Like Savannah before it, I was reluctant, and therefore slow, to leave Charleston. I had enjoyed its historic charms and could happily have lingered. But I am operating to a schedule and my destination further up the coast, Georgetown, was over 80 miles of cycling away. There were puddles on the ground as I left, a sign of overnight rain. This morning the skies were cloudy and the forecast contained the threat of rain for the first time on this entire trip. It was time to move.
I paused in the old city market in Charleston to grab some breakfast, but also to get a long overdue beard trim. And then I was off, cycling up and over the Arthur J Ravenel Suspension bridge over the broad Cooper River, and then spinning off into suburban streets to avoid the larger highways. It was all very well to do on this side of the water, but modern and ubiquitous development that could have been anywhere in the USA. I was surprised after a few miles to bump into my East Coast cycling acquaintances from a couple of days ago, Emma and Sequoia. They had caught me up over my rest day and fate had thrown us together again, guitar and all. We rode together for a few miles and then parted when I chose to head away from their busier route in search of quieter back roads. A few miles later, I found the solitude I was hoping for, and I was very glad.
For the next couple of hours at least I was alone on roads that took me through endless pine woods. Unlike other rural roads in recent days, there were almost no homes along here. I felt I could have been miles from anywhere. In the middle of nowhere I came across a ruined wooden church next to which was a graveyard still in use. This was Halfway Creek Church. It was a moving spot, so quiet and removed from the busy highways and towns, surrounded by nature, and apparently half abandoned. There was nothing for miles either side until I reached a small road junction where a village of sorts was scattered. All I saw apart from houses was a small, pretty white church, an even smaller fire station house, the size of a single garage, and a large furniture store whose sign read “prices are born here and raised elsewhere”.
It was another hour before I was reunited with the wider world as my empty road reached route 17 once again. A Circle K gas station and store occupied the junction and I was ready for refuelling. While I was staring at the doughnut selection, a voice asked how far I was riding. A rather unlikely looking man, whom I would judge to be older than I am, turned out to be on his way towards Key West to start his own cycling trip. He sounded like he was an old hand at these big trips. He rode a recumbent bike, which is both lower and wider than mine. Neither of these factors sounded good for riding along the fringes of some of America’s bigger and busier highways. He said he usually has his dog with him on the bike, but had not brought it this time. He was from Ohio and had vague plans to cycle west across Florida and then up the Mississippi valley.
The weather now was sunny and hot and any sign of rain had disappeared for the moment. I had put on sun cream a couple of hours ago. But I felt an urge to finish off the remaining miles as quickly as possible, so I rode 26 fast, wind assisted miles in top gear along route 17, a broad divided highway that was mercifully light on traffic. The miles disappeared, but so too did the sunshine. By the time Georgetown arrived, it seemed wise to get inside. Sightseeing here would have to wait. I arrived dry at my Airbnb, but they were concerned about me getting caught in a storm that was apparently due quite soon. Sure enough, within the hour there was thunder and lightning and some rain. I wouldn’t have enjoyed being out in that!
After some deliberation, I have decided that this is the point from which tomorrow I will head north, away from the coast in the direction of Washington DC. I expect that to take another seven days. That feels like a milestone. I have more or less stayed along the coast, or close to it, up to this point. I’m approaching a thousand miles now on this trip so far. Tomorrow it will be April, so I have twenty days left, of which I might be cycling for fifteen. That means tomorrow I should be about half way to Boston by most measures. It still feels very far away!
