No bridges, easy ride

    With skies threatening,  I pulled the plug on Savannah just before 8:00.  Google had me routed to get on an interstate, doing u-turns and going down dead end roads.  Eventually by ignoring her verbal commands and just following the blue line on my iphone, I was able to head south on 17.  My destination was Darien sixty miles away. The two lane rush hour traffic fade away as the road narrowed and pine trees replaced buildings.  The shoulders ranged  from fifteen feet to zero but the further south I rode the less it matter because of the sparse traffic.  Rumble strips miles shoulders unusable.  They are a big deal to bicyclists. If the are cut out on a narrow shoulder, the bicyclist is forced onto the main road.  This is a problem across the country; safeguard the motor vehicles but screw the cyclist.

One stop after thirty-two miles and then I finished the last twenty seven miles to Darien.  Searching for a place to stay, I contacted a warmshowers host but he got back to me after I decided on a nice bed and breakfast within a few blocks of the main drag.  Very nice place with a panoramic view of the marshland.  Upon arrival they offered me a beer and washed my riding clothes.  For dinner they drove me to and from a waterfront restaurant.  Tomorrow breakfast is served.

Eight-eight miles to go with scattered thunderstorms expected tomorrow.   My destination will be either Woodbine or Kingsland.   One more huge bridge to climb but apparently this one had a pedestrian/bike lane.  Nevertheless it towers over the water 198 ft., I am thrilled.

Always a mother load bridge to conquer

   A day off yesterday was exactly that, I slept into 7:00, vegetated, ate, read, napped, ate and went to bed.  Habersham was a charming place, a little too gentrified and cute but a well designed community.  Bruce was a prince of a man to let me stay at his house for two nights; my legs needed the break.  As for todays ride, I was concerned about crossing the mile  long bridge taking me out of Beaufort.  As is generally the case, I worry about the next day’s ride.  It began at 8:04.  Twenty minutes into the ride, I was on the bridge; wide shoulder, mild traffic and much to my relief an easy ride.  Forty- one miles to Savannah and as usual the shoulders after the bridge varied from three feet to nothing.  Cars gave me room accept for on large dump truck who had to blast his horn at me several times after he passed me. I showed him my gratitude with the obligatory middle finger. Savannah was a few mikes ahead and with it loomed a huge suspension bridge that rose at least two hundred feet over a river.  “ Oh god, don’t do this to me.  When will these cursed bridges go away.”  Unnerved, I dismounted from my bike and walk over mile to the other side. The wind, noise from the speeding trucks and cars, the height over the water, the low guard rail and seven foot shoulder freaked me out. Pushing the bike was more stable but still stressful.  I need to write the governor of South Carolina and make it vividly clear to him how dangerous these bridges are to bicyclists.  Perhaps, have  him take a bike ride over these bridges.  Guaranteed the funding  to make these bridges safe would mysteriously appear. Back on the bike I coasted into a visitors center and found myself an Econolodge three miles down the road.  Not the best place in town but it was inexpensive and did the job.

Once settled I called my sister, Joanie, and we arranged to have dinner.  6:30 arrived and John, Joanie and I drove to the Sam Snead restaurant near the airport and had a nice time catching up on everything.  It was good to see them both.

Tomorrow, I am setting sights on Darien, Georgia, sixty-two miles south.  One hundred and fifty miles to go.  

Where there is a shoulder there is a god

 For some reason I wake up too early but realize that too early a start can put me in the middle of rush hour. Forcing myself to sleep in, I made it to seven. Once on the road I stop at a circle K just down the road where I grabbed some breakfast before setting off in earnest at 8:35.  The motel in Jacksonboro saved me and the town had a good seafood restaurant but other than those two pluses I never need to visit this town again, not much to the place. As the motel owner informed me there was a good four foot shoulder on 17 after the convenience store which lasted all the way to my turn off onto Route 21. Despite the debris on the should that could puncture my tires, the pressure was off. The  combination of it being Saturday where the traffic was light,  the wind at my back and a decent shoukder, I had a pretty good ride to Beaufort.  For the last few miles I found a wide concrete pathway taking into the city. Hailing a fellow bicyclist, he informed that downtown was a tourist ripoff. With no warmshowers people getting back to me, I called Bruce Elliot, a friend and woodworker in Waterford, Connecticut, to see if I could stay at his house in Beaufort.  He said no problem and contacted his neighbor that I would be arriving and staying for two nights. His house is located about six miles out of town in an idyllic village. The same architect who designed the set for movie “The Truman Story” designed this village. The charm of this place was somewhat surreal, somewhat of a utopia.  Why Bruce and Sheila don’t spend more time down here is a mystery to me.  With no food in the house I biked a short distance to the village and had an exquisite early evening dinner.  The fun neighbors, Don and Carmin,  who gave me the house key where there also. Once back at the house, I relaxed and picked up a book to read.  Fortunately the television was disconnected.  Tomorrow, I am simply hanging out and resting up.  

The art of stay off route 17

 Leaving the Court Yard Marriot in Mt Pleasant put me immediately on route 17.  Google map simply wouldn’t cooperate so I kept my eyes open for roads parallel to this shoulder-less nightmare.  Service and neighborhood roads spared me for awhile but Then I came within site of the two bridges in and out of Charleston.  The first one was easy with a workable shoulder.  The second one was long and huge with  two large overhead  piers holding up the suspension bridge ( no doubt a design from the famous Spanish bridge architect). Four lanes across with fast moving traffic and only a five foot shoulder was nerve wracking. The cars merged away from me but the steep climb, low jersey barrier and height of the bridge made for an unpleasant ride.  Looking in my rear view mirror, a police car pulled up within forty feet of me and stayed with me for at least a mile following me off the first exit.  No doubt he had his rear flashers on the whole time.  He met me in a nearby parking lot where I thanked him profusely.  As well,  he helped me find a safer route.  His name was officer Bayler and probably in his early thirties.  

For a good hour I rode on back roads with low traffic but inevitably I found myself on route 17.  Cars yielded with a few giving me barely four feet at over fifty mph.  Eventually, I found the Old Jacksonboro Highway which went on for several miles.  Alternating between dirt and asphalt I persisted including pulling my bike under gates blocking off preserve areas.  Before long I was negotiating my bike through rocky  roads surrounded by swamps as you might envision them infested with alligators.  At one point I entered private property with signs stating there were high power rifles being used.  Definitely a wrong turn as I met the owners  on my way out.  Nice guys and I had a good talk with them on top of them providing me with ice cold bottles of water snd gator aid.  Fortuitously, they told me about a motel just around the corner on route 17.  Hot and tired  I pulled into the  Edisto motel with only forty-one miles covered.  It was 3:45 and the thought of riding another twenty miles to the next motel was not something I relished.  As for the motel, it was started in the late 1940’s.  The daughter inherited it from her parents and had been upgrading  the place for several years.  Susan set me up with a small but nice room and bath, $45 cash.  After washing my riding clothes snd cleaning up, she dropped off down the road half a mile to a great mom and pop seafood restaurant.  Back in my room, I am researching tomorrow’s ride.  According to Susan, 17  down the road a few miles widens but includes a decent shoulder on which to ride.  My sites are on Beaufort. 

Rain, wilderness , very light traffic for most of the ride

 New strategy, sleep in to 7:00 and shove off after rush hour.  Knowing I was headed for an national forest area virtually devoid of human life, I stopped by Food Lion very close to my campground and stocked up on food.  After breakfast purchased at the same store I start south on route 17 but turned off just down the road onto an alternate road.  The trade here was a longer route in exchange for a safer ride.  521 to 41 was virtually traffic free off and on all day.  Not long after my departure from 17 the skies rained upon me  for about an hour. The rain gear is a hassle but basically does the job, sweat inside, rain outside, at least my body stays warm.  At three hours and thirty-five miles behind me I stopped at the only convenience store on my route. For the next thirty miles the road was flat and straight through a national forest preserve.  Tall pines on both sides but still no shoulder.  After fifty miles the body and mind started  thinking about where to stay for the night.  No warmshowers came through, a camp ground was a possibility given the forest and hotels would only be miles ahead as I closed in on Charleston. With several miles remaining  on route 41 the rush hour traffic picked up and the skies opened up.  I could see the see the dark clouds ahead hoping I would be spared...no such luck.  Pulling onto a development driveway I struggle with the poncho getting it adjusted property, slipped a baggy over my cell phone and covered my bar bag with a yellow pannier cover.  The rain, rush hour and shoulder less road made for a tense ride.  Fortunately, my rear flasher and horizontal flag kept the cars and trucks at bay.  It was not a good situation.  Making matters worse, 41 ended and 17 began,  three lanes of fast moving vehicles with rain and mist making visibility dangerously bad.  Being an upscale area with many luxury developments, a nice sidewalk had been built.   I got onto it immediately. Miles passed but no hotels, everything but what I needed.  Pushing seventy miles on the odometer and no hotel in site, I started looking for someone to ask for where a hotel might be hiding. Pulling off into tree covered driveway , I hailed two drives, the second on new of a hotel right around the corner and led me there, a Courtyard Mariott.  God bless the woman.  A very nice place had me thinking dollar signs; I didn’t care.  After parking the bike and removing all my gear, I went to the front desk.  The checkin clerk was very pleasant person who listened to me explain my ride.  Taking mercy on my she gave me the employee rate and found a vacant conference room to safely store my bike.  Once in my room, very nice layout, the process of laying out my wet gear began.  What a relief to be out of the elements after seventy miles.  A hot shower followed by a take out dinner in a totally vacant dining room. Before hitting the sack, I worked my route out for tomorrow, Waltersville, sixty-one miles away. Staying in Charleston for rest day is the other option. Rain is forecast so a short ride to town sounds appealing.

Steel nerves needed for route 17

 Wide eyed at 5:30, my mind was on the ride today on route 17.  Zander laid out breakfast before he left for work at 6:00.  With everything packed  at 7:35, I weaved my way out of his neighbor and south I headed.  There were various roads that helped me avoid 17 but inevitably I had to face it.  Rush hours is not a good time to ride this road but that is where I found myself. Where the minuscule shoulder ridable I was able to reduce the stress but the barrage of cars kept up for a good two hours. Service roads and various back roads also helped but not enough. Just as I was to begin the final ten miles to Georgetown, a fellow rider on foot suddenly appeared out of nowhere.  It was Bruce Nisley who stayed with his wife Sonja at my house two weeks ago. Sonja spotted me, recognizing my Ortlieb panniers and the fact that I was riding solo. A mini reunion ensued over coffee and scones at a swish development with a restaurant just behind us.  They were back tracking from Georgetown to Myrtle Beach to catch a plane to the Bahamas to help with the recent explosion of Covid cases.  They are both nurses and work through a religious mission.  I lined them up with Zander Law who I stayed with last night.  Aside from them staying with Zander and Kai tomorrow night, they will be storing their bikes there for several weeks.  

After we headed off in opposite directions my ride was considerably more tolerable than earlier. Rush hour had ended.  I never thought I would be ecstatic over road work with one of the lanes closed but for three miles I had the cruise lane all to myself.  Finally after low gearing my bike over one long Inter Coastal Waterway bridge I arrived in Georgetown. Nice old houses were plentiful as I rode down a side street paralleling 17. After buying lunch at a Food Lion, I found my campground about a mile off a side road. I set my tent up with a great view of a river/inlet.  Cleaned up, talked with Betsy, had Domino’s pizza for dinner and climbed into  my tent for the duration.  Tomorrow I need to bike fifty-nine miles to reach Charleston.  The road will go through a coastal  preserved with no towns tor miles. The traffic is considerably less through this area.

Passed into South Carolina

 Avoiding any possible Hazardous debris on the campground road I walked my bike out to the road.  With the wheels rolling by 8:00, I left Holden Beach and headed for Myrtle Beach.  It seemed like forever riding in North Carolina so passing into South Caroline was nice.  For the next fifty-one miles the roads varied between back and main roads.  Once again the shoulders were near to non existent.  Thank God for my rear flashing light and my flag.  It kept the cars at bay.  Only one Bridge over the Inter coastal waterway was a bit tense.  The trick is to ride enough into the lane to force the cars and trucks into another lane.  If I hug the side of the road to closely, the traffic passes me with less room.  Also, overt hand signs let’s the drivers know my intentions far in advance. 

After two stops for food and drink, I made it to my warm showers destination on the western side of Myrtle beach out a few miles from the shore.  Kai and Zander, my warmshowers hosts newly married a week ago, were very welcoming.  This includes their two Siamese cats.  One was just rescued and was hiding under my bed until we made friends. I was tge first one to break the ice. Their  house is a tasteful row house in a large suburban development, next to a pond and access to a swimming pool.  Sander cooked me  up an Aldi’s pizza and with a cold IPA it was a good way to chill down..  A road trip to the grocery store I picked him up a six pack of IPAs and two bananas to ward off the leg cramps. Turns out he is a woodworker, the second in three days so bonded well. He being  thirty-four and me Seventy-one, we have that common bond of fine woodworking.  I encouraged him to contact me with any woodworking questions he might have. I want to pass on what I know so the art doesn’t die. 

With all my trips most everyone is younger than me by a significant amount but it never gets in the way of good camaraderie.  Zander has bicycled both the north coast of Australia and New Zealand.  North Australia is very tropical and you stay clear of the beaches because of the lurking  crocodiles submerged in the water. Some bikers are braver than I am.

Tomorrow my destination is forty-five miles south to a campsite in Georgetown. First I will have to bicycle south east to the Myrtle beach madness. Further south into the country the traffic thins out considerably.