The House of Fur and Friendship

The wind stayed strong enough to knock down a large branch on to a truck across the street from us, and a palm branch fell brushing my shoulder on the way down. We spent the evening enjoying well-recommended pizza by Jordan, and hoped that surfing was the order of the morning. I awoke to the sounds of all hell breaking loose as the predicted storms were unleashed. Lightning ripped up the sky and the wind and rain were immense. Glad not to be camping, I snuggled deeper into the blankets shared by myself and on occasion, Ben the dog.

Surf was out of the question in the morning, and although Jordan made it out later in the day, I had to pick up the rental car at midday. Caitlin kindly drove me out to get it. We relaxed until four and then I needed to be heading for Savannah. I asked to surf a couch there and Tess had said yes. It was a final opportunity to see some more folk of a different city. It was a tough farewell to Charleston as I wished Cait, Kat and Jordan all the best. I realised too late  that I had no photos of Cait, Jordan, Kat et al, a mistake i didn't make again.

I set out, back over the bridge that had previously nearly guided me into the outside of 3 lanes of traffic on a bike, and headed for Savannah. It was a pleasant 90 minute drive as the sun set and the evening’s calm had me relaxed and listening to Spanish radio. I couldn’t understand a word but the music was good. Driving wasn’t new, as I had the Minivan at the start of the tour, but I spent little time ‘cruising’ and all my journeys had been short. This was nice, America from the perspective of a car. My butt had been so used to cycling that it was numb after 45mins sitting still in a car.

I arrived in Savannah and found Tess’s house on memory. I hadn’t been there before, but I had memorized the map from Caitlin and Jordan’s Ipad earlier that day. It’s a tactic I frequently use, usually to good effect but sometimes it goes awry!

Chad

Tess was expecting me to arrive by bicycle but either way I had made it and she welcomed me in. Chad immediately put a beer in my hand, and along with their two housemates, two dogs and two cats, there were also another 3 couchsurfers staying- a big happy traveling family! Introductions were swift and simple and we launched into tales of travels and what we were up to. Jordan (another of the same name) and Ariel were traveling South together, hitchhiking from Wisconsin and their journey had been remarkably simple thus far. Javier was from Argentina and had worked for 3 months on exchange in a Ski resort in Massachussetts, and was now heading for Gainsville. The travels for these guys were still fresh whereas mine were almost at an end.

Performing a little surgery on Tess

 Having decided to get more beer as we would need it, we popped to the local Piggly Wiggly and Tess managed to put an inch long splinter in her hand, and it wouldn’t budge. Not a problem, I remove my splinters with my knife all the time and offered to do the same for her, not seriously expecting her to accept. Who would let a relative stranger attack with a blade! But we were at ease now, having swopped back-stories. Mine involves a process built over the previous year, starting out of a rough few months at the end of a relationship, but ultimately granting the time to wander and end at her house. Hers and those of Kim echoed these sentiments. So I sterilized the knife and went to work. After maybe 10mins the splinter was free, the cut clean and the pain minimal. Smiles and a game of Poop Smoothie resumed. It’s basically charades with crazy-ass rules!

Jordan, Ariel and dogs Eugene and Toro

 Then came the indentured slaves debate. Actually the content went out the window quickly, and the form of the debate became the fixture. When the slaves in America (and I would assume the same for Britain, but our history at school does not cover this unsavory time very well) were freed, they were offered the option of remaining with their former owners and working for payment: Often meagre and conditions would invariably be poor.

The choice was: freedom released into a land where they were outcasts with no skills beyond those learned in bondage, and a culture that looked upon them as third class citizens, or stay and work under their former owners. The debate ran thus…on one side, they have the choice of freedom, on the other side, this wasn’t a true choice. The freedom to die is no true freedom.

The problem was, both sides are correct. From a rational point of view, sure there is a choice. Freedom (on paper) is an option. On the Humanist side, this is not an option. The life outside indenture was essentially a death sentence.

The debate heated and became an argument. I stayed out, as did a quiet Javier sat on my right. It was drunken and shortly the mission was simply to prove that you were right. It reminds me of British parliamentary debate. The aim being to show your opponent a fool, rather than to debate over real issues.

So I felt the need to interject and point out that the argument was being fought on separate and distinct battlefields. On the one side, rationality is being defended and on the other, the argument is humanist. These two schools of thought often become irreconcilable in this way.

Javier and Chris.

 

The mood calmed and the night passed on peacefully and when the time came we all slept in various places around the house in good company.

The following morning, I headed for Jacksonville, joined by Jordan, Ariel and Javier. I had plenty of room in the car and we were all heading the same way. I wasn’t completing the last leg on a bike, but for these guys, that was a great bonus. Things tend to unfold neatly especially when you stay positive and we had to be some of the most positive folk, all traveling with fortune and fate, wondering what lay around the next corner. 

A Distinct Perspective

The next two days were pleasantly spent with a few people acting as my guides around Charleston. I needed new flipflops of course, and everyone seemed to work or have worked with food so many restaurants were sampled.

Cooper River Bridge

One thing I did need was credit. America had recently started doing prepaid cellphones (a few years behind England for sure!) And I was out of luck- no T-Mobile store anywhere Downtown. So I headed out on foot over the Cooper River Bridge. The City of Charleston plays host to 40,000 folks each year who arrive to participate in the Cooper River Bridge 10k run. From Athlete’s to everybody else, they all join in. Had I known this a day earlier I would have pedaled harder and joined in the event. Still, I walked the bridge as I felt my muscles would approve of some change of pace. It was roughly a 7 mile round trip, again without a map. Sometimes I just go and to hell with the possibilities. Just before I set foot on the bridge a friendly jogger bade me good luck. “It’s windy enough to blow you off” she smiled! Wasn’t lying either, but a bit of wind isn’t unfamiliar so walking at a decent angle of roughly 30 degrees I made the trip across. The wind must have been blowing steadily at Force 6, or 30mph for those who don’t speak Beaufort.

Once across I wandered in the direction of fancy, passing the local broadcast base, T-Mobile was nowhere to be seen. I chanced across Staples and hunted for a prepaid credit card which luckily they had. Errand complete I headed for the shade of Eurasia bar. Once inside I found that I was about the only customer there. The waitress convinced me that the food was good and she wasn’t wrong- best French Onion soup ever! It seems strange to me to find a little gem of a place like this among all the shops and stores of a commercial district/carpark.

The waitress’s name was Kerry and she was definitely bored and if I left she was in for a long afternoon, as she put it. Somehow we got to the fact that this was her last week in the job. She was heading for pastures new. Kerry is a classically trained violinist who’s art has fallen on hard times. The economic crisis has apparently hit America’s symphonies and she has found herself limited. So she decided to go back to school and study Law. (Note- when I say school, I am using her term for Uni) I asked her what had drawn her to Law.

Her reply was as honest as you could wish for- Money. She harboured an ambition to help people but I will be honest too. Every lawyer I have read about has made money first and then helped people once their livelihood and reputation is secure. I could see she knew this. I quoted Jack Dee in this respect:

Choose two of three:

• make lots of money
• enjoy what you do
• work within the law

She replied that she thought she would be happy. We both knew that she loved the violin. Law was a gamble. She used money to go on holiday with her sister, one year in Europe and the next in America. We had both been to Barcelona and so spoke of this wonderful city, but through different eyes.

What to make of this old American dream?

Firstly, I fixed on the impressionable, attractive, likeable and outgoing person she was. An easy smile and just the right amount of awkward in the first throes of chit-chat.

But what of her aims, so different to mine. Or were they? Sure we traveled through different methods, but comfort meant the same thing to both of us. I had simply forgone the comfort ideal in search of something else. 

So to the ideals then: Previously I would have thrown the idea of choosing money over happiness straight out the window. But I was here to see life through new eyes, so I tried. I liked the risk she was taking. As we spoke it became clear that it wasn’t a false ambition, but she was aiming high and believed in her potential to achieve this ambition she held. She justified well. Why then does it still sit badly with me? She wasn’t falling prey to the often stumbled upon ‘ambition that outweighs reality’, as demonstrated in talent shows that parade endlessly across our TV screens at the moment. Kerry had a plan that was carefully thought out. We were alike again. 

So what of money? It is simply currency. To see it in this term is to see the value of other currencies- the ability to survive on less of it, or to bargain using talents rather than a cheque (check). But money is easy. We value it because it revolves around a simple system regimented through a central government. Our society barters less because we have lost the skill. What has happened is that the FORM of currency has greater value than the skills it has replaced, which is why bankers are rich. And was her easy smile based on receiving a tip? I reckon so, at least at first. After a while she saw that an hour had passed swifter and more pleasantly than expected and she said as much.

Returning to the human issue between myself and Kerry, I’ll accept the answer that it comes down to who you are and how you see yourself. We were different and this is welcome. But such a conclusion will no doubt seem as unsatisfactory to you as it does to me. I will return to this issue after more thought. In truth this is a theme that can be found throughout the experience of travel, and deserves a fuller answer.

Of course on the way back I found that I had walked right past the T-Mobile store.

Downtown Charleston beyond the docks

Night Nacho's

Once showered and changed, Caitlin, Will, Emily myself and a few others headed for a bar with patio. To be inside on a day like today would have been criminal. I didn’t make a big deal of the end of my cycling, but feeling relaxed, happy and in the mood for personal celebration, the first round was on me. The Guiness was a tad watery and slipped down far too easily. So we got on the jugs of PBR. It was cheap and did the job! We were joined by more folk throughout the afternoon, stayed for some food and then headed back home, grabbing beers on the way.

Will held court on doggy serotonin levels as he rubbed Ben’s hips (Ben, or to give him his full title- Bennington- is Caitlin’s dog. I mention this lest Will come away from this post sounding odder than is strictly true!) Ben duly dozed. It’s always hard to tell quite how inebriated you are when sat down, but as we stood to get more beers from the fridge, we could all tell that our legs were drunk! I made conversation as to the unnoticed but definite advantage that American’s have on dates. Not the fruit but when out, on a date.

Allow me to explain: In America girls drink beer, and happily so. In England, in my humble experience, although beer is drunk by girls it isn’t a common practice. It would seem a great lack of foresight, and would probably count against a guy, should you arrive back at his place and there was no wine on offer. Or if he returns from the bar having predicted that Yes you really would prefer lager. So to the problem of wine- What to pick? Rose is something we guys know little about, but fortunately can be made simple…dry or sweet. And as it’s Rose, even the dry is usually a little on the sweet side. I drink Red wine, and enjoy it, at home or with a meal but not at the pub. To me pubs are for ale. It’s a habit but as I like ale I see no reason to break the habit. White wine, on the other hand, is my stumbling block. I don’t know sweet from dry and all varieties in between. House wine seems a safe bet but also sounds cheap. Not what you want for a date.

So you see, with everyone drinking beer, a simple yet crucial opening mishap is avoided in the USA. Nice work there America! Mind you, a good wine can make for excellent opening conversation, where a conversation about beer invariably arrives at stories of drunken inhibitions and ruinous times. You choose as to what your new date would prefer to hear and guide the conversation accordingly…

Back to the room where Will is lying prostrate on the floor, I have introduced Tim Minchin, and they have in return given me Louis C K. This fella is FUNNY and we are roaring with laughter! Eventually Nicole wants to hit another bar- her new workplace- so a few of us head there. Timmy Condon’s is affectionately (or notoriously, I didn’t work out which) known also as Tiny Condom’s. Either way, I’m delighted to see a fiddler playing and a true bar round which we stand and order drinks. I still haven’t gotten used to the waitress service at American bars. We hit the Rumplemints shots and memory fades at this point. We need to get outta there before Nicole is fired without even working a shift! I do remember breaking a flipflop and we had to buy duck tape to fix (I believe Drew fixed) it so we could get into the next bar. I don’t remember, and neither does Kat, making Nacho’s with her when we got back, but Caitlin tells us she heard that part and the Salsa stains on clothes label us guilty of drunken cooking!

Photos that didn't make the cut originally

I honestly thought for a while this was a redneck watching me and about to ward me off their land. It was day 3. And a statue, so I had no need to wonder what craziness lay in store.

Military monument, US style

Creating art takes several shots, for me at least. the final one did make a blogpost

A night pitched by Amityville. No worries!

Lifesaver systems water bottle allowed me to drink from this sort of source.

Yeah i used the shower to wash clothes!

Southern fried fish, caught by us

A beautiful shot ruined by me!

Typical library stop. I would then take all luggage off and haul it inside for safekeeping which was invariably a pain

Daunting run into downtown Athens. Bear in mind I know no-one, and don't have a detailed map

College stadium. 3 tiers tall!



Dead bug. Length of my fist! (That's not common in England)



More of Lake Hartwell

Best. Roadnaming. Ever. Or a crap disguise as to the current location of the 80's supergroup

No the grass isn't purple. I forgot to change the mode on my camera

I wanted an ice-cream! despite the 'Open' signs, it bloody wasn't.

Rich man's world. That's a garage with a lawn and view. The house was suitably large but I didn't want a privacy courtcase following me.

Some folk take pride over their letterboxes

More friendly folk. I asked for directions, they were staggered at my pace on a bicycle. :)

The shot from Rob's balcony. And not a good one either.

Early morning mist over the lake



The route into Charleston

Leaving Bowman was easy enough, and I knew I had only a short way to pedal. I wasn't due in Charleston until Saturday so I had 70 miloes to split over two days pedaling. My destination was Givhans Ferry State park. I stopped in St George 'The town of friendly people' and blogged a little, as you have found out. From here I pedaled for Givhans. Following the signposts proved a bad idea. Although they suggested a shorter route, analysis of my cycle computer (still alive at this point) would suggest otherwise. And the wind picked up pulling 5mph from my top speed. This last 20 miles was to prove arduous.

When i arrived at the State park the first person i saw greeted me with a beaming smile and announced that he was the groom. Not the wedding i was aiming for, but hey! I shook his hand and offered congratulations. I was glad to see that he was nervous for all the right reasons. You could tell by the bounce in his every step that he was on top of the world.
He pointed me to the park office, and the park ranger was the architypal American ranger- a big friendly guy with a stridant voice and easy attitude.
I pedaled off to settle for the night, drawing stares from children on beach cruisers as to my laden touring cycle.

Morning arrived and the packing was leisurely. Aching and stretching has become a longer process this last week, but I felt as rested as I could be. I hoped the roads ahead would prove better as I wasn't retracing my steps back along 11miles of jolting gravelly asphalt.
My luck was in and the final part of state route 61 was being re-tarmaced and was smooth in most places. During the 1 1/2 mile long single lane controlled traffic flow, my chain decided to pop off, leaving me to fix the thing asap and wonder if I would make the end of the roadworks before traffic started flowing back toward me. I did, just.

The next 20 miles to the edge of Charleston were gloriously hot, calm and easy cycling. Here I knew would be the last leg of my journey. When you take a challenge such as this you can't help but dream of the finish. I had thought about cycling straight to the beach. My mind had me pedaling up to a group of my friends all playing frisbee, and dropping the bike to rest on the beach. Imagination rarely takes consideration of fact. I knew this wasn't a possibility, and that the roads from Charleston were all dual carriageway, busy and flat. Scenery that could be missed without regret. Coupled with this I had taken a look at the weather forecast. I would be between Charleston and Savannah when the thunderstorms hit, and had no idea how long they would last. Tornado warnings had also been issued.
You can understand now why I had decided that I would take a car from Charleston, via Savannah and a last couchsurf, to Jacksonville.

It's easy to get a challenge into your head and stick with it. I wondered whether I would feel bad at not cycling the last route. I remember the popular book (and less popular film) 'Yes man'. It's about a guy unhappy with life to decides to say Yes to whatever comes along. It certainly opened his eyes. Then I thought about the process of saying YES. To him it was a change from negative to positive. It implies implicitly and grammatically that to say No is to be negative. Not true. To say No to going out is also to say Yes to staying on the couch, happily watching a film and having a lazy day. My point...if this is what YOU want to be doing, then it is alright. I wanted to say No to riding the last stretch because there was nothing to gain from it. I was happy with everything I had done.

Then I smashed the cycle computer, and we get to the post 'Broken and Elated'.

The slightly disjointed narrative serves as an example of my mindset at the time. I knew before breaking it that I was finished, so why so upset? Had it marred the ending, the wide smile had been wiped from my face as I walked through downtown Charleston. I was both happy with my positive decision and distraught at my idiocy. I hadn't needed to remove the thing in the first place. The damage was totally avoidable.

And here I met Caitlin, Will, Emily, Jordan, Kat and later Nicole, Drew, Brandon et al. I have always enjoyed conversing, and along the trip I had ignored natural human judgement of anybody, preferring simply to listen and talk and meet people regardless of who they may be. So a bunch of strangers with an old surfboard became the people who ensured my finish was triumphant. The tour was about meeting American's and learning a new culture. In truth I did little more than say Hi. They met me rather than the other way around. Without even realising it (although I have since told them) these people hauled my tired mood away from the doldrums and set wind back in my sails. They epitomised my journey and reminded me of the goal closest to my heart- not the cycling but the experience. The broken parts no longer mattered.

We cracked beers, and having invited me to leave my bike in the house, have a shower and join them at the bar the evening progressed...towards a new, separate post!