I'm Home

I just wanted to give everyone who checks on here a quick update. I'm sorry I haven't posted anything in a while. I came home November 29th, after a little over 7 weeks of riding. I made it to Gainesville, Fl, after riding about 1000 miles from my parent's house in Fayetteville, NC. I met so many wonderful people that I still have to tell you about! I will eventually get the rest of my adventures up here.

My future is still a big question mark. I did come home much earlier than I expected to, but it was a decision I made, and not due to any sort of emergency or anything.

But yes, I just wanted to say thank you to everyone I met along the way who has been keeping up with me on here, and let you all know that I am safe.

Day 25: Nov 3, Springfield to Savannah

I woke up on time, but dawdled longer than I had originally intended. I felt kind of weird just leaving without saying bye, but eventually I realized that a thank-you note would just have to do. I was excited to be following an official signed bike route for the first time since North Carolina.

I had to stop soon after I started in the next town I got to, as the bottom cog on the tensioner was stealing an estimated 20% of my energy now. I cleaned the whole chain and each of the two cogs and re-lubed everything really well. I've been having to leave the screw in the center of the cog a little bit loose so that it would even rotate, something that made me uncomfortable from the very beginning. It should be able to move freely even with the screw tightened all the way. Getting my bike to a real shop that actually could help me in Savannah was becoming a major priority.

I was looking at the green dotted line on the map on my phone (which pretty well follows the cue sheets for the east coast greenway) and comparing it to the marked bike routes on the road, when I got the bright idea that I knew a better way and struck off on my own. An hour later, I realized that I was slightly confused, as the road I was on was taking me steadily away from the road I wanted. I sighed to myself for being the hardheaded know-it-all that I am as I turned to go the 6 miles extra I now needed to go to get back on track, not to mention the extra distance I had traveled on the road I had just come from. I passed by a high school that was doing some kind of homecoming parade practice or something, and couldn't help but smile and bounce a little to the music of the marching band as I went by.

I got some Subway when I finally got back on track, which was one of the landmarks I had been looking for anyway. I was extremely pleased that the traffic was all together tolerating me quite well, even on the road where I didn't "belong." There was a huge stretch with wide 5-10 foot shoulders, sometimes even protected with a row of rumble strips.

All good things must come to an end, I've decided, especially when it comes to good places to ride. Eventually the shoulder went away completely and the traffic increased as well. It was a major commercial area nearing an interchange for a major highway, and although people were being decently nice, the shear volume and speed of the cars was stressing me out. I had been calling and texting my cousin off and on all morning so we could keep tabs on where we were in our journeys. I had expected him to be coming down I-95, so I started to think that as long as I get as close to I-95 as I can by the time he gets arrives, he could just come to pick me up and we could go from there. Little did I know that his GPS decided to route him around through the way I had considered coming the day before. (He told me it was strangely not busy, by the way...) He ended up driving all over the city due to a bit of miscommunication and confusion about just where I was. Eventually I decided to just sit and wait at a library I found in Pooler, which is just on the other side of I-95 from Savannah.

Soon after we found each other there was the comical and highly technical business of getting my bike into his car. When he told me he had a hatchback, I immediately thought of my station wagon back home. It never crossed my mind that my bike wouldn't fit, mainly because it not fitting wasn't really an option. Well, he showed up in probably the smallest hatchback ever. I took one look and decided it wasn't going to happen. Nope. I started thinking about how I was going to ask the fire department across the street to watch my bike for a day or two for me. Dave was still a bit optimistic, though, so I went ahead and took off all my bags and my front tire, and let him go ahead and try to stuff it in and see for himself. The back seats went down. My front seat went all the way up, as well as tilted forward to a very uncomfortable angle. He also gave up several inches of his own leg room in the name of victory. I also told myself to stop whining about bending the fenders funny or any of the other more sensitive things because it needed to be taken in to be looked at anyway. I'm sure that probably helped. The back hatch door wouldn't close all the way, and if it wasn't for the little stylish inward curves in the doors where my back tire ended up resting, it wouldn't have worked, but it was in! It was a feat of tetris contortion mastery and a testament to the mindset of, "oh, it will happen," that we both seem to have with certain things. Unfortunately no pictures were taken of the poor thing in the back of this tiny little car.

We got in with plans to go into downtown Savannah and ditch the car somewhere and have a look around. We went to a little bar/restaurant with a crazy bike/trolley/carriage/bar in the front! I had seen them before on the internet, but never in person. As I had been to Subway not long before, I just got some desert, while Dave proceeded to devour some real food and some beer. He really likes his beer. This is important to know. He vowed to return to get the banana egg roll before leaving the next day.

We started meandering our way toward the river, and stopped into a Scottish pub to try out some of their drafts. I left my wallet in the car, however, and couldn't get anything as I actually got carded, which didn't happen even once in SC. I almost forgot about having to prove your age to get a drink in most normal establishments. I know I'm old enough to buy some booze. The bartender informed me that I should seriously consider going back and getting my ID if I wanted to drink that night. I'm not much of a drinker, so not drinking didn't bother me nearly as much as having her look at me as if I was some kind of underage hooligan trying to be sneaky. I must be the worst sneaky underage hooligan ever, because I would have at least presented a fake ID and not no ID if that was the case.

This is also when we found out that the Rock 'n' Roll Marathon was going on in Savannah this weekend, which helped to explain why the parking lot was nearly completely full at the restaurant from earlier, and why there seemed to be just so many people everywhere. We eventually continued to mosey our way down to the river walk, and I continued to ask Dave at nearly every pub or bar I saw if he wanted to get something from this place or that place. On the river, I kept my eye out for a carved candle shop that used to be a sort of tradition for me to go to whenever I was down here. I loved watching them being made, and looking at all of the pretty designs. At one point I wanted to become an apprentice there and learn how to make them myself. After walking all the way from end to end, and still no candle shop, I went into the last little store to ask about it. Apparently, they had been out of business for 10 years or so! Shows how long it's been since I've been down this way. It hasn't really been that long since I was considering SCAD for a college, was it?

We had been putting off finding a hotel for the night, and here I'm sure that Dave and my stories will differ significantly. I was beginning to drag from being in bed by 10 most nights, and I still hadn't had a shower. I also needed to do laundry. Neither of us wanted to pay more than necessary, but because of the Marathon, about half of the hotels didn't even have any rooms left! After driving around for well over an hour, both calling and walking in to ask about the price and amenities, I stopped caring where we stayed, as all of the hotels started getting jumbled up in my head and seemed about the same anyway. I kept worrying about the circulation in my legs as my toes kept getting tingly and numb, probably from the way I was all bunched up in my seat due to my bike being all bunched up in the back. "The thrill of the hunt" kept Dave going long after I was done, and we finally settled in to somewhere that seemed to fit the bill, although there wasn't a laundry room.

Day 24: Nov. 2, Ridgeland SC to Springfield GA

I got going relatively early that morning, as the family I was staying with had to attend a funeral. It was still pretty chilly outside, and I was dropped back off at the gas station where I had been picked up at the evening before. I headed back to the Blue Heron Learning Center, because I really did want to look through it. They had a decently informative collection, especially on the poisonous snakes of the region, and I went ahead and took my time and read everything.

I still didn't know which way I wanted to go into Georgia. My cousin was coming down to Savannah for the weekend to visit with me, so I needed to be there. The pros of taking the "shortcut" were that I would get there a day early and be able to have a look around ahead of time and get settled in and not have to stress out about getting there the day of. The cons were that it was off the bike route and the traffic looked quite heavy when I had scouted it out ahead of time on satellite view. The pros of taking the long way around were that it should be on less traveled and therefore hopefully more pleasant back roads and on an established bike route giving me some semblance of hope that people might have seen someone like me coming through before, while the cons were that it was going to be a full day out of the way and I might be setting myself up to be too stressed out about getting to Savannah in time to still be able to have a decent visit with my cousin.

I went back and forth a good dozen times, each time I was 100% sure that that was what I had decided and that's what I was going to do, and I would mount my bike and I just couldn't do that first push on the pedals to get going. A call to my mom was in order, I just needed to talk it out. A little while later I was heading down highway 17 on my way to Savannah.

It didn't take long for me to realize that I had been spoiled with an usually low amount of traffic the last 2 days due to Halloween; on the way to Yemassee everyone was out with their kids trick-or-treating or partying, and yesterday everyone was at home nursing a hangover or sick from too much candy. Today, everything was back to business as usual. This alone might not have been enough to bother me, but the local bike rider who had given me route advice had failed to mention that when they resurfaced the road they added some deep rumble strips which took up what little shoulder there was. Being stuck between a few semis whom I couldn't trust to give me enough room and a row of death traps was just too much for me. I made it about 2 miles before I pulled off onto a dusty dirt road and called my mom again in desperation. We were both looking up alternate routes and throwing out ideas. I wasn't even willing to ride the 2 miles back into Ridgeland.

Mr. Sheffield, the guy I met the day before, had offered to drive me to Savannah if I wanted a ride, and I considered calling him and making good on his offer. I wondered how long the funeral and any related activities would take, and I thought a lot about how they had already done way more for me than I could have asked for. My mom was reading me street names for an alternate route that she found for me, but one of the roads didn't appear to go all the way through according to my GPS. I also would need to brave another mile or two of the trucks and rumble strips to get to the turn I would need to take. The stress response was impossible to ignore: look at 17 and feel like crying with an angry determination. Look down the dirt road and feel freedom. Three trucks had come down that dirt road while I hemmed and hawed, so I was sure it went all the way through and wasn't gated up at some point. It would pop me out right on the bike route without much trouble, or I could just take a joy ride and loop back around to town, giving me some time to decompress and giving the funeral time to finish up. Any way I looked at it, it boiled down to "what are my priorities now and for this trip?" I had battled my way though South Carolina because there was no other way. But here I was: finally handed a real choice in the matter. I thanked my mom again for her assistance and crossed over the railroad tracks and rode on into the woods, with a big smile on my face and peace in my heart. I don't regret for a moment trying to go down 17, because now I can't say I didn't try it out, and it also, again, helped me bring back into focus that I'm supposed to be having fun out here. It's about the journey, not the destination. 

The quiet, empty road in the woods was just what I needed. I soon forgot about looping back to Ridgeland and just rode. Before I knew it, I was back on track to go the way I had originally intended. I passed by a reserve where gopher tortoises were present, and I was tempted to go ahead and spend the rest of the day in search of one. The fact that a little hut with a log book for deer hunters' comings and goings and kills only served to encourage me to set up camp (somewhere near the entrance where I couldn't be seen from the road but would be immediately visible by anyone in a truck as soon as they passed over the little hill), as the last entry was from two days ago, and it didn't seem like anyone would care if I spent the night in the woods there anyway. But the sun was starting to get lower in the sky and I knew I needed to move on.

There was soon only one last bridge in front of me before I crossed the boarder. It was steep and narrow with the split shoulder/sidewalk design that made both too small to use alone. On the other side, the first thing I saw was the welcoming sign of the Georgia bike route #95 that went all the way to Florida. Marked bike route signage! I was so relieved and happy. I had some sort of visible proof that I had a right to be there. "Share the Road" signs! Special "Watch for Bikes on Bridge" signs! But it was what I noticed after riding only about a mile or two into Georgia itself that had me literally dancing and singing merrily as I rode (attracting a little too much attention from the dogs in people's yards as I passed): not only were the lanes wide and there were shoulders present and the quality of the roads improved so much that I suddenly gained a solid 3-4 mph, but I was actually being treated with some common courtesy again! People actually slowed down and waited if another car was coming, even though I had been shell shocked by SC so badly that I had limited myself to the shoulder and they could have easily passed me inside their own lane if they wanted to. No, they moved all the way into the other lane and passed properly regardless. I could tell that they knew I belonged in the lane and not in the shoulder, and that I was confusing them pretty badly as to why I was insisting on staying in my little 2 foot section on the side. I thought about coming out to claim my rightful place and ride like I should and was expected to here where I was respected as a legitimate road user, but decided I needed a little more time with myself first.

The sun was setting faster and faster, but I was getting closer and closer to Springfield, where I had decided to stop for the day. My mom was not answering her phone at all and my battery was about to die. The charging cable had decided to be incredibly touchy when I tried to plug it into my rechargeable battery charger with the USB port that I had been using as a last resort. The internet wasn't really working for me either, and after riding up and down the main stretch and not seeing a single hotel, I started to get worried. I thought about the big Catholic Church I passed on my way into town and how it was probably locked so I would be sleeping outside in the back. I thought about the local government building I passed that was a bit closer with all the cop cars in the parking lot. I thought about whether or not I would be willing to ask to spend the night in a jail cell and what spending a night in a jail cell would be like. What a story that would make!

I passed by a church with the lights on and a few cars in the parking lot. I really had to use the bathroom as well, so I decided to go in and ask around to see what I could find out. The ladies were having a scrapbooking party and making Christmas cards. They welcomed me in and let me use the bathroom and computer. The nearest hotel was in Rincon, another 10-12 miles away depending on which way I went. I had already done over 38 miles that day, which is a decently long day for me, so the thought of doing another 10 in the dark was a little daunting. I went ahead and mentally prepared myself to do it anyway, if it needed to happen. Eventually I asked the ladies if they would mind just locking me in one of the rooms in the church, and they told me to wait while they called the preacher. Lucky for me, there was a family life center just across the street, and I was going to be allowed to stay in it for the night. It even had showers!

I went ahead and got myself all cleaned up, by which time I was starving. I was informed of a restaurant on the next road over that had some of the best fried chicken around, and I went ahead on over and ordered a plate. Everything was made to order, and I was told to come back in about 20 minutes as it had to cook. The ladies working the kitchen were so sweet and there were several other families waiting patiently for their own orders in the dining room decorated with old classic records of famous musicians.

I enjoyed the company of the ladies for a little while longer before deciding to go to bed. I would need to get an early start in order to be in Savannah around 1:00 to meet David. I settled myself down on one of the couches and passed out.

Day 23: November 1, Yemassee to Ridgeland

I again took advantage of the late check out time in hopes that it would warm up a little before I had to head off. This hotel had some fancy raisin-cinnamon bagels and individual packets of cream cheese, which was so good I went back for a second one.

Today I was going to be riding on genuine frontage roads right next to I-95 on my way to Ridgeland. I hoped they were actually passable and paved, as I wouldn't have the option on hopping on I-95 if I got stuck. I shouldn't have worried, though. I had the roads almost entirely to myself, and although I originally thought that the super straight road right next to the highway would be too loud and boring, I couldn't stop smiling at the cars as they couldn't get me. I couldn't help feeling like I was mocking them with my presence and how I was definitely having more fun than they were today! How my priorities have changed. It's safe to say that my standards of what makes a good day's ride have dropped to just above not dying here in SC. The only really enjoyable places to ride are the places you have to yourself. Plain and simple.

Ridgeland was supposed to be close to a 20 mile ride according to my GPS, so I was surprised when I got there in only 12. From the way I got into town, it appeared that this place was halfway on its' way to becoming a real ghost town, almost exactly like the kind you can find in the prairies out west. I got such a bad vibe about the place that I almost didn't even take the time to find the library for a little break. I was glad I did, however, as the garden walls offered some sense of safety that was otherwise lacking. I wasn't entirely sure if I wanted to keep going or not. If I did, I would need to go over 30 more miles to cross the Georgia boarder and get to the next town, as it was still just a little bit nippy for camping. I did a quick search and found that there were a few hotels here, and the Blue Heron Nature Center with a nature trail not too far away!

I headed to the center only to find that it was closed. It had closed an hour prior, even though it was only 2 pm. I wandered around the short loop next to the road and stopped to watch a couple of guys mowing down all the ferns and small trees and other vegetation on a huge industrial riding mower. There were several signs instructing smokers not to light up under orders of the fire marshal, as well as an info board explaining how fire is an important part of the ecosystem here. Fire is good because it keeps the leaf litter and hardwoods under control, yet there is so much leaf litter on the forest floor because of lack of burning that the fire marshal has banned smoking in the area, and they are mowing down everything that a good burning would take care of. I asked about it and they told me that they were clearing out the area to put up Christmas lights...

I moved on to look at more of the ironic info boards on the semi-nature trail going around the artificially mini-golf-blue water of the man made lake with the fountain in the middle next to the handful of hotels and restaurants. I tried to let it be relaxing. I really did. There were lots of places to sit and enjoy the water. There were lots of turtles in the lake, and also an alligator. The alligator didn't look right, though. It was sitting too high in the water, showing almost it's entire body. A floating gator would only have its head and maybe a row of the tips of its back ridges showing. I suppose it might have been laying on a tree branch or pipe, but I couldn't see anything like that. I was so very, very tempted to throw a rock at it to see if it was real, which is not like me.

I went back to the museum, which had a very nice wrap-around porch with benches in the front. I was just about to have a snack and think about my next course of action, when a couple of guys, who had come to look at an old dug out Indian canoe that had been found in the swamp nearby, came around the corner. They were also a bit disappointed about the hours, and struck up a conversation with me about my trip, as they had noticed my loaded bike near the parking lot. They were Mormons and had done a bit of missionary work by bike way back in the day. After I told them that I had been having a rough time with the traffic the last few days, we joked a bit about swerving to look drunk to get people to give us more room. I was invited back to their office up the road to work on the computer for a little while, if I wanted, and since I didn't really have anything better to do, and still hadn't decided what my plans were, I followed them up.

I got a very warm welcome at the gas station where the office was, with a bottle of cold water and fresh-baked cookies, and soon it seemed that everyone knew about my trip. A fellow biker came in to ask about my planned route, and I told him that I was actually kind of torn because the bike route took me around the long way, but when I had looked for a shorter route into Savannah, I was discouraged by the volume of traffic on the roads that the satellite images had picked up. He seemed shocked that I was planning to go a full day out of my way (also that I only did 30 miles a day), and encouraged me to go ahead and take the shortcut, as he's gone through there several times.

It didn't take long for the awesome guy I met at the Nature Center and his wife to invite me back to their place for the night. I was more than welcome to ride if I wanted, but they had a truck as well if I wanted to load it up instead. I didn't want to admit it, as it had been such a short day's ride, but I was glad for the offer. My legs were very sore after the last few days, and I had been treating a rash that had developed in an unfortunate place between my cheeks, probably due to friction and me being too lazy to change into my proper riding clothes since my bum had toughened up enough to not be too easily bothered by chaffing from my khaki's and cotton underwear.

We stopped at the grocery store on the way home, and he drove me around to look at his son's house and a few other places in town so he could tell me a little bit of history of the area and his family. The closer we got to the house, the more I realized that I had happened upon someone who was very well-to-do. After I stepped into the house itself and had a little look around and heard a few more stories, I realized this couple will likely never want for anything money can buy. As I'm still struggling with just how much to say about some of the people I meet, I think I will leave this particular topic at that.

Their three young grandchildren were spending the night as well, and it was quite a change of pace, as it's been quite a while since I've babysat for a few little balls of energy. First thing on my list was a shower, as usual, and after that it was breakfast for dinner, with oatmeal, bacon, eggs, pancakes, and chocolate milk. After dinner, the kids played around a bit, and I got to visit with the grown ups. Eventually, the kids went for a bath and I snuck back upstairs for a long hot bath myself. I found some Bengay in my bags that I had forgotten I had packed, which turned out to be a bad idea, as it burned badly on my wind-chapped hands and made my thighs feel cold, taking away the good done from the hot bath in my opinion. It was nice to have such a generous, down-to-earth family take me in for the night (it got down well into the 30's that night) and feed me, and just give me some company, which I do miss sometimes.

Day 22: October 31, Walterboro to Yemassee

It was cold again this morning, and after the last two days I was in no hurry to get back on the road. I took full advantage of the 11 am check out time, before heading back to the park I had found the evening before. I explored it for a few hours, as there were quite a lot of trails, and I even found a thick Tarzan type vine hanging down right over the boardwalk. I couldn't resist swinging from it a few times. The park was pretty long, and I was able to actually use it as a shortcut into downtown, helping me avoid the road with people speeding along off of I-95. I found the library and worked on my blog for a bit, before finally deciding I needed to get going if I was ever going to get to the next stop before dark, as it was already pushing 4 pm. I had decided to stay in yet another hotel that night since it was going to be cold again, and so getting in close to sunset wasn't as much of a concern as if I was planning on camping.

I had a few choices as far as how to get to Yemassee. I could take the secondary highway 17 (which is actually a different highway from the one I had been on for the last week or so that goes right along the coast) which paralleled I-95 and hope it wasn't busy because it was so close to a major interstate (but the way to it was back up that same ugly hill I had to ride over last night), or I could go back the way I came (highway 64) and get back on the bike route that way, or I could take a middle road, highway 303, which would also take me to the bike route. I chose 303, and the first few miles out of town were kind of nice, until I got passed by a certain jackass in a semi truck. I can't tell you how many times I've seen impatient and rude people coming from behind me absolutely refuse to so much as ease off the gas for a few seconds to let an oncoming car to pass before passing me themselves. Sometimes I swear they even adjust their speed to ensure that all three of us will be next to each other at the same point in time. It's incredibly reckless and unnecessary, and often the oncoming car gets pushed off the road to avoid a collision, with tires hitting dirt more times than I can count. Or, if the oncoming car refuses to move just as much as the passing car refuses to slow down, they come within inches of missing each other, and I have witnessed this also more times than I can count. It pisses me off because by insisting on passing me at that very instant, right then and there, they not only put me at risk, but they are also putting the people in the oncoming car at risk as well. It's not like I've asked them to come to a full stop. I'm still moving too. Seriously, what is the emergency? You are late for work? You are going to the store? You just want to get home and plop your butt on the couch and watch some TV? Is it worth it? Would it be worth it to have an accident or kill someone because you couldn't spare a few seconds and slow down just a few mph?

Yes, I've had more close calls now than I can count, but to have a big semi do it when another semi is the oncoming car, and the lanes are barely wide enough to have their trailers be inside the lines in the first place, just left me speechless. The truck in the other lane almost lost control and went in the ditch when his tires hit dirt, and I also went off the road and into the ditch when I saw that we all had missed each other with less than a foot between all of us. Neither truck stopped. The truck that passed me didn't even slow down. He didn't care at all about me or his fellow trucker, and it was that which blew me away most of all. I'm used to people not caring about my well being on the road. I'm sure they think I've somehow asked for it and deserve it by being there in the first place. I stood there in the grass for several minutes. I was done. I had had it with with these utterly rude, inconsiderate, downright dangerous drivers on these too-narrow, poor quality roads.

After I while, I got back on my bike and kept going. There really wasn't much else to do. I was extra glad when I came upon a newly paved winding residential road that I had scoped out ahead of time as a possible "longcut" to get off the highway for a few miles. It was a super pleasant ride, and I took it very slowly, enjoying the empty street that I had all to myself for as long as possible. I passed by one huge rural mansion after the other, some still being built. They had fancy brick and ironwork gates guarding the entrances to their driveways, and for the first time in a long time I started singing about how this was how bike touring *should* be. I was a bit apprehensive as I approached the end of the road. How was this next road going to be? The quality went down measurably, but it was mostly empty and the scenery was fantastic, and absolutely best of all, nearly everyone that I passed waved and smiled at me! It was such a huge 180 degree change from the behavior of only an hour before. I was again apprehensive as the end of this road drew near, and I would need to get back onto highway 17 paralleling I-95. How would that road be?

The first thing I noticed was the fact that the lanes were a good 2 feet wider, even if there was no shoulder. The rolling hills looked daunting, but it was mostly a trick of the eye since the road was so straight. They were very very gradual, and I had very little problem working my way over them, although the fact that I was actually losing speed on the downhills if I stopped pedaling was most puzzling and obnoxious. I stopped at a little shop for a drink and snack, and smiled and waved at the group of old guys that were sitting around on the side chatting and maybe playing cards. They did not smile back but stared me down like I had absolutely lost my mind. I ignored it and went in anyway. The cashier was nice enough. I went back out and overheard an escalating conversation between a guy in a car and a guy bent over his window about "Where's my money." Hmm... I pretended not to notice them at all and slowly moved my bike to the other side of the building where the group of old guys was. I again smiled and they continued to stare. One walked past me giving me a wide berth, and looked scared when I smiled at him and said "Hi." He was obviously still dealing with a bad case of PTSD left over from Vietnam, probably. I decided it was time for me to move on, even though I had only had a sip of my drink and hadn't even opened my snack.

The next several miles were hardly memorable, just more hills up and down on the very straight highway, until I got to Yemassee. The hotel I was staying at was actually a bit past the town itself in a cluster of gas stations, restaurants, and hotels right off the interstate. The sun was starting to set, but I actually enjoyed the ride through the nearly empty road through the swamp and forest. I did pass by a red truck that was parked in front of a gated road, a tree stand in the back. Hunters. I really should probably get something orange to wear when I'm in the woods at some point...

Again I felt apprehensive about getting on the next road to the hotel, as it was an exit road and potentially busy and full of speeding rushed people. It turned out to be almost pleasant, as people actually moved over into the free lane when they saw me, for the most part, to pass even though there was a shoulder that I was hiding in. The front desk lady at the hotel was just as nice as could be, which is why I didn't say anything at all when she made the comment "I'm one of those impatient ones, don't be mad," when I commented about how people are so impatient as to be dangerous on some of these roads. I couldn't say anything, because if I said anything at all, then it was all going to come out. I had a lot built up from the whole of South Carolina, and this poor woman was not going to know what had hit her. I did give her my site information, so maybe she will be reading this now and can understand why, yes, I am mad, and I feel like I have full right to be.

Dinner at Denny's was awesome! I stuffed myself with pretty much 2 dinners, and the waitress seemed a little concerned. The room I ended up in didn't seem to be used all that often, as the room I was supposed to be in had some issues with the card reader and I couldn't open the door, despite getting a new key about 3 times. When I pulled back the covers to get in bed, the biggest wolf spider I had ever seen in my life came strolling out onto my night stand. We are talking huge. Massive. It was easily 3 inches across, and not at all spindly or all legs. It was a beefy sucker. I was desperately trying to find a nearby shoe without scaring it away as it strolled along the nightstand next to the phone. If I tried to hit it now, I'll miss and then what? I tried to wait patiently for it to come out to a better spot, but it had paused. It knew. As soon as I could tell it was about to make a break for it I swung, and missed. It scurried behind the headboard of the second bed. I could see it on the wall, just waiting for me to forget about it and go to sleep. I might have done it too if I didn't know that they can bite and that they hurt when they do. I wished I hadn't used up the last of my potent permethrin spray a few days prior, but it couldn't be helped now. I got out my little spray bottle of DEET bug spray and squirted it behind the head board. It fell to the floor and I started looking around the edges for it to come running out so I could smash it. After a while I gave up and hoped I had knocked it out at least, and pulled out all of my treated clothing and surrounded the bed with them to create a sort of perimeter, which I'm sure was more for my piece of mind than anything.

As tired as I was not 5 minutes ago, now I was wide awake with a decent amount of adrenaline flowing through me. I laid down and tried to read for a while, and just as I was about to turn out the light, the gigantic beast wobbled his way drunkenly out from under the other bed and tried to make a break for mine. I squashed him with my shoe and after checking that there were no more hiding behind my headboard, I went to bed. He was probably as big as he was because he had eaten all the others, I thought.

Day 21: October 30, The Woods to Walterboro

I woke up at 4, probably due to a combination of not being tired anymore due to my early bedtime, and being too cold. I was tempted to go ahead and get an early start on the day to get some major miles under my belt before most normal people even woke up. After climbing out of my tangle of sleeping bag and hammock and hammock sock, and the fleece pillowcase I've taken to sticking my feet in on the colder nights, and everything else just to tinkle and freezing my ass off in the process, I decided to just spend a few hours relaxing all wrapped up like a cozy caterpillar. My sleeping bag wasn't cozy enough, however, and after a few minutes of debating, for the first time so far I had to break out one of my hand warmers. I put it on my neck, right over the big artery that goes up either side, and I felt tons better in about 30 seconds. I drifted in and out of sleep for several hours, waking up at 5 to the sound of a massive semi truck rush hour, then at regular intervals for trains. I was suddenly glad I hadn't continued on, as I had originally intended to sleep much closer to the tracks. It was so cold out, and the thought of riding on the highway was becoming so stressful as I listened to the traffic levels increase, that I played with the idea of just hanging out here all day. After all, no one was going to find me. Around 7:30, I heard a quick series of about a dozen shots, and decided it was time to go ahead and get moving.

My phone had turned itself off at some point in the night, and it wouldn't turn back on. As I had plugged it in to my other backup battery charger (I dropped my really awesome one and broke it...), I didn't think it could have been due to the battery dying. I imagined having rolled over on it in my sleep and crushing it in a bad way, as the screen had already been broken some week or two before in the Subway on my way to Myrtle Beach. Part of me wondered if/hoped that it was just too cold out for it work properly. Either way, I thought about what losing my phone would mean to the long term success of my trip...

It was easy getting to the other side of the frontage road this time, and I was pleased to find it was paved as well and had some nice scenery. There was a short unpaved section, but it barely dampened my spirits. I was in a rather good mood, despite the weather (which did look surprisingly like snow). I took my sweet time enjoying the ride, until I got to the last third of the frontage road, which was gated off with an angry looking no trespassing sign with a line on it about illegal hunting. I couldn't even slip around, and apparently there were cameras watching me anyway. Damn poachers, ruining it for everyone. This is where the green dotted line on my map tells me to go, dang it! I looked longingly at the muddy dug-in tire tracks on the other side of the gate. I didn't really want to ride on that, but I would have gladly done it. I had a little pout and hissy fit about not wanted to ride on the highway, before turning back to the last cross-road. I was looking desperately for another way to get closer to the bridge without going back on 17, and decided to take my chances with some roads on the other side that would really add some miles, but I didn't really care much about that any more. I went up the empty, but nicely paved road, peeking down all of the gated off dirt roads. I had a sinking feeling that the road I wanted to take that I was seeing on my GPS was dirt as well, and the chances of it going all the way through anyway was slim. I turned around, defeated.

On my way back to the highway, mad at myself for wasting so much time and energy messing around when there was no other way, with stiff cold fingers and a red runny nose, and the cloudy dreary sky, an old man passed me and stopped, waiting patiently for me to get to him. I wasn't expecting him to proceed to tell me that I can't do what I'm doing because I'm a solo woman on a bike. I held my tongue, despite my current mental state, and reminded myself that I HAD come this far already and if I don't make, it it's because South Carolina will have killed me first.

Back on the evil highway 17, I fought for every 100 yards of gain through brutal 20+ mph headwinds and rude traffic. The next 7 miles or so took me about 2 hours. I wanted desperately to call my brother and tell him I was done, and that I would wait here patiently on the side of the road for him to come get me, even if it took him till midnight to get there. However, my phone was dead, and so there wasn't much choice other than to keep on going, if only to get to a phone where I could call my mom and let her know the situation.

Eventually I crossed the bridge into Jacksonboro, passed by an abandoned looking hotel, and found a nature trail off of the side of the road on the right, where I went ahead and took a nice break and walked around for a little while. I debated setting up camp in there, although there were a bunch of spy style tree cams everywhere. Who are these people? A little farther up the road was the gas station with Church's Chicken in it: the place I had been looking forward to getting to since I left Charleston. Luckily, it was still in business, and I abandoned my bike outside to seek refuge indoors for a while. After a bathroom break, I ordered a sandwich and claimed a booth right next to a wall outlet. I held my breath as I plugged my phone in, and I felt a glimmer of hope as a blinking red light appeared in the corner. I ended up spending the next several hours there, charging my phone and reading The Hobbit, calling my mom once in a while in vain. I had told her the day before that I intended to get to Yemassee (Yeh-meh-see; I've been corrected too many times...) today, and I needed to find out if she had booked a hotel for me or not, because it was still over 30 miles away, and that just wasn't going to happen. Not today. Giving up on my mom, I called my brother and dad as well. They didn't know and couldn't get up with her either. I feel like this always happens. As soon as I really need momma, she goes missing...

Around 2, I decided I couldn't wait around any longer. I headed back to the motel just to make sure it really wasn't open. It wasn't. My mom finally called me back, and we decided I should head for Walterboro, as I really needed a decent place to stay tonight and it was closer than Yemassee at 15 miles away, even if it was taking me a little bit in the wrong direction.

The ride started to look up a little as the sun came out, even if the high for that day never broke a nippy 55.
I was still facing a bad headwind, but now I had a shoulder about a foot and a half wide to try to hide in. There were historical markers every so often, and I stopped at a few of them to snap a quick picture and get a quick break. It was never more than a sign telling some history or a headstone of some dead soldier. After I passed the road I would normally have turned on to stay on the bike route to Yemassee, the shoulder went away, and I begged out loud for it to come back.

"I like you, shoulder; I appreciate you, shoulder; don't leave me, shoulder. PLEEEEAAASE???? Why???"

Alas, it did not, and after the school buses let out, traffic started getting really busy and rude, and the twists in the road didn't help at all. I'm just waiting for the day when I "cause" a head-on collision because of someone else's impatience...

The hotel my mom found for me was on the far side of town, right next to I-95. It was going to be busy and unpleasant, I already knew. As the outer roads nearing the town were in a spiderweb pattern, I was able to find an alternate road in through some slightly depressed looking neighborhoods. There were several kids being driven around on a 4-wheeler, having a grand old time, and they all waved and shouted at me. I got a little nervous when the road turned to dirt near the end, but it went all the way through. I passed through some more sketchy looking parts of town where I got a lot of gawkers. I didn't mind: if people are so confused by me that they slow down to stare, that's absolutely fine with me. I made sure to smile at everyone. Eventually I found the road I wanted, but the big hill I wound up staring at was daunting. I pulled into another park (I do love how many parks I stumble on), and ate a snack and watched the traffic. The sun was starting to set (it would figure that it was right in front of the direction I needed to go, getting in people's eyes), the road curved to the right, it was rush hour, and I was tired.

Eventually I scraped up some more resolve and at the next break of cars started up the hill again. I pulled into the very next place, the parking lot of an apartment complex, with still about a third of the hill left to go. There were about a dozen elementary school aged kids playing in front of one building, and 6-8 high school aged boys chatting quietly in front of another. Everyone stopped for a moment to look at me, and I got a bad vibe from the high school bunch. I smiled a quick "Hi, I'm just gunna sit here for a minute" smile, and turned my bike around to face the road and pulled out some gadgets to look busy, glancing at the sun and the traffic and the sign of the apartments I had turned in to (which happened to be in the direction of the boys, who had decided to ignore me for the most part, only giving me a curious glance once in a while). I did call my mom to buy some time, and almost as soon as I hung up with her, a fire rescue truck pulled in and asked me if I was OK.

"Yep! I'm just waiting for a break in traffic before I keep working my way up this hill."

"Alright, well I'm going to wait for you to get that break in traffic, because this is a bad spot for you to be in."

I waited for a second for him to move, as he was now blocking my view of the road with his big truck.

"I totally agree with you. This is a big hill and the sun is right at that time when it gets in everyone's eyes, and the road curves too, and it's rush hour. This is a very bad spot for me to be in."

He looked nervously around. I still wait for him to move, as not only am I now blocked from seeing the road, he has pulled his truck in next to me in such a way as to block me from view of everyone in the parking lot, while also effectively trapping me where I was, as the front of the truck was too close to the curb behind me to allow me to back up. Finally he hints at giving me a ride, and, defeated, I tell him to pull in then and point out that he has blocked me from moving. He calls for a different fire rescue truck to come get me, and hands out a dozen plastic fire hats to the elementary school kids as I took my bags off my bike to make it easier to load. He was still looking extra nervous, and was trying his hardest to block the kids from me with himself, going so far as to reach out and stop curious hands from trying to touch my tires or my handlebars, which I really thought was odd. These kids were about 5-8 years old and super excited about getting a free hat, and my loaded bike was something they had never seen before. I couldn't help thinking that this was another person with an unjustified level of fear of certain people even if the situation doesn't call for it. Now the boys, I also got a bad vibe from, but I felt like we had made a sort of quiet agreement when we looked at each other. I wasn't interested in them and they weren't interested in me. They stayed where they were, and I stayed where I was.

The fire rescue guy waited there with me until the other truck got there, who asked me what was wrong with my bike. "Nothing's wrong with my bike. I had just stopped for a little break from going up this hill, and I guess this guy just wasn't comfortable with my choice of spots so he called you to give me a ride." I could tell he wasn't really listening, he too was uncomfortable with this place. He was doing the calculated, calm, no sudden movements, don't-look-at-anyone thing that I do sometimes as he loaded up my stuff. I get it, this is a bad spot. But seriously, there are a dozen kids playing blissfully outside, me and the guys had already made a quiet agreement to not bother each other, and that was all. I didn't say anything, though, as I was happy to be getting a free ride the last few miles to my hotel after such a crappy day.

As I got dropped off, guy #2 asked me again what was wrong with my bike. "Nothing." I could tell he wasn't listening. That wasn't the right answer. After I got all settled in, I walked next door to the Shoney's and got myself a big fat burger. It was really cold again that night, and I was happy to be in a nice room, which I had cranked the heat up to full blast in.

Day 20: October 29, Leaving Charelston

I had to leave relatively early, as Andy and Sue had an appointment they had to go to. Saying our goodbyes was sad, as I'm finding is usually the case with the nice people who take me in as their own for a few days. I was rather cold out as I headed to a bike shop to get the bottom cog on my tensioner checked out, as it had been driving me nuts. I was pretty sure it was just because I had inadvertently cleaned out all the thick greasy lube when I was trying to get out the sand that had made it's way into the bearings, making the most obnoxious squeaking noise. The bike shop wasn't very helpful. It was the same one that had flat out ignored my existence when I had rolled in a few days ago looking for a chat. The guy put it up on the work stand and took a look at it, and poked and prodded it in an obligatory fashion before telling me that the part was bad and it needed to be replaced, but because it was a specialty part I would need to order it. I also had him look at the shifter cable, as I had discovered it was hanging on by only a thread at a scary 90 degree angle when I went to make a simple adjustment, because attempting to shift had started making my bike act funny. I had simply shoved it all back in and hoped for the best, but it made me nervous.

I headed on, and stopped at a gas station to use the bathroom and get some hot chocolate. Really, I was looking for some refuge from the cold and wind, and was a bit disappointed that there was no where to sit. The bike trail that would lead me out of town was nearby, but crossing the street was kind of scary, and I wondered why there was no crosswalk connecting the two sides of the trail. I was glad that there was a bike trail at all, although the very poor condition of the pavement made me snort at the picture of the racer type images on the sign. Some parts made me wish it wasn't paved at all, as it was so bad. I later got my wish when the trail turned to single and double track. I didn't mind too much as it was a very peaceful ride, if very slow, as I picked my way through the jaggedy gravel paved dirt. I got to a freshly graveled (read: loose gravel) causeway, and the wind sweeping sideways over it was so strong that I ended up getting off and walking for a few miles, as I was afraid it was going to push me onto the sloping side where the gravel would finish the job, sliding me right into the water, bike and all. But it was still a beautiful ride, and I stopped to look at all the water birds and a pair of curiously large whirlpools that had formed on one side.

Eventually, I had to get back on the road. I stopped at Bojangles to double check my route and watch the traffic for a while. I was excited to be taking mostly frontage roads from here on out, as they should be pretty much empty. Unfortunately, there were a few long stretches of unavoidable nasty highway that still needed to be dealt with, mainly due to the fact that there are only so many bridges. I had originally planned to stop at the Caw Caw Interpretive Center for a break, but they were closed. The leaving-side gate was open, however, and I did sneak just inside the fence to sit and grieve for my situation for a few minutes before sucking it up and moving on.

Finally, I got to another frontage road. It was so peaceful in comparison to the highway, and I took my time riding down it, enjoying the smell of jasmine and honeysuckle. One of the few good things about South Carolina roads are the fragrant flowers you chance upon sometimes. Unfortunately, the frontage road turned to sand about halfway through, and I took a few minutes debating whether or not I really wanted to go that way. I remembered the last time I got stuck on a sand road and the barrage of mosquitoes I had endured, even though the cold and wind were keeping them at bay today. It was a very hard decision. Eventually, I decided to head back to the highway. I was surprised and pleased to see another set of tracks in the sand just like mine! Another bike tourer had been this way within the last day, pushing his bike in the sand as well, and really working at it too, judging by the way his toes had dug in. I couldn't help but wonder which way he was going, and exactly how long ago he had come through, and if I might catch up with him at some point down the road.

After only a few minutes on the highway, I turned back off onto the very next street, deciding that I would take my chances with the sand. I was rewarded with the pleasant surprise that the road had turned back into pavement! This was short lived, however, as it turned back into sand at the next street coming off it. I decided to just push through it. This road, in all, was one of the least busy roads I had been on. In the hour or so I had been riding it, I was passed by maybe 3 cars, including one cop. I found a lonely, grassy, gated road in a stretch that had wild forest on both sides for quite a ways. I stopped to investigate a little, but decided it was still a bit early to be thinking about stopping, and I was hoping to get in about 10 more miles today.

I got up to the highway, intending to only ride it for about 100 yards before turning left, as the road I was on continued on the other side there. I thought about how it was probably unpaved as well. The traffic was so bad I couldn't even find a place to cut in, much less hope to cross, so I turned back around and went back to the unused road I found. There were no "No Trespassing" signs, no houses, no anything except for the gate, so I went ahead and slipped past it. The grass had been low before, but it quickly grew up to a height of well past my knees, and up to my hips in some places, with delicate mosses also interspersed. No one had driven through here in a long time. I parked my bike behind a particularly tall clump of vegetation, just in case a random car decided to pass by, and started investigating the woods to one side. It didn't take long to decide that this was where I was going to spend the night.

I took the bags off my bike and carried them over the little hill walling in the lost road, before rolling my bike over as well and parking it in the little ditch on the other side. It was so peaceful. For the first time wild camping, I was so sure I wasn't going to be found that I felt comfortable enough to strip down and have a proper wash. I decided not to cook, however, as there was too much leaf litter around, and I didn't want to leave any evidence of my having been there. I then surprised myself with how tired I was when I went to bed around 7:30, just as the sun was setting.

Days 17-19: Charleston on The Boat

Friday was a really relaxing day. I got to use Sue and Andy's computer to work on my blog without the one hour time limit imposed by most libraries and posted hundreds of pictures on my Facebook. Sue and I rode around town on our bikes in a very casual sort of way, which I must admit was a nice change of pace for me. Later we had a sort of wine and cheese party with the neighbors. The story goes that the husband's friend wrote American Pie, and one of the characters was written based on him! Dinner was spaghetti with a homemade sauce, courtesy of Sue.

Saturday was the day that hurricane Sandy came through. When I woke up and looked outside, I saw that my bike had blown onto its side and rain was getting all over my newly cleaned chain now that the cover Andy let me borrow was no longer where it was supposed to be. I had forgotten to re-lube it though, and the amount of rust that had already formed on it was alarming. I brought it on board and spent the next hour or so drying everything off and painstakingly buffing the rust out of the nooks and crannies of all the links with the corner of a rag. Afterwards I made sure to apply a lot of lube and hoped for the best.

It was rainy and gross the whole day, and so we went to the movies! The Cinnebarre Theater in Mount Pleasant has a motto: Eat, Drink, Watch Movies. They actually have a bar in the lobby where you can get a beer or a glass of wine, and there are menus in the theater on long bench-like tables in front of every row of seats with rolls of paper towels hanging underneath. We watched Cloud Atlas, which was way too long, and rather confusing. I pretty much decided it was before my time and that I should read the book before attempting to watch it again in a year or two.

We went to dinner with some different neighbors (whose boat I got to help tie up a little better because of the strong winds), and were treated to tasty garlic bread and some homemade chicken and white bean chilli. We had gone to Bottles beforehand, which is a big wine store, so that I could pick up a bottle or two that I would like, and I also made some chocolate covered strawberries and bananas for desert. It was a very nice day despite the weather, although the bumpers and ropes creaking in the night was a little distracting.

Sunday was a beautiful day, as the day after a hurricane usually is. Sue and Andy took me to see their house-in-progress, which is practically right on the beach. There is a skinny strip of golf course that runs between them and the ocean, with a boardwalk leading right to the beach only a few feet away. There is a little lagoon on the other side of the street in front, were we saw 3 kinds of water birds and a turtle, and there was a sign warning people not to feed the alligators. A bike path snaked alongside the road in for nearly the whole way. All in all, I thought it was a very relaxing place to retire. The house itself is going to be 4 stories, and the studs had just been put up for the first floor above the garage. I had never been in a half-completed house like this, and it was cool to see them proudly and excitedly tell me what room was going to be what, and look at the gorgeous view through what is going to be a large window.

Sue and I took a little walk on the beach, where there was a lot of dead straw-like sea grass washed up everywhere, and a little mini cliff right by the dunes created from the erosion of 6-8 inches of sand. We found several dead and empty horseshoe crab exoskeletons, a few unusual shells, and I even found one of the funny little quickly-burrowing clams that live right were the waves are constantly washing over the beach that I love to play with to show Sue.

Day 16: October 25, Charleston Couchsurfers to The Boat

Not feeling like I had really explored Charleston to its fullest, but not really knowing what else to do or see there, I decided it was time to move on. It was going to take me 2 days to get to a town big enough to have a hotel, and the storm was due to hit in 2 days, so it seemed it was now or never. I left the house early and headed for the library yet again. While I was in the library, I got a call from Sue, who is good friends with my aunt. She and her husband Andy have been living on a boat for the last 5 years and had been docked in Charleston while they were having a house built for them nearby. She wanted to know if I wanted to come visit them and see the boat? Of course!

After I was done at the library, I decided to get some lunch at this fancy bakery place nearby, before heading back across the second confusing bridge back into downtown Charleston. The wind was really picking up and I had to walk it across as I was being pushed around all over the place. After a quick stroll around Battery Park again (it really is a good place to waste some time), I headed to the marina and met Sue!

I've been on a few boats in my day, but never one like this. Cruise ships and shrimping boats and ferries are completely different from one that was designed to keep a couple comfortable for years on end. It was like a RV meets fancy resort, with it's beautiful woodwork and granite counter tops (the same granite I wanted but couldn't afford when I wanted to redo my kitchen).

I got settled in and then we took a walk down to the mega dock to look at the really huge fancy boats (that require a crew to help run it) before dinner. We went to the Blind Tiger, which I highly recommend simply because of the beautiful garden seating all the way in the back. The food and service weren't bad either.

Later in the evening and back on the boat, Andy and I got into a conversation all sorts of things: about some of the darker reasons for my trip and about life in general, politics and unions and the economy, and the have/have nots vs the did/did nots. Eventually I asked him, "Back then did jobs just fall into your laps?" He replied with, "Yes, they really did." We didn't get to bed until after midnight, which was quite late for me on this trip, and the gentle rocking of the boat in the wind helped me sleep like a baby, just like if I was sleeping in my hammock.

Days 14-15: Charleston at the Couchsurfer's House

My couchsurfing hosts (Davis and his girlfriend) are teachers, so they left before I woke up. I decided I should head back into downtown Charleston and do some proper touristy exploring. I decided to ride across the scary bridge (as opposed to walking across on the sidewalk, trying my hardest to be one with the guardrail) and got honked at by a guy pointing at said sidewalk. I couldn't help it when I kind of snorted and rolled my eyes...

I got a little confused with the interchanges in my attempt to cross the second bridge. As I was checking and cross checking my location on my GPS and my phone, a huge organized bike ride being escorted by some cop cars rode past me. I looked at them momentarily before deciding that A) I could keep up with them. B) If they are riding across this bridge then so am I, and C) I should try to catch up with them and get an escort both for the safety reasons and to see the looks on the guys faces, as I was wearing my flowy colorful skirt and had my hair in a side braid.

Unfortunately, as soon as I made all these realizations and started pumping the pedals, the light changed to red. I waited impatiently as I watched the group work its' way up and over the bridge. I was slowly gaining on them but didn't make it in time for them to help me cross the bridge. Still feeling a little bit of cockiness and wanting to catch up just to prove I could go as fast as them, I started to look for an opening in the next lane over, as I was being ushered toward the exit when the ride had gone straight. The guy behind me let me in. I waved my thanks and he rolled down the window and yelled some (actually friendly) advice about riding across the bridge. Too bad I couldn't hear what he actually said, be it my choice of clothing or the fact that the other bridge had a sidewalk and I should be there. After getting caught at yet another red light and losing sight of the group all together, I was forced to end my chase. I headed for Battery Park, as it's pretty easy to find, before deciding to go check out the Charleston Museum. I spent several hours there admiring the fancy old ironworks and household furniture that was imported from China, and reading about women's roles from back in the day as well as the slave "task system" that was used on rice plantations (which I had never heard of before).

I picked up a visitor's guide at the welcome center across the street, and stopped to take a picture of the submarine in front of the museum where I had locked my bike up, only to notice in the background that a guy had stopped to "admire" my bike! He was taking liberties with my brakes and the front light and the front racks and just touching it in ways that a stranger shouldn't touch someone else's bike. I walked up and was as friendly as I could be to someone I wanted to tell off. A stop at the library, Sumter National Monument, and the beautiful park around it came next. I wanted to go to the aquarium, as it was just next door, but it closed in an hour and was $30. I decided instead to ride back up to the top of the big bridge just for fun. It was much easier without all the baggage, and I halfway wanted to wait up there for sunset, even though it was about 2 hours off.

Davis contacted me as I was working on my blog in a different library later that evening to let me know that I needed to be back at his place by 5, as I had his key! There were people walking their bikes across the scary bridge going both ways (on the same side to top it all off, as the other side is not practical to get to). As I worked my way back across (I was too tired to ride over it in rush hour traffic), another rider (who was actually riding) came toward me. After me passed me, I looked back to see that he and his bike were laying in the road with a long line of cars already backed up behind him! His handlebars had been clipped by the mirror of a passing car, throwing him into the street. He wasn't hit, but he did hit his head pretty good. 2 other riders and I all came to see if we could help, and we ushered him into a small protected outcropping on the side where the arms come down to stop cars when the bridge is going to open up for a passing boat (it's a drawbridge). He began complaining of being really dizzy and acting like he was going to fall over, so I made him lay down and offered to call an ambulance (he refused, but I did give him some water). Eventually, he decided he was going to try to make it home and headed off. During it all was a beautiful sunset over the water.

It was a hang-out night back at the house. I mostly snacked for dinner, and I was offered to pick a book out of their bookshelf to read. "Messenger" by Lois Lowry caught my eye, since I had read "The Giver" in middle school and enjoyed it.

I woke up after everyone had already left again, and decided that I was done with going over those bridges and would spend the day exploring this island. Folley Beach was at the end of it, and according to my guidebook there was plenty to do down there. I found a nice side roads route to take that passed right by the park where the Festival of Lights is held every winter. My family used to make the trip down to drive through there nearly every year. It cost a dollar to get in, but it ended up being well spent. There are miles of bike paths weaving all through the park, and there were plenty dogs splashing away merrily in the pond as about a dozen retirees raced their remote controlled sailboats around some small buoys. It was already well after noon when I decided I better get going if I wanted to make it to Folley's Beach today. I had to get back on the main road (highway 171), unfortunately, and stopped for a milkshake at Jack's Cosmic Dogs when I needed a break from the traffic. I found another side road that was (always) a few miles out of the way, but decided it would be worth it to skip a little more of this traffic. It was a nice ride and I stopped to take a picture of a house decked out for Halloween. I was pleasantly surprised to find that the main road had bike lanes when I got back to it.

When I finally got down to Folleys Beach Park, at the very tip of the island, I was a little annoyed to find that it was closed, and apparently had been for some time, as there was a permanent looking sign there that said "closed for storm damage." It was a beautiful day, and the ride was pleasant enough, so I went back to the pier and spent an hour or so there enjoying the nice breeze on the ocean.

I headed back a little early, knowing that I had the key, but decided to make a detour by yet another library. It was regrettably too busy for me to get a computer right then, with the next available time being in an hour (so the lady said, even though I was looking right at several empty desks...) I decided not to argue or wait, and headed back to the house along the back roads, finding lots of school buses to follow. It was actually kind of fun to be backed up with traffic, as the buses were now the source of frustration instead of me on these narrow twisty roads. Being unloaded as I was, keeping up was no problem, and with the wind at my back I soared along at 18 mph without much problem.

I took a shower and headed back out to Zia's for a taco dinner, and met back up with Gabe, who I was introduced to the first night at this very restaurant. (He comes here a lot, apparently, as he lives very nearby.) We chatted a bit and I showed him some of the pictures I took that day. The TV caught my eye with Hurricane Sandy in the news. It was something I would have to look into, I decided. Gabe had somewhere to be after dinner, so I walked back to the house and finished my book before heading to bed.

Day 13: October 22, Buck Hill to Charleston

I woke up early to watch the sunrise over the Inter-coastal Waterway. I made the guys eggs and sausage on their skillet, and someone made some toast and brought out some apple butter. I got a little tired of hearing them telling me over and over again how dangerous what I was doing was. All they could do was tell me how last year someone disappeared from Myrtle Beach, or how this person's last cell phone signal came from just up the road there, and this and that. One of them told me to go ahead and throw my stuff in the back of his truck and he would drive me back home. The camp host came by and tried to teach me a few ways to kill a man with my bare hands. It was honestly really ridiculous how much fear these guys had! If people took them seriously, no one would leave their houses at all, and those houses would have 5 foot thick lead and steel reinforced concrete walls! If I got anything out of it at all, I'd say it was that living in the cities was far more dangerous than what I was doing.

We talked a little bit about routes, as once again I wanted to get a feel for the road and bridge conditions up ahead. They wanted me to take 17 all the way in, because "the backroads are creepy! You don't see anyone or anything for miles!" When I told them "Perfect! That's my favorite kind of riding," they only gawked.

I did end up taking the backroads and they were absolutely fantastic. I felt like I was riding straight through a painting for over an hour. I made sure to follow the route this time: no more dirt roads for me. I had considered taking 17 for about a minute, and only because of mileage concerns: this was going to be my longest day yet, close to 50 miles, but I eventually reasoned that what was the point of getting there with less mileage if the stress from riding on 17 was so great that it counteracted the benefits of taking the "shortcut."

Eventually, I had to get on 41 to go down into Mt. Pleasant. That road wasn't all that fun. It was back to a too-busy 2 laned highway with absolutely no shoulder to speak of. I lost my hat on the bridge when a big semi went past me going the other way. I stopped right after I got off the bridge to see if I could see it even though I knew it was gone. I put my kickstand down into a fire ant mound and an angry storm of ants immediately bubbled up from the hole I made in their pile of dirt. I quickly picked up my bike and moved to a paved parking lot. There was a gas station across the street where I decided to take a small break and watch the traffic. As I was standing outside eating a Cadbury egg (it was green inside for Halloween), a guy in a truck asked if I needed help and we got into a little conversation about my trip. I could tell he felt sorry for me but respected that I felt this was something I needed to do. He offered to buy me another hat, which I declined. That was the second hat I'd lost in less than 2 weeks.

I decided to skip riding through Isle of Palms for mileage reasons, even though I really wanted to. The huge bridge into Charleston was awesome. It was very steep, but had a whole protected lane set aside for walkers and bikers and the views were amazing. Another biker came up beside me and started asking questions about how much weight I was hauling and where I was coming from. I was really laboring even though I was in my granny gear, and had to stop for a break. He hesitated for a second-I know he wanted to keep talking and I wouldn't have minded-but I guess he had somewhere he had to be.

I eventually made it to the top and coasted down the other side. All bridges should be like this: with a nice protected area for people and bikers. I went ahead and decided to ride around the bottom of the peninsula despite my mileage concerns, where I found battery park and had a small break. It was such a gorgeous day, and it was still relatively early: about 4 pm. I had to do a little backtracking and re-routing when I got to the major expressway bridge to cross over another river on the other side of Charleston, as my hosts lived on James Island. Eventually I found the bridge with a sidewalk I was able to ride on, even though there were a few death traps on the way: deep gaps 5 or 6 feet long right where one could easily catch their tire and be thrown off balance if they weren't paying extreme attention. In fact, I had quite a time navigating around them even though I saw them right away.

After that bridge, there was yet another bridge to cross. This one was downright scary. I had to dismount and walk my bike across, and my handlebars were exactly as wide as the raised sidewalk. My bags didn't help. I raised the pedal on my side up to 90 degrees so I wouldn't be tripping over it, and I slowly inched my way across with traffic squeezing past only inches away. There just was not enough room on this bridge, plain and simple. Although I did my best to "keep my arms and legs inside the car at all times," it just wasn't possible, and I know I was hanging over the edge by a few inches in several places: the handlebars, my bags, my hips, and my elbows. My brakes and bags scraped on the guardrails a few times. It easily tied for the worst bridge yet with the one going into Georgetown: the one where the shoulder and raised sidewalk together gave me just enough space to get across.

I took the sidewalk the rest of the way without much trouble, and thought about the fact that I was beginning to really like sidewalks to ride on because they give me some respite from the horrible roads and traffic situations they create, and how once I hit Georgia this sidewalk riding would need to stop as it is illegal there. I found my couch surfing hosts easily enough, and enjoyed a nice hot shower before they took me out to the Poor House for a drink and some music before we headed across the street to Zia Taqueria for some dinner. I slept peacefully in their spare room on a blow up mattress without having to worry about the cold or wild animals.

Day 12: October 21, Georgetown to Buck Hall Recreation Area

I woke up early, before anyone else, and spent the next hour or so quietly re-packing my bags. I had bought so much food at Walmart that it was going to be a tight fit.

Joe's mom made breakfast with scrambled eggs, bacon, and strawberry biscuits, which I had never had before but decided I really liked. ("They are just a pouch mix!" she said.) As it was a Sunday, they had Church stuff to do, but invited me to stay for lunch, as they were having a special chicken and rice with sausage dish (chicken perlo) that I had also never had before, but it looked (and was) really good.

I cleaned my chain, which I had been neglecting, and pumped up my tires. I was a little upset to find some rust spots on all of my links, and wondered if it was just something that was to be expected from living outside in a high humidity location which causes a layer of condensation to form on everything almost as soon as the sun sets, or if it was something that could have been prevented if I was using a different lube or if I cleaned my chain more often. I told myself that chains are relatively inexpensive, so I shouldn't beat myself up too bad over it. As it was, the spots were in a relatively cosmetic location (on the straight bits) and not in the parts that actually moved.

Lunch was at Joe's grandmother's house, who lived just around the corner. I rode on over so that I could leave from there. It was a really nice Southern meal, with biscuits made from scratch by his grandma and homemade apple butter to go with them, the chicken perlo, homemade mac ‘n cheese, beans, deviled eggs, and sweet tea.

I really didn't want to leave, but it was getting late (almost 2 pm already), so I finally said my goodbyes and got on the road. After not riding for a few days, my legs seemed particularly stiff. The backroads I took to get around the first section of 17 (before the next bridge) were absolutely fantastic. A guy in a truck had passed me a few times before stopping to ask me if I was lost or needed help. He offered to give me a ride to Charleston, as I was apparently doing a poor job of explaining that I was really looking forward to riding there through the Francis Marion National Forest. Once the mosquitoes found me and started attacking in earnest, he finally let me go.

Once back on 17, I was a bit irked by the fact that, despite there being almost no traffic, the few cars that did pass me seemed to pass me unnecessarily close (one SUV missing me by about a foot). I turned off at the very next road to follow signs for "BJ's," because they stated they welcomed bikers and hinted at a campsite nearby. I changed my mind a few miles up the road when I still hadn't reached it and turned onto a dirt road instead. According to my GPS, it went all the way through, and it seemed packed enough for me to be able to ride on, and I congratulated myself for finding a nice alternate route to get away from the rude Sunday drivers on 17. "I'll take this dirt road over 17 any day!" I told myself.

A mile or two in, the road turned to sand, and I fishtailed a few times before completely losing my balance. I tried to get back on to ride, but I just couldn't get going in the sand, and was forced to walk. After a while, the road hardened back up and I got back on. This pattern happened a lot over the next few miles. What should have taken me only an hour was now going to have me barely getting out by sunset. Not only that, but every time I was forced to walking, the mosquitoes literally formed a swarm and attacked anything that smelled remotely tasty: my bags were also covered in the little blood suckers. My bug spray did absolutely nothing, and I was cursing the position I was quickly finding myself in, as I got more and more desperate to get away from the things. I found a grassy clearing to one side that was clearly used as a road at one point and debated parking it there and setting up my hammock with my mosquito net to try to get out of their reach. Unfortunately, in my uncoordinated hurried desperation, my bike hit a little sand curb and tipped over, my leg scraping on the chain as I tried in vain to prevent it from going down.

Reaching a new low point, I abandoned my bike on the side of the road and walked in a wide circle for about 5 minutes screaming at no one in particular while slapping my whole body with my hat trying to keep the mosquitoes from landing on me, trying not to cry and thinking about what to do. I had about an hour and a half before sunset, I was still a good 5 miles from the next intersection on this horrid sand road, I was bleeding from where the chain cut me, and I was getting absolutely eaten alive and nothing I was doing was stopping them in the least. Finally I scraped up my last bit of resolve to get the hell out off of this stupid road, because if I didn't do it tonight I would have to do it first thing tomorrow. I begged and prayed for any stretch of hard packed dirt so I could get on and ride for a minute and let the wind sweep them off of me: the breeze made by riding was my only relief. A few trucks had passed me, and I secretly hoped they would stop and offer a lift. I was in fact desperate. Finally, one was going my way, so I moved over, but couldn't stop myself from doing the slapping dance as he was taking forever to pass me. He stopped and asked if I was OK. Well, NO! I did my best to sound civilized about my situation and he quickly hopped out and we threw my stuff in the back of his truck. We were literally running around to get everything in as fast as possible, the mosquitoes were so bad.

He told me that he had come out to go hunting, but he had given up as well. He had even tried to wear a mosquito net hat/face shield thing, because you couldn't even breathe without sucking them in. I told him why I was on this road in the first place, and he apologized for the rude drivers: "We normally pride ourselves on being bike friendly!" he said. I've been hearing this sentiment a lot from South Carolinians... I curiously asked him if he had noticed all of the swerving skid marks I had left in the sand patches: he had, but he thought it was something that was dragging off of the back of someone’s truck, but it was strange to him as they would come out of nowhere. I got a chuckle out of that.

He drove me to a campsite a good 10 miles down the road, and again I felt like I was cheating, but I reminded myself of the situation I was in not long before and got over it. I absolutely needed a hot shower now.

I got the last campsite in the back (I've come to find that at *least* 90% of all campsites are always taken by the "full timers" living there...) and they let me set up in the trees, even though the rules said I was supposed to be on the tent pad. I thought that was nice. There was a hook on a tall pole (at least 7 feet high) that I suppose was for a lantern: I thought it was a good substitute for bear bagging to keep those stupid raccoons out of my food, and wished all campsites came with such a pole. Not 2 minutes after I finished setting up and was about to head off for my shower, the camp host came by with all sorts of pity in his eyes that I haven’t seen since dealing with my landlord in Montana as I went through my divorce. (I didn't need pity then, and I certainly don't need it now.) He came to tell me of an empty tent that belonged to some guys at another site that they weren't using, and he would feel a lot better if I slept in there tonight.  I told him thanks, but I am plenty comfortable in my hammock, but if they are friendly people, I might go visit with them for a while after my shower.

The three guys at the campfire were pretty good company: they were all old buddies who get to come out for two weeks of the year and go camping and shrimping with each other and just have a dandy time. At least two of them were old war vets who still thought of themselves as hippies (although I wouldn't have called them that). They had every gadget that a modern kitchen would have under their canopy plus some: a mini fridge, chest freezer, ice maker, microwave, coffee maker, toaster... You name it: they had it! They also had a space heater inside of their tent. Yep, they were really roughing it. Haha!

They had a decent fire going, but I noticed the logs needed to be rotated but no one seemed to notice, so I took the poking rod they had and did it myself. They were all impressed and I explained that at home I did this a lot. I was now the designated fire person and that was my stick, the fire was my job. They joked that if I cooked them a good breakfast in the morning I could stay as long as I wanted.

Eventually I decided it was rather cold out and as they had an extra cot in their tent that night (one had gone to a wedding or something for a day or two), I would bunk down with them. A couple of dudes and a space heater in a tent should be better than me swinging in a hammock right by the water, right? My feet were pretty cold all night regardless. (I think it was because they were actually up against the side of the tent, which I didn't realize at the time.)

Days 10-11: October 19-20, Georgetown and the Boat Festival

I woke up the next morning to heavy rain. That 30% chance last night had turned into a sure thing, making me extra grateful that my bike was on a covered porch and I was in a fluffy, comfy, warm, and dry bed. The family I stayed with had to leave for work in an hour, so I went ahead and got up, hoping that the rain would stop. I figured I would head down to the cute downtown strip and find a place for breakfast, possibly with an out of the way nook I could stash my bike while the last drips finished up and the sun came out.

Joe had hinted that he wouldn't mind coming to breakfast with me that morning, so I sent him a text to see what he was up to. Before they left, Gary and Laura told me I was welcome to spend another night, as there was a boat festival the next day that was well worth going to. Joe picked me up a little while later and after driving down the main stretch, he took me to George's--a local buffet style diner--for breakfast. They made the eggs to order, and the french toast and pancakes on request, and it was very reasonably priced. Then it was on with some necessary chores: finding a place to ask about my broken phone and battery charger, going back to the library for a bit, doing laundry at his house (and catching up on some TV!) and finally diner at Tony's, where we had some of the best steak and cheese sandwiches (he couldn't stop raving about their special sauce).

After dinner, we walked around downtown on the boardwalk, found a jogglin board (it’s like a long bench-meets-rocking-chair that you sit on and "joggle," or bounce around. I thought it seemed kind of dangerous, but was assured it was quite stable.) We also got some ice cream because we passed by a shop that had just made some fresh waffle cones and I couldn't resist the smell. And finally, I got hit on by a pirate! That's how the story goes anyway. He's an ex-marine who travels around with his merry pirate friends and does re-enactment type things with working cannons and old timey guns. He told me if I joined him on his boat, he could take me past the Florida Keys down to the Bahamas or somewhere. It was a good time.

The next morning, it was super cold outside. Gary was fully focused on his calculations for the boat building competition, which was going to be taking part in. My mom was going to come in around noon, as it was a weekend and I wasn't too far away to visit yet. I caught a ride downtown and was immediately taken with how busy it all was! There was a whole side-street block in the middle of it all with huge tents for the boat builders. On the main street there were beautiful boats lining the sidewalk for people to admire, and all sorts of arts and craft stalls for me to peruse: a woodcarver chiseling out a 4 foot tall mermaid's hair, stained glass sailboats, and paintings of all kinds. There was also a tent where kids could make their own wooden boats and a kiddie pool to race them in. The pirates were walking up and down the stretch carting a mermaid they had "captured" and boasting about how fast she was. It was a great time.

My mom had to really search to find a parking spot, and once she did I showed her around, where we found Gary and Laura (who she thanked for taking care of me) and Joe's parents (his mom had to ask mine mother to mother how she could let me do what I'm doing), and then we found a spot to eat some lunch on a balcony overlooking the river. We stopped in to the boatmakers tents a few times to check their progress, but they were all too focused to notice us. After a while, we left the hustle and bustle so I could show my mom the awesome park I had been thinking of staying at. It was high tide unfortunately, so no crabs. My mom could only stay for a few hours, so she couldn't stay for the boat race at the end. I didn't really want her to leave, as I wasn't sure when I would be able to see her again: I would probably be too far away next weekend for her to visit very easily.

Joe and I wandered around for a bit waiting for the end of the building portion and the beginning of the racing portion! Everyone had crowded onto the boardwalk, trying to get a spot where they could watch and see if anyone sank! We rushed up to the balcony where my mom and I had eaten early to watch from there. It was a little difficult, but we could see a bit. There was one guy who was paddling standing up like a paddle surfer on his surf board, and he was quite a sight. We all wondered if he was doing it like that because his boat was taking on water. Unfortunately, we couldn't figure out which one was Gary's boat.

After the race, the scores were announced: Gary's team had come in 3rd overall! No boats sank this year, but one took on so much water when they put it in the river that they pulled it right back out again.

We went up to an artist friends' loft (he's kind of a big deal) who plays guitar off his balcony at night to serenade all of those eating at the little cafes under him. I really enjoyed looking at his paintings lining the walls of the entryway, stairs, and the walls of his apartment. We all chatted for a bit, and he mentioned that two of the places keep calling the cops on him with noise complaints when the rest of his band joins in sometimes. I think its ridiculous, as I know a lot of places would pay big bucks to hire someone to do what he's doing simply because he enjoys it. He says he plans to start a petition about it: "Let them play!"

Joe's dad came in his truck to get my bike and bags to take them to his house. Gary and Laura were fantastic people to put me up for a few days, and I was so very happy that they let me stay with them so I could see the boat show, but I didn't want to over stay my welcome. Saying goodbye was the hardest one yet, as they had come to feel a bit like extended family over my short stay.

Watching the beautiful sunset on the bridge as we drove over it felt a little like cheating, but I got over it. Any mileage lost could easily be made up for with all the city riding I had been doing in other places, if I wanted to get picky.

We went out for dinner at a Chinese buffet, but I remembered that I needed to stock up on food since I expected to be riding in the woods for two days or so and the raccoon had gotten about half of my food. We found a 10 cents bin after I had already checked out and had a few minutes being silly with the random toys found in it, and then we saw a young girl who couldn't have been more than 13 in knee high pointy high heeled boots and a tight mini skirt. It wouldn't be Walmart without at least one person to gawk at... She looked like she had gotten into her older sister's closet and intended to go clubbing.

Dinner was awesome, and I particularly enjoyed my fortune: Your observations are useful to others. Then it was off to bed, with anticipatory thoughts of my journey into the unknown continuing in the morning.

Day 9: October 18, Huntington Beach to Georgetown

After the adventures of the night before, I slept very well, though not long enough. The bag the raccoon had gotten a hold of was sticky and gross, so I rinsed it out as best as I could and put it on my handlebars to dry. The friends I made last night invited me over for coffee and oatmeal, and we chatted some more with a wary eye on some storm clouds that seemed to be rolling in despite the clear forecast.

I really enjoyed the ride through the trees on the East Coast Greenway trail. I tried to really soak it in and not think too much about the 10 mile stretch on highway 17 that would come later. I had left in the morning, which was about all I could do to avoid as much traffic as possible.

I stopped back in to the bike shop for a few minutes, and we exchanged a few stories about the odd places you sometimes find yourself sleeping at night on these kinds of trips, and they warned me about the rumble strips up ahead. Bikers not careful enough have crashed because of them, they told me. I believed it.

The trail continued on after I was supposed to turn, and I was very tempted to just ride along and see where it went, since it was such a nice ride. There were plenty of “share the road” signs and the traffic was very polite, but the road seemed to go on forever, especially because the wind seemed to be in my face more than usual. I was also starting to anticipate the highway.

There was a hotel and restaurant at the intersection where I would get back on 17, so I pulled in for lunch and to refill my water bottles. Unfortunately, the restaurant only does catering now (said the people at the front desk, who were not at all interested in me.) I used the bathroom and then found a nice bench in the back by the nasty brown pool to have a snack. After a while, I decided to just get it over with. After 10 miles on 17, I have come up with some general observations and guidelines for anyone dealing with rumble strips, questionable shoulders, and highway speed traffic.

1. On a road with rumble strips, it is very important to pick a side. There will be no crossing over (or riding the line as I tend to do), so pick wisely.

2. If you are in the shoulder, no one will move over even in inch. They will treat that shoulder like a bike lane and whiz right by you. And the winds they create as they do are nothing to just dismiss, not to mention the scare-the-shit-out-of-you factor if you both happen to be too close to the line for any reason.

3. If you are riding in the lane (as long as traffic is not too heavy), people will tend to pass you correctly by moving over (or mostly over) into the other lane. (If traffic is heavy and there is no where for them to move over to, they will try to pass you in the same lane, granted they will probably slow down some to do so, alerting those behind them that something is up ahead--YOU! Please use your best judgment.)

Therefore, if the shoulder is less than 1.5 feet wide (not including the rumble strip), is really crappy (with lots of crap or crumbling pavement or encroaching grass), then I have found it’s probably best to ride in the lane. If the shoulders are at least 2 feet wide and are decently clear, I go ahead and ride there. Part of me does like the rumble strips in this situation because I feel like it's just a tiny bit of extra insurance against distracted drivers. Just remember, if you choose to ride in the lane, own it. Ride right in the right tire line. I accidentally found myself riding too close to the rumble strip a few times (within an inch...) and saw bad things happening as cars whizzed by me too close because I had given up my space in the lane. Also, I try to recognize potential situations where people in cars that are going at certain speeds might not have the time to stop and take measures to help avoid those situations. Right hand curves in the road and the downhill side of bridges can create a sort of blind spot where they are going too fast to react in a timely fashion to any sort of obstacle they might not be expecting.

The bridges into Georgetown were a real challenge. One of them was very steep and the "shoulder" and raised "sidewalk" combines were barely big enough to walk a bike across safely--with the bike in the shoulder and me walking on a raised platform a good 8-12 inches above that, the cars passing by literally inches away as the lanes were very narrow as well. I had to go back to the same numb place as when I crossed the Wilmington bridge: just focus on taking one step at a time, don't pay any attention to the cars. Don't notice, don't react. Once I got halfway down the other side, riding my brakes the whole way to prevent my heavy bike from just taking off without me, I had had enough. So, I waited for a break in traffic and hopped on as fast as I could, and zoomed on down to the bottom.

The first thing I did once I got into town was stop at a pizza hut. I had made it and I was alive! Unfortunately, I had to sit for a good half hour before the stress came down enough to eat. Then I found the library, where I met my newest best friend, Joe. All I wanted to do was update my blog and take a nice long break from riding for a few hours, as I hadn't decided if I would continue on and try to make it to the national forest that was coming up before dark. Unfortunately, the people working the desk kept sending me back to the computers, where the computer helper person had gone off to lunch. There was Joe, sitting at a table in the middle of the floor, working on a paper. I asked him if the password for the internet as a general thing like "GeorgetownLibrary" or something, and, as they say, the rest is history. Just kidding!

We got to talking, and I started sending out feelers about the local park, which had a few baseball diamonds with dugouts. Do they get locked at night, is it a nice area, that sort of thing. I had sent out 2 couch surfing requests, but had yet to hear anything back. Eventually, he figured out what I was getting at and suggested he might be able to get me into a church for the night, or maybe he could find a friend I could stay with. I thanked him, and after finally getting on the computer, went to check out the park for myself, as there was still a couple of hours of daylight left.

Georgetown is just dripping with Southern charm. The streets are lined with huge live oaks, creating the most wonderful shaded streets with a tunnel-of-trees effect, and the houses were big and elegant. The park was really like a set of three parks, one with a playground, then a set of baseball fields, and finally, in the way back, Morgan Park. It had a nice walkway over the marsh, where I got to scare the crabs for fun in the low tide mud. There was a sort of clearing in the back with a covered picnic area and a beach (no swimming allowed though), and plenty of trees for me to hang from. The only real problem was how busy it all was! Several of the baseball diamonds were being used for football practice, and there were some cheerleaders practicing as well. There were just loads of people out enjoying the nice day at the park.

After about an hour, I started to feel particularly sticky, and decided that I should clear out and come back much later, hopefully after everyone had gone home, anyway. So I went to look for a gym where I could take a shower. This led me on a sort of wild goose chase through the city, between finding a Curved that closed 20 minutes before they were supposed to, and old converted high school gyms that didn't even have showers. I also found the ghetto in my quest for a bath... The sunset was absolutely spectacular, and I kind of wished I was back in the park for it.

As the couch surfers had let me down again, and it was getting dark fast now, I texted Joe to see if he had found something, or if that was going to be a dead end as well. Honestly, I didn’t think the park was that bad at all. I think I would have rather enjoyed sleeping in the back of Morgan Park, with the waterfront as my view from my hammock. He invited me to his choir practice, where a family agreed to take me in for the night. I was so happy to have a nice shower in my near future, and I knew my mom should be happy as well with me having a real roof over my head, and with church people to boot.

Gary and Laura and their kids are absolutely the nicest people! We all sat and chatted for a while, before I finally went to take my shower. Gary made me an omelet with toast and apple butter for dinner, and the bed was super fluffy. The bike was put on the screened-in porch, which turned out to be even better when I woke up to it raining hard at about 6:30 the next morning.