Had a lot of that on this trip. Some say that what you imagine you will find. You make your own Reality. Yeah, well.... I'm not that clever, I think, and I've sensed the presence of a Lucky Presence along this whole trip. Surfing the coincidences as I coined it to someone.
Yep. So I headed north out opf Daytona... sort of happy to be leaving. It seemed like just another East Coast beach/tourist town, with a big racetrack to glue it all together, (because most of the other beach towns I've seen out East are decrepitating)[love that fake word]
Let me look over my atlas.. ehh..
Took I-95 up to Jacksonville because I wanted to make some time... and, well, there isn't much other option. Feature-less.. or at least, memory-less.
Into Georgia and onto state Rte 17... all the way north. Muuuuch better; local poverty and other such odd sights.
Up through the Georgia swamplands along the coast.. beautiful swamps, if ever there be any.
|WHERE I COME FROM WE CALL THIS, "YIELD"|
aHHHH, the Southlands. The Low Country as it is often referred to.
It's a blurr. The first day there it POURED endlessly.
So for a few days I tagged along with Craig and we burned it Down... meals for 48 hours consisted of Stouffer's frozen pizza out of the local 24-hour bleary Walgreen's. Okay, no sweat.. a fun time of the Island of Lost Boys... a lot of Trust-a-farian kids and people who don't give a damn about growing old.
After a few days of this I took a breath and split north to see another old band-mate, Al, in the Charleston area, three hours away. A good move. Al is a fine old egg of a Russian Cossack who hasd a huge brain for computer logistics and a quasi-believable fantasy regarding the End of Civiilization As We Know It.
Here are some Chareleston photos.
|FORT MOULTRIE, USED IN THE REVOLUTION AS WELL AS THE CIVIL WAR.|
With very little A-dieu I packed-up and with some relief was off again onto the American Roadways, this time heading north to see my old pals Bill & Alrlene, who had moved to the north Charlotte a year before. This would be quite a wrench in my mind, as Bill was an old friend, highly pragmatic and although wide-minded, was quite critical of people's surreal nonsense. Bill is an experienced landscaper and over-all construction wiz; he works hard to support his family and doesn't tolerate slackers. I love the guy, despite my predilictions towards being a slacker myself.
North of Beaufort I headed up State Rte 17 through Orangeburg and Columbia. Gorgeous Carolina landscapes, often flecked with images of gritty rural poverty. Cotton fields and abandoned Buicks. Young black men sitting in clumps by the side of a rural road, seemingly doiung nothing except hanging out. Ghost towns. Deliciously beautfiul agricultural landscapes.
REAL BULES CROSSROADS IN BLACK PEOPLE TERRITORY
|DANGEROUS SPEED-TRAP. JUST BEFORE THIS BEND THE LIMIT WAS 60. LOCAL COPS AWAITED IN THE SHADOWS.|
It was a spectacularly beautiful day, and with the Mp3 playing my favorite music in my earplugs and an occasional stop for a smoke, it was just ... heavenly.
|AFRICAN-AMERICAN GROCERY STORE AT A CROSS-ROADS; THOUGHT IT LOOKED GOOD TO DOUBLE AS A FRIDAY NIGHT JUKE-JOINT.|