Fresh off the heels of a surprisingly good showing at the CFITT, I traveled back to Ocala, Fl at the end of January for another go at the HuRaCaN. This year, Karlos bumped up the timing of the race to the end of January instead of the middle of March. I think this suited everyone (at least me) well since 90+ degree days last year were just about my undoing. This year I was prepared. I had dialed my kit in and would be traveling fairly light. Continue reading HuRaCaN: The Return
After three good days of biking around central Florida, the time had come to drive the final nail in this ride. Just about 70 miles or so stood between me and completion of my first ultra-endurance race.
We had camped the night before near the north edge of Seminole State Park. The route after the park winds over and hits Maggie Jones road. This road was singled out in the narrative as truly unpredictible. It might be fast hardpack or it might be loose slow-going sand. This little bit of the course description weighed into our decision to stop where we did the night before. We’d rather tackle it fresh in the morning than spend a couple hours pushing our bikes after midnight. After all, we weren’t in this to win anything. Continue reading Riding the Huracan300 [Part 4]
I had a recurring though the first two days of the ride. Over and over again my mind would ask: “where are all the f’ing orange trees?!” Well, day three brought me my answer. LitT’s unfortunate episode the night before had landed us in an orange orchard.
While chewing down a couple of fresh oranges LiiT started waxing philosophical about how one who had the misfortune of being born in these parts might make an attempt at moving to the City to make it big, but would most likely end up back here, working his father’s land (perhaps not all that bad a life). As he was finishing this though a car pulled up, we quickly tossed the peels in the bush and began to explain that a freak bought of nausea the night before had forced us down where we were and that we were just breaking camp to move along. The guy who got out of the car quickly dismissed any concern and told us all he was doing was coming through to spray the weeds … on his father’s farm.
And with that bit, it was time, once again to hit the trail. The dew saturated pair of shorts hanging from my bivy’s guy line had made a strong case for me to break out a fresh pair of shorts. Fresh, dry shorts and a clean underside to put in them just iced the cake of the morning. Continue reading Riding the Huracan300 [Part 3]