Inspired by Holy Taco, a little game to play if you’re feeling bored at the next Sailing Raft-Up.

Barrett’s Privateers is one of our favorite sailing songs. A must-have on the CD-player when raising the sails for the first time. It’s our Amazing Grace. You’ve probably heard it blaring across Tampa Bay while you’re out sailing.

Thanks to JackKnife for forwarding this link – I never thought about looking up Stan Rogers. After a little more research, I discovered he died in a horrible plane runway fire at age 33.

Cold weather sucks, but his songs and boomin’ voice kindle thoughts of wool sweaters and crashing waves on rocky shorelines. I wish I was in Sherbrooke now!

Another great one – with an intro story of survival at sea: Mary Ellen Carter Rise Again

Crikey – I almost dropped me Earl Grey Tea!  It appears we are heading to ye olde British Virgin Islands for a week-long bareboat charter with two other couples. The boat is Ty Soizic, a 41 Lagoon catamaran.  It’s conceived to meet the highest standards – while I, on the other hand was conceived to meet…nevermind. The boat has 5 showers! One of us will have to wait our turn or worse case, double up.

The plane tickets (gulp, see air masks) have been bought, so we are committed. All I know is we fly in, take a ferry somewhere, outfit the boat and head off. A self-admitted bad listener, all I heard was: leave from Tortola, blah, blah, rum, Wiley T’s, blah, blah, rum, Foxy’s, rum, blah, rum.  I’m confident we will find a way to have fun in the islands, so no worries on the destinations. Our other shipmates have experience down there – I’ll let them and the wind determine the course.  More to come as this exciting adventure unfurls.

Massive Yacht Collision and Destruction – Watch more Funny Videos

The above pic is the cabin of a recently restored sailboat.  Wreckless web surfing led me to this beauty – I think somebody on Facebook posted it. My ADD keeps me from creating a lengthy write up – the pictures speak for themselves anyhow. Visit The Spider T website!

Finally, here comes a mile marker – please be 8, please be 8. Jesus – eleven? The miles are going by so slow now. I hope we make it to Key West by 2:00. It’s only 12:30, but Sarah is having trouble keeping up, and I’m pedaling slow, even for me. Amazing what a small injury can do – I was slowing her down yesterday. I sure hope she doesn’t permanently screw up her knee. Glad mine stopped hurting – thought for sure I was going to have to quit. Hers must really hurt. Hang on Sweetie, watch out for that stupid pothole.

Sitting in the food tent at 4:30 a.m. on Friday, we’re shaking, trying to stay warm, I wish I was home in bed – who wouldn’t? We brought “warm” clothes but it’s hard to wear long underwear on a bike. Descended from a long line of bitchers, complaining comes to me naturally and spontaneously, but this morning I’m trying to keep to myself, not wanting to spoil the fun for the girl. For some reason, she likes road biking. “Yep, the oatmeal does taste good.” In my head: “What in the world is wrong with you – are we really doing this?” Interesting how your brain fills itself with doubt and apprehension at that early hour. Nike’s “Just Do It” slogan was created for this kind of morning. If people actually thought long and hard about these events, Nike would be selling bed linens and comforters. Warm, soft pillows…..

Rideout on Friday, day one of The SMART Ride is exciting. 200 plus cyclists leaving all at once, pedaling our way through crew, supporters and newscasters on the sidelines. Go me, go us, we’re awesome! Dammit it’s cold! Right before we left St. Pete, Sarah bought me a pair of $40 ballerina-ish spandex leggings – twenty bucks a leg! Seemed like an extravagant purchase – they were indispensable this morning. Two or three miles down the road, after the fanfare has faded, I feel the biting cold air leaking in around my neck – *sigh*, this is gonna suck. Well, maybe not as much as it does for that guy with the flat tire – wow, that was fast! Holy cow, another one – what’s with all the flats so soon? 

Day 1: Big – Ass Bridge
Day one of the ride began with a lot of weaving down back roads and through farmland to get over to the Keys and the very tall Card Sound Bridge. This sucker looks hellishly steep as it rises up on the horizon – it’s somewhere around 10:00 a.m. This is the first bridge challenge and I think the tallest of the entire ride. We make it up and over, but my bike sees 1^st gear for most of it. Pedaling in 1^st gear feels like that old-time cartoon where the character’s legs are spinning like crazy, but snails are passing him. I think a few passed me. We’re in the Keys now, but that damn bridge about did me in.

Plodding down Card Sound Road, stopping at the designated pit stops, taking on and offloading water, etc. “Stay Hydrated” is the rule, “My bladder is exploding” is the result. The sun is out and we wad up our jackets on my bike rack – feels about noonish. The riding is good, but my legs are beginning to feel tired. Its such an awful feeling. I want them to keep pumping, but they won’t respond. They truly feel like jelly, and coasting only brings the wife closer on my heels, and the finish line further away. I have to pedal – there’s no other option. Every down shift to an easier gear makes me feel like more of a wuss but it’s all I can do.

A few miles from today’s goal, Hawk’s Cay, is our first really long bridge – must be at least 3 or 4 miles, and it feels like an eternity to cross. After reaching the other side, I look back and wonder how we’ll ever make it across the Seven Mile Bridge. This 100 mile day is almost over – my ass hurts. We arrive about 4:30 with an hour to spare. Any riders not making it by 5:30 will be “swept” – no riding after dark. We get the gear bag, shower and enjoy an awesome dinner provided by Rosie’s Bar & Grill. 7:30, time to hit the sack. Our 4:00 a.m. wakeup is bearing down on us.

Day 2: Mutha Nature
The room at Hawk’s Cay Resort is  beautiful. Two stories, full kitchen, a nice spa overlooking the canal – oh man, I want to stay. A stalled cold front that has been hanging over Texas is now forecast to hit early this afternoon – we must get on the road as soon as they’ll let us. In the room we have our coffee, lube up with Body Glide (a new, strange experience – I opted against it yesterday – mistake), pack, and head over to the breakfast area via complementary shuttle. The wind is already blowing and mist is in the air. Shivering at the table, we enjoy another great meal ala Rosie’s. 7:30 rolls around and Sarah and I ride out. A little less fanfare this time – but enough to stay motivated.

My knee hurts like a bitch. There is a tight, red hot pain right below my knee cap that I pray goes away after the first few miles, but it refuses to go. The flat gray morning light feeds my anxiety about a possible towel throw-in. For me pain = injury, some part of my body must be broken. The first pit stop appears, and we pulled in. Sarah hands over a couple Aleeves and I take a minute to adjust my seat, shifting some of the stress. It seems to help, we’ll see how much. Next stop, Seven Mile Bridge – let’s hope this 40 year old body holds out.

It’s somewhere around 9:00 a.m. and The Seven Mile Bridge appears – thank God my knee pain had faded to almost nothing. Sarah is well, all systems are go. Let’s cross this bitch. This is the first really, really big open area of the day that lets us experience the now raging cold front. Winds are 20 mph, gusting to 30. The temp is dropping and probably somewhere around 50 degrees, and of course, it’s sprinkling. The wind howls. When the gusts hit us broadside, we need to lean into them, trying to avoid getting blown into traffic. Months before, I had imagined leisurely biking over this bridge, taking in the beautiful scenery, snapping pictures, woodland creatures singing – now, my eyes are glued on the road, scanning for debris, then bouncing quickly to my “mama mirror” keeping an eye on Sarah. Later I apologized to her for all my bitching, she said she hadn’t heard any bitching. I realized it had all taken place in my head – except for my homemade, motivational bridge crossing hymn, loudly chanted in unison with the pedals: “Get – me – off – this – f*** – ing – bridge, Get – me – off – this – f*** – ing – bridge”. It worked because we’re across!

Now across the monster – 40 plus minutes of hard pedaling – the weather continues to deteriorate. Colder, windier, wetter. Bahia Honda is the next pit stop, and I can really feel the chill as we de-bike at the park. Have to move quickly to the bathrooms and then inhale a few PB&J bagel pieces, gotta get back on the road before I decide to quit. A white van full of people is leaving the pit stop area and I hear someone say that it is full of riders that chose to end their ride here. About 40 miles left to go.

The rain eventually blows through our windbreakers and our clothes drink it in. An hour of misery passes and we arrive at the next pit stop, Boondocks. The real shaking and shivering starts now. Our bodies are gripped by the cold and Sarah is feeling a bad pain in her right knee. She is hurting, but wants to continue. Only about 25 miles to go and a final pit stop at a Baby’s Coffee – we’re told hot chocolate and coffee are waiting for us. Cars are whizzing by, rain coming down, we are waiting for an opening to get on the road. I turn around and say to Sarah. “We should skip the last stop. If I get warm, I won’t be able to get back on this bike.” “I was going to tell you the same thing” she says.

Twelve awful miles later we do stop at Baby’s Coffee – on the opposite side of the road. Baby’s is on the left and a gated drive is on our side. We pee in the mangroves next to the gate, thank the helpful motorcyclists that are watching our bikes, and ride on. Goodbye hot chocolate, I wish we could have met. Not far down the road I spot a cycler’s helmet materialize over the wall to my left, riding on the south side of US 1! As my numb brain is trying to figure this out, Sarah yells “There’s a bike path over there! Let’s cross the road!” Best thing we did today. Now sheltered on the south side of the road, this smooth, mostly debris-free path runs parallel to US 1 with its own separate bridges. Now, crossing a bridge doesn’t expose us to the full force of the wind, we are snug and warm in the lee of the larger car bridge. It is biking heaven. I’m so glad she saw that and reacted! I would have ignored it, grinding away without thought, trying to get to Key West.

Heaven’s bike path lasts for quite a few miles, but eventually dead ends back into US 1. We’re in the home stretch. Sarah is in agony, afraid of wrecking because her knee is locking up. I’m just plain miserable. It’s around 1:00 and we’ve made it to the final bike trail on Stock Island – no more open road! Simply dodge some ducks, a couple homeless looking folks and there is the hard right turn to downtown Key West! The wind howls across the open bay in front of the Publix, where’s the finish line? I see a couple riders up ahead, so I know we must be on the right track. Suddenly they stop and I wonder if we’ve all made a wrong turn. C’mon, we’re too close to get lost! One of the riders has a flat and all I can offer is a sympathetic “oh man, that sucks” as we pass by. A few blocks later, we meet cheering supporters and tell them to go help the flat tire lady.

After 165 miles, the last 25 consisting of the most miserable conditions (other than ice or snow) possible, we see the finish. I can’t believe we’ve made it. Crew and supporters are on the street, stopping traffic at the intersection, directing us to make a left with cheerful smiles. I’ve been so accustomed to ducking traffic I make a left up on the sidewalk. This miscalculation allows us to sidestep the welcome committee on the road and sneak up on a fellow wearing a yellow wig and holding a bull horn. I ask. “Where do we put our bikes?” Startled he looks at me raises his bullhorn and says “You made it! Welcome to Key West! You went the wrong way!”

Unceremonious End
The bikes checked in, we walk to the heated gym of Horace OBryant Middle School, our feet are numb. I can’t feel them hitting the ground as I walk. We are soaked, very cold and of course tired. The gym is packed. Originally there was a planned outdoor holding area, a police escorted parade to Whitehead pier, dedication ceremony, parties – the weather has ended all that. Now we get some warm towels and a standing-room-only heated gym. We’ll take it. One phone call later, my parents are there with the car – heat cranked up, we’re headed to the hotel. Later I will regret not sticking around for the closing ceremonies, but now all I want is to be warm, dry, motionless and safe with my wife.

This bike ride, for me at least, sucked. Am I sugarcoating it? Yeah, it EFFing Sucked! When I think of fun, I imagine a white sandy beach, turquoise water, two beach chairs in the shade and margaritas. Sitting there in our Key West hotel, legs, knees and butt aching, I think myself the ultimate martyr. Completing an epic journey of pain and suffering that could not be equaled. We intentionally did this to ourselves and lived through it – bravery at it’s finest.

A day later, I was able to talk to some other riders at a bar near our hotel. This is where the light bulb comes on, erasing two days of tunnel vision, focused on making it to Key West. The Pain and suffering from the disease we were riding to raise money for is so much bigger than anything I could experience. I talked to Don, a retired power worker that returned home one day to find his partner dead – his body had given out after years of medications that treated his symptoms, not the disease. Uli, the amazing lady that rode for two days, flying a huge white flag with the red AIDS ribbon. A flag that had been in AIDS rides all over the world, flown by riders that are now gone, felled by the disease themselves. This year The SMART Ride raised over $400,000 for AIDS/HIV organizations in Florida. After everything we went through, I feel very fortunate to be a small part of something so good.

Thanks Are Due
I must dish out some thanks. First, to all those that donated to our ride. I was awed by the generosity of family and friends – thanks so much for believing in us and your words of encouragement. Those words stuck with me and came back when that extra bit of inspiration was needed to keep going.  CAT Eyewear by Inspecs – thank you for the support and great sunglasses and BigFrog for printing our shirts. Thanks to the event coordinators, crew, motorcycle escorts and supporters that cheered us on – it made a difference. Thanks to all the event sponsors that donated food, accommodations and their time. Special thanks to Ma and Pa Marker for being our personal support crew, watching over us and bravely driving through Key West and school basketball courts.

“Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful committed citizens can change the world, indeed; it’s the only thing that ever has.”
-Margaret Mead
www.thesmartride.org

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Just saw Once the other night via NetFlix. Set in Dublin, fantastic music. Here’s Falling Slowly, one of the many good songs from the movie.

The only thing stranger than the name “Pass-a-Grille” is what that name means. Plus, the story of man who built the world’s longest toll bridge: “Dad” Gandy.

Why do they call it Pass-a-Grille?

Back when “beachwear” covered most of bathers’ bodies, tourists flocked to Pass-a-Grille to stay at the Don CeSar resort.

They were apparently not chased away by Pass-a-Grille’s strange name.

Old maps had the end of a southern Pinellas County island and a nearby passage out to the Gulf labeled “Pass-aux-Grilleurs” — which is French for, of course, “passageway of the grillers?”

READ THE FULL STORY ON WTSP

Frightening video of the Paul and Rachel Chandler kidnapped last month by Somali pirates. Read more here.