Days 31-32: Okefenokee National Wildlife Refuge

In the southeastern corner of Georgia lies fabled Okefenokee National Wildlife Refuge. At 1500 square kilometers it's the largest refuge east of the Mississippi and one of the largest remaining intact freshwater systems on the planet. A vast bog covered by unstable peat deposits 15 feet deep, it's name is derived from the Seminole word for "Land of the Trembling Earth."

I arrived at the refuge campground on Tuesday, September 29 and stayed until Thursday morning to explore. Nighttime temperatures through Georgia had been in the 70's but cooled rapidly to a low of 49 degrees on Tuesday night, cold enough that I could see my breath. Having only a polarfleece sleeping bag liner, I layered myself in all of the non-spandex clothing I owned and spent the coldest hours in the bathroom, which was outfitted with a glorious oil-filled radiator space heater. It goes without saying that I did not get to the swamp during the golden hour just after sunrise, when wildlife viewing is at its best, but rather arrived bedraggled at 10:30am and proceeded to eat my way through the next hour and a half at the visitors center cafe.

Despite the fact that the swamp supports one of the largest alligator populations in the U.S. it can be kayaked unguided, which was a thrill for someone like me who had never kayaked solo before. I spent the first two hours picking my way through a canoe trail so narrow I had to hold my paddle nearly vertical to fit it between the marshy banks, and saw the head and back of my first adult alligator swimming 20 feet ahead of my boat. On the return trip, I sidled over to the parallel Suwanee Canal (pictured), which was dredged during the 1890's by the Suwanee Canal Company in order to drain the swamp for agriculture. Fortunately, after three years of digging the company went bankrupt and left just this nice little paddling trail.

Days 29-30: I get by with a little help from new friends

On September 27, I arrived in the bucolic small town of Odum, Georgia, population 414, 70 miles south of Statesboro. Odum is a pleasant little town and residents seem proud to call it their own. One Methodist and one Baptist church face off across Church Street and an award-winning elementary school is tucked next door (As an aside, I may be getting old bc the swings made me slightly nauseated).

I had planned to stay at a campground just outside of town but discovered on arrival that it had closed two months ago. Gingerly, I approached Reverend Gabe Gill, pastor of the Odum Baptist Church (pictured), just after he completed his Sunday evening service, to see if he might allow me to unobtrusively pitch my tent out back. Having none of that, Reverend Gill offered me an air-conditioned building behind the church and unlocked church doors so I could use the washroom. He gave me a tour of the kitchen in case I wanted to use the microwave and have coffee in the morning and then left three phone numbers in case I had any problems. All this for a dirty, bedraggled stranger vouched for by no one. I also had the pleasure of meeting his lovely wife, Amy, and their three adorable kids, who were all curious about my bike trip and very welcoming. They embodied true southern hospitality and more.

I guess it's true what they say: when God closes a door (campground?), he opens a window.

As it happens, the next night's campground had closed its doors as well, so I stopped at a gas station in the town of Patterson for advice. It was recommended I should head to Nahunta (pronounced Nay-Hunna), as no area campgrounds were known but a small motel probably still existed there. Upon arriving in Nahunta three hours later, I found the Knox Motel darkened and locked. But two well-connected ladies at the Family Dollar assured me the owners were likely out for dinner, and went to work calling several friends and relatives. Not ten minutes later the owner was waiting for me at the motel, which, as it turns out, was really a very svelte little bed and breakfast outfitted with old, black and white family photographs and interesting antique knick-knacks. $55/night included a welcome bowl of freshly-sliced peaches and keys to the owners truck for errands.

Days 26-28: On breakfast...and Georgia

Just after noon and a delectable french toast breakfast on Thursday, September 24 I crossed the Savannah River into Georgia, and completed the 75 miles from Yemassee to Statesboro (pictured) before darkness fell. It was a vividly bright, hot day, with temperatures reaching the mid-90's, one of the hottest of the trip so far. Within hours of crossing the Georgia state line the scenery changed from South Carolina's endless highcountry pine plantations to what appeared to be the subtropics. 80-foot-tall rainforest-like trees, flat-topped with mottled white bark and greenery only at the tippy-tops, lined area creekbeds and hanging moss abounded. Here I saw my first armadillo (roadkill, unfortunately, and the first of many I've seen since), and pretty, old plantation-style properties were decorated not with cattle herds but goats and miniature horses. I liked Georgia immediately.

I stayed in Statesboro for two nights in order to collect a package from UPS. The city is home to Georgia Southern University and, at 27,000 people, is the largest city I'd see in Georgia. Incidentally, I also at the cheapest breakfast of my trip yet here, an egg and cheese biscuit with a side of raisin toast for $1.10, including tax, at Waffle House. Amazing.

Days 24-25: Life is beautiful

Leaving Charleston, I biked 55 miles inland to historic Walterboro, the seat of Colleton County. The days off had healed my saddle sores and faded the bruises on my hands and feet. I felt strong and fast again and remembered why I had once liked to ride bicycles. The first 11 miles out of Charleston took me on Ashley River Road, a National Scenic Byway, which passes three national historic landmarks: St. Andrew's Episcopal Church, and Drayton Hall and Middleton Place plantations (picture from Flickr). Ashley River Road is described on the National Scenic Byways official site as "a journey into the history, culture, and beauty of the South Carolina lowcountry. Ancient live oaks, Spanish moss stirring in a warm summer breeze, and elegant brick gates hinting at the architecture within hearken back to days gone by." It was lovely indeed and, on midday Tuesday, traffic on was light. If I'd had a wand I would have alighted Disney-style stardust on all the flowers and butterflies in my path -- that's how good I was feeling.

The next day I traveled from Walterboro to Yemassee, my last stop in South Carolina and came across the first (and still only) fellow traveling cyclists I've seen. Wendy and Leilani were on their way north to Boston after traveling cross-country east all the way from Tucson since the 4th of July. They had been baked to a deep brown color and gear was strapped to every available inch of their bicycles. Unfortunately, they were going in the opposite direction, but we stopped briefly to discuss saddle sores, the kindness of strangers, and why they loved riding through Texas. Good luck, Wendy and Leilani!

Days 20-24: Charleston, South Carolina

With nearly 1,000 total miles logged, I arrived in the Holy City -- Charleston's nickname due to the prevalence of churches dotting its skyline -- late in the afternoon Friday the 20th. Described in the tourbooks as an "18th Century painting come to life," I found Charleston to be a very lovely city, indeed and I stopped here for three days to see the sights. The city is characterized by traditional French architechture accompanied by palm trees, which lends it a Mediterranean feel. It's broken into several pieces, each with its own neighborhoods and feel, by two big rivers, the Ashley and the Cooper.

While here, I stayed at a hostel located within walking distance of the central downtown area and waterfront, which had the added benefit of being frequented by lots of international guests doing interesting things. My roommate from Leicester, England was in the middle of traveling Canada, the U.S. and Central America for 4 1/2 months. She and our bikes are pictured above on the New Cooper River Bridge, the longest cable suspension bridge in the Western Hemisphere. I spent the weekend happily walking the city streets, eating good food, reading, taking sunny naps in Marion Square and talking to the other guests, but now it's time to get back on the road before my legs atrophy any further. I expect the next 1-2 weeks riding through the southern third of South Carolina and Georgia to be quite rural.

Days 16-17: Long days, short nights

On the 14th and 15th I rode two 70+ mile days back-to-back from Shallotte, my last stop in North Carolina to Myrtle Beach, which turned out to be farther from my route than I expected and then Andrews, the first town featuring any accommodations 72 miles past Myrtle Beach.

Monday night I stayed with Staci Williams, Blue Trail Organizer for American Rivers, in Myrtle Beach, who had never met me and generously offered to host me for a night at her home. Although I was there a short time I was able to get in some tummy-scratching time with her adorable dog, Madison, throw clothes in the dryer and fill up on fresh fruit and much-needed home cooking.

Although I had completed a few 70+ mile days during Week 1 with few obvious effects, temperatures these two days were in the 90s and the wear on my body now seemed to be catching up to me. I was tired, cranky and in pain. To ward off exhaustion and the persistent pain I'd been having in my hands and feet, I tried everything I could think of to distract myself: counting butterflies, yelling obscenities into the wind, talking to myself out loud, singing Jackson 5 hits. Twice on the second day I veered, bleary-eyed, off the road to lie down in the shade, "just for a moment," and fantasize about pitching my tent there as the branches of an oak tree swirled dreamily against the sky above. And I might have done just that if not run off by a swarm of biting ants and pair of territorial dogs, respectively. It was with a great feeling of accomplishment that I arrived in Andrews, home of Chubby Checker, just as night fell.

Days 14-15: Marshmallows, democrats...and, of course, the beach

After spending the night at Surf City Family campground, where my tent was twenty paces from the beach (pictured), on the southern end of the island that also contains North Topsail Beach, it occurred to me that I could take a picture of myself next to one of the imported palm trees and add the caption, "Arrived in Florida!" and be done with it, but in the end decided my tan could still be improved. I left the island to ride through Wilmington and nearly cried when I ran out of time to eat there because I'd heard the town has great restaurants. My nightly accommodations were 15 miles past Wilmington at the deviously named Carolina Beach Campground, which was, disappointingly, located in the woods and a good distance from any sand. Positively, however, I met a nice local family with four kids here who were kind enough to welcome a fifth into their brood for marshmallows, storytime, and a bottle of red wine. When I told them I wasn't convinced the South was for me after my experiences the previous day, they assured me they didn't know anyone like that and advised me to stop chatting up war vets at gas stations.

Days 12-13: Jesus, Obama and the rural South

Throughout the 97 miles between Newport, NC and North Topsail Beach (130 miles past the Outer Banks) headwinds made for slow going and the route had me riding on several busy roads. Environmental factors, however, did not compare to the onslaught of conservative talking points I faced. It's as if Jesus is running for office against Wall Drug down here -- and winning. Biblical phrases grace signs outside of gas stations, auto repair shops and even private residences, and his staffers are deployed in the unlikeliest of places to campaign for him. For instance, a very nice man interrupted my lunch to ask if I had yet accepted Jesus Christ as my personal savoir. Later that same day a pair of older men questioned me about the whereabouts of Obama's birth certificate, despite warnings that I had volunteered for his campaign and so was unlikely to be moved on the subject. I would rather have discussed the deliciousness of pop tarts or the pros and cons of Hardees serving breakfast biscuits after 10:30am, but it was not to be.

Day 11: Getting reacquainted with the bike

After a nice long weekend, made even longer by heavy rains that hit the Outer Banks Sunday and Monday (see flooding in front of the Sand Dollar Motel where I stayed Monday night, above) I was off again yesterday back on the mainland heading towards Wilmington after 3 1/2 days off. Ocracoke received 8.5" of rain and Cedar Island received more than 11" this weekend -- the first big rain of the hurricane season. I'm currently in Beaufort, a small town but major shipping port, one of the deepest U.S. seaports on the Atlantic. Yesterday morning the rains died down just enough for me to get out of my motel on Ocracoke Island (the smallest, quaintest and southern-most of the populated Outer Banks islands) and onto the 2 1/4-hour ferry (pictured above) from Ocracoke back to continental North Carolina. Yesterday I rode 43 miles from where the ferry deposited me to Beaufort, where I have unusual access to a CVS, Wachovia and a library. 10-15 miles of the route ran through the Cedar Island National Wildlife Refuge, which is a vast marshland where you can see many birds including egrets, red-winged blackbirds and sadder-than-usual roadkill that includes baby turtles. The roadkill comment aside, I'm very impressed with how much land both on the Outer Banks and near the ocean on mainland NC has been saved from development. It must go a long way towards explaining why fishing is still so profitable up here compared with the Chesapeake Bay region. Ok, as it's now 2:30pm I must be off. 105 miles to Wilmington...

My first week on the road

I haven't had much time to update the blog as I've been going all-out to make it to the Outer Banks to meet my friend Alyssa, a good friend from high school who is on internship at Duke University and therefore *relatively* close to my route (in the same state anyway). That plus exhaustion and very limited internet access must excuse my tardiness. I just crossed the North Carolina state line today, and have now logged a total of 405 miles since leaving DC. A quick overview of the first week is as follows:

Sunday, August 30 (Day 1): A big thanks to my friends Amy Baskette and Chad Jones for getting me on the road at 11:30am and biking with me to Mt. Vernon! After we parted ways, I made it another 45 miles to Prince William State Forest, 40 miles southwest of DC as the crow flies. In order to save money I made the misguided decision to head for a campground that was 14 hilly miles off-route. I got lost in the dark, rained on and arrived hungry and exhausted at the campsite at 9pm. It would be several days before I dared camp again.

Monday, August 31 (Day 2): After waking up every 20 minutes due to numbness in various limbs and finding my head at a 90 degree angle to my neck during the night I journeyed from Independent Hill to Fredericksburg (63 miles). It is a beautiful day but the route is more rural than I expected (see barn pictured above) and food stops so scarce that breakfast consisted of oreos, strawberry frosted pop-tarts and cheddar pretzel combos (don't get me wrong, it was delicious). I crossed the Rappahannock River into Fredericksburg by evening.

Tuesday, September 1 (Day 3): Once I got out of Fredericksburg, there were so few cars between there and Ashland that I had the roads all to myself and was able to ride straight down the center. It was another beautiful day, with blue skies and little puffy clouds. the birthplace of William Clark. I stopped at a grocery store in Chilesburg where it was as though the people were stuck in time but the food had passed on through and everything was expired. I spent the night in Ashland (pictured above), home of Randolph-Macon College, which reminds me terribly of Northfield, Minnesota, where I went to college.

Wednesday, September 2 (Day 4): My best and worst day so far, I started off a little slow this morning, wanting to take advantage of the library. When I stepped out close to 1pm I found my rear tire completely deflated and the local bike shop listed on my map having closed its doors a year prior. Two cyclists flew by and I dropped my tools and sprinted after him. Turns out he and his friend were friends with the owners of the old bike shop and fixed my tire for free. They even called me a "damsel in distress" but I didn't care: I had lived to face another day in blissful ignorance. Having gotten such a late start I made a circuitous route through Richmond in order to pick up a spare tube and arrived at my motel after 10pm. A full moon aided me as I rode for three hours in the pitch darkness through the woods and over the James River into the town of Hopewell, 15 miles from Suffolk, VA.

Thursday, September 3 (Day 5): While I'd been passing through pleasant, bucolic scenery so far, today's route was eerily quiet and supplied me with my first confederate flag sighting. There were houses and barking dogs but I saw very few people. The gardener at a convenience store explained that everyone in the area works for a slaughterhouse and an impending coal-fired power plant has divided the community as proven by yardsigns for miles on end reading "No New Coal Plant" or "Say Yes to Cypress Creek Power Plant." The roads had been paved with a roughly-crushed gravel asphalt so that I couldn't get any momentum and the vibrations were making me cranky. However, I ended up at a lovely private campground called Lake Butler just as the sun was beginning to set (pictured above). I was the only camper so I took up three spots and pitched my tent 10 feet from the water. The manager, a very old woman, said the closest place to get breakfast the next morning was at least 15 miles away. My face must have betrayed my disappointment because the next morning she brought me two biscuit breakfast sandwiches, cranberry juice and a banana. It was very sweet of her.

Friday, September 4 (Day 6): rode 74 miles to make it over the NC state border to Elizabeth City, a town of 17,000 people, still 50 miles on US-158 (the major roadway into the Outer Banks from the north) from Nags Head and Kitty Hawk. Fortunaely, Alyssa was willing to pick me up at my motel the next morning and drove me all the way to our b&b. I must say, driving was a marvelous change of pace. We stayed in Buxton, a village just 10 miles north of Cape Hatteras, the point where, I learned, the southerly-flowing cold water Labrador Current and the northerly-flowing warm water Gulf Stream collide, creating a dangerous area of turbulent waters and shallow sandbars known as Diamond Shoals.