Leaving Hartwell, my appreciation of South Carolina quickly turned dour as the roads veared from terrible to downright digraceful. I doubt you would notice in an automobile, but trust me, I felt all the broken road through the seat of my pants.
I rode north past the Hartwell dam and on through Pendleton and Clemson district into Central. Hunting a place to sleep I stopped and asked a lady at the bus stop. Her waiting companion, meanwhile, had spotted something. His bike in the possession of another, coming up the hill behind us. He dashed off and angrily retrieved the thing after a shouted stand-off. The woman and I walked on down the hill to the next stop! She was pleasant but clearly addled. On what I couldn't tell or smell so perhaps a lifetime of substance abuse? I asked after city parks and she directed me to all three when the fella reappeared on his bike and she vanished.
He began talking at me, explaining that the other guy was a drug dealer. All this truly means is he was scouting my reaction to this news. As he was talking he was scoping my stuff. Dealers like this fella have more than drugs to sell. They are pushing all sorts of stolen stuff and sure enough he asked if I needed a cell phone.
Here's a good plan... if this happens to you and you aren't buying a) don't leave the main street and b) tell them you are meeting someone. Anyway, I knew I could outpedal him despite carrying the pannier weight, so I made my excuses and left. No chance I was staying in a city park tonight and I had to find somewhere else. A little way outside Central was a church on a hill, so I rode round the back and pitched out of sight.
How does phlaris manage to be drugs-wise? I spent years on the Manchester club scene. You can't avoid exposure to dealers and go the places I used to go. It's part of the music culture and works in harmony with it. And I've gone dancing in many places. They roll across my mind that evening. So many great times in great places: seeing Dave Pearce in Eden, watching the sun come up through the roof of Privilege, Ibiza. Partying in the old Gatecrasher venue, and seeing the crowd all sit for the final tune of the night- Solarstone's Seven Cities, in Sheffield. Simian Mobile Disco @ Fabric, hearing the Prodigy's 'Breathe' blasted out at Razzmatazz in Barcelona and James Holden entrance the second room there. And of course Sankey's in Manchester. I remember those nights fondly as I rarely if ever go to gigs like those any more. The best of all time for me has to be hearing James Zabiela drop his own 'Robophobia' in the old Sankey's Soap. That place was a dark and grimy zone, and so much fun!
I digress. I was talking of the dealer. Funny to think that he was carrying a currency that is arguabley more stable than the Pound, Dollar or Euro at the moment. It doesn't mean anything until he can exchange it for the going rate though, as banks don't accept crack. It won't go through the quikcounter machine without buggering it.
In the end I spent a peaceful night and woke early to the sound of a train passing into town. I have come to hear the whistling of these juggernauts as friendly. The noise reminds me of the secure first night I had and the people that took care of me. South Carolina was forcing me to reminisce over Georgia.
 |
| Towards the Blue Ridges |
70 miles was a minimum target for the day and I needed to hit the road with determination as I turned North towards the Blue Ridge mountains. These roads were refreshingly clear of traffic, although still rough on the bike and butt. At one narrow section a deer skitted out across the roads no more than 20yards in front of me. When it's hooves hit the asphalt they couldn't gain traction and paniced by me it scrabbled to the far side where on grass again it bounded into the treeline. If that thing had hit me the tour would have ended in a hospital. I could see another deer up the bank that I hoped would have noticed me already and wasn't going to bolt as I pedalled past. It turned and headed back up into the woods and I breathed a sigh of relief.
