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.
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