Day 35: Grand Ridge to Quitman

April 4, 2004 Georgia

We woke at our usual hour, but were already 2 hours behind schedule. We lost one hour because of the switch to daylight savings time, and another hour when we crossed into the eastern time zone near Chattahoochie. So by the clock, it wasn't until 9:00 am that we set off. But by the sun, we were setting off at about our usual time, so all was well.

We backtracked the four and half miles to highway 90, and once again the morning air was chilly - we could see our breaths. And the sky was again a flawless blue. Sunday morning traffic was light, and the riding was very pleasant. The highway crossed the Apalachicola River on a high bridge and just upriver we could see the dam on Lake Seminole, along with a set of locks. This was another large river, and a sign here called it an inland waterway, no doubt for small craft. We are surprised to find such large rivers through these southern states.

As we were peddling out of Chattahoochie we met a cyclist headed the other way. We both stopped for a friendly 15 minute chat. Larry Hoff from Wisconsin had begun his trip eight days ago in Wilmington NC, and planned to ride the perimeter. He said that the previous summer he had hiked the PCT, and that so far he liked the hiking much better than biking.

Ten thousand to one, we like hiking better than cycling also. On foot we tend to see a lot more, we can connect with the landscape a lot better, and while hiking we are not focused on the road and constantly dealing with the traffic. But we also find that biking has a lot going for it. We are seeing a lot of the country that we would not see otherwise. With the bikes there is a sense of speed that one does not get while hiking. Even our slowest peddling speed is seven mph cranking up steep hills, and the downhill runs are pure fun. To feel the wind, and watch the scenery rushing past, is a sensation not to be missed. But more importantly, I have known people who specialize in one type of adventure to the exclusion of all else, whether it be hiking, biking, climbing, canoeing, sea-kayaking, skydiving, or what have you; and after a while these people tend to burn out. I have found that the best plan is to not limit myself to any one endeavor, but to pursue a wide variety. My only criteria is that each adventure of whatever type be fun.

Larry was the first cyclist we have seen on the trip who was lightly loaded, and who also was making excellent mileages, averaging 130 a day he said. He had a very positive attitude, especially considering he had been bucking strong headwinds the last couple of days. We told him we had experienced ten days of headwinds through Texas, but that we simply put our heads down and kept peddling. He agreed that is the way to go. Our meeting here was quite providential because he was on the southern tier route, and we were about to leave it on a long diagonal through southern Georgia to intercept the Atlantic Coast route. A few minutes later and we would have missed each other. We said we hoped we would see him again in the second quadrant.

We turned left onto road 97 and followed it generally north to Bainbridge, and right away crossed into the state of Georgia. This was our 8th state of the trip, and we were of course wondering what the roads in Georgia would be like. So far, this road had no shoulder, but the traffic was fairly light and everyone pulled over for us. The countryside was also very beautiful with lush forests, dense undergrowth, occasional swampy areas, and untold acres of tree farms. In fact, all of this land had been cleared long ago, and many of these forests are tree farms leftover from the railroad days. The oldest trees we saw grew in the towns. In these towns we passed by gorgeous old oaks, elms, and magnolias with their large, dark green, leathery leaves. Spanish Moss often hung in long, clumps from the branches, and waved in the wind.

The first ten miles into Georgia were quite hilly, and although the countryside never flattened out, it became much less abrupt further on. We reached the city of Bainbridge, and spent some time peddling through town, going in generally the right direction but never quite sure of our whereabouts. We eventually reached highway 84 and here turned southeast. This highway would be our route for the next few days. Like the other days preceding this one, the sun was warm but the air was cool. We are finally learning to mitigate our pace so that we do not sweat so profusely. And once again we had a beautiful tailwind much of the afternoon. Here again there was a town every ten or fifteen miles. Some of these towns were mostly black, and in a few places we could feel some racial animosity. But overall everyone was friendly.

In fact, as we peddled along the four-lane, divided highway 84, almost everyone pulled away into the other lane to go around us, even where we had a bit of a shoulder for ourselves. In fact, something like 98 percent of the drivers pulled away into the other lane for us. And not a few seconds before reaching us, but well ahead of time. This makes a huge difference, if we know what they are going to do. Far and away, this part of Georgia has the most considerate drivers that we had seen on the trip thus far. In some areas of other states, the drivers would pull over, but begrudgingly oftentimes. But here in southern Georgia, they simply pulled over without any resentment. Thanks to them, and to the beautiful scenery, we were certainly enjoying the day's ride through this beautiful state.

On a dispiriting note, we passed another accident. This time a car had pulled from a side street into the highway, just in time to be t-boned by a high speed motorist. Two ambulances sped past us, again reminding us to be extra cautions. If that t-boned driver could not see an approaching car, his or her chances of seeing us would be even less. Many times we have seen drivers radically underestimating our speed. They see a bicycle, so they must figure they can pull out onto the highway, or pull off onto a side road, not realizing perhaps that we are going much faster than they realize, and they are cutting us off.

A couple times we peddled past vast tomato fields. In a few other places we stopped to examine the forests more closely, to look at the trees and plants. At one of these stops Jenny found a wood tick on her leg. She also thought she saw an alligator in one of the ponds. We are still seeing a few road killed armadillos, but their numbers have been rapidly dwindling as we head further north. Also lots of road killed opossums, raccoon, squirrel, and the occasional deer.

Eventually we reached Quitman, where at 5:30 pm we quit for the day.

Day's mileage: 110

Day 36

April 5, 2004 Georgia

Even after a month, we are still in less than peak bicycling condition, and are finding the need to take the occasional layover day, which here in Quitman we did. Also I had been experiencing a toothache and spent most of the day sleeping, because due to the infection I had not slept much the previous night.

I mention this only to possibly help someone else with a toothache, so they do not make the same mistakes I did, years ago, and have a couple of root canals done. The problem is bacteria at the base of the tooth breaking down the protection and forming open pockets between the gum and base of the tooth. In time, these pockets tend to deepen, until eventually the bacteria can reach the base of the tooth, making tooth extremely painful. The dentist does nothing to solve the problem, which is bacteria causing the pockets. Rather, the dentist kills the tooth, which stops the pain. Several years ago I saw an advertisement for someone selling a special syringe for $30 designed to be filled with hydrogen peroxide 3 percent as it comes from the drug stores, and the blunt tip inserted deeply into a pocket between tooth and gum and the hydrogen peroxide supposedly flushes the bacteria out of the pocket, so that the pocket could heal. The person selling this claimed that his special syringe was the only way to flush out these pockets, that a water pick would not do it. For my third painful tooth, years ago, I decided to give this a try. It worked. I paid $30 for the special syringe and saved $800 for the root canal and cap. And since then, I have found this tool extremely effective.

Now on the bike trip another painful tooth, in fact one of the teeth that had a root canal. But now I did not have my special syringe. What to do? I stopped at a drug store and bought an ordinary hypodermic syringe for 25 cents. Filled with hydrogen peroxide and inserted deeply into the offending pockets, a thorough flushing stopped the tooth pain in just a few hours. I had to be careful with the sharp tip, not to puncture the skin; but this was quite easy by feel alone. After several applications in the course of 24 hours, the infection was gone.

Day 37: Quitman to Jesup

April 6, 2004 Georgia

We set off at 8 am. The morning was very chilly and we could see our breath heavily. The sky was cloudy and the wind calm. Again we rode a little slower than normal because of the wind chill factor. In lieu of mittens I wrapped my hands with bandannas. Seventeen miles to the outskirts of Valdosta and the sky cleared and the day started warming, and we began shedding layers until we were down to our usual thin poly jersey and lycra shorts. Florida and Georgia are supposedly dry this time of year. The rains typically start the middle of April. So right now is wonderful weather for bicycling. But there are wildfires all over these two states and the locals are praying for rain.

All day we followed the 38/84, once again peddling through small and medium sized towns every ten or fifteen miles. The road was very good for riding and the traffic was light to moderate, but the farther we went the worse was the road and narrower the shoulder, although there was one stretch of ten miles where once again we were treated to two brand new lanes to ourselves, where the highway was under construction. But about fifteen miles out of Waycross we had an eighteen-inch shoulder with a sixteen-inch rumble strip. So we could use the shoulder only in dire need, which happened several times. For some reason, the polite drivers of southwest Georgia did not seem to frequent this road. With the extremely narrow to non-existent shoulder, we find it is safest to ride in the right one-third of the lane. This discourages the traffic from squeezing past us, which can be very dangerous for us. And it encourages them to go around us into the other lane. One of the most dangerous types of drivers for us the grandmotherly types. She looks at us and thinks "oh isn't that cute, a bicycle built for two," as she subconsciously steers straight at us. In fact, we've seen this "object fixation" in all sorts of drivers.

All along the way the road led through fairly flat, wooded terrain, with not very much climbing. A lot of swampy ground alongside the highway, with very stagnant water. The wooded terrain was almost all tree farms in varying degrees of growth, from freshly clear cut, to newly planted, to tall and mature. We saw one Canada goose sitting 30 feet off the road in a small swamp. We saw the usual great blue herons and egrets, buzzards and hawks, and again lots of turtles. Only one road kill turtle today, and still a few road kill armadillo, along with opossums, raccoons and deer. The winds were light all day. Sometimes we had bit of wind behind us, sometimes ahead.

We rolled into Jesup and stopped at a grocery store to replenish our supply of fruit for the evening and following morning. A few miles further and we stopped for the day at 6 pm.

Day's mileage: 130

Day 38: Jesup to Ridgeland

April 7, 2004 South Carolina

The morning was again chilly, and more humid than previous mornings as we near the Atlantic Coast. Set off at 6:30 am, with the hint of a sun through thin clouds, showing barely over the treetops. For the first time on the trip we did not have the sun directly in front of us, since we are no longer headed due east. We are now paralleling the Atlantic coastline. We followed a bypass road that went around Jesup, then turned onto the 84/38 which makes a beeline for Savannah. The traffic was moderate and the shoulder variable - from non-existent to medium, but again with the troublesome rumble strip often present. Again we passed by tree farms and rural land, but every ten miles or so was another small town.

We went around the large Fort Stewart army reservation to its east, and here traffic was intense, four packed lanes, everyone in a hurry, and no shoulders for us. With a state highway map clutched in her hand, Jenny navigated us toward Savannah on road 196, locally known as the Flemington Shortcut (it passes through the town of Flemington, and is a shortcut into Savannah). This narrow two-lane road was lined with dense foliage on either side, with the usual deep drainage cut twenty feet from the shoulder, and paralleling the road. These drainage cuts seem to accumulate all manner of debris, besides providing home to turtles and frogs, and sometimes a resting and feeding place for egrets, kingfishers and buzzards. At one point Jenny saw a road-kill animal which she thought looked something like a young cougar (catamount). She described it as about the size of a medium size dog, mostly tan and light brown with some beige/sand color that matched the forest floor, but with dark spots all over. She said the head was very cat-like and small compared to the body size, and that the animal had a long tail.

We peddled on, skirting around the west side of Savannah, past the International Airport where huge jumbo jets seemingly vaulted out of the trees to our left, and climbed steeply into the sky. Soon we were in Port Wentworth and crossing the Savannah River, and saying goodbye to the state of Georgia. Now in South Carolina, the road led us straight through the Savannah National Wildlife Refuge, a huge expanse of wetlands, full of waterfowl, wading birds, and alligators. We had fantastic views of the marshes in all directions. There wasn't much traffic on this road, but several trucks roared past now and then. Riding through an area of cypress growing in the swamps, we saw a snake crossing the road. It was about sixteen inches in length, stout and dark in color. I slowed the bike, and turned us around to investigate. The snake was in the middle of the road, and in not much of a hurry - though it should have been. Two large trucks came barreling down the road. The first truck missed the snake by inches, but the second truck nailed it. Looking at the remains we could see that it was a poisonous water moccasin.

The afternoon sky was completely clouded over, the air muggy, and the temperature read 82° on a sign we peddled past in Hardeeville, SC. On the bike we create our own breeze, so it feels much cooler as we ride along. When we stop for a rest, we are suddenly drenched in sweat. In this region the no-see-ums seemed to find us quickly, and tended to keep our rest stops short.

We paralleled Interstate 95 on highway 17, which was a bumpy two-lane road with a very narrow strip for a shoulder. Although we could hear the roar of the nearby interstate, a dense forest buffer zone made it seem very rural. Near the town of Switzerland we passed through a green tunnel where the oaks, elms and gums grew large and old, and their branches met over the road, with spanish moss hanging in long, wispy clumps.

Arriving in Ridgeland at 3:00 pm, we decided to stop for the day.

Day's mileage: 100

Day 39: Ridgeland to Walterboro

April 8, 2004 South Carolina

The forecast was for heavy rain and the morning sky was very dark in the west but still mostly blue in the east. Apparently a low pressure cell was moving in from the west, drenching everything in its path, and hammering it with hail. We set off at 7:40 am and peddled half a mile back into town, then continued following road 17 frontage road. Our maps did not show this road in this area, but logic suggested that it would continue in our intended direction. The morning was very humid, and cool but not see-your-breath cold.

In a few miles the paved frontage road veered away east, so we reluctantly followed a gravel road leading ahead, paralleling the interstate. It was one of those situations where you forge ahead because you have too much invested to give up and go all the way back. Eventually this is what happened, as we turned around and peddled a mile back to a freeway entrance. This freeway, Interstate 95, was very busy with high speed rush hour traffic, and a high percentage of it was large trucks. But the shoulder was seven feet wide with a rumble strip at the edge of the traffic lane. We must have had a slight tailwind because we positively flew along this road for twelve miles. Minimum speed was about twenty, and at one point were clocking twenty seven as we peddled directly past someone walking along the freeway.

The sky behind was growing darker when we exited the freeway at Point South, from where the 17 resumed. From there we followed the 17 for about twenty miles. This part of the road was very quiet, a bit rough in places, with no shoulder, but very pleasant cycling past swamps and hardwood forests. The rain began very lightly. The sky wasn't all that dark, so we figured we would be ok. However in the next half hour the rain increased to a deluge. Even so, we wore only jerseys and shorts, because the temperature was not cold enough to prompt us into our rain jackets. Soon we were absolutely soaking wet, but it wasn't unpleasant, except for the eyeglasses fogging problem. In this situation, contact lenses might be a better option for someone who could tolerate them.

We were in the heavy rain for about an hour, a drenching, pouring, soaking rain. The rain was dancing off the river of pavement all around us. Great dollops streamed off our helmets, ran down our shirt sleeves, dripped off our elbows and knees, rooster-tailed from the rear tire, slung from the chains at our ankles, spun off the wheels and soaking our thin socks and shoes which were making wheezing, squishing sounds with each stroke, while water splattered and rebounded from the pavement at our legs and ankles. We may have been soaked through, but we were not dispirited. This was a good rain. Rain is life. The woods were soaking it up.

We had to moderate our speed because there was so much standing water on the pavement, and because the visibility was very limited with heavy rain, fog, and flying spray from passing vehicles. The closer we got to the town of Walterboro, the more traffic we encountered, and we were a little surprised that the drivers were not more courteous. Perhaps because of the rain they were feeling less patient than usual, and therefore less tolerant of bicycles in their way.

Eventually we reached the junction to the town, and turned left on 68 toward the interstate, where in another mile we found a cluster of motels. The time was only 10:30 am, but enough of this was enough. After drying the bike off with a rag borrowed from the front desk, and securing the bike in our room and drying some of our clothes on the room's heater, we enjoyed a nice buffet lunch at a nearby restaurant. While eating, we reminisced about some of the other times we had been caught in heavy rain. And of course there have been many such times.

While rowing across the Atlantic we had experienced lots of heavy rain, and during most of it we had sat fully exposed, pulling at the oars in our home-made rain jackets. Kayaking the Inside Passage, it seemed we were rained on almost continuously, sometimes very heavily. This had been more serious because we had no means to escape it, since our commercial rain parkas leaked and we often found ourselves sitting in the commercial kayak's frigid bilge. On the Continental Divide Trail we experienced two weeks of cold, drenching rain in northern Montana. This wasn't so serious because the exercise of hiking kept us warm, although we had slogged along in running shoes that were so wet, and often ankle-deep in mud, that we had simply waded across the many swift and frigid creeks and rivers without removing our socks or shoes. During our first PCT hike we were flushed out of the mountains by an uncommonly heavy rain, when our commercial tent failed us. One of our most drenching moments was while sailing around the world, pulling into Cape Town, South Africa at the onset of one of its infamous storms. The rain was slanting down so fiercely that Jenny had to keep running down below to clean my eyeglasses. I had the engine at full power, motoring into the tempest while trying to follow a tugboat into the protection of the harbor. This was a most dangerous moment for ourselves and the boat, due to the danger of foundering in the storm. The hardest rains in our experience were in one of the cyclones in French Polynesia, at the island of Hiva Oa in the Marquesas. At its peak, it rained about six inches in just a few hours, but there we were under our boat awning, safe and dry.

The surprising thing here, in South Carolina, was how quickly the streets dried once the rain stopped, although they were soon swamped again by the next onslaught. This cycle continued throughout the afternoon, and in the evening the weather service issued severe storm warnings for the area, advising everyone to stay inside and to keep away from windows.

Day's mileage: 43

Day 40: Walterboro to Georgetown

April 9, 2004 South Carolina

The sky cleared overnight and the morning air was full of mist. Set off at 7:15 am and peddled a mile back to our earlier junction then proceeded into town. We missed the next junction, in the middle of town, so ended up peddling a couple of extra miles to get back on track. Now on 17 Alternate, we headed east. Once again the road had no shoulder, as would be the case throughout most of the day.

As the sunlight hit the trees, the foliage seemed to sparkle in brilliant shades of green. The leaves were still wet with rain, the land was fresh and pungent from all the moisture of the previous day. We peddled past a small fruit stand, something of a rarity, at least at this time of year, and bought six bananas for a dollar. This was our breakfast.

Ever since Georgia, many of the gas station/convenience stores and isolated stands have sold boiled peanuts. In fact, we had seen hand-painted signs advertising a fruit stand ahead, and when we got to the fruit stand, they were selling boiled peanuts. That was all, just boiled peanuts. Sometimes it was hot boiled peanuts. At one of the stores we were offered to try them. The peanuts are boiled three hours in brine, the shell. Definitely an acquired taste.

We rode through Summerville, which was busy with traffic, and by the time we reached Moncks Corner we were starting to flag. So we stopped at a "Piggly Wiggly" grocery store and bought some large oranges and bananas for lunch. The sky was clear and we had to seek shade during all our rests, the day was too hot to sit for long in the sun.

The incessant hammering of traffic today was a bit fatiguing, but only because of a lack of a shoulder. Much of the traffic squeezed past rather than pull into the opposite lane, but only once were we actually run off the road, by a dump truck. The shoulder there was scraggly grass growing on soft sand. The tires sunk in and we came to an abrupt and unintentional stop without using the brakes.

A couple of miles past Moncks Corner, most of the traffic went somewhere else, and the ride became a lot nicer. Also the scenery started changing, with more of an Atlantic coastal influence. We could smell ocean in the air because of the wind blowing inland off the sea. Headwinds for us much of the day. We followed 17 Alternate all the way to Georgetown and there we stopped for the day.

Day's mileage: 110

Day 41: Georgetown to Wilmington

April 10, 2004 North Carolina

The air was quite humid and not very cold when we set off at 8:00 am. Also, the sky was full of cloudy mist, especially as we crossed over Winyah Bay and the Black River. The coastal vegetation was quite dense, with pines and oaks, maples and elm, gum and other trees, and with flowering vines and shrubs covering the land, interspersed with plenty of swamps. Unfortunately several dead raccoons lay alongside the road. Countless small birds chirped and sang from the treetops and from the cover of the bushes. We sighted many of the bright red cardinals, North Carolina's state bird, and perhaps we were hearing the Carolina Wrens, South Carolina's state bird. This constant chorus of birdsong, especially during the early morning hours is one of our fond memories of hiking the Appalachian Trail, and here in the Carolinas we ware reminded of our AT hike eleven years previously: the lush vegetation, the smell of wild onions "ramps" and other damp forest odors, the soft ground with it's thick cover of leaves and needles, and every now and then finding a turtle crossing the trail.

From Surfside Beach we followed the Business 17 route, which took us closer to the beach areas. The Saturday morning traffic was quite busy with locals and tourists. At one point Jenny spotted a bicycle shop on the other side of the street. This required several minutes and some artful dodging to cross the busy street, but once there we found a friendly clerk who although he couldn't help us tighten the bike's timing chain, he did let us take our time looking at seats and tools and various bike gadgets. I bought a new seat, since my original one had fossilized into what felt more like a brick.

We followed Ocean Boulevard through Myrtle Beach, and it was here that we finally had our first good look at the famous North Carolina beaches and the Atlantic Ocean. There was a light onshore breeze, the ocean looked inviting with a pretty white chop, the sand beach was clean and white, small sand dunes covered with coarse grasses rose up abruptly from the beach, and the condos, resort motels, restaurants, and pavement took over from there. Some of the resorts had umbrellas and beach chairs set up for their customers, and beach-goers strolled along the beach, not in droves like the beaches of Florida, but then the temperature was only in the high 70s.

We continued toward North Myrtle Beach and its endless and gorgeous golf courses. At times the highway offered a bit of shoulder, but we always had to be on traffic alert, especially with all the busy cross traffic. Just before we reached the North Carolina border, we turned onto side road 179, which got us off the 17 for a few miles. This side road had no sign welcoming us to North Carolina, and its traffic was nearly as congested.

We reached the town of Supply and by now the wind had picked up to 15 to 20, directly out of the east. We had originally planned to follow the bike route to Southport, take the ferry across the huge Cape Fear River to Pleasure Island and Carolina Beach. But this would have meant stiff headwinds for the rest of the afternoon. So we changed our plans took the direct route into Wilmington, following highway 17 and putting the wind slightly behind us. The day was growing late and we were feeling a bit knackered from a long day of dealing with Myrtle Beach traffic, but we continued ahead, now on a reasonably good shoulder, and eventually crossed the Cape Fear River on a busy bridge.

This bridge was the technical crux of the day. The steel lattice in lieu of pavement might work suitably well for car tires, but it throws a thin touring bike tire into wild disarray, taking most of the stability out of the bike's steering. Combine that with an absence of a shoulder, the constant press of traffic, and the tire-munching drains spaced at 50' intervals, and in retrospect we should have walked the bike across this bridge rather than ridden it.

Nevertheless, this brought us into the historic, downtown Wilmington with its many interesting and well kept buildings, beautiful flowers, and numerous interpretative signs intended for the visitors. We turned left onto 3rd street then right onto Market street, and within a couple miles found a motel. It was 6:30 pm and we were exhausted, but pleased that we had arrived in Wilmington a day ahead of schedule. Once again, a hot shower at the end of a long, hot, sticky, and tiring day was most welcome and appreciated.

Day's mileage: 117

Day 42

April 11, 2004 North Carolina

Easter Sunday, and a layover day with the excuse of waiting for the post office to open Monday morning, in order to collect a resupply of needed maps. The ambiance at our present motel was less than desirable, in terms of personal safety, or at least ease of mind, so we relocated to a nicer one just down the street and spent a quiet Sunday relaxing.

Day's mileage: 0.1

Day 43: Wilmington to Topsail

April 12, 2004 North Carolina

The morning was completely overcast and threatening rain, and the forecast was for that and much more. At least the rain held off while we cycled west to the post office to collect our small package of supplies and maps. The post office in question, in downtown Wilmington, was two and half miles back the way we had come. Along the way we enjoyed looking at some of the nice older homes surrounded by huge oaks draped in moss and wisteria, and the ubiquitous and colorful azalea bushes in full bloom.

Back at the motel, we decided to depart despite the ominous forecast. But in a few miles we stopped at a bicycle shop. Earlier this morning Jenny had phoned, and was told, sure, bring the bike in and he would adjust the timing chain, no problem. This was the Chain Reaction Bike Shop on Eastwood Road, and after our previous experiences with bike shops in the last fifteen hundred miles, we would believe his ability to do the job when we saw it done. Jason, the young owner, put his head down to floor level for a close look at the bike's underside, and uttered the words "set screws."

"Set screws?" I echoed back, with a combination of doubt and incredulity. My head down near the floor opposite Jason's, I saw them. Set screws.

Two customers walked into the shop and borrowed our mechanic's attention. One woman with a bike and some request that Jason ultimately declined to deal with, and another fellow with a beautiful new racing bike smashed to bits by a car.

I grabbed an allen wrench from the shop bench, and loosened the set screws. With a second tool lying on the bench, a pin spanner, I tightened the timing chain by twisting the eccentric bottom bracket. Then I re-tightened the set screws. Job done; twenty seconds, zero skill, and two simple tools - one of which is in practically every bicyclist's tool bag.

Jason was still talking to the fellow with the wrecked bike as we backed the tandem out of his work area. We gave him a $5 bill for the heads-up and use of his tools. As we peddled happily away, I couldn't help wonder whether many of life's problems could be solved if we would simply look at them from a different angle.

We returned to Market Street, still quite busy with lunch-hour traffic, and followed it east until eventually it became highway 17, the same highway we had been traveling for several days. Leaving Wilmington slowly behind, we cycled past the usual car lots, suburbs, shopping malls and gas stations.

We were ten miles out of town when the first rain drops began to fall, and by the time we reached the next gas station convenience store the weather was starting to cut loose in earnest, so we pulled off. This particular store had a nice awning out front, so under this we sat watching the rain. Nothing like a wide porch area complete with rocking chairs and hot chocolates to take the brunt out of a storm.

After about an hour, the rain and gusty winds diminished to manageable proportions, so we set off once again. Unfortunately, the highway was still soaking wet, and the traffic speeding past coated us in a fine and gritty mist, while the bike's wheels picked up much the same from the road and slung it at us from below. But if the afternoon was wet, at least it was reasonably warm, and now the highway featured a 24" shoulder we were in biker's heaven. And when you're in heaven you hardly notice the wet and grit.

Reaching road 172, we veered right, toward the coast, and now in an afternoon so dark that looked more like evening, we were thinking of calling it quits for this day. So we turned south on road 210 toward Topsail Island, and in a couple miles stopped for the day at a motel. The bike was a mess, so Jenny volunteered to clean it. She also degreased and oiled the chains, sprockets and dérailleur. This seems to have become something of a once a week job, but it certainly has made for smoother peddling and easier shifting. As a teenager Jenny once worked in a bike shop, so she enjoys caring for the bike.

Day's mileage: 46, including the 5-mile round trip to the Wilmington post office

Day 44: Topsail to Morehead City

April 13, 2004 North Carolina

The pavement was starting to dry from an early morning rain shower when we set off at 7:40 am. The sky was dark gray, the clouds low and zipping by, a fine mist was suspended all around, and the humidity, to us, seemed very high. We backtracked 2.5 miles to route 172 and soon were crossing the bridge over the New River, and entering the Camp Lejeune Marine Corps Base. The official bike route follows road 172 through the base, so we figured we were ok to proceed. At the guard station a soldier in fatigues stood at attention staring at us, then momentarily broke rank, smiled and uttered something about us going slow. We thanked him and peddled on, into the base.

With a strong tailwind we traveled the 21 mile road leading through the base fairly swiftly. Contrary to warnings we had read, we did not have to stop for any armored tanks crossing the road. And although the sky was quite gray, the clouds did not rain on us. The base was very pretty with natural vegetation, and extremely well kept with almost no roadside litter. As we passed through the far guard station, the sentry there stood at attention facing the opposite way.

Eventually we came to the bridge at Bogue Inlet, and here was a sweeping view of the Sound. For most of the morning we had been cycling through forested areas where the trees and vegetation had protected us from the brunt of the wind. But here on the bridge we caught it full force. The sound was covered in fierce waves, with streaks of water and blown spume.

From Cedar Point we followed road 24 into Morehead City. forty five miles ahead was Cedar Island and our first ferry crossing to the Outer Banks, but with the 25 mph wind and clouds growing very dark we thought we might have to stop for the day here. So on the west side of town we stopped at a grocery store for some fruit and salads. I watched the bike while Jenny went into the store, and this is when the clouds finally cut loose, with a heavy rain that soon became a deluge, and finally a bona fide torrential downpour. For an hour we stood under the store's outside awning, watching the water accumulate in the parking lot. The wind had picked up too, and the treetops were whipping back and forth violently.

Each time, just when we thought the worse of the storm had passed, another dark cloud would appear overhead, thunder would rumble and more great sheets of rain would pummel down. We finally put on our rain jackets, climbed onto the bike and peddled out into the storm. Fortunately we knew of a motel only a mile farther on, so we peddled slowly and very cautiously with the motorists doing their best to be in a frenetic rush.

Before moving into the wonderfully warm and dry room, we asked the front desk clerk for an old rag so we could wipe down the bike. Then once inside we watched through the window as the rain and wind continued unabated. In fact, the Weather Service issued severe thunderstorm warnings for the next couple of hours, and even a brief tornado warning.

Day's mileage: 54