The motel turned out to be a wise choice. Thunderstorms raged for 3 hours in the evening. I’d have been in deep doo doo if I’d have continued on to Charleston. There was no shelter for miles.
The route to Charleston was a straight shot on Highway 41 through the Frances Marion Forest. Marion led rebels in the Revolutionary War. He was known as the Swamp Fox for good reason. Most of the area in and around the forest is swamp. The forest is very dense with trees and underbrush. I can see how Marion could flummox the British military with his knowledge of the area.
A few miles later I found a Subway and bought a foot long breakfast sandwich that was so big it ended up providing me with two meals.
Back on the road I fell into my trance and somehow missed a turn. There was no cell service so I didn’t know where I was. I gambled that my mistake would be a short cut. And it was.
As I neared the northern suburbs of Charleston, traffic intensified. The route took me through a new residential development where there were no trucks.
Despite a lack of decent road signs I managed to find the Ravenel Bridge over the Cooper River. This bridge is a work of art. And it has a side path that is divided into pedestrian and bicyclist lanes.
The ride into Charleston featured a few expansion joints but they were covered by mostly wide strips that looked like some sort of mat. Much better than the Wilson Bridge back home.
I headed off to a drug store to pick up a prescription. Then to a bank to play with the magic money machine.
On the way to the hostel I cruised back streets. Lovely old buildings, many with porches on both levels and huge shade trees. I crossed the old part of the College of Charleston. Gorgeous.
The hostel appears to be a series of old frame houses. I haven’t check in yet but it looks clean enough. I rode past a camp ground earlier. It’s right on the ocean. Really nice. I felt stupid for booking the hostel until the afternoon monsoon came.
I’m checking in at 5, showering, then going to eat all the things. I am a little concerned about the bike parking which seems not to exist. Maybe I should put a sign on my bike: “43,800 miles. Old. You can do better.”
Today was 67 miles. 784.5 so far.
Tomorrow I have multiple lodging options including an intriguing bicycle bunkhouse on a farm, two state camp grounds, and hotels.