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    Abbeville to Savannah

    October 4, 2016

    I drove out of Abbeville on 28 heading west then south.  


    The stretch of road leading my way into Augusta was serene.  


    Rows and rows of trees on either side.


    A smattering of cars.


    The Sumter National Forest hugged the right side; later, I crossed a lake surrounded by red and orange clay.


    I continued for another few miles before joining 221 -- which is 28 South.  


    Within the hour, I had reached Augusta.  


    Here, it got a bit tricky because I had not planned out the rest of my route.


    I jumped on some river parkway and ended up in a marina on the Savannah River.  


    I parked my bike and walked to a picnic table.  Taking out my map and phone to navigate, I examined my best options for reaching Savannah.


    Take 125.  


    At Fairfax, take 321.


    Then, follow signs for Savannah.


    And... that's what I did.

    Along 125 and 321, there was very little traffic. 


    I did, however, experience some furious head wind that Tuesday afternoon.


    The route found me crossing paths with tractor trailers, logging trucks, horses, and fields of trees and wildflowers.  


    I passed a longhorn cattle ranch; I passed small parcels of cotton.


    Every 25 miles or so, I would run into a small town, and the speed limit would fall from 55 to 35.


    Gas stations with names like Brenda's Place.


    At one of those stations -- where I purchased a Payday bar and a water -- the attendant made sure I mentioned his town by name.




    Then, more serious headwind.


    On 321, the road offered plenty of rough spots; it desperately needed a resurfacing job.


    Later, I would hit some smooth stretches.  


    It was as if South Carolina heard me.


    I stayed on the South Carolina for most of my trip to Savannah.


    I liked the state:  its people were friendly and curious; plus, it has some of the prettiest road signs in the country.    


    Not only are the signs blue -- many of them have the states's outline along with its signature palmetto tree and crescent moon.  


    Along 321, signs for Savannah popped up.


    I followed those signs until I reached stretches of commercialism followed by rural areas; then, a large bridge could be seen on my left; I took it towards downtown Savannah.


    When I drove into Savannah, I was funneled onto Oglethorpe and saw SCAD -- SCAD everywhere.


    I finally found a place to park at the intersection of Broad and Oglethorpe.  I got off the bike and checked the time.  


    It was just after 1 p.m.


    Time to look for a place to stay, so I checked airbnb.


    I booked a spot less than two-miles away; check-in was 2 p.m.


    I navigated my way to the airbnb (on Anderson) before exploring downtown.


    I found the house; I met a young woman named Kate who told me where to park my motorcycle. 


    I parked, unloaded, and left.


    Walking along Broad Street, I saw where Clarence Thomas attended Catholic School; I found a SCAD alumni-owned business; I made a left onto a busy looking street called Broughton.

    I had done very little research on Savannah, so every twist and turn lead me to a new discovery.


    Large oak trees curtained the city's canvas:  the Spanish moss dripped like perfectly placed candle wax.


    For nearly three-hours, I traversed the lush and manicured Savannah.


    Then, hunger struck.


    I found a restaurant called The Grey located in an old Greyhound bus station.  


    I walked into the bar located on my right and ordered a gin cocktail called the Old Estonian.


    Then, I realized that I could not have dinner there; I had to eat in a different bar located in the center of the restaurant.


    I was seated in the far left of the u-shaped bar.


    There, I met my bartender/server named Scott; later, I met a pleasant and unadventurous diner named Mike.


    Mike was here on business.  


    Unfortunately, he was bland in conversation and bland in his willingness to experiment.


    Why eat at a James Beard nominated restaurant if you're unwilling to take any risks?  


    Sure, he had a shellfish allergy, but there was plenty more to try.


    I ended up trying something like seven dishes -- nine if you include the two bites that Mike shared with me.  


    He shared the two dishes (appetizer and main course) he ordered; I shared four.  He could have tried more, but his allergy prevented him from doing so.


    I had a chance to try a Lebanese red.


    Apparently, 6000-year old vines.  


    Some might call it a Jesus wine.


    It was close to 9 p.m. when I left the restaurant.


    Hours and hours of gorging.


    Before leaving, Scott instructed me to take Broughton to Bull to Anderson.


    Oysters, clams, lamb, duck, pork, and mullet.


    I had to stop in one of the mysterious squares because I thought I was going to vomit -- that's how much food I put away.


    Way too much -- far too much.


    I was a glutton.


    When I arrived at the airbnb, I laid down in my room and rubbed my belly until I fell asleep.


    Luckily, I did not hurl.


    Why did I eat so much?  

    Until we meet again, my friend.























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