A New Rebellious Movement

Inter-Coastal Waterway, South Carolina
May `77


This morning I went fishing with the George and Dave in their canoe and caught
the only fish, a catfish. After I said goodbye to the boys (they left for another
park), I washed my clothes and body with well water and started
preparing dinner. Boy, this R & R was just what the doctor ordered. I
think my skin and the sun have stopped fighting. I'm pretty brown now.
The memory of being sun burnt while biking in 90 to 100 degree
weather, bogged down in heavy blue jean wear, makes me want to puke.
I'm sure the edge on that memory will stay for a long, long, time.

George and Dave decided they didn't want to leave after all. When
they returned in the evening, we partied one last time. Early morning
however, found me on the highway traveling hard. I camped in the
welcome to South Carolina roadside picnic area, a stone's throw from
North Carolina, and met a nice retired couple from Victoria, Canada.
We talked for a long time, and then they got back in their motor home
and took off down the highway. They confirmed what I had already
suspected. The carefree and courageous way old people have taken to
the open road is reminiscent of the `60's young people. It could be
the beginning of a new rebellious movement. As one knowledgeable old
fellow said to me, "I'm just a high class bum." Anyway, the Victoria
couple had been all over the U.S.A., Canada, Mexico, and Australia.
They said they would send me information on how to fly to Australia
for half price.

Camping in the rest area wasn't bad. I worried a bit about the local
authorities, and I had to tell a gay desperado to find another trick,
but other than that it was okay. I had been traveling in overcast
weather for the last couple of days, and this morning it was
particularly gloomy. When I pulled into a restaurant for morning
coffee, and this fellow eating breakfast asked me if I wanted to throw
my bike in the back of his truck, I quickly agreed. The next 40 miles
were a breeze. When I got dropped off in Wilmington, North Carolina, I
went to a bike shop to get some advice. The bike guy told me, "You've
got some baring problems, but its not bad. To prevent that you should get a
steel hubed wheel." I thanked the guy and hit the highway.

After Wilmington, I rode all day, and had a rather difficult time
finding a campsite. I also stopped in Jacksonville for a beer break.
One footnote worth mentioning—every time I get close to a military
base, I encounter one or more assholes who go out of there way to make
my bicycling as difficult as possible.