I’m trying to get myself caught up so here are two days in one. I left Dillon after a morning at the local laundromat. All the machines are coin operated, which required a very large quantity of quarters. A lovely lady gave me some soap for the washing machine and now all my clothes are sweet smelling once again! There comes a point where this can’t be avoided any longer, and I was past that point.
That left half a day to cycle. As I left, I had a great conversation with one of the maids who wanted to clean my motel room. She was very curious about my trip and where I come from. Like many Americans, she wrongly placed my accent as Australian. This is a constant mystery to me. I am obviously not a local, and I dare say that in Dillon SC there are not a lot of foreign visitors; but every one watches movies, don’t they? Anyway, she asked me if the UK was like it is here in Dillon. The simple answer, obviously, was no. But then how do you start to explain why and how everything is so different to someone who has, for example, been to the coast (an hour away by car) just once in her life? I settled on everything here is much bigger. Which is true. Even the laundrette!
I found myself having a similar conversation with people working in the small family restaurant where I stopped for lunch in the middle of nowhere, after slipping unnoticed into North Carolina a few miles after Dillon. An empty road ran right along the state border between flat fields, and I took delight in weaving my way along the road crossing repeatedly from one state to the other. At no point in these back roads did I see a sign welcoming me to North Carolina. There were only signs for folks going the other way into South Carolina. Oh well.
I have made a habit these last three days of eating lunch in some very traditional, simple southern restaurants. You don’t get a menu to choose from, they just tell you what they have today. It is mostly things like fried chicken, yams, rice and gravy, cabbage, onion rings and so on, and it comes for a fixed price with a “beverage”. I always choose lemonade, which is sometimes pink. The other diners all seem to be simple, everyday folk and the staff are friendly and polite. And they always remark on my accent. Today, one waitress – who initially just asked me to talk – quizzed me at length and spoke about her dreams to see the world. But I couldn’t help thinking that these will likely remain dreams. For all the wealth in this rich country, there are a lot of people for whom life beyond their immediate jobs and surroundings is unfathomable. This lady, in her forties, spoke to me about her fear of dying, or being left alone when her family and friends were no longer around. It’s quite hard to know what to say, except to wish everyone luck and tell them anything is possible.
The cycling in North Carolina was a delight. I spent hours on deserted roads and passed through very few towns. It got a bit busier as I got close to Fayetteville, a big city, but my motel in the city centre was in a quiet area near the deserted train station, behind which was a small, modern baseball stadium where a game was taking place. Not wishing to miss out on a cultural experience, I walked down there and enjoyed the last five innings of a pre-season exhibition game between the Fayetteville Woodpeckers and the Asheville Tourists (both minor league affiliates of the Houston Astros, it turned out). I knew from previous experience that this would be a great way to spend the evening and enjoy food and drink in a relaxed, friendly setting, while not paying too much attention to the rather dull sport going on in front of me. And so it proved. You don’t really need to appreciate baseball too much, because they do this kind of sporting occasion very well in this country. It wasn’t a big crowd tonight but everyone was having a great time. I was even given a free pretzel, which partly compensated for the astronomical price of the surprisingly good beer on sale. And that is why I never wrote my blog last night. But I went to bed happy.
This morning I returned to start my journey in the city centre of Fayetteville and found it to my liking. There were murals, sculptures, a park being enjoyed by many school kids, a museum and some good old brick buildings that were now mostly bars and restaurants, just opening up for the day. At the main intersection, in the middle of a traffic circle, stood the old market hall with a red brick clock tower that faced in all four directions. All very pleasing, in a modest way.
It wasn’t really the city centre, because in minutes I was rolling through the countryside on rural roads past some very nice homes. I stopped after an hour for another traditional restaurant experience. The grandmotherly lady at the counter helped me decide what I would eat, wrote it down and gave me a slip to take to another lady at a serving hatch, who disappeared to cook my meal and then called my name when it was ready. I felt like I was in a bygone era. I don’t think they get too many visitors like me, but they were very kind and welcoming,
I still had perhaps fifty miles to go to reach Raleigh, and at about this point in the day, hills started to appear. Not big hills, but for the first time since Key West, the land was definitely no longer flat. I thought it was all the better for it, too. Things continued to be generally attractive for the rest of the way, with an ever increasing abundance of fruit blossom on the trees in peoples’ gardens, complemented by the continuing presence of azaleas and wisteria. I was also now in farming country, with large, open fields of crops all around. I rode in the slipstream of a JCB for a couple of miles on a quiet lane, much to the amusement of the driver. I reached speeds I can’t usually touch with almost no effort. But he wasn’t going my way, so we parted with a friendly wave and I went back to enjoying a following breeze to propel me along on this lovely warm sunny day – my twenty-second in a row in a row since landing in Miami in mid March.
I followed my nose though the countryside and crossed an area full of historical marker signs to commemorate the Civil War battle of Averasboro. The I stopped for an impromptu cup of Earl Grey in a coffee shop in a small town of a Buies Creek, which turned out to be dominated almost completely by the smart buildings of Campbell University, whose mascot is a fighting camel. They have a life size sculpture of one in the centre of town, Really.
Around this point in the afternoon I accidentally regained the route of the East Coast Greenway, and saw a smattering of cycle signs by the side of the road. But it didn’t last long, as it never seems to. Notwithstanding it was an excellent day of cycling. All of which brings me to roughly the half way point in my journey between Key West and Boston. I hope to reach Washington DC in four days from here; but that is a whole state and more away. After tonight’s huge Mexican meal, however, I may not need to eat again before I arrive!
