Day 14 – Georgetown to Dillon SC

I turned away from the coast today. It had to happen at some point. I decided that was now, in the hope of not adding unnecessary miles in my route to Washington DC. And so I took to the back roads of the interior and headed north through rural South Carolina. From a cycling perspective the day was what I would I have hoped for: 85 miles on very quiet roads and good alternatives to the main routes without adding miles. In between there were a handful of small, country towns to break up the trees and empty spaces, and provide refreshment when it was required.

The weather was again fabulous. The morning offered a little cloud cover, but the sun broke through around lunchtime and stayed until the end of the day. Temperatures were in the low seventies. That’s two weeks of nothing but sunshine and gentle breezes. Not bad.

The roadsides were regularly punctuated by small churches. There is even a warning sign you often pass that simply says ‘Church’ on it when one is approaching. Perhaps there is reason to apply extra caution. They were quite simple affairs from the outside. There were many versions of Baptist, Methodist, Anglican and Pentecostal to choose between, including a couple of African Methodist churches, which I didn’t expect. The towns were mostly quite run down, but an exception was Marion, which was actually rather pretty and had a good collection of beautiful homes either side of the town centre. But my general impression of this part of the state is that it is quite poor, and there was much evidence of people living in fairly basic housing, often not in the best repair.

I stopped for lunch on the edge of Johnsonville at the Shady Rest Family Restaurant, and walked into another decade. It was a large, simply furnished place with many diners, mostly older than me. I sat at the counter and chose from the daily specials board: fried chicken plus three sides (rice and gravy, string beans and corn), It was filling and good value. Around me various conversations could be overheard in southern drawls. At the end, I was momentarily thrown when I paid by credit card and included the tip on the merchant’s copy of the receipt, that you have to sign. That is standard practice. I was then handed that amount in cash from the till where I paid, as if they owed me change. This is not. The nice lady explained that I should now take that cash and place it where I had been seated. “We like to do things the old fashioned way here”, she said.

Everyone in the restaurant, expect for a couple of staff, was white. But most people I see as I cycle along, or when I stop in gas stations, are black. Many wave or nod as I go past. Tonight in a Japanese restaurant I was served by an a Indian looking waitress who spoke with as strong a southern accent as a I have heard. It’s good to have your expectations challenged. It was a mutual process, because she had just mopped the floor as I entered half an hour before closing time which, as I pointed out, left plenty of time for them to serve me a delicious meal. And, to be fair, after the initial reset, that’s exactly what they did. They had no beer, so I made do with Mr Pibb.