat money," but since I don't have a boat, I assume it's more than I have.  Mebbe boat money comes after second car money.  Dunno.

Pie's big night out to see the Christmas-afied lifeguard chairs and such.  We're Dillens, and when we're on vacation, we walk everywhere.

I'd skipped supper before we went out, thinking I'd grab something on our travels.  I was excite when I saw a vending machine, disappoint when I saw the contents.  I'm assuming a Bag of Dicks tastes like it sounds.

The rest of the images are in not much of any order at all. 

I rode out towards the naval base on one of my Sad Dad™ rides.  I'd seen it from the other side of the river way long ago on a past trip to Amelia Island, and it wasn't very visible from this side as well.  I could see the top of some ship of death, but that's about it.

Comforting to know that there is a heaven for Pies, especially since we celebrated Thanksgiving by doing our wills.  I bet everyone does that.  Such a morbid conversation on a holiday.

"How much do you really wanna live, Pie?  I mean really, really wanna?  Like laugh at fart jokes or live plugged into a wall socket levels of enjoyment?  Where's the threshold and sign here and here and here and... "

One of my Sad Dad™ rides, I headed to Dutton Island Preserve hoping to find some under-biking worthy dirt.  I mighta been over-biked.

I like dirt on my vacations, even if it's just Florida dirt.  The trails on my first ride outta the front door of our place we stayed at was Kathryn Abbey Hanna Park (KAHP from here on out).  I thought it was gonna be an easy ride (logistically).  It was not.
 

I took a much longer Sad Dad™ ride down to Guana River Wildlife Management Area.  The keyword there was "Wildlife."  At the first entrance, there was nobody there to collect my $1, but at the secondary entrance, there was a man there to warn me that there was hunting going on in the area.  

"What are they hunting?"

"Mostly small game."

"I don't feel small."

*no reaction*

"Thanks."

I ended up getting all turned around trying to get out of the forest in my own particular.... ummm.... idiom.  The old road that the sky robots had told me was there wasn't, so I ended out jumping a gate elsewhere to get out.  The signs did say that users should use the official entrances, but since I was exiting, I think I'm okay.

I've worked for a law firm for almost twelve years, so I'm pretty much an attorney, right?

Gads.  I hate on-trail, forced selfies, but I felt like I should mark my existence here.  I'd already officially checked myself outta the trails (and taken off my knee pad), but I was passing one more trail that I'd already ridden on my way out yet another unofficial exit from yet another park... mostly because getting in here officially was an ass-to-elbow adventure, and my now planned way out only meant going down the beach a half mile or so.  I also needed to pee and doing so on the beach seemed less buenos.

I went back for one more since the first one sucked.  It only sucked slightly less tho.

What was odd about KAHP is that the black trails were only black because they were more twisty and slower than the blue trails.  Mebbe there were 30% more roots?  This was the only thing I thought was sketchy, but if you've ever ridden Alafia or Balm Boyette, you know Florida has "real black" trails, so I don't judge.  We have trails in Charlotte that are black because they're more difficult than what you would expect in the rest of the area, so any confusion is mine own.

Literally, dunno.  Walk around Jacksonville Beach after enjoying the half-off specials at the Surfer Happy (3) Hour(s) as much as possible and see what ends up on your roll.

There was one refreshing dirt ribbon at Dutton that didn't dip below swamp levels.  No idea if it's a real trail, but kudos whoever bothered to build it.

Sad Dad halts the ride on a Sad Dad™ to take a picture of a mural to seem "cultured" and "in touch."  Fails, prolly.

You should trust Google maps when they tell you to cycle ass-to-elbow to get somewhere in Florida.  The most direct route that I could see that wasn't suggested was through here.  The park is literally on the other side of this fence.  Then when I rerouted to get to the real entrance going ass-to-belly button, I found myself in front of a gated community I could not get through.  Dammit.  You win this time, Florida (and almost every time).

Also, and not disparaging Florida or Floridians, but if I found out that 95% of flat-earthers lived here, I'd believe it.  On my longest ride of 47 miles, I only had 46 feet (recorded) of climbing.  I've never ridden so far in a straight line except at La Ruta, and I have to say that Florida road riders must have taints of steel.  It felt like riding in a Zwift world, except the sound track is mostly nail guns and F-450s.

If I didn't like Florida, I wouldn't be going there for what seems like every single year.

I did get to Pisgah once while I was on my blerhg sabbatical.  It was my first time back since slicing my knee open on September 9th.  We rode some leafy chunk gnar, and that probably wasn't the best way to dip my toe back in the water.  Also, I'm more confident on my Vassago Meatplow V.9 Radimus in the slow technical business, but I chose the baby that had been sitting in the corner the longest.  My bad.  I gotta get my thousand yard stare back ASAP.

So, not a consistent return to writing and such, but making sure the blerhg's not ded... mostly because it hasn't had its living will notarized yet.