I might need a bib

Thursday March 19

I left at 7 am for Savannah, GA. I had the privilege of driving on the Blue Ridge Parkway. Every time I see or say the words "Blue Ridge" I get a song by Fleet Foxes in my head.



And here is a great picture of French Broad River. Anyone else remember the "old French Whore" skit on SNL?



I was in a daze through South Carolina. I pulled over at a rest stop and took a brief nap, not thinking to avoid parking in the direct sunlight. When I woke up 20 minutes later, I was yelling. I don't think I've woken up yelling since high school.

I hope when I get further west (and have less people to visit) I'll avoid major highways. They really all do look the same, more or less. 95 is the worst, of course. Other highways have few distinguishing features. I did notice in South Carolina a beautiful stretch of trees all beginning to blossom in different colors. It was like fall in the north, except pastel. I took a photo but it's not the same.



I also saw a vehicle on the road that prompted me to create a feature which I will tenatively call: The Most Frightening Thing on the Road. The vehicle in question was a truck filled with hay bales. The driver was thoughtful enough to cover the hay with a giant, ill-fitting yellow sheet of nylon. I think it was nylon. It was tied in a few different places, but driving 80 mph it was a terrifying sight. Really almost like a deflated Thanksgiving day parade balloon undergoing a seizure. I took a pic but again fear it's not the same.



In Savannah I was determined not to spill anything on my shirt, as it was my 4th day on the road and I was 4 for 4. I knew it was futile as I had plans to find a BBQ shop.

When I got my sandwich -- pulled BBQ pork with coleslaw on top -- I sat in a nearby square and ate it. It was such a beautiful day, as a man missing three teeth pointed out to me. Savannah is a unique city, very liveable, very comforting. This applies to the historic district only, I'm afraid. Outside this small area, Savannah is a bit scary. But inside, ohhh. Huge trees, historic houses, squares, gardens.



It has a definite European vibe to it. Not just the history and old buildings, which is a large part of it, but the traffic layout. I couldn't put my finger on it until I saw this ridiculous car-thing, belonging to the city, in a parking garage. That's so Europe.



I didn't spend as much time as I'd like there. My legs still hurt from my mountain trek the day before, and the city was filled with tourists and art students and I somehow felt out of place. I think the city would be better traveled with a friend. The sandwich was delicious and that's important to me. I did spatter a few drops on my shirt. I hope no one saw me whip out my Tide-to-go pen. (Did you know they make a mini-Tide-to-go? Really? What is the point?)

I drove to Gainesville on route 17, which I heard a lot about. Maybe too much, because I wasn't that impressed with it. Earlier in the day I drove a short stretch on US 15 in order to avoid 95. This tiny road went through some nice southern towns, one of which did not have a single chain store in sight. 17 was a nice alternative to 95, yes, and I saw much spanish moss, but I guess I was expecting something crazy, from all I'd heard about it. Don't listen to me. It was beautiful, and I am jaded.