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Park Ranger Rebecca Haynes and the Adventure-Crew take you on a short whirlwind adventure through Biscayne’s mangroves. Being mostly underwater, the park hosts lots of wildlife and mangrove trees. Ranger Haynes explains how the mangroves multiply and their importance in the park.

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It’s pretty simple to get off the beaten path in this video about Biscayne National Park because there is no path. Biscayne’s park features are 95% underwater and Adventurer Clint Pollock and Park Ranger Rebecca Haynes take you through the highlights of a day at the park.

Unique to this national park is how to get around. Forget the four-wheel drives or even hiking. You’ll be riding in a boat one way or another. Whether a rental from the local concessionaire, your own boat, a tour with Gary Matthews of Biscayne Concessions, or one of the many park provided tours, this is one of the easiest parks to experience because the transportation is generally done sitting down.

Here’s an insider tip that will completely make your Biscayne vacation: book a tour with Biscayne Concessions!

You’ll learn the following in this short video:
- Private boating essential navigating tips that will keep you safe and free from bottoming out
- Why mangroves are so important to these islands and shorelines
- When the best time is to view the underwater coral in clear water
- Some intriguing history of the park, islands and lighthouse
- The best high vantage point for a 360 degree view of the park
- Where in the world is Boca Chita Key

So, put on your life vest, grab your sun hat and water bottle, and experience one of the most unique aquatic parks on this side of the planet.

Today was the fifth stage of the Breck Epic. Epic indeed. After some singletrack climbing and descending on the Breckenridge ski hill, surprisingly good singletrack in fact, we hit the Burro Trail. This is a tennish mile rocky rooty trail that kept us working, especially given the steady rise. This was followed by some steady climbing on dirt road that brought us into a breathtaking alpine amphitheatre and the Wheeler trail. To the south was the northern face of Quandary Peak, one of Colorado’s 14,000 foot peaks. It’s hard to describe just how amazing this scenery is. I’ve heard talk of some killer north facing couloirs on Quandary and I saw them today. After five days of racing this god-forsaken singlespeed, a lazy early summer ski day sounds pretty damn appealing. In fact, the Jeff Carter rule of hiking states that ski descents are the only reason to hike at all. There used to be two reasons, but I’m engaged now.

So this Wheeler trail is beautiful and a great place to take your bike for a walk, because all the gears in China aren’t riding that climb. Again, the Breck Epic delivers the Big Ride in race form. Yeah these aren’t the 6 hour days of the Transalp, but it also isn’t riding a 3% grade up a paved road for two-and-a-half hours either. In fact, thus far, I’d say this race combines the beautiful high alpine riding of the Transalp with the luscious singletrack of the BC bike race into one tasty package.  I love it.

So after nearly an hour of hike-a-bike, we topped out on the East facing flanks of the Ten Mile range and rode some soggy singletrack that kept us from taking in the views.  Having ridden this trail before, the view is of the Gore range, a fairly remote range north of Summit.  Cross the service road, lots of photographers, and see my good friend Catherine cheering us all on. Then we boot up to Wheeler pass where we are greeted by a nearly fifty mile-an-hour wind. Then it’s a three thousand foot descent to Ten Mile Canyon and the bike path. Loose high alpine trail gave way to bermed turns and stream crossings.  Hit the bike path and watch the geared bikers pass me by. At one point I try and catch a draft from a fifty year old lady with a lunch box on the back of her cruiser, but she, too drops me. The singlespeed does have its limitations.

In the singlespeed category, I pretty much saw my last-day podium hopes vanish as Jake simply rode away from me today. In fact he was second on the day. I have really enjoyed this competition and will come out as strong as I can tomorrow hoping for a miracle. There has been great camaraderie amongst all the singlespeeders and they are a great bunch of guys and girl. On the eve of the final stage, I can say this has been one of the most enjoyable weeks of my life, watching this incredible event come together in the mountains where I ride whenever I get the chance. As the fatigue of the week has set in, my ability to lay down witty blogs appears to be falling off. Thanks for reading.

A month ago, on a flight to DC, I started up a conversation with my neighbor because he was flipping through a catalog of farm equipment -- $150,000 tractors and combines and such. I asked what he was up to. He said he was a South Dakotan, and had picked up the catalog for fun, since his dad used to be involved in farming. We talked for a bit about machinery and engines, maintenance and reliability, lifespans and longevity. Such was our common ground. Was he still involved in farming? No, he worked for the South Dakota Department of Education, and was en route to DC for meetings with South Dakota's elected representatives. In particular, he was eager to talk to Senator Thune about getting funding for a program to deter bullying. I asked what he meant by deter, since it seemed bullying would always be around. He said I was right, and that the program would help teachers to better deal with bullying. This reminded me of John Guzzwell's definition of sailing: "prepare and deal."

I've been thinking of Guzzwell's definition of sailing a lot lately. At first, it suggests a 50-50 cut: half preparing, and half dealing. That's not the split on Syzygy these days. Lately, it seems like 99% preparing, and 1% dealing. It's frustrating, because the adventure is in the dealing, and here the preparing part is languishing interminably. We tear stuff out. We fix stuff. We make a mess. We clean it up. We buy things. We install them. We imagine that we are improving our boat -- that we are making it more suitable for long passages and burly weather and rugged conditions -- and we are. It just all seems so theoretical, so abstract. We want some hard evidence, damn it.

Our current preparations --  a new (way more efficient) fridge, a new (better located) propane locker, and a new (far stronger and more adaptable) radar/solar/wind-generator arch -- are, of course, bigger and badder than those behind us, and for some ridiculous reason we've chosen to tackle them simultaneously. Matt and I have convinced ourselves that, as such, they comprise "the hump." Getting over the hump is what we dream about. Getting over it will mean we're about 75% through our refit agenda, an achievement so staggering I'm somewhat scared to mention it. We imagine that the pressure, the frustration, and the difficulty will wane once we get over the hump. But John Guzzwell didn't mention anything about a hump. He just said prepare and deal. Believe me, we are preparing. If anything, we're preparing so much that we have to deal with it.

Mid-hump, there's only one consolation, and it's not pretty. Schadenfreude bolsters our spirits, gives us perspective. Things don't seem so bad when I think about Robert, whose boom snapped in two while sailing on a not-particularly-windy day. Things seem OK on Syzygy when I think about Jim's mainsail ripping clear across. The pace at which we're proceeding seems more tolerable when I think of Marcus, who spent almost $4,000, and six months, building a new fridge.

And then there's Stuart, who returned two weeks ago, with a new engine and $17,000 less in his bank account. Not knowing quite how to ask if he was satisfied with the result, I asked him, "Does it sound good?" "It sounds like an opera," he said. "Wanna see?" I was glad he asked. It was beautiful, bright red and shiny as a fire truck.

A few days later, Stuart invited me over for a beer. We sat in the cockpit, listening to seagulls squawk over fish guts on a nearby trawler.  The sun was low, the wind calm. Without prefacing it, he said, "Wanna hear it?" I said yeah. Stuart turned a switch, the oil-pressure alarm rang briefly, and then the engine started up. It purred, smooth and confident. Stuart said he might not even install sound-proof insulation in his engine compartment, given how quiet it ran. I was impressed.

The schadenfreude faded to envy. I can't wait to feel that way about my boat.

--Jonny Waldman

[ More, as always, is at SyzygySailing.com ]

I love living in Colorado and today is why. Stage 4 of the Breck Epic—the circumnavigation of Mt. Guyot— defines what mountain bike stage racing is supposed to be. A big committing ride at race pace. Huge alpine meadows, singletrack that spends 12 weeks NOT covered in snow, expansive views of South Park, cloudless skies and the rippingest Colorado Trail descent in the Summit County. Well, there was a downside too, about ten miles of mining road climbing and descending that nearly broke me, but we’ll get to that in a minute.  As I wrote in a few blogs back, I love the big ride, and today was it in spades.  In fact, this ride was billed as a Summit County classic big ride and I spent some time thinking about the first guys to ride to ride this twenty years ago on those heavy rigid bikes with plastic levers, the Styrofoam helmets and neon jerseys.

Now some of you may be wondering about the belt driven bike. It’s a belt, just like that found on Harleys, instead of a chain. It’s strong as hell, nearly maintenance free, super light and lasts something like five years. It takes a bit of time to get set up correctly, but once done, it’s bomber. It does require an interruption in the frame to get the belt into the rear triangle, but after riding two of these bikes, I’ve heard nary a creak from the frame.  After a couple of days of racing, I am giving it zero thought, which is exactly the point. It has generated a ton of interest here at the Breck Epic as well as everywhere else I’ve ridden it, but when I offered free test rides during the backbreaking climb up French Gulch, nobody was all that interested. Weird.

I started the day in third place in the men’s singlespeed category, but Jake Kirkpatrick put the hurt on, knocking me off my first ever podium. In fact, there were some great shakeups in the men’s singlepeed category overall making it a hotly contested category.  I didn’t give up without a fight though.  It was back and forth until the climb up French Gulch, when he pulled ahead on the steep climb, which is of course a hike-a-bike for singlespeeders. After cresting the hill, I lit up the descent as fast I could, but he was gone. I fought as hard as could all day, climbing as fast as I could, skipping aid stations, squeezing Gu’s in my face at an alarming rate, but Jake finished 5 minutes ahead. I was so shelled in the closing miles of the race that I there were tears streaming down my face. This singlespeed racing business is no picnic my friends.

My friend Cristina and I are both racing the belt drive and we are both suffering, although she seems to be holding it together a bit better as she is in second overall in women’s open. Granted she’s a mountain bike legend. In any event, we had some larger rear cogs couriered up from Spot in Golden to take the bite out of the climbs. We’ll need it, as we are climbing over Wheeler Pass tomorrow. Ouch.

Thanks for reading, I’m whipped and need some sleep, but couldn’t be happier with the inaugural Breck Epic. Like bike racing? Put it on your calendar for 2010.