Leaving Florida

The journey begins, but not at rocket speed. It took four days to get out of Florida.


I left Port Saint Lucie on Tuesday March 30, after shipping the four boxes containing all belongings that didn't fit on the motorcycle. My surrogate Grandpa, Henry, and my good friend Tessa, sent me on my way. Just as we were all on the verge of getting sad, standing there in the driveway, we broke into a motorcycle-ized rendition of "I'm leaving, on a jet plane." I eased my leg around the luggage strapped to the bike, turned the ignition, and was bound for California, first stop Tallahassee.

I left Port Saint Lucie, my home for over two years, with a little sadness, much excitement, and almost no sleep. I soon discovered that, thanks to this sleepless state combined with natural flakiness, I left more than a piece of my heart in Port Saint Lucie - such as my tent poles, and my rain jacket.

With a new haircut, styling leather pants, and a geared up, if scrappy, bike, I felt ready to roll when I hit the road at 10:30. There was a long way to go - about 400 miles down back roads - but it was an adventure, and a new start, and I was feeling invincible.

There's not much to relate of the first 9 hours of the trip - except that those back roads took longer than expected. The trip was full of familiar sites, things to wave goodbye to - road signs I'd laughed at on previous trips, places visited with friends, favorite state parks, the sprawling Kissimmee river, the little town where my mom grew up. So often, I was was tempted to stop, but time was increasingly not on my side. I reached what was supposed to be my halfway point at 4 pm, and already the sky was growing ominously grey with rain clouds.

Apparently, Tallahassee was in the center of an encroaching weather system. Rain, thunder, wind and floods were imminent. The weather was only predicted to steadily worsen over the next couple days. It felt important to make it to Tallahassee before being stranded. So I pushed it, as I suppose I had been for the past week, partying and packing and trying to wrap up all the work and relationships accumulated over two years.

That I had pushed myself a little too far became evident when I reached for my rain jacket and instead found two pairs of pants. So with precipitation increasing and thunder rumbling, I fashioned myself a rain jacket out of a kitchen trash bag and continued.

I finally arrived in Tallahassee, feeling stupid, very wet, and a little more mortal than I have before. The trash bag hadn't protected my phone and camera too well, and they went on strike for a couple days, but seem to be back in good working order now.

I've learned some valuable lessons, such as:

riding in torrential rain is really never a good idea, but especially not when you lack rain gear

no matter how busy or tired you are, double and triple check for important things like tent poles

400 miles is maybe too far to travel on a little motorcycle in one day

Having good friends at the end of such a journey makes everything worth it!

The Weinsteins have been as dear as family during my time in Florida, and being able to spend that night and the next morning with them was wonderful.


My parents had planned to drive down and ride along beside me in their car for a couple days, and so we met up the next day. It was rainy as predicted. We spent Wednesday and Thursday around Tallahassee, pulling together loose ends for my trip and dining with the Weinsteins.

The weather was almost laughably bad. Adding to this effect was the fact that our motel room was the only one whose overhang lacked a gutter, so a steady shower of water fell right in front of our door.

Happily, Friday dawned sunny and beautiful, and we were able to hit the road. Falling Waters State Park was the last stop in Florida, a nice way to say goodbye to the state and the park system that had been my life for two years. Falling Waters is a great place -- in the middle of karst country, this sinkhole-filled area gives way to a flow of water that plummets into a sinkhole, down, seemingly, into the bowels of the earth.



After Falling Waters, it was 'so long, Florida', and 'hello, Alabama.' The odometer turned over miles as easy as a hotdog rotisserie (first image that came to mind). In no time, a big green sign welcomed me to Alabama. Crossing the state line felt like a victory.