It’s a wet, foggy morning. I didn’t sleep too well, not bad though. I’m on a bit of an incline, flat-Earthers should come check out this out. I do some serious stretches in the warmth of my pop up palace. Tent yoga? I climb out before sunset and relocate to a covered shelter. Now instead of an overnight criminal I just look like an early riser. Easy rider. I still have no fuel, so no coffee. But there’s a toilet. I let some things dry and ride a bit, relocating to a Dunkin’ the next town up. Damon would be proud. He loves Dunkin. It’s robust as fuck. The Starbucks was part of the Kroger and all local shops were still closed. There’s wifi and outlets and booth seating and coffee and microwaved bacon. Mmm. Plus there’s a Walmart across the street and they have everything. I’ve got some thangs to handle so I get setup and pull out my maps and, gawd damn!! Every other person walking into here is a woman between 25 and 35 and has abs of steel and has decided to show them to me as they walk in the door. One after the other like a fucking fashion show that has nothing to do with clothjng. My spidey senses indicate we’re close to surfing areas. That works your abs. Or maybe all these tourists have eating disorders or gym addictions. I have very little space left on my skin for more art, but I six-pack of cans on my belly seems like a good usage of the rare remaining real estate. Anyone not hot and young and fit fit is curious about me and my about my ride, of course. I love that though. People don’t talk to people they don’t know much. Our culture has instilled fear and default animosity, mainly thanks to the 24 hour cable news cycle. Fuck that noise. I’m happy to engage with kind hearted people who always end by wishing me well and safe travels. My bestie is a chubby dude with an og Patriots logo t shirt, “keep the rubber side down.” I hit him with a “yessir” and pedal off.

After a robust Walmart that is without my size fuel, I am in full on beach status. No longer near it, I am on it. It’s a town called Surfside, now I understand why the washboard is the display-instrument of choice round these part. Golf carts outnumber cars. There’s bikes. It’s slooooooooow on a Saturday. Also hottern hell, I’ve gone full native, and I’m kicking the shit out of whoever is on shirts team. I pass by tourist couples nursing their hangover out front of a beachside breakfast eatery get their giggles or kinks or whatever. “Oh look at this guy!” “Bitch I’m right here 15 feet away going 9mph!” Ok I didn’t say that right now right now. Except maybe in my head. And now in this story. Is it real if you believe it to be real even if it actually is not?

I avoid most of the beach through Myrtle Beach. Myrtle is definitely the name of my childhood school bus driver. There’s decent bike paths, with the major intersections creating waits as I have to push a button. I do some stretches there too. This hammy is still screaming. Traffic yoga?

Eventually the bikes paths run out and I’m back on Ocean Blvd. it feels like A1A and it’s around 1pm that I decide to dip. I need a bath and a refreshment. Into the Atlantic I go. Damn it’s cold! I develop a second belly button but thankfully also get some cool cool icy relief on my legs. Feels good. My long long ride comrade Daniel Spurio requires these daily dips and I thought I knew but not I really know why.

There’s a game of some sort going on which a table and red solo cups. Like beer pong but no ping pong ball and no beer. And also totally different. There’s a pebble and what appear to be hard seltzers. Cool bruh, sis, whoever.

I take a second dip to rinse off all the sand from my beach yoga sesh, and also to check on that whole belly bu… nope all good. Peeing in the ocean right now. Like right now. I pack up, take a beach shower and move along. No Beach Bum for me Harmony Korine. On my way out a car turning left into the parking lot almost hits a golf cart which has the directional right of what. The scene quickly changes from beaches to golf courses. Golf carts reign even more supreme. Just as many cars though, and I realize it’s not that they drive golf carts instead of cars, it’s that they drive golf carts instead of walking.

The circle k calls me. I gets the electrolytes, the plant that am I. I decide I’m tired… of South Carolina. I’m heading north. I book a hotel room 30 miles up and across the border in North Carolina. Burning daylight so I head on out.

I make the state line. It’s underwhelming. Southern North Carolina feels just like Northern South Carolina.

I take a break under an overpass and throw down a Lenny and Larry cookie. They don’t pay me but they are good and like 16 grams of protein 500 calories each! I Winston Wolf it, Harvey Keital. The Days Inn appears as I hit fumes status and the sun begins to set What luxury in room 133. I shower twice and organize, eat and prepare for the push into Wilmington tomorrow.