Charleston, SC to Daytona Beach, FL: Asking for Help

After 3 nights in Charleston I left with fresh legs and a hangover.  A couple UConn friends were at a wedding in town so I met them at a bar downtown, The Blind Tiger, for the post wedding reception party. Riding out of Charleston was not as pleasant as coming in, with high traffic, no shoulder, and a hangover. There was a bike path for a few miles, but it eventually turned to dirt so most of the riding was on highway 17.  The only highlight on that stretch of 17 was finding another flag.  This one was orange so I added it to my bike figuring it only makes me more visible.

I didn't know whose flag I was flying until I stopped to speak with an eight grader named Corbin on a back road in Adams Run SC.  He saw the flag  and asked if I was a Clemson fan.  Apparently there is a big rivalry between USC and Clemson, and according to Corbin most people liked USC in that area.  

I liked Corbin immediately.  He was engaging and polite.  Every question I asked started with "yes sir" or "no sir" and his dog, Buddy, was as easy going and respectful as he was.   Corbin found an alligator skeleton on the side of the road that he showed me with enthusiasm.  With a smile he pulled a gator tooth the size of my thumb from his pocket.  He warned me about the water moccasins and copperheads if I was doing any camping.    

Straddling my bike and ready to head off Corbin asks, "Are you a Christian?"  I noticed his Christian t-shirt and was hoping to avoid the subject.   With hesitation I said no, and Corbin responds in the same polite calm voice, "if you don't accept Jesus you go to hell and it feels like maggots are eating your flesh forever."  Yikes! That is exactly why I was hoping to avoid the topic.  Corbin waited for my response.  I told him the world is a big place with billions of people that have very different perspectives on life and I hope that they weren't all going to hell.  I left out the maggots part.  He accepted my response and moved on to other related issues. 

He told me his science teacher doesn't like him because he is a Christian.  A recent exam asked "What animal did humans evolve from? Possible answers: mice, birds, monkeys, or something else."  Even though he knew the teacher wanted him to pick "monkeys", he chose "something else" as that was most in line with the Bible.

He asked how we could have evolved from monkeys if monkeys still exist.   I explained we didn't evolve from monkeys, but that we have a common ancestor with monkeys, closer than our common ancestor with mice or birds.  He wanted to know more about where life came from, more about evolution, and he challenged my ability to remember a lot of what I learned in college.  I kept thinking "too bad he doesn't want to know about solar energy."  I asked if he talks to his parents about his concerns, but he said they don't discuss anything outside the Bible, which might be why he was so eager to talk to me.  Hopefully he didn't go home and say "guess what this guy on a bike from CT told me..."   

With daylight savings ending darkness arrived early and I had no place to stay. I came across a country store in the middle of nowhere called the Carolina Cider Company.  There were quite a few people going in and out and I could see jugs of all kinds of cider, homemade pies, jams, and other goodies through the door.  I decided on a medium sized pumpkin pie and asked if there was a place to camp nearby.  The woman at the register, Andy, said the owners, who live next door, often let bicyclists camp in their yard and she called to make sure it was okay.  In a matter of 5 minutes I went from having no place to stay to having homemade pie, hot cider,  a picnic table to eat on,  and a safe place to hang my hammock tent, WIFI included.  Southern hospitality is no joke!

The Carolina Cider Company, somewhere south of Charleston SC on Rte 17

Pumpkin Pie makes my day

The next day I rode through a strong headwind to Hunting Island State Park.  I did my usual debate about paying for the campground or camping in the woods off the beaten path.  In this case I wish I had chosen the latter.  The state park was beautiful but the campground was big, had a sizable population of raccoons habituated to humans, and cost $23 for a tent site.  A hot shower is always nice, but I don't think the site was worth $23.

Other than the crazy fearless raccoons that kept me up all night there wasn't much company, and small bits of trash and food were left behind from previous campers.  I did meet a woman from the hills of NC that offered me a Kit-Kat bar, followed by a 45 minute synopsis of her life story.  From her account, I gather life is hard for some in the foothills of NC (high poverty, little education, abusive relationships, substance abuse, and children at an early age), which is maybe why she loved coming to the beach.

Hunting Island State Park Beach.  I am not sure if these trees were washed onto the beach, or were growing there and killed. Some were vertical in the sand, so I suspect the latter. 

I didn't get any WS responses in the Savannah area, so I rode into town with no place to stay, something I am becoming more comfortable with.  Riding through Alligator Alley and Garden City into Savannah was the worst stretch of riding to date.  I didn't see any alligators, but saw dozens of trucks.  The Savannah Port Authority is along this stretch of road and I was riding with tractor trailers continuously for 10-15 miles.

Eventually I found my way to the historic district of Savannah and started asking people about places to camp for the night.   I stopped in the library, a bike shop, a natural food market, and spoke to a handful of people on the street.  People were skeptical of me asking to use someones backyard to camp and repeatedly directed me to a state park about 15 miles out of town.  I wanted to check out the city so that was not an appealing option.

I sat down outside the natural food market with some coconut milk ice cream debating if I should bite the bullet and pay for a cheap hotel room.  I decided I should save that for real emergencies and went to check out the coffee shop next door.  I ordered a tea and asked about camping.  The guy handing me my tea looked at me with a blank stare, but a woman behind the counter overheard and as politely as is possible said, "I guess you could stay at my place.  You aren't a freak or anything?"

I enjoyed my tea while Lysa finished up working and we rode back to her house.  I learned Lysa, her husband, Nate, and their son, Toby, recently moved to Savannah from Santa Cruz, CA, which explained the beach cruiser bicycle she was riding. They have an extra bedroom, so I was welcomed to a bed and hot shower.

Lysa and Nate's kindness and good nature is embodied in Toby.  Toby is a playful 10 year old and lives and breathes basketball.  He plays pickup basketball at the park.  Lysa showed me a picture of Toby on the courts surrounded by African American men twice his size and age, which he is not at all intimidated by.  Toby gave me a Muggsy Bogues basketball card as a souvenir that I keep displayed in my handlebar bag.  We went out for dinner at the Mellow Mushroom and I got to enjoy some wonderful company and food.  Leaving in the morning highlighted one of the my least favorite parts of bicycle touring: parting ways with wonderful people that make you feel at home. 

Lysa, Nate, Toby, and me at the Mellow Mushroom in Savannah

In the morning I rode around Savannah, checking out the beautiful city parks, occasionally stopping to read historical markers, most of which were dedicated to some kind of Revolutionary or Civil War hero.  Hanging around the parks I noticed a lot of people asking for help.  Perhaps this is why I was getting a bad vibe when asking for help myself.   I had a long conversation with a man named James Washington.  He approached me asking about my bike and what I was doing, very interested in my lifestyle and the help people were giving me.   He carried a fresh copy of USA Today and was the most well dressed and well spoken homeless man I've ever encountered.  

We spoke for over an hour. James was an iron worker and had found work in Savannah in the past but was having a hard time finding something now.  He had been sleeping behind a law firm for a couple weeks and was visibly tired. He spoke with an underlying anger and frustration.  James felt many of his fellow African American men lived in a state of subservience, a legacy of slavery and racism continually passed down through generations.  He also felt African Americans didn't do enough to help each other out.  James refused to beg, but told me he had a few people in Savannah helping him and regarded them as angels. We shared some food and I gave him a few bucks before we parted. I offered, he didn't ask. 

Shortly after talking with James a man wearing a yellow soccer jumpsuit with a European accent curtly asked me for food.  I was surprised as he didn't look like your average homeless person.  I started asking questions.  He was from Austria, and traveling around the US.  He spent the night in the homeless shelter but said the food was too bad for him to eat.  He came to the US via a 13 day all you can eat cruise and then took an Amtrak train from Miami to Savannah.  Now that he ran out of money he was planning to hitchhike back to FL.   In passing he said if he had $200 he would be staying at a nice hotel.  I had a hard time feeling bad for him, as he seemed to have a sense of entitlement and a budgeting problem.  

I rode out of Savannah thinking about personal responsibility and how our judgments affect our willingness to help others.  I saw James as someone with personal troubles, maybe some bad luck, but with good intentions and wanting to work.  I judged the Austrian man as irresponsible and lazy.   I wonder if people judged me the same way when I was asking for a place to stay in Savannah.  I wonder if people are willing to help me because of how they judge someone on a bicycle.

I found Lysa to be inspiring in that she seemed to have an unconditional willingness to help people as much as she could.  On our way to dinner she gave her change to a man on the street.  On the way back to the coffee shop she stopped to pickup keys and food stamp checks that were lying in the street so she could try to get them back to their rightful owner.  She took me, a complete stranger, in without hesitation.  I suspect there are some risks to unconditionally helping others, but I think we would all be in a better place if everyone was a  bit more like Lysa.  

When I arrived at the house of my next WS hosts, Darlene and Ken, being on the receiving end of kindness and generosity started with a bowl of fruit and Gatorade waiting for me on the screened in porch.  Darlene and Ken are about 40 miles south of Savannah, with not much around except for the "smallest church in America".

The self-proclaimed smallest church in America, with my bike for scale. 

Darlene, a massage therapist, works from home and had told me she would be working until 7.  Ken would be taking their daughter, Joy, to a church program so I would need to hang out for a bit.  I got a hot shower in their glorious dual head outdoor shower and a chance to stretch out in the meantime.   After Darlene finished up, everyone came home and we had a nice dinner.  A great veggie friendly meal with optional GA caught shrimp.  I had a couple.  They were good.  

Next stop was the magical Hostel in the Forest in Brunswick, GA.  I heard about the place a couple times and decided to spend some money and time checking it out.  For $30 ($25 + $5 membership) I got to sleep in an elevated screened in porch in the woods, have a delicious communal veggie dinner, meet lots of interesting people, and a take refreshing swim in the  crystal clear spring-fed pond.

The hostel is an earthy place with lots of tattoos, long hair, minimal clothing, interesting structures, musical instruments, homegrown food,  kind people, and alternative thinking.  The evening I arrived was the start of a hand-pan player gathering. The hand-pan is a relatively new musical instrument that is something between a steel drum and a conga.  I was also glad to meet a young couple, Jesse and Leigha, also doing a bike tour.  They are riding from NJ to raise awareness about a Christian organization called Living Water International (www.water.cc).   

The Hostel in the Forest, Brunswick GA

After a couple homegrown forest hostel hard-boiled eggs with deep orange flavorful yolks, I rode south to the FL border.  The route 17 bridge crossing the St. Marys River, which marks the FL GA border, is not passable due to construction. The only way to ride over the river is via I-95 or an extra day of riding west.  But, of course, there are friendly people willing to help.  A generous bike shop owner, Terry of Camden Bike Center in St. Marys GA, is giving cyclists rides in his pickup truck over the I-95 bridge.  Riding into FL via car was a bit disappointing, but I probably would have gotten a ticket trying to ride over on the interstate.  Meeting Terry was also a pleasure and he had some good tips about riding south as he just returned from a bike trip to Key West. 

To my surprise, FL has the most bicycle friendly roads of any state I've ridden in.  After 150 miles of riding, almost every road has had bicycle lanes or a big shoulder, and Terry told me that is the case all the way to Key West.  The downside is that drivers in FL are scary.  Along FL's east coast the pace of life feels more similar to that of the Northeast. Drivers are less patient.  Every other driver seems to be over 80 or thinks they are participating in a drag race that encourages cell phone use during competition.

In Daytona Beach I am staying at my grandparent's old house.  My grandfather passed away this spring (age 99), and my grandma has since relocated to Raleigh. Coincidentally, my father and aunt arrived in Daytona the same day I did to start cleaning  things out of the house, so I got a rest with familiar company.  There are also the many friendly senior citizens of the Pelican Bay community.  As I sit in the community clubhouse writing, I overheard a woman ask her friend, "Did you go the concert last night?  That Kenny G is just great."