I connected the dots

  Listening to the rain all night made me anxious about riding  the last thirty-eight miles. After rising early,  I suited up, shoe covers on, helmet cover on, cell phone bagged in a zip lock bag, including  covers for my bar bag and rear top bag. Last night I had a delicious dinner at a classic Georgia mom and pop restaurant, Steffans, so I settled on the same place for breakfast.  Eggs Benedict southern style jump started my engine for a 7:57 departure from Kingsland.  Walking out of the restaurant the skies had miraculously cleared up,  there is a god!  Stripping off all my  rain gear, I started rolling with the wind at my back.  Thirteen miles in the first hour was fast for a touring bike fully loaded. The second hour was even better. The Florida border came and went.  Half way through the third hour I was in  Jacksonville closing in on Enterprise car rentals.  Winding through the city took time stopping at lights and negotiating difficult multiple lane left hand turns. No sooner had I arrived after 36.65 miles, the skies opened up with a vengeance. I packed the rental car, changed out of my drenched riding clothes for dry casual clothes and headed out for Sea Island, Georgia for a few days of decompression at my brother and sister-in-law’s house.  

The trip was a huge challenge and immensely satisfying.  I met many really nice people along the way and enjoyed the beauty of the eastern coast.  Hospitality along the way was outstanding.  As I said when I crossed the country from west to east in 2015, America is huge, it is beautiful and it is full of wonderful people.  

Another monster bridge, rained last ten miles

 Leaving the comfort of Darien B&B was rough particularly because rain was on the way.  8:00 to 13:00 brought me into Kingsland but not without two detractors.  David, one of the owners of the B&B led me to believe that there was a dedicated bike path over the Brunswick bridge. No such luck, it was a repeat of the Savannah bridge.  My fear factor kicked in so I dismount and walked over the bridge. It was stressful,  miserable hike.  North Carolina, South Carolina and Georgia need to get the funding and making these bridges bicycle friendly.  It cross my mind to find someone to drive me and my bike over this final bridge.  Yet, I took the bridge on, refusing to let it intimidate me.  198 ft above the water is not a good feeling for somebody with a fear of heights.  Anyways, the ride before and after the bridge was decent.  The rain was very light off and on until the last ten miles to Kingsland. I saw the fog of rain up ahead hoping it was not to intense. Wrong! It intensified quickly and I scrambled to put my poncho.  I am getting better putting this gear on but the attachments to the bars, hand loops, waist belt and lower hem tightening line makes for a real hassle and provoking my disgust. Being German made it is disappointing how poorly it is designed.  I may modify it to make it user friendly. The last ten miles were wet but the rain essentially let up enough for me to shed the rain gear which makes sweat too much.  When I arrived at the modest City hall seeking lodging information, the skies opened up again.  Fortunately, a motel was within eye sight down the road.  No sooner was I in my room that the rain cranked up. I dodged the bullet.  After spreading out my drenched gear and cleaning up, I went to work cleaning out the jungle in my bar bag.  Next, I had a modest lunch eating up my road food.  With thirty-eight miles to reach Jacksonville, I won’t need the food.  

The car is reserved and zi expect to pick it up from Enterprise at 14:00 tomorrow.  From downtown I will drive to Sea Island for a few days of decompression before driving north to New London.  My total miles for the trip will be just over a thousand.  It has been a challenging but rewarding sojourn.

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.