Heading North

Of course the only way to get out of big cities is on the freeways that run through them, so after I pack up my bike on Monday morning I head for I-20 to get me out of Atlanta. I get turned around a couple times trying to get on the freeway but it’s not too difficult to find my way after a few minutes. Once out of the city I am looking for a US highway, 278, which will bring me a good part of the way towards Charleston. I see a sign for 278 west, which is not what I want as I am going east, but I have not heard of any one-way highways so I get off and as I am on the exit ramp, I see the sign pointing one way for west, and no sign for east, so naturally I go the opposite way of the sign. I’m on a road going through a mall and chain store district, and I see no signs indicating I am on the road I want to be on. Once I get away from the stores and all that crap it’s pretty certain that this is not where I want to be so I stop and ask some guys working on the side of the road where 278 is. In broken English he points me back the way I came and says it’s not too far once I get on the highway. It turns out that I needed to go farther down 20 to get the east exit, and although I had never heard of any one-way highways, this makes sense because this is just an example of when one road temporarily merges with another before splitting off again. I kind of feel like an idiot, but oh well.
I eventually get on 278 which parallels the interstate, sometimes on the north, sometimes crossing it to the south. These are the quiet sort of roads I like where you can stop to take a leak in the woods without getting run over or even seeing another car go by usually. I go through the small towns of Madison and Greensboro where 278 runs right through their downtowns which are old fashioned and colorful and lively and very appealing and nice to drive through. I consider stopping and eating at any of the small cafes or diners, but when I am in the mood for riding I like to stay on my bike unless I need to eat or fill up the tank. Somewhere towards Augusta 78 splits off from 278 and I follow 78 through North Augusta, and I have to stop for gas and food here. I pass by a bunch of cheap restaurants and Waffle Houses looking for a gas station which is my first priority, and I ask about more restaurants from the attendant once my tank is full. She points me back the way I came, but I don’t like backtracking so I decide to take my chances towards the east. Eventually I come to another Waffle House, a cheap breakfast chain that I have noticed is copious throughout the south, but have never yet ate at since they all look dingy and unappetizing. I decide to stop here though, partly out of hunger, and partly out of Carrie’s claim that they have the best waffles ever after I told her that they look pretty scrubby. It’s certainly cheap, and the waffles are pretty good, and I get a breakfast sandwich to go along with my meal, and an order of hashbrowns as an afterthought since I am still hungry. The sort of food that is gross and delicious all at once. The women who work there both serve and cook the food along a kitchen line behind the counter and they yak and yak about all sorts of gossip with each other and the regular customers that come in, and the regulars seem to be everyone but me.
Back on the road, I get out of the urbanized halo around Augusta and back into the countryside, and as I am approaching Charleston I get on an even smaller road, state highway 61, that brings me down a quiet two-lane road that is covered like a tunnel by ancient trees of deep green with moss hanging off them, much like the ones I saw lining Canal Street in New Orleans. Probably the same kind actually, but what do I know about trees? Not enough considering I had just spent a few months working with them. As I get closer and closer, I find that I don’t run into the slowly increasing level or urbanization that is common on the outskirts of cities, and naturally culminates in the city itself. The absence pleases me, and I imagine that Charleston will be a small city that just pops out of nowhere. I don’t exactly have directions, or an idea of where I am heading. I have an address where a family friend lives, but I am not too sure how to get there since when June last give me directions, I didn’t have a chance to write them down. I stop at a gas station and borrow their phonebook. I turn to the city maps and street indexes in the front and try to find where I am and where she lives and how to get from one to the other. I am too far out from the city still and can’t find myself, so I just continue driving in. Eventually the city begins to emerge, and I merge from one road to another, following signs towards downtown and I cross over a beautiful white bridge that brings me over the crisp blue water of the Atlantic which I have not seen for awhile and is now a welcome and familiar sight. Space is starting to get congested now that I am over the bridge so I pull into another gas station and look at the maps in the phone books. It turns out that I am almost right where I need to be, and I take the road that runs down one side of the gas station to a small lake, which I remember from June’s directions, but streets are so small and narrow and often one-way here, that I eventually stop to ask for directions from a lady driving a golf cart in the street, and she gives me some directions which turn out to useless, and so I just call June, tell her where I am and get some directions that actually help.
A long-time family friend of ours in NH, June is originally from Charleston and now lives there. That evening, she invites some college kids who live in her townhome complex over to meet me, because, as she claims, she doesn’t know what us young people like to do, and she thinks they would be able to tell me what’s up in the area. They are all pretty nice and I end up going out to Metal Mondays at a local bar with Natalie. Metal Mondays is a weekly even at a bar in downtown Charleston and it is basically live-band karaoke to eighties metal songs – Judas Priest, Guns N Roses, Journey, Joan Jett, Iron Maiden, Billy Idol, etc. She was about halfway through describing to me what this was about when I knew it was for me. It is obviously a great time and the lead singer looks like a young Ted Danson. Afterwards we walk through the university that is right downtown and looks more like a neighborhood than a school, and I can see why a lot of people like going to school here, especially because I learned the guy to girl ratio is something ridiculous like one to three. Nice.
Over the next couple of days, June takes me around Charleston like a personal tour guide. I get to see the building where she lived when she was younger, I learn the history of nearly every church and building we pass, she tells me about the rich families that have houses along the battery, I learn how to recognize the real old houses from structural bolts installed after an old earthquake, and I learn about the gentrification of the poorer neighborhoods we pass through. I get these tours both on foot and in the car. We go to the Citadel, a military school where you can see kids walking like they were battery powered in straight lines and making abrupt ninety-degree turns with their heads up and arms swinging and all that sort of ridiculous military show. Pretty amusing. We go to the library and I meet all the people she knows, who are numerous and very interesting, and I sit at the computers using the internet until some guy next to me who is sniffling and coughing and hacking up god knows what grosses me out and I can’t take it anymore.
The day before I plan on leaving I ride my bike up to Sullivan’s Island so I can lie on the beach for a while. This will probably be my only chance to swim in the Atlantic this season, as it will be frigid in New England by the time I get up there. The water is very warm, certainly not the sort of water I am used to in the Atlantic. It is also really shallow, and I have to walk out about fifty yards before I am even chest deep. I alternate my time between reading on the sand and lying in the water, and enjoying the peace and solitude of the beach. There are only a dozen or so people in eyesight, and the beach continues for a long way in either direction. It’s very picturesque, especially with the lighthouse looming above. On my way back to Charleston, I stop at Poe’s Tavern, a little restaurant I saw when I was looking for the beach. I like Edgar Allen Poe a lot, The Raven is probably my favorite poem, and I have enjoyed reading his short stories since I was a little kid. I thought I would check this place out that was conspicuously named after him. I sit outside, out of the sun on the deck and order a Thomas Creek. This is a local beer that turns out to be really really good – slightly hoppy with a subtle sour aftertaste that I really like. I enjoy getting local beers from wherever I am at. I guess this is a pretty self-explanatory habit of mine. I have a couple of these and some fries and sit and read and watch life go by on the road for a couple hours before I head back into Charleston. It’s not a long drive, which is fortunate because there are clouds coming in and it can rain at any moment, it seems. I shower and clean up at June’s and then walk through town back to the library to use the Internet. At some point during my time in the library, the heavens open up and the rain is absolutely torrential by the time I am about to walk home. I chat for a while about traveling and road trips with John, a friend of June’s who works at the library whom I was introduced to the day before. It is still raining out though, and June comes and picks me up after it has eased up a bunch. My bike is soaked in the parking lot but I really don’t care because it’s better soaked alone than with me and my stuff on it.