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.
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.