29 April 2014
Marianna to Tallahassee, FL
0 miles (Total Miles = 2,629)

I once was awakened to a Tsunami Alert, when I was told to go above deck and sit on the rail with my survival suit at my feet. I guess the skipper didn’t think our chances were all that great of being hit by one, or else so great that actually wearing the suit wouldn’t make a difference.

This morning I was awakened to a Candy Alert, i.e., the sound of Candy rummaging around her tent, or, more accurately, taking her tent down. It was 4:30 am and it had been thundering for awhile, so of course the natural assumption was that Candy and tent were headed for the bathroom block. Imagine our surprise then, when Gina and I decided to get up and head there ourselves for other (obvious) reasons and noticing on our way over that several other riders were taking their tents down. Okay, so it’s supposed to be a rather long’ish 75 miles on the bike today, but seriously, do we all really need to get started at 5 am in the pitch dark? I mean, Marlin might be up but the coffee isn’t even percolating yet.

This is when we learn that the Candy Alert is actually a real-deal Tornado/Severe Thunderstorm Alert so maybe, just maybe, we, too, might want to pack up our tent. Telling me not to panic and then panicking herself, Gina is running around the tent and picnic table and van and trailer grabbing bags and pillows and helmets and bicycles and repeating to us both not to panic. She probably just achieved some kind of OCD Olympics record for packing in such a hurry without being able to first touch every item. This is so unlike our normal routine that I’m tempted to stand around gawking but since I’d rather not get struck by lightning, I opt to keep moving myself.

All tucked into the bathroom/laundry block, we wait out the tornado warning with coffee and snacks, scanning iPhones and iPads for the latest radar pics. I think the big bands of red and orange are a bad sign, but really all we need to do is listen and watch – claps of thunder loud enough to vibrate the floor and flashes of lightning bright enough to throw shadows behind the frogs seem like fair warning enough.

Once the red and orange have passed, it’s decision time – to ride or not to ride. That’s an easy one. With the air still charged with electricity and Florida being the lightning capitol of the entire United States, Gina and I, along with Candy and David, elect to enjoy today’s ride from the safety of the van. We might have 4 lightning rods strapped to the roof but at least we’ll be dry when the bolts rain down.