And 920 miles by Greyhound . . .

Before talking about my Greyhound adventure I need to 'splain what's happening.

My bike was supposed to be disassembled and shipped to Bikes and More. It arrived at my home. Argh! Now I was faced with having to get it to where it needed to be. Additionally, there were no wheels! <sigh> Island Bikes, to whom I initially expressed great frustration allowed as how it was their error, but that agreeing to disassemble and package the bike was the first error. Getting the bike to my FNBS will be accomplished soon. They received my wheels and agreed with all previous observations that the rear one was broken more severely than was typical. It no rests with Salsa, manufacturer of the rim, to decide how to handle the matter.

The Schwinn is serving well, though lack of fenders is close to being a severe problem. I'd forgotten how nasty road grit gets when it rains. I hope to find some closure for the transportation matters soon.

And the roof leaks. Have to deal with the roofers, too . . . soon, I hope. 
 

Was it a life changing event? No, but there have been many things to consider how they may or may not apply to everyday life. But first, a word from our sponsor . . . Greyhound

The last time I rode a Greyhound bus may have been nearly a half century ago in the 60s. There were few options for my return to FL and Greyhound seemed to be the best. In the years since my last ride many things have changed. Remarkably, much has not.

The nearest “terminal” was Washington, NC, known as Little Washington to the locals. A three hour drive (give or take). The nearer pick-up location was just that, a pick-up. Stand outside a store and wait, ticket in hand, for a bus to arrive. I opted for the stop at B & L Properties where tickets could be purchased. Seemed more like a terminal. It was, but barely.

B & L may have been the couple behind the counter when I arrived at 10am for my 1050 bus. A partially converted service station (with two bays) provided indoor seating. Assorted vehicles and other equipment in stages of repair filled the service bays. My bags were labeled and the second bag paid for ($10 please) after being told to clip one front roller to one back roller so I would not have to pay for three extra bags. Seemed like good advice. The bus arrived 55 minutes late. It had been three hours late the previous day. A connection was scheduled for Raleigh at 3 pm and we were to arrive there at 2 pm, so maybe the connection would be made.

I was surprised to find that there were both 100 volt sockets and that the bus provided a WiFi signal and took advantage to charge my cell phone. Because of the WiFi connection I was also able to maintain cellular coverage where it would not have existed otherwise.

The bus passed through the home of the East Carolina University Pirates and it was no surprise that it resembled Stateboro, GA, home ot the Georgia Southern Eagles and El Sombrero, home of my favorite Mexican food. We arrived in Raleigh minute before 3 pm, but it mattered not. A bus already at the terminal (a real terminal) was being searched for a possible bomb. This must have been a common occurrence as there was police presence but little overt evidence of concern. The new bus departed at 345pm, but not until the baggage handler took exception to my bags. “I know what you did,” he hissed. “But I’ll load ‘em.” And he did with an intention aggressive disregard.

Soon after leaving the Raleigh terminal the drive announced that the bus was a local, meaning we would visit, briefly, every moderate sized city in north and central NC. He also made several allusions to the presidential race, noting that whites were attempting to keep blacks from voting. Maybe I had been alone too long. His rambling monologue made little sense.

Charlotte, too, was a real terminal. Like Raleigh and it was run down but clean. Sandwiches priced no more than twice their reasonable value. Captive audience means captive money. A strip of sockets, identified as a charging station, soon looked like a Smart Phone grazing area. Few people showed any concern about their equipment’s safety. Obviously, this was not a new experience for the majority of bus travelers.

From Charlotte the ride to ATL was swift, arriving around 230am. I expected the old Greyhound station, but found that it now existed as part of the Garnett Street MARTA facility. My stay here would be about 4 hours. Knowing I was closer to being home did not make the wait any easier. Compared to the old Atlanta bus terminal . . . no comparison. Clean. Bright. Reasonably safe with one or more MARTA and ATL police officers in evidence. At intervals over the hours, travelers would queue at numbered doors. The overly large police officer would run a metal detection wand near their pockets. I could hear no difference in sound, but he often paused and asked for pockets to be emptied. Don’t want anyone commandeering a Greyhound with a fingernail file. Wait, maybe I need to be more serious! Hard to be. After 430 am he checked no one else. Had the perceived threat left for Alabama earlier on the morning?

The trip to G’ville was uneventful and done on schedule. The bus had sockets and WiFi, but I was too weary to do more than charge my phone. I could do the ATL-Gville trip again. Most of the rest? Not in this lifetime.

Here are some of the things I took away from the numerous hours in the custody of Greyhound:

1. Passengers are too accustomed to being treated with little regard. Some of this is because of the quality of the passengers. Most is not. Who cares about bus travelers. Real people use airplanes. Common people learn to accept mediocre treatment because there is no recourse? Like the baggage guy. I did what I was told to do and he assumed I was trying to get away with something. Should I respect that he was protecting his company’s assets? Only if he referred me to the baggage people for more money. Otherwise he was just being difficult.
2. Lacking any actual luggage one can still travel by bus. A tall kitchen trash can and a mostly intact cardboard box can be nearly closed with sufficient tape to hold just about anything.
3.  Having too many pieces of “luggage” is commonplace. See the comment above.
4.  There is almost enough room on the aisle seat on modern buses to make it nearly possible to sleep for as much as an hour, though not necessarily in concurrent minutes.
5.  If it is present Greyhound WiFi works.

Just more of the adventure.

Day 10, Conway, SC to Sunset Beach, NC – 43.67 miles, average speed 11.7 mph. Total miles, 694

Leaving Conway was a chore. I got on the road in the midst of morning rush hour (7:40) and had to backtrack approximately 2 miles. This included climbing a very narrow bridge with an extremely steep grade. Yesterday made it clear that I would be Conway's least favorite visitor if I chose to assert my right to the road. I opted to walk along the narrow pedestrian walkway. Even if no one recognized my incredible sacrifice I felt better. OK . . . I felt like I had preserved my health. Surely someone would have fund reason to squeeze by to my long-lasting dismay.

Traffic grew lighter quickly. Conway isn't Atlanta after all. As the Weather Channel suggested, winds were light and variable. No headwinds to moan about. The roads were adequate, though still lacking anything resembling a useable edge of the road.

This is one of the better edges-of-the-road that I encountered in SC. I anticipated finding North Carolina's roads to be more hospitable. Below is where I entered the Tarheel State.

Note that just beyond the sign saying North Carolina there is a significantly wider road edge. Can SC save that much money by making their roads narrower?

For no reason other than thinking of doing it at the moment, I also took a picture of my odometer as I was about to enter NC. I was only a few miles from Calabash and my stop for the day outside of Sunset  Beach. Stopping at this campground (Brunswick Beaches Camping Resort) was prompted by bad reviews for the places I had considered and that were further along the route. This campground, a former KOA had no bad reviews. While reviews are often suspect, when they are all negative there's no good reason to verify for myself.

The grassy site is shaded and the whole place is low-key and pleasant. Did laundry. Showered. Got WiFi. Bagel shop down the road for when I depart in the morning. Weather is OK for this evening and tomorrow, but chances of thunderstorms increases by Saturday all along the coast.

I have fallen about 50 miles behind my best time, but remain within the lesser mileage itinerary. The problem I have to contend with now is that some of the places I thought of using are not satisfactory stopping point, either economically or hygienically.

The next stop? Wilmington? But where after that? Just part of the adventure. Wake up with the chance to make the most out of a new day. Funny how much easier it is to say that when I am not anticipating another day of South Carolina highways!

Day 9, Andrews, SC to Conway, SC – 54 miles, average speed 12.4 mph. Total miles, 651

The Weather Channel convinced me to consider shortening my day to avoid severe afternoon storms. Wind directions were very similar to those experienced last week when every breeze seemed to be a head wind. These winds, related to the location of potential storm cells, shift with cell development and were very much in evidence along with growing and billowing cumulus clouds. What the Hell. It’s only money. And better to be poor than be hit by a car in blinding rain.

Yeah, being hit continued to have a high probability as I traversed more of the Palmetto State. As an aside . . . the South Carolina flag is reputed to be the second most popular flag after Texas. Love the flag. Hate the roads.

This whole road thing is depressing. I complained about the lack of visual stimulation in Georgia, but at least there was adequate paving to permit me to be right of the white line most of the time. In SC a paved berm is practically nonexistent. The result is that anything visually pleasing or interesting is missed or has to be ignored lest your attention wanders for a moment and you are deposited in the grass along with beer bottles and mostly empty Styrofoam takeout containers.

It does not matter whether the road is primary, secondary or tertiary. It doesn’t matter whether it is a US, SC or county route. It doesn’t matter which county, though some counties do have better road surfaces. Riding a bike puts me (and you, if you were here) in harms way. Everyone who cautioned me about good old boys in pickups need not to have wasted their words. In SC everyone has the potential to take a bicyclist out. My best hope is that cellular coverage is so spotty as to make text messaging while driving impractical.

The other scary thing is log haulers. Every road in SC must lead to or from a logging operation. The drivers are mostly respectful of me, slowing if someone is approaching and they never blast me with their airhorns or pass unnecessarily close. There are just so damn many and all are on a deadline to get to the mill or too the cutting site. More loads means more money. A bicycle is a brief impediment, but an impediment nonetheless.

Today’s ride featured fewer rough roads, so the physical demand I experienced yesterday was greatly reduced. Tension and attention was just as heightened, if not more so.

I reached Conway and the Red Hill Motel by 1:30. The rate fit my budget. WiFi is adequate. No washer and dryer. Pizza delivered. Cable TV. A/C works. I’m not within about 80 miles of North Carolina. I am hoping that the Tarheel will be better suited to travel and its campgrounds more readily available.

One more thing about SC. Damn nice people.

More Miscellaneous Stuff

About the B-17

After almost 11 months the unthinkable happened; my Brooks saddle broke. The friendly people at Bikes and More said they’d never seen a Brooks break quite like it did. One of the rails snapped while clamped in place. Since my FNBS sells more Brooks saddles than anyone else in Florida it wasn’t surprising that they had a replacement. It also wasn’t a surprise when Paul handed me a replacement. They know their customers and asking for a proof of purchase would have been redundant. It is my misfortune to have to break in another saddle before leaving in a month. The saddle had performed as advertised, conforming to me in all the right places. While using a more modern saddle for a day I realized how much hotter other seats can be. The Brooks simply felt right.

Preparing a Brooks saddle is a lengthy ritual involving applying special dressing (oils) to the saddle to soften it so your hard parts can stretch and form little refuges for your sit bones. Stuff on. Stuff off. Repeat. It had worked well for the first one, but I wanted to hasten the process after a 50 mile ride proved that initially they’re awfully damn hard. It had occurred to me that heating the dressing might hasten it’s absorption, but heating a metal can of the stuff seemed equally tedious or messy or both. With ambient temperatures in the low 90s and a blazing sun about to appear over the trees I realized modern technology (like using a microwave) would not do the entire job as efficiently as the sun. With the dressing, the saddle and the application rag all hot, the dressing went from being a greasy surface slick to gone without a trace. Multiple applications took moments. Now, it’s all about getting miles on it.

The Brooks had about 4500 miles on it when it began squeaking. Leather squeaks as I learned years ago when I drove MGBs. The squeaking started about a week before I finally began tugging at the saddle to replicate the sound. The sound I produced was a soft ping when the broken end slipped out of the seat mounting bracket. Brooks provides a 2 year warranty, but I doubt I will ever have to invoke the warranty again.

About Body Glide

My verdict is in. It works and to ride without Body Glide became unlikely. No mess and no irritation. What more can someone say about a product after saying “it works.” Do I talk about how, when and how often to apply? Read directions and follow manufacturer’s advice.

It’s a lot like finding a tire that works well and reduces flats to almost nonexistent. Why would you not use them if you wanted to avoid flats? Any "Cons"? Their website is Flash. Tedious.

About Tent Sites in an RV World

I telephoned several campgrounds listed on the Adventure Cycling maps. Most expect to fewer guests in August, except “don’t show up on Labor Day.” One offers “no hook ups” for $10 and $15 with. Another is $19 and has water and electricity. They only have one tent site. One state park said it was best to avoid weekends. They charge $17.93. I didn’t ask whether the fee had some numerological significance. Another state park cost $20 and there were no amenities other than a bath house. The most expensive was $25 and $27.50. It was private and the person on the phone was not the kind of campground keeper I wanted. In the alternative, the man who answered the phone for Hughes Family Campground near Calabash, NC, said they’d make room for a tent and that water and electricity were available at all the sites. He also said if he wasn’t around to get comfortable and he’d be “around eventually.”

Planning

I have all the Adventure Cycling maps needed to travel north as far as Baltimore. They are comprehensive and leave few ques tions except the pragmatic ones. Where will I sleep? Eat? Shower? Even these questions are answered by the thorough descriptions of the routes showing bike shops, campgrounds, motels and more. The questions are generated by personal uncertainties. How many hours can I remain in the saddle? How far can I ride?

For the next few months I will learn about my personal limitations by doing increasingly long day and overnight trips. Refining my camping skills will make it easier to anticipate were and how to do some stealth or guerilla camping. This seems to be a larger issue across southeastern Georgia than anywhere else.

One necessary adjustment has too be made to my intended route. The cost to cross from "mainland" Virginia to the Eastern Shore is too high at about $50 by private ferry. Getting to the Outer Banks remains on the schedule since the public ferries will set me back about $3. As a result, I no longer have to plot my own course from OBX.

North of Baltimore I will leave the Adventure Cycling Atlantic Coast route and head due north into Pennsylvania on the Maryland North Central Trail near Monkton.. The North Central Trail, a rail-to-trail path becomes a section of PA's J Route which eventually follows US 15 along the Susquehanna River. Currently, I am losing interest in daring the narrow roads leading to Pottsville and will consider my trip successful if I reach the confluence of the North and West Branches of the Susquehanna.

The return route remains uncertain. reading Bicycling the Blue Ridge has given me a good idea of the challenge I will face there. I am less concerned about my ability and stamina than I am about where to turn south. Do I cross all of Georgia? Or do I head toward the coast again somewhere in North Carolina? No matter what route I choose it will be without good map support, a daunting prospect. Yet, if I have succeeded in reaching my northbound goal I will probably be able to cope with a less structured journey.

None of my concerns causes me to waiver in my desire to set-off. I see the concerns as reasonable and the solutions just part of planning and doing.