Why are they called “white” rhinos? This answer is how I will describe the ending and beginning to today in the new year. My current cycling partner, Megan, has been an inspiration. Let me explain that the use of that word by me may not be accurate in the literal meaning. Short story….. probably not the right word. This woman had been hitchhiking for three years prior to saddling up six months ago. Hitchhiking, squatting, and living within several communal collectives. She knows much more about plants and animals then I would ever care to know: uses and identity. She is an avid dumpster diver. Actually….. she a pro. I didn’t know any of these thing until yesterday. I meet a variety of travelers. Some types repeatedly. She’s riding that 1983 Trek 720 photographed earlier. Speaking of which, I have heard nada from woman offering up the Miyata 712. Front fork still not fixed. Another “l have a friend who can” dud. This rear rack seems to be up to the task short term. I was invited to meet and hang out with her friends in Tallahassee for the eve. All eclectic women. Some were cyclist. They shared their dumpster food with great joy. Turning partial items into fancy meals. Several bands played during the course of the evening. I crashed to sleep at 11 pm. I had been up since two. They went on a food hunt for breakfast. I had the best grit and egg breakfast, thanks to Sunshine. Their findings were slim. It was explained to combat dumpster diving many places have converted to compacting their waste. The next objective was to head south for a tent camp just before the gulf. I figured there was some adventure in this odd direction. Odd, because it’s in the opposite way of my route. We conversed on which way to take. I apparently was asking for to much distance. I was out voted 2:1. The nice easy ride led down to a cool spot thirteen miles south in the national forest. More fantastic dumpster food. Okay, as I type this I’m remembering why I’m typing this. I wanted to paint a fantastic picture of the last and first day. But honestly- it’s like I’m sitting at home around the same people. Different skin color, same blah blah blah with a dash of nature. Yet, the food is stolen and coming from the same stores. Last night my Ramen was accepted, but not the flavour packs to make soup. All I keep hearing about is eating food. It’s very zombie-ish.