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Part 21 of the Cycle-Across-America series relayed day by day, exactly ten years after it happened. (Read from the start in Boston)

Ten years ago today I crossed from South Carolina into Georgia:

Thursday, 22 August, 10 pm

Aiken was so laid back I couldn’t photograph it. Very low buildings, spread out and extremely wide streets. I tried to frame it but it wouldn’t fit so I cycled on.

On to US 1 to get my bearings and then cut into 421 which runs parallel but through a series of towns. Last night’s do-it-yourself dinner had left me famished and the seventeen miles into Augusta seemed five too many. Passed Big Al’s Gun Store, not quite as friendly as the first one I saw - almost a week ago now - Uncle Toddy’s Gun Store. I see about two of these places a day.

Rejoin Route 1 into North Augusta, South Carolina and detour slightly into corporate section for breakfast at Burger King. Breakfast had finished and they made a mistake so to compensate they gave me a refund and a Whopper. Then they gave me another Whopper. So for breakfast I had two Whoppers, a double cheeseburger, large fries and three drinks. As the tray full of food was handed to me, I said,
-That’s an awful lot of Whoppers

Further up the road I had three quarters of a litre of Mello Yello, a pint of water and a can of something bought from a country store.
-Will I put those in a double bag for you?
-It’s okay, I would explain, I’m going to drink them now.

On the bike I drank the other pint of water, two pints of whole fat milk and a couple of cans. Here when I got off the bike I immediately bought a can of Mountain Dew, a pint of Banana milk, and a litre of ice tea. They were all devoured.

To get from North Augusta, South Carolina into Augusta, Georgia I had to join the expressway. There’s only two bridges over the Savannah River (not counting the rail bridge) according to the map. The expressway was shoulderless and quite heavy but I was prepared to do it. Then a sign for a turn off for 5th Street bridge. I think it was also named after Jefferson Davis. Narrow but no traffic I liked it. It ran between the expressway and the rail bridge.

I stopped for a photo of Augusta and noticed a large terrapin down below on yet another log. Just after I’d taken the photo a train started to come across heading the same direction as me. Seconds earlier and I could’ve had it in my photo. Over the bridge turned right on Broad Street, but when I got to 6th Street the lights were red. That freight train actually goes straight through the very centre of town. Almost half an hour we all waited. Hundreds and hundreds of carriages, it was fantastic but I was losing daylight. I thought Augusta was beautiful. In the end I cycled around a bit while waiting for the train to pass. When I cycled alongside it I could see it was going at nine mph. A whole huge train right through the city. I thought that was great. And everybody just waited for it. It made me think of cows in Westport.

Reckoned Wrightsboro Road was about where South Carolina Route 874 should be but there was no signposts. Took it anyway. Included a lot of climbing in the heat in the suburbs in the early afternoon on a busy small road. The traffic was great. Always waiting until there was nothing coming the opposite direction before rounding me. Passed the airport and ended up in Grovetown as intended.

The secondary road to Harlem was closed so that forced me onto 223. I felt weak. All the time going up and down hills had sapped my legs of so much energy. There was nothing but unspectacular trees and low-key wildness growing out here. What houses there were, were few with gardens so less playful than Maryland. Traffic varied from none to very busy but almost everything gave me an embarrassing amount of space. It was almost as if they all knew I’d been knocked down. Until a huge truck.

Oncoming traffic meant it couldn’t go ’round. In my mirror I could see it wasn’t slowing down. I decided to stay on the road. It came through. As it reached me at about 45 mph it was inches away and forced me off the road. There was a bank down to a ditch and I went bouncing down. Kept control of the bike and didn’t come off, but that left pannier got knocked into the wheel. I tried to bend it back and carried on annoyed at the truck driver but not shaken at all.

Drinking milk at a cross-roads garage a black man told me it was twelve miles to Thomson. That was my next food stop. Two big hills he said, and then a lot of up and down.
-It’s been like that all of Georgia, I told him.
I asked about lodging parallel with the I-20 which I was basically following.
-Union Point? I asked.
I’d probably have to go on to Greenboro, he told me. That’s where I’d decided to go this morning but knew now, with it being so late in the day and me being so weak (averaging less than ten and a half mph) that I had no chance of making Greenboro. I felt so weak that Union Point was in doubt.

Less traffic on the 223 to Thomson but that seemed irrelevant. I had only one mosquito bite that was now bothering me. That cream must work. My legs seemed not to be getting on with each other. The right one was fed up having to do all the work but the left one explained it wasn’t having a whole lot of fun itself. Although not particularly saddle sore I felt very weak and delicate down there all day and leapt up out of the saddle once as the pain bolted through my cheeks. No rhythm today as downhill was freewheel about thirty mph and then an uphill fight about five mph. Still singing the Fureys’ songs but new ones were being created on the basis of a line a day. We’ll see how I go.

When that man left me at the cross-roads drinking milk, he beeped. I looked. He was driving one of those huge trucks. I wondered if he was the one that sent me off the road. He waved. He was going home to Thomson.

When I got there I couldn’t find anywhere to sit down and eat. It was almost five. I could only do a maximum of another twenty miles. If even. Rang my contact in Atlanta to tell him I was still aiming to be in Atlanta tomorrow evening but I’m making slow progress. I’m sore and weak. He was very understanding and unfussed. The quiet road to Mesena, then it was time to ask about lodging. I knew the answer. Black man at his house shook his head a lot and said nothing that direction (west - the way I wanted to go). I’d have to go south to Warrenton to a motel.

So I did. It’s twenty dollars and fine. Before checking in I cycled all ’round town to have a good look. Nice square with: a free standing small cinema theatre showing Independence Day, a statue commemorating dead from Civil War, and some nice buildings.

To get twenty away from Atlanta I will have to do a one hundred mile cycle tomorrow. For that to be at all possible I’ll have to leave by seven. Fine if I wake up but this morning I only woke at 8.20. Either way in this heat and these hills I’m not looking forward to it.

Just got distracted there looking at a cockroach on the wall when I felt a small pain in my right thigh. A large ant was feasting himself. It was quite a job to get him off.

Local news just featured Aiken City where I was last night. They have a “yellow bike program”. They’re free to be used by everybody but of the donated sixteen only two remain. People are keeping them.

Because of the replication of names, it’s hard to get attached to places here. Spent a lot of time in Columbia County here in Georgia but it’s so soon since Columbia the city in South Carolina. I’m going to sleep in Warren County tonight, in its main town called Warrenton, but my favourite county name today had to be McDuffie County.

I’ll aim for Snellville tomorrow evening but it’s very ambitious. First food stop in Crawfordville? Eighteen miles away. I could finish these hot dog rolls and cooked ham before I head off. Time for sleep.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, August 22nd, 2006 at 9:12 am and is filed under Cycle Across America. You can follow responses via my RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response or trackback from your site.