Who let the dogs out?

In our last episode, your brave and handsome heroes outsmarted delicious crustaceans.

The next day, we bid farewell to Mike, thanked him and his folks for their kind generosity, and hit the road once again. The route suggested by our Adventure Cycling maps required some 50 miles of backtracking, and we had still planned on making it from Charleston to Orlando in 7 days. Backtracking was not an attractive option, so we decided to take a more direct route as suggested by the almighty iPhone.

At this time, I must point out that the iPhone's current software cannot predict the existence of dogs on a particular route. Man's best friend becomes man's barking, foamy-mouthed nightmare when man is perched upon a bike. Being obedient Apple customers, we followed iPhone's directions and turned left on a small backroad. A few seconds later, three medium sized dogs come tearing around a corner at breakneck speed, barking as if we stole something from them. Vanessa and I mashed on the pedals as hard as we could, pushing our bikes and trailers to 25mph, and outrunning the canines before they could chomp at us. After we were well away from the mutts, I felt that unmistakable afterglow of adrenaline and fear. It was the same feeling as when you narrowly miss crashing your car, or when you almost get into a fight. (Editor's note: Ed does not feel fear. This account is merely a poetic attempt to describe what it would be like if Ed in fact felt fear of any kind.) We rounded a curve in the road, and we saw that we were riding down a dead-end road. At that point, numerous profanities escaped our lips, because we knew that we would have to ride past those dogs again. We armed ourselves with the flag poles from our trailers, hoping that they would be stout enough to beat away an angry dog. High adrenaline levels: check.

We punched our bikes to top speed, and got ready to beat away the three barking pooches as we sped past their house. Sure enough, the three furies came tearing around the corner again, and we got ready to beat them away with our flimsy flag poles. Thankfully, the mutts were a step too slow for your speedy heroes, and we outran them within a few hundred yards. The moral of the story: carry pepper spray when you ride.

The remainder of the next few days' ride was moderately uneventful. We coasted into Georgia, which greeted us with miles of cotton fields. If you squint your eyes a tad, and indulge a daydream, it felt like we were riding in snow.

The remainder of Georgia was flat, isolated, and, I dare say, boring. Desirous of a short, direct route, we rode US 301 for about 150 miles, and the following two pictures encapsulate what we saw during those miles. The reader may decide for themselves the which of the two pictures was most exciting:

Chicken Neckin'

We decided to take a day off in Charleston, so we headed to a local bike shop for a few minor repairs on my bike. While it was being worked on, we wandered around the town, caught lunch at Jestine’s kitchen, which is apparently something of a Charleston icon. The coffee, meatloaf, fried chicken, and the sweet chicken with lima beans… oh my! Don’t forget dessert, of course. Banana pudding and coca-cola cake. Magnificent!

We headed back to the house to pick up some nets and bait because Mike wanted to take us crabbing. The blue crabs in Charleston have quite a fondness for chicken necks, so we picked up a few, tied them to a line with a weight, and tossed them into the water at a salt marsh near Mike’s dad’s house. Wait a minute or two, and reel them in slowly, catch them with your net, and you’ve got yourself quite a tasty dinner, my friend! We had a blast pulling in the crabs and trying to net them before they caught wind of our sinister plans. In 3 hours we caught about 15. If I’m ever back in blue crab country, you’ll know where to find me.

Welcome to Charleston!

Shortly after meeting Mike (see my previous post), we met a nice fellow named Don, a carpenter and the owner of Don’s Cabinet Shop in Conway, SC. He showed us his workshop, his super cool and one of a kind three-wheeled motorcycle, and his bicycle-converted-hand bike. He also pointed us towards a good camp spot in a cemetery behind a local church. It was a nice camp spot, and Mike, ever the Alaskan at heart, decided to sleep under the stars, sans tent. Sounds like a good idea, except when the temperature gets down to a balmy 35 degrees (Fahrenheit) and you wake up to a blanket of frost!

The modified foot- and hand-bike

Pile of ice/frost on our rain fly. Brrr!

We had a cup of coffee on the way out of town to try to warm up (riding when it’s that cold just plain hurts!). We were also excited to use our HotHands, those little chemical packets you put into your gloves to keep you warm. They work so well! Luckily, the day warmed up to about 70..it’s amazing how the temperature can change so much in just a few hours.

The three of us camped in Francis Marion National Forest about 50-60 miles out of Charleston. Mike was kind enough to share some chocolate and Nutella with us, and definitely inspired us to buy some as soon as possible!

The next morning, we met a nice older couple on our way out of the National Forest - they talked to us about military service, since he had been in the Air Force. Basically, their advice for Ed, a soon-to-be Army lawyer was that the military is what you make of it. If you put a lot in, you’ll get a lot in return. Great advice!
We ran into a couple of trains, and of course Ed got excited. He loves trains. We also ran into a farmer with a huge pig, who seemed to be excited to see us. He waddled over to the fence, grunting and oinking, and looked at us with curious little eyes (the pig, not the farmer). We couldn’t help but laugh.

Oink!

Heading into Charleston, we were enjoying a nice paceline, when POP! Another flat tire for me. This time it was my trailer tire. My trailer was used when we got it, so the tire had completely worn through. Luckily, we had a spare, and Ed and Mike talked up a local aspiring marathoner while I finished changing the tire. I think the flat tire count is about even for Ed and myself now!

No life left for this tire.

We stopped and had some delicious boiled peanuts, a local delicacy, before heading over a super cool double suspension bridge that had just been built over the Ashley river (or was it the Cooper river?), heading into Charleston. It had a dedicated bike/pedestrian pathway, too! Way to go, Charleston!

Boiled peanuts - the local favorite

Bridges are awesome

Mike, contemplating the end of his ride

We stopped at a local restaurant, the Noisy Oyster, for some chow and to celebrate the end of Mike’s ride. The oyster and bacon po-boy was delicious, as was the generous helping of collard greens. Perhaps even more delicious (if that’s possible!) was the 5-layer chocolate cake that was dessert (I'll keep an eye out for this picture... I think it's on my phone). The glorious thing about riding your bike for several months at a time is that you can eat whatever you want. Cake. Donuts. Brownies. Fried chicken. Bring it on!

We headed over to meet Mike’s dad, Mick, who is a caretaker/gardener/jack-of-all-trades at a local Charleston mansion (that old style of architecture that you picture when you think of Southern homes) for a super nice couple, Mr. and Mrs. B. Mick gave us a ride in a car (cars go super fast!) to their house, where we met his wife Shawnee, and had a most excellent dinner of broccoli cheese soup and chicken and some beer. We also got to meet the local wildlife: the dog, the birds, and the crazy neighbors, who materialized out of the woods after an evening deer hunt went stale. Thanks to Mick and Shawnee and Mike for the hospitality; you guys are fantastic!!

Ed making friends with the birds (they pooped on him)

This little guy reminds me of one of the birds I used to have, except not evil

Halford, the sweetest dog ever

New post! Flat tires and new friends

Sorry for the delay! We took a detour (via car) to Tampa for Thanksgiving. Now we're back on the road (we biked from the same spot we hopped in the car, so we're not cheating, Dad!) I'll try to catch you up on what's been going on since Ed's last post.

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Also while in Wilmington, we happened upon the Front Street Brewery, where we had some delicious bratwurst, shrimp and grits, IPA, brown ale, and Baltic porter. Yum! Speaking of good food, we happened upon a BBQ place as we were riding out of Wilmington, and had some delicious fried chicken, hush puppies, and homemade chicken soup. We had a nice quiet ride past Fort Fisher , a civil war era fort that was used to protect blockade runners. Ed and I have both been surprised by the amount of history we’ve run across on this little trip.

We hopped on a short ferry to Southport, NC, a cute little tourist town with a decent amount of traffic around 4pm. We were pedaling furiously away from all the cars when, POP! I got a flat tire. I had actually worn out my back tire completely (always a great feeling!) so we stopped for some quick maintenance.

The next day we made it into South Carolina, where we met a wonderful addition to our little bicycle group. Enter Mike, a fellow touring cyclist (only the third touring cyclist we’ve seen for the past 2000 miles!). Mike is a park ranger in Katmai National Wilderness in Alaska and his bicycle has been all over the country (with him in tow, of course). On this trip, Mike was heading from Pittsburgh, PA to Charleston to have Thanksgiving with his dad. We all decided to ride the next few days together into Charleston. What a great decision!

Welcome to South Carolina

Us with Mike

We made it to Florida, baby! And we've surpassed 2400 miles for the trip. Bring on the orange juice!

Wilmington, and its mojo

In our last episode, your heroic heroes brushed elbows with America’s fighting forces and possibly suffered the side effects of America’s fighting all-beef gas station frankfurter.

Enter: Wilmington, NC.

About 6 months ago, Vanessa and I spent 23 hours in Wilmington for a dear friend’s wedding before I had to get back to Texas to study for the bar exam. 23 hours well spent, because I saw my friend enter the life matrimonial and I also passed the bar. However, 23 hours spent in Wilmington is about a week too short.

Wilmington is a town with moxie, and deserves more than 23 short hours. We also selected the proper weekend for a visit to Wilmington, because the city was hosting an Ironman triathlon the next day. 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike ride, and a full marathon…all in the same day. When the locals spied me and Vanessa clad in bicycles and spandex, they assumed that we were Iron-people about to try an athalon. (Editor‘s note: the author refused to omit this unsuccessful attempt at humor. Our apologies.) Unfortunately, cherished readership, Vanessa and I are not Iron-people. We did, however, meet some Ironman triathlon participants. In a battle of perspective, the Ironmen tried to convince Vanessa and myself that they could never do what we are doing, and Vanessa and myself tried to convince the Ironmen that they were invincible endurance-psychotics. In all seriousness, the Ironman participants are inspirational folks, with mettle made of steel.

Thankfully, Vanessa and I didn’t have a crazy race for which to prepare, so we found a pub/Laundromat where we drank a few beers and made clean clothes. Wilmington was particularly vibrant that night because of the Cucalorus Film Festival, which attracted swarms of “folks interested in film,” otherwise known as hipsters and rich people. The film festival meant that most nightspots would be showing films that night, with a sizeable cover charge. In lieu of crowds and steep covers, your heroes ducked into Fat Tony’s for great all-you-can-stuff-into-your-face pizza and…….drum roll……WEEPING RADISH BEER! Our ride through North Carolina has come full circle! Brian, your beer keeps following us (or maybe we follow it)!

Wilmington, thank your for the clean clothes, the full bellies, and the quenched thirst.

Any day above ground is a good day.

Back on the road, and onto the condo-lined beaches. There are certain beach communities whose waterfront looks like an advanced game of Monopoly. Fortunately for your humble heroes, the tenants of said condominiums were elsewhere during their visit. This made for clear roads and an empty beach.

We made (a most excellent) camp at a public beach access, and enjoyed a clear sky on a deserted beach that night. As corny or lame as it may sound, we stared up at the clear sky for a few hours. We didn’t say much to each other, but we didn’t really need to. Oceanfront skylines are talkative, especially with the Milky Way cameos and the Cape Lookout lighthouse blinking miles and miles away. The next morning we had breakfast on the beach, which had come alive with fishermen and seagulls. This is the kind of life that you could get used to.

Get used to it we could not, as the road beckoned. That day we rode long. We passed Camp Lejeune, which boasts probably the highest concentration of badass fighting man-machines per square mile anywhere in the world. Our cycling landscape was populated that day with humvees, armored personnel carriers, and signs warning us of impending military training exercises.

A few miles removed from Camp Lejeune, I began to feel the effects of the (inedible, yet delicious) gas station hot dogs I had wolfed down earlier. As I struggled to mash down on the pedals, and I saw Vanessa pulling further and further ahead of me. I was utterly unable to make up the distance between us. Reasonable mind may differ, but I don’t think I bonked. I attribute my lack of muscular enthusiasm to the “all beef” hot dogs. (Editor’s note: Vanessa also ate a hot dog, and suffered no ill side effects. Ergo, Ed must be some kind of ninny.)