By Lino Cappelli

From Richloam we drove north briefly on asphalted roads to reach the southern entrance of the next forest: Croom. This section is the halfway mark of the Florida Adventure Trail, not that it matters- we started at a random point and will end on one too. That’s part of the beauty of an adventure trail like this, you have no incentive to do the whole thing or start or stop at any specific spot. We chose to do what fit our schedule and level of adventure. 

To me, Croom is the best part of this middle portion because it has obstacles that are the most fun. The terrain is consistent, a single lane of red clay mud surrounded by pines with very steep, tilted, and technical climbs.

After overlanding across two state forests in Central Florida, we reached our campsite at Holder Mine. I have been coming to this campsite for over a decade, and the hot showers are always a sight for sore eyes, or maybe a feel for sore backs. 

My dad and I cooked for everyone again, this time: homemade meat sauce and short pasta. Although we were both born in Venezuela, our heritage is mostly Southern Italian. Homemade sauce is not only a tradition, but a sign of hospitality. We ate slowly and had multiple servings, maybe as a way to prolong having to lay on our dreaded sleeping pads, maybe as a chance to exchange stories of everything we had seen up to that point. Once in bed, it was easy to fall asleep, there was virtually no cell service on the campground. 

I was awakened, early in the middle of the night, by a series of deep rumbling noises. The first thing I saw was the reflection off my dad’s glasses of the bits of moonlight that poked through the tent. He could hear it too. 

The noise got louder, and drops of water started to patter our tent. For the next forty minutes, we went through a roller coaster of emotions that matched the intensity of the rain. Both of us clutched our sleeping bags under our chins, bracing for what we assumed was to come quietly. 

The rain came down hard, daring us to make a run for it to the car with random, brief pauses. My dad broke the silence, asking if I felt any water in the tent. The soil under us saturated and cooled the bottom of our sleeping pads, making it hard to differentiate between a cold floor and water seeping in. A single drop fell on my forehead, after which I spoke: “If we start to take on water, we should run and hide in the car.” 

The storm came and went, and by some act of the divine (or maybe just good workmanship on our tent) we stayed dry. I can’t help but laugh a bit whenever I think about it, even if at the moment we were moments from making a run for it.

Finally, part four coming up.