No, you didn’t miss Day 3—it’s coming, just fashionably late! Think of it as a plot twist or maybe a cliffhanger.

Day 4 started with a heartwarming breakfast with my son and grandson. It was their last day in Florida, and as they headed home, my son helped me lighten the bike by a glorious 40%. Yes, folks, 40% less weight—talk about instant magic! Suddenly, the bike went from “tip-city” to “smooth-sailing.” Funny how quickly you realize what’s truly necessary when you’re out here. I mean, do I really need three different kinds of sunscreen? Probably not. But I digress.

With a lighter load, I set off on the back roads, taking in the morning sun—FINALLY! No rain… yet. As I pedaled, I found myself in deep thought. You know that feeling when Chuck Noland loses Wilson in Castaway? Yeah, that was me. Except instead of a volleyball, I was mourning the loss of… well, let’s just call it Nemo. “Oh, Nemo! Come back!” If anyone finds him, please, don’t send him home—send him to me. I’ll be more than happy to pick him up along the trail.

The day started like a postcard: warm, sunny, and the sky? A masterpiece. I made my way onto A1A, a road that bikers dream of—wide lanes, plenty of space, and cars politely hugging the center line. For a while, I felt like royalty, gliding through with nothing but the breeze and the sound of my wheels.

Then, around 10 miles in, I got a nice surprise: the route shifted me onto a beautiful jogger/bike trail. No cars, just me, my bike, and 17 miles of isolated bliss. My brain relaxed—no traffic, just nature, and a few scattered people to share a wave or smile with. The first three hours? Smooth, averaging 10 mph. Not breaking records, but hey, it felt like a victory lap!

And then, cue the plot twist…

The sun? Gone. Replaced by a heavy dose of headwinds—15-20 mph of pure, leg-burning resistance. It felt like pedaling through molasses. And just when I thought it couldn’t get any slower, the skies opened up. Black clouds rolled in, and for the last two hours, I rode in rain. 🌧️ Oh yes, my streak is still very much alive—it has rained every single day I’ve ridden.

I rolled into Ormond Beach drenched but proud. The goal was 50-55 miles, but I clocked in at 47. And you know what? That’s okay. Sometimes, life throws you a headwind or a downpour. You adjust your goal, accept it, and count it as a win. Today, I learned the same lessons that brain injury survivors face: if you can’t do something the way you used to, or it takes longer than expected—that’s okay. Adjust, adapt, and give yourself a gold star for keeping at it.

The rain, the wind, the detours—they’re just like the obstacles in recovery. Sure, you’ll hit a brick wall now and then, but it’s about moving forward, no matter how slow. You’re not just surviving—you’re thriving. You’re a Champion because you don’t give up. And let me tell you, champions know how to ride through storms.