I brushed my teeth with mittens on; the temperature is a little chilly. But, it was perfect cycling weather, overcast and cool. I could wear pants and an long sleeve shirt.
I rode a 107 km today. A number I was slightly disappointed with, while I was planning on doing 100km, all the way up to 80 km I thought I could make it to this place "the hostel in the forest." But, it would have been a 200 km ride. I pretty much rode till I ran out of gas, I thought of making camp around 120 km, but was just too tired. Plus, I notice a good camping spot, so I decided to pull off the highway and set up camp.
Yesterday, when I met the sport cyclist outside Beaufort, he told if I was ride to Savannah that I had to be ready for a steep bridge. Outside Beaufort there was a nice long rolling bridge, and I thought the cyclist was a wimp; but I think he was referring to the bridge into Savannah. It's in the picture. From afar I considered my options, maybe trying to hitchhike over with my bike, but on closer inspection there seemed to be a pretty good shoulder. It was a climb. The bridge had jaws, these teeth to allow for expansion and contraction with temperature. These steel teeth were about two feet long, but they didn't scare me, the gaps between them did; perfect fit for my wheels. On the way down I hit about 60 km/h, the bike handled well at that speed.
I didn't have a map, and was planning on just sticking to route 17 for a while. Following the signs to route 17 led me to the interstate. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. There was a lot of junk on the shoulder, and the interchanges were death traps. I was only on it for about 5 miles - but think that probably filled my quota for riding on the interstate for the rest of my life. It actually wasn't that bad, I'm pretty numb to fast moving cars.
Today on two occasions dogs ran after me, perhaps wanting to imbue a passing sense of championship, or maybe they just wanted to bite me. I'm not nearly quick and agile enough on my bicycle yet to unzip my bag and grab the pepper spray without taking a slide.
I get kudos in the form on honks, hollers and waves, from authentic looking biker gangs; and nothing from them hobbyists. Although, I do feel a strange camaraderie with people who ride/drive those motorized trikes. There is no way operating one of those devices is cool, just like it's a stretch to imagine how rodeoing a bike and 50 pounds of gear over the rumble strip on the side of a highway is cool, but they do it and they must love it.
Camping tonight was miserable. I still don't have fuel for my stove. I went to buy some in Charleston at an outdoors store, and it was ten dollars for a pint. That's pretty expensive, so I went to the hardware store, where it's nine dollars for a gallon. I only wanted a pint. I thought about it and decided on the gallon, went back to get it and the store was closed. I've been carrying all this food for cooking, but haven't been able to eat it. I tried to light a cooking fire - one of my camp skills I had absolute faith in. Everything was so wet, I couldn't get anything burning except for my South Carolina map (thanks Steph). I was hoping for a hot meal for the last half of the day. But no luck. I had a can of sardines and a bagel; not the greatest meal after such a long ride.
I was also pretty much out of water. It's this kind of putting off of things, riding my bike, every gas station I passed, I'd say, "Oh, I'd stop a the next one." Until, of course there wasn't a next one and I didn't have any water.
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