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Well the ferry ride took me to the mainland and onward I went through the Carolinas. I drove until about midnight yesterday and missed all opportunities to camp and then drove through a huge lightning storm. After the world settled down and the caffeine wore off, I came to the conclusion that I would get to Charleston, SC, find the nicest neighborhood and dive into the back of my truck to sleep under the lid. I set an alarm for five hours later and was out before anyone knew I was there. I popped my head up at one point and saw a deer, but he/she/it was the only witness of my presence in Charleston. I might do that truck bed camping thing again, it’s cheap and I feel like I am in a secret hide out, a really sweaty secret hideout full of stuff with a ceiling 2 inches above your face.
This morning I drove to Savannah and gave myself a tour guided by myself. To my dissatisfaction, I was not the tour guide I had anticipated myself to be as I knew nothing about the town, so I left Savannah and filed a formal complaint with the department of tourism. My other complaint this morning was with a “How’s My Driving” hotline because a trucker was hugging my bumper like he had never seen one before and then he passed me on the left in the third lane. The lady on the phone didn’t have a record of his truck number so like all other things I cannot explain on this trip, I will leave it at Zombies. But other than that, Georgia was cool.
An enthusiastic Georgian selling peaches at 6am at a Chevron. I would be reading a book too. Any thoughts on what the title was?
I woke up at about 6am. I slept under the stars by the beach sand dunes and had one of my better nights rest. Last night, there were some lightning storms in the distance which made the experience pretty fun, and the sea breeze made the temperature and bugs bearable.
As promised John and Kelly came and got me and the three of us went out to Gritz Grill where my breakfast consisted of sweet tea, biscuits & gravy, and grits. I was told that was the most Southern thing they had on the menu. So one stomachache later, I went to my car that decided not to start and with a few whacks here and there I get it running. A North Carolinian approached me and said, “You bruck dun?” I responded with, “Nope. All fixed.” Which then he opened his toothless mouth and from about 6 inches past my personal level of comfort yelled, “Well then Carry On!” You definitely had to be there but I got a lot of personal joy from that interchange, and it’s my blog anyway.
Eventually I hit the road and jumped on a ferry to the next island, Ocracoke. I had an hour wait so I went to a beach restaurant and ordered a fried fish sandwich that apparently comes with one side still covered in scales. So one more stomachache later, I jumped on the second ferry on which I am writing from now and I don’t really know where it is taking me.
John and Kelly riding off into the redneck sunset on their bike.
Some surfers from Virginia I hung out with.
My truck was the last vehicle on the ferry which was pretty cool because I had a seat right on the front of the ship. I offered the people around me a seat but their decline might have been more of a personal hygiene issue.
I drove to North Carolina which rivals North Dakota for "the most miserable drive yet" award. The temperature was about 100 degrees with probably the same in humidity, and I finally hit really ugly traffic. However, being as dangerous as I am on my GPS, I skillfully rerouted into what I believe was “Hill Billy Mecca,” where tractors were a kinder change of pace. The South is gloriously awesome. Needless to say, I have begun counting Confederate flags.
I drove through Kitty Hawk and am working my way south through the Outer Banks off the coast of North Carolina. I stopped on the first island where I grabbed a camp site, didn’t set up a thing, and ran and jumped into the Atlantic. This was an amazing feeling and the accomplishment of the last four weeks hit me hard. So I threw my hands in the air, let out some man-yells, and did some body surfing at sunset. On my walk back to my site I met John and his wife Kelly. John is the most incredible redneck I’ve met, and his wife Kelly is being converted to his ways, as she is a native Yankee and John's redneckedness is far too overwhelming for her to have any chance at all. John is about 6 foot 5 with one of the gruffest man voices I have ever been jealous of, so naturally I hung out with these two for about three hours. He told stories of his friends “BobCat” “Hound Dog” and “Dan Boone” and they all had something to do with drinking, farming, hunting bears, or heavy machinery. John is a 3rd generation farmer on the same land and has never been past Kansas, he says he has friends that have never left the county they grew up in, nor do they have electricity or running water. His stories often were littered with “reckon so” and “He dun shot his nephew” and some really creative swearing. I laughed and laughed and tomorrow morning the three of us will go into town for what he promises is a real Southern breakfast. He also wants me to make sure I don’t leave town without a Confederate flag. I can’t even begin to retell his stories, some because of the language barrier, and others because I laughed so hard I missed most of important information.
John and Kelly have an open invitation to the West coast.Here was my view of the Atlantic. Odd that the sun sets over the land.
This is the South.
Just some pretty beach with houses in Kitty Hawk.
Here is Dismal Swamp, North Carolina. In another section of the swamp there was a Confederate flag posted in the middle but I was driving and couldn't get out my camera fast enough.
