December 19, 2009

I don't think I'm gonna make it . . .

. . . to New Orleans by New Year's Eve. After pushing on out of Savannah—thanks again to Noel and Corey for putting me up!—I made my way west. Finally, a new direction! I pedaled through Fort Stewart, GA. Highway 144 is the road that passes right through the middle of it all. I got to the border of said fort around noontime on Monday, and there was no gate guard to speak of. This is a big military base, and there is a huge armored vehicle regiment there, so a lot of it was just woods and tank paths.
As I was nearing the end of the day, I saw that there was a campground there on the base, so I followed the signs and made my way a couple miles off of 144 to the area. As I pulled up to the camp office, I was notified by the lady working there that we were not allowed to camp on the base. I was thinking it was only for military personnel and vets. When I told her that I had served five years protecting this country of ours—despite what my current appearance might imply—she said that wasn't the issue. The issue was Cooper. “Oh, you don't allow dogs?” I asked. “No, we allow dogs. Just not pit bulls.” “What? He's the nicest dog there is. We won't be any trouble; we just need a spot in the way back to set up and sleep.” “Sorry,” was her response. So we turned it around and pushed on back to 144.
When we hit the road, I noticed a couple of soldiers standing at the edge of the road that led back to the rifle range. I went over to them to find out how much farther it was to the end of the base, and to inquire about their backgrounds. We had only been talking a couple minutes when this sergeant came storming our way. He informed me that I need to leave the immediate area due to the fact that it was restricted. Where I stood, I was on the main public road; where they stood was on the dirt road that led to the range. Me, being me, told him, “I'm not in your immediate area. I'm in my area.” He didn't like that, and told me again to “vacate the area, now!” I threw out my best “Hoo-rah!” and hollered, “Yes, Sarrrrgeeent!” and made my way down the road.
A short time later an MP pulled me over and asked for my ID. When I handed him my passport, he asked if that was it. What better piece of ID does one need? When asked where I was going, I pointed west and said, “That way.” He didn't care too much for my obvious and vague responses, and informed me that he had seen me a couple of hours ago at the entrance of the base, which was eighteen miles back. He was wondering why I was still here. I told him that I only go about seven miles per hour. He started to argue the fact, and I said, “Seven miles per hour. That's fourteen miles in two hours. That's about where we are right now, correct?” I had him, and he knew it, but he still tried. That's when I fired back, “Look here, bub. I served five years in the Army as an 88L, 8th Trans Co, 24th Batt. 8 Brigade, and I have never been on a military installation that didn't have a gate guard post–9/11. I'm a vet and I live in a free country, and if I choose to ride my trike with my dog, and you have an open base, then so be it. That's what I'm gonna do. So unless there's anything else you got to say, I'll get back to getting on.” He handed me my passport and didn't say a word.
About an hour later I was still on this base, and in need of a spot for the night. I made my way back into the woods and set up for the night with no problems. The next morning, we headed out to get out of this not-so-restricted area. Around ten or so, the MP pulled up behind me and followed me for about a half mile. I looked back and shook my head in disbelief, and he passed me by without a word.
After making my way out, I came across a taxidermy place. Always intrigued and never questioned, I stopped in to gather some info. The girl who worked there explained all the ins and outs of the operation, and was very informative. She said, “It's not gross to do, but the smell can get to ya!”
After the quick lesson, we pushed on, and it was then that I decided to free myself. Free myself from this time table that I have established. When I left Savannah, I had said 40 miles a day for the next 17. I did 44 that first day and was exhausted. I slept from about 6 that night until 7 the next morning, without even eating dinner. The next day there were a lot more rolling hills that hadn't been present on the coast. Now I have made it south to the warmer weather; granted it has been wet, but that will pass soon. As I write this on Wednesday, December 16th, I have been on the road for 87 days, and gone 1,493 miles. I have been off the road, staying places for a total of 35 days. So I have pedaled those miles in 52 days worth of riding. Granted, I have stopped and spent time with people, but I haven't really stopped to talk to anyone else besides that. So after my conversation with the Taxidermist, I decided to slow down and take it all in. I have never spent any time down here, and I don't want to rush through it.
Yesterday afternoon I stopped at a gas station and got my hands on a Georgia state map to figure out my way west while keeping a little bit south. While I was there, a man by the name of Kerry started to chat with me and said that his brother lived about 8 miles down the road. He gave his bro a call to see if I could pitch my tent under his pines, and his brother told me to stop on by so he could talk with me to make sure I wasn't a crazy! 
About an hour later I pulled up to meet Kasey, Vicky, and their son Jagger. They asked me the usual questions, and were more than happy to give me a spot in the soft needles of their pines. They asked if I needed anything, and I assured them they had given me too much already. The next morning we woke to find Kerry waiting for us with some snacks and some more questions. We talked about politics, religion, family, and just life in general. He was really happy that he and his family could help us out. On her way out to work, Vicky stopped out to give me some ham and a Christmas card, and to say her goodbyes. It feels good to meet people and share a moment in their lives. So here I am in Georgia, free from all and just making my way west.
Till next time,
Love and licks,
Sean and Coop

December 12, 2009

Charleston to Savannah

So I ended up pushing out of Charleston around 3 p.m. on Tuesday. I got a late start due to the fact that I needed to put up the last couple of blog posts before I really fell behind. You guys support us and encourage us as we go, so the least I can do is keep you up to date on our whereabouts and goings on.

I worked my way southwest through Charleston towards the next spot—Savannah, GA. It is a 129-mile ride from one to the other. I wanted to get to Savannah by Friday night or Saturday afternoon. For that to happen, I would have to do 30 to 40-plus miles a day. Since I left Charleston so late, I was only able to go about 10 miles. While working my way out, I took the W. Ashley Greenway trail, which was 7.8 miles of easy, carefree riding. The trail was mostly gravel and dirt/mud, and it had already been raining that day, but the new ride easily worked its way on this path. While the old ride would have struggled in these conditions, the fact that the tires on this new ride are about two inches wide, and it is geared like a mountain bike, made riding on the trail no problem at all.

As we made our way down the path, Coop was able to run free of the harness and leash that he usually has on while running alongside me, and we encountered a young lady and her dog out for a rainy day walk. Cooper trotted up to take a sniff, and ended up getting bombarded with a serious overload of puppy love. Here was Cotton, along with his owner, Daisy. Cotton is a ten-week-old yellow lab that was raring to go. We stopped for a second to say hello to this ball of joy, and tried to pass on some suggestions to this new puppy mommy. She was very interested in our journey. Daisy, please send us some pics of your Cotton ball so I can share him with everyone, and I hope to hear from you about New Orleans. Just a little on down the line, we found a nice secluded spot to set up the tent and get some rest.

The following day showed promise of a good riding day—mostly sunny with a mild breeze. It was just what we needed to get out of this city. See, the thing is, I really liked Charleston, and I was kind of sad to push out of there so soon. I wish I could have kicked around there for about three more days. But with care packages waiting for me in Savannah, I had to get a move on.

Once we got out here on Highway 17, it was a different beast. The wind picked up tremendously, and it was right in our faces. The clouds moved in and the temperature dropped. We only did 20 miles that day before we were able to set up camp next to a building, which had outdoor power outlets and accessible Wi-Fi, so I was able to get out the laptop and do some last minute X-mas shopping. Not really—I'm broke as a joke. Sorry, family. No X-mas presents this year, just like the years before.

So here it is Thursday, and we're still about 100 some miles from our next stop. Once again, the weather was not on our side. I had broke down camp and hit the road without really eating any food, in hopes of getting some pavement behind us first thing in the morning. At around noon I was starving and a little cold, so I swung into the Harvest Moon Grille to get a bite to eat. As I walked in I was greeted by Jocelyn, the GM, who was also the server on the floor that day. She suggested the fried pork chop and broccoli casserole with rice and gravy. It sounded good and hearty, so I was in. While I sat there and waited for my food to arrive, she told me she had seen me earlier and was intrigued in what we had going on. After I finished my meal, a gentleman and his wife got up to leave, and said they had overheard my story and were wondering if they could buy my lunch. Thank you, John, for picking up the tab. After a hot cup of coffee, Jocelyn asked if there was anything else at all that they could get for me or do for me. I hesitated, but then asked if her guys in the kitchen happened to have any fine grit sharpening stones so I could freshen up my knives, which had become a little dull. She ran back to the kitchen, and a few seconds later poked her head out and told me to pull around back. I was excited to put a nice fresh edge on my tools, especially since I had opted against carrying around the heavy weight of a sharpening stone.

As I walked back into the kitchen, I was filled with all those warm and fuzzy feelings from back in the day. Watching the dishwasher unload the most recent order, I could hear the printer buzzing out the next order, and the frozen french fries hitting the scalding hot grease in the fryer. I set up the stone and bowl of water for sharpening. The radio was turned up loud, bumping Red Hot Chili Peppers tunes throughout the kitchen. Hearing the sauté pan hit the burner and grill spit, the plate hitting the pass, and the phrase “order up,” gave me goosebumps. It has been over a year since I turned my back on the food service industry, but those old feelings are starting to creep back up inside me as I meet different people and cook for those nice folks who have put us up on our journey.

After I was done and had some nice sharp blades, I cleaned up my mess and said my thank yous. Pushing on, we only did 20 miles or so. That night I sent an email to our host and hostess in Savannah, telling them I was trying to get to their house in South Savannah by Saturday night, which would mean riding more than 40 miles for each of the next two days. I have only done about 300 hundred miles on this new ride, so my legs still haven't gotten wrapped around it quite yet. On Friday, I put it to the pedals. The day wasn't that great for riding, and I had no shoulder most of the way, which has become more and more common the more south I've ridden down 17.

But we pushed on and did 38 miles by the time that big burning star in the sky started to do is westerly drop. The only problem was, we were in the middle of a residential area with nowhere to set up for the night. Then a pickup pulled up, and a couple of good ol' boys by the names of Gus and David asked me if I'm “pickin' up cans, 'cause if so, we got a shitload of beer cans you can have.” I informed them of my journey, and they were just amazed that some Yankee had the balls to do something like this. They asked me all the normal questions that everyone asks, and when we got to the subject of camping, I informed them that I didn't know where I was going to set up for the night. David gladly offered up a spot in his lawn, next to his trailer. Not about to miss the opportunity to have a place to sleep from a couple of good ol' boys from Beaufort, SC, I got directions and headed that way.

By the time I pulled up, the sun had gone down for the night. Coop and I hopped down and made our way to the garage, where there were some shade tree mechanics hard at work. When we walked up, we were greeted by David and his clan of friends and family. They had a couple of dogs on the run out there: Big Mac, a two-year-old boxer mix; and Ol' Girl, a 13 year old pit mix. Well, Mac and Coop got to playing when Ol' Girl came over and gave a snap at Coop. Coop, being Coop, snapped back. Then Libby, David's wife, spoke for the first time since our arrival: “If that Yankee dog f@#ks up my dogs, I'm gonna f@#k up that Yankee dog!” 'Nuff said, and she went into the trailer. I asked David if it was alright that we were there, and he said he had it under control. He told me to set up my tent and come on in once we got settled.

I set up the tent, fed Coop, and got my bed set up for the night. I was planning on getting up real early and hitting the road before the sun came up to do that last 47 miles or so that was left. When I stepped inside the trailer, I saw David, Libby, and Gus sitting around the table in a cloud of smoke, throwing back some brewskies. I stepped in, was handed a beer, and listened in on the serious trash-talking these three had going on. It was a pretty comical sight. The three of them had known each other for over twenty years, and there was a good bond of friendship there. After a bit, Libby warmed up to me and asked if I was hungry as she started pulling leftovers out of the fridge. Chicken and dumplings, deer meat, corn on the cob, and mashed taters. All very good and very filling. After a couple more beers, and lots and lots of laughs, I made my way back out to my tent and a snoring, warm pup.

We woke up at 6 a.m. and broke down the tent, packed everything up, and got to it before 7. The sun came up at about 7:15, and the rain started at about 7:45. I pulled over to put Coop's rain cover and my rain gear on. When a truck pulled up and asked us where we were headed, I informed him of our goal to get to Savannah by the end of the day. He asked if he could help us achieve that by giving us a lift. Once again I was faced with the choice of cheating or pedaling through. But while I was in Charleston, I had gotten on Google Maps and punched in my old zip code in NYC, then put in Savannah, GA as the destination and searched for walking directions, and it told me that no route was available. So I switched it over and searched for driving directions, and it came back at some 840 miles. When the truck stopped on this raining Saturday morning, I was just shy of 1,400 miles. So there is my justification for accepting the ride.

We got down into Savannah bright and early, and were given time to ride around and watch and listen to this southern town wake up. I swung by the post office, and was truly surprised by the care that was in the packages awaiting my arrival. Thanks, Sarah, Chad, Blue-Eyes, Top-Hat, Sandy, Jackie, and Mia. With all this, I won't have to buy food until after the New Year! Sandy had made a new collar for Coop, using a fabric that had bicycles on it. How fitting! As I cruised through Savannah on my way to Corey and Noel's house, I was just amazed by the trees down here. I love trees. I think they are such an important part of nature, and I find myself getting lost in just looking at them. The trees have gotten more and more beautiful as I have gone south, but there is nothing like the trees in Savannah.

Well, here we are on Sunday morning, and the rain seems to have stopped for now. I'm gonna hop on the trike and go take some pictures of the trees, and see what this town is all about. I push off tomorrow morning, then I have 625 miles or so to get to New Orleans by New Year's Eve. That's 40 miles a day for the next 17 days in a row! Wish me luck.

Till next time,
love and licks,
Sean and Coop

December 9, 2009



Till next time
love and licks

December 8, 2009


On my way to Kracke Street I had to cycle thru Mt. Plesant, but that was just before crossing over the Cooper River's two year old bridge. This bridge is amazing! Not only does it go over a river called Cooper, but it has a huge bike lane on the side- so no worries of playing in traffic. All bridges need these thingy ma things off to the side. Coasting into Charleston I felt an energy surge thru me. I had heard so many great things about Charleston and was more than ready to get on in and see for myself. Riding up to Kracke Street I had the pleasure of going thru their downtown. I couldn't help, but notice that there were a lot of great looking buildings and people every which way. Lots of history and beauty in Charleston. When I got to my destination on the Street known as Kracke I got to unloading and sorting my stuff while waiting for my host to arrive. Okay, lets stop right here so that I can explain the Charleston connection.

We'll start with Michelle. Her grandmother was celebrating another birthday recently. By the way, Happy Belated Birthday! My folks attended the festivities since their had been a friendship that was started long ago. See, Michelle's grandparents had been my neighbor back in Iowa since I was at the wee age of three. So, at the party I came up of course. And what I was having fun with. You know, only ten thousand miles of good times with my good pup Coop. After hearing about what I was doing it dawned on everyone of how I was heading towards Charleston. Michelle came up and it was all solidified of how it wouldn't be any sort of inconvenience for us to stop on through and share some good company. It was just like that; more or less. Then there's Dolly who I met in Tappahonnock, Virginia back in October. Turns out she had lived in Charleston for a couple of years. She had told me about Charleston and it was kind of far away when we first started talking of it, but now that I have passed through I have noticed how small this world can truly be. See, on this Street called Kracke where I was going to stay with Michelle was also the street that Dolly had lived on. Each on the other end of the one block long street!

While riding about on Friday I just had to stop off at Baked. It's a coffee and pastry shop that gets it right people. The original shop hails from the BK! Let me hear you, "Brooklyn!" Brooklyn was Brooklyn and all, but they came down to C town a couple of years ago to join in on the good vibes of this here Charleston! Sipping on a cup of Joe with a beard growing on in a curious couple wondering of my scenario asked, "Are you, ah, an, ah, an animal transport company? Are you in the business of transporting animals?" I got to explaining that I wasn't in any line of business such as that. We continued to talk and I got another chance to hear how small this world can get when it was slowly realized through a series of questions, the back and forth what have yous, that she was from my hometown and knew one of my old friends from NU! Turns out that old friend was someone she had befriended back in 95! Funny, right?

Back at Kracke Street I was unpacking where Michelle resided. Strolling over was her neighbor Pete. I continued to unpack and was thinking about the little things I still had interest in adding and fixing with the new Rickshaw. The things running through my mind started to come out in my conversation with Pete. He clued me in to how at school he builds sets for the theater department. He started to point out how all the things that I was thinking of working on wouldn't be that difficult to work out since he had all the tools needed to make these ideas of mine happen. With big grins we made arrangements to work on these ideas a little later, but for now it was time to get cleaned up and some good eats. After enjoying a local steakhouse we went to the Poor House! The Poor House was housing this banging band known as "Your Mammas Big Fat Booty Band" which was tickling all of our fancies with big drums, electric keys, blasting horns, a bass, and a mean guitar. I couldn't help, but move my way closer to the jamming sounds this band was pounding out. I tell you what I had a great night of music, drinks, and the beginning of prized friendships. The next morning... Well, lets say, it wasn't as easy getting on up since I hadn't played such as this in a while. I think the watch fell off the wrist around five in the morning. How we never want the good times to ever end, right?

Saturday afternoon was the start to a new day. Over at Michelle's friends, Grey's house, we sat back with some eyes on the pigskin. College football was on with another season coming to an end and there were dogs everywhere. I counted six as I was cooking up some grub for everyone to chow down on to lose some of the Friday night'ness.

As for Sunday I was back to form getting up early with Coop so that we could see some Charleston sights. Riding around downtown we watched the town getting set up for the Christmas Parade that was to happen later that day. Up in North Charleston a little needed disc golf was set to play with Ben and Grey. After a good day of plastic we headed back to Kracke Street with the Sun setting behind us. That night we got out of the college mindset and into the ultimate gridiron in the pro football arena. If you haven't figured it out yet, Michelle and her room mate Amy are huge sports fans.

As for Monday Cooper and I hit up the Bike Shoppee in the downtown area. This was the shop that Dolly had worked at while living here in C town. While Coop and I were there they gave me a class on tuning the rear derailleur which had been giving me a grind. After that we headed over to Pete's shop to do some work on the Rick. We used some U-bolts to fasten a good old mail box to the underside of the frame. Then we used some PVC that Leroy had offered up to me. With the PVC we were able to make a rain fly that would act as a covering which also had an eight inch gap so that Cooper could continue to enjoy the journey. He approved of the gap by giving his head to the breeze as we pedaled on. With thankfulness having been felt we thanked Pete and hit the road to find our way back to that ever familiar street called Kracke. Once there I had a chance to meet a thru-hiker Laro (Gnarley) had met this year while on the Appalachian Trail. Dylan (Top Hat) is living in Charleston and had read my blogspot a day or two before and wanted to get together to chat a bit. He brought a bag full of traveling food! It was too kind. He had gone as far as to dehydrate a bunch of good eats!

When the 'Girls on Kracke' got home they asked me if I would fill in the empty slot on their kickball team. Not having played kickball in about 15 years I jumped at the opportunity for some childhood games. We grabbed the needed 12 pack and headed to the field. After running the rules by me and the art of the bunt versus the smashing RKI, I felt good about it. They decided I could be the Catcher. I thought this was going to be a easy position and made a couple of mistakes right off the kick. Once I got my head in the game I was making some good plays. The best had to of been when a run was coming home and the third baseman threw the ball my way for the out. The ball and the base runner where moving at about the same speed and the runner was a pretty big dude. I stood my ground and as the ball came at me I put my arms up. It was more out of fear than the act of trying to catch the ball. The ball bounced off my forearm and ricocheted back at the runner one step from hitting home plate for the last out of the inning. I was shocked and relieved I didn't get leveled by the runner. After that the opposing team was really trying to challenge me on offense and defense. Sadly we lost the game, but it was a great time had by all. After the game we went to 'Home Team BBQ'. In the kitchen I got to mow'ndown. I started with the pulled chicken sandwich, some mac and cheese, collard greens, then some taco'ed pork, and then I finished off with a small rack of ribs, hash over mash, some baked beans, and some of that needed corn bread called muffin. I was a bit stuffed by the end. I was very happy. All the food energy to push on!

Well like I said. I've got to push on out of Charleston. Without a doubt I will be back for sure. The bar has been raised!

Love and Licks from the road,
Sean and Coop!

December 7, 2009


Okay, so this is the rundown from Wilmington, NC to Charleston, SC.

After rolling out of Wilmington on the new ride, lots of emotions were running through me. I was happy to have the Peditruck, sad about leaving my 700-pound tank behind, and relieved that Cooper would be safe and enclosed within this new rig. Trying to get a feel for the eighteen extra gears I now had, I must have looked like a fool riding this thing, skipping and jerking the whole way. After I got out of the area and found a field to set up in, I got to thinking about how I was going to arrange everything. I had to consider finding the appropriate weight distribution, while keeping Coop toward the front so he would still have a good view.

The next morning we hit the road after moving around all the cargo. That Tuesday was a damp one, with showers off and on all day. I still hadn't weatherproofed this thing, so everything and everyone was on the soak. With the afternoon approaching, a truck with an empty low-deck trailer drove by, and in a moment of fatigue and mental breakdown, I threw my hands up in a wave, sort of saying to myself, “If only I could get a 10-mile lift to catch up.” The thing was, when I had left that morning I still had some 70 miles to get to Myrtle Beach for the Thanksgiving holiday. That's almost 40 miles a day on a bike that I wasn't used to.

So after my wave and a quick thought, I put my head down and kept on pushing those pedals round and round. A couple minutes later the truck and trailer were pulled over, waiting on our arrival. The driver's name was Rick, and he asked if maybe we needed a lift. All we needed was a 10-mile pick-me-up, just so I wouldn't be killing myself.

I had pedaled over 1,100 miles on the first rickshaw, and the way I sat on it—behind the pedals, not over them—I had really used and worked up the muscles in my calves and butt. Now that I'm seated over the pedals, I have to use more thigh and knee than I've been used to, so I still need to get my legs in shape for this new rickshaw!

Rick agreed to help us as he was heading that way anyway, and was curious to hear of our adventure. We loaded everything up in five minutes, and were on the road. I told him we only needed to get a small lift, and that I didn't need to be in South Myrtle until the next day. Pretty soon I see the Welcome to South Carolina sign, and let him know that this is good enough. He said, “I'm not doing anything. How about I give you a lift to your friend's house, and you tell me more about your trip?”

I had to think that one out for a minute. Accepting the ride would mean skipping more than 50 miles of pedaling, but I figured I had done that amount just riding around in the places I had been the past couple weeks. I gave my friend a ring to make sure it was cool that we were showing up a day early, and he said he was more than happy to have us. So Rick drove Coop, the new ride, and myself right up to the Alford's driveway and dropped us off.

We went out back and started unloading and getting things sorted while waiting for the family to get home. I set up my tent so it could dry out and store what gear I didn't need to take inside. Pretty soon the family was showing up to say their hellos and give out hugs. I got cleaned up and had some nice stories with this great family. I had been in the army with Leroy, and we had gone to Kuwait together. I was twenty years old when we were over there, and Leroy taught me a lot about being a soldier and good person. It was good to catch up with him and laugh our asses off, reminiscing with old stories. Over the next couple days it was mostly relaxing and eating for the two of us as we waited for the big feast.

For Thanksgiving we went over to Leroy's in-laws' house who lived across the street. Sandra's folks cooked up some delicious food—homemade stuffing, green bean casserole, deviled eggs, bread and spreads—while we worked on the turkey, ham, and sweet potato pie. Man, was I stuffed.

The few days following the holiday were spent hanging out with the family and getting the Rick weatherproofed. We went to Home Depot and got the necessary items: bungee cords, zip ties, and gorilla tape. With an old tarp of theirs, and Sandra's ideas, we lined the box to keep out the drops that fall from the sky. On the following Monday we hit the road, making our way to a place called Charleston, SC. I had heard a lot about it on my way down the East Coast. Lots of people kept telling me I would enjoy it down there.

Monday and Tuesday were some easy days of pedaling. We made it south of Georgetown and stopped off at a church to find a spot to set up for that night and all the next day, because the voice coming out of my Radio Shack one-speaker AM/FM radio was letting me know that it was going to be a sloppy 24 hours. Luckily this church had a carport that we were able to set up under, keeping everything dry for the most part, and we were able to move around outside the tent even when it was raining. Its was a good find. Without it, we would have been confined to the tent a majority of the time, and we would have gotten soaked. A tent can hold up to the elements for only so long. As it rained pretty much nonstop for more than 12 hours, the tent would have eventually succumbed and allowed the rain to seep through the fabric.

So after a nice day of rest and some reading, we got back to it on Thursday. We made it to Francis Marion National Forest, which is a huge state park north of Charleston. We made it about halfway through the park when it came time to start looking for that night's camping spot. I saw a sign talking about horse trails, so we took the turn down the muddy gravel road and went on back about a mile to find the sweet spot for the tent. We found this big sand impression with a nice clearing, set up the tent, and gathered some damp pine to hopefully make a fire. Cooked a meal and watched the stars appear.

Later that night we had some unexpected company. A couple of big ol' pickup trucks came back toward our site, drove a little ways down the road, stopped for a couple of minutes, then headed back to us. Since rolling out of Myrtle Beach, I have been a little nervous about some of the backwoods hillbilly whiteboys who lurk around the South. They shined their big ol' coon light at our tent and asked what we were doing. As I emerged from the tent I told them to stop blinding me with their spotlight, and explained that I was traveling around the U.S. with my dog. I was getting a not-so-good vibe from these guys, and Coop must have picked up on the same thing as he came barreling out of the tent, his chest puffed up, throwing out some deep woofs and growls. I grabbed his collar and asked the “Billy Bobs” if they had any more questions. They said no and got moving on out. I didn't sleep so well the rest of the night.

The next morning we got an early jump on it. We had to do over 40 miles to get to Charleston before dark. Pulled onto Kracke St. around 4:30. Let the fun begin!!!

December 6, 2009

November Noreaster at Nags Head

During the week of November 10th we witnessed Mother Natures wrath!
This was across the street from Prescott's house.

This was the evening tide on the second day of the storm.
Just two days before I was taking pictures of a perfect day of surfing!

Things on the float.

Stairs going down from the Public beach access.

Crazy waves and tide flow.

Stairs from the Public access gone 12 hours later!

This is the top pic 12 hours later! That's like 17 feet tall and 12 feet deep!

10 hours later!!

Mother Nature is not happy.
I have seen some crazy, and discussing things on this trip.
Keep it clean and don't over develop.