adios, adventure-mobile

Yes, it is sad but true. The days of exclaiming, "Vamos allí! Vamos acquí!" while adventuring in my trusty Subaru are all but done.

This is the epilogue to my adventure story, an epilogue which I have been avoiding writing.

Two Fridays ago, January 28, I was in Asheville, North Carolina. The sun was shining brightly, the crisp mountain air invigorating as it enveloped me in a familiar breeze. Bluegrass played on the public radio station as I cruised into town, and my eyes filled with tears at the sound which reminded me of home.

Before leaving Kim's, I had looked up directions to a particular coffee shop. I wrote before about how the highways surrounding Asheville form an especially confusing cloverleaf; here lies the source of my confusion. I got off at the wrong exit and found myself in an entirely unfamiliar part of Asheville. I craned my neck to read street signs as I hastily tried to reconstruct a mental map of the downtown. Anyway, long story short, amidst this confusion I turned and got myself and the adventure-mobile into a traffic collision.

I was heartbroken. Here I was, less than 400 miles from home, closer than I had been in nearly three months. I had driven across the country and back - in winter! I had wound up and down mountain passes, taken back roads where few others would, squinted through fog. In the previous fifteen days alone, I had driven 5,000 miles, and without incident at all! I drove the speed limit all the way across the country and back! I am not kidding. I was so safe. And here, so close to home, so close to my triumphant return, an auto incident (the drivers' manual taught me there are no traffic "accidents").

Luckily, the adventure-mobile was driveable, which is why most of you have heard nothing of it until now. I still made it to my next adventure-stop in West Virginia, and did indeed have the triumphant return to Athens I'd envisioned. The front passenger door is pretty smashed in, though. Oh, I'd even say it's altogether destroyed. Toss in a shattered window, a little bit of damage to the front fender and a tad of injury to the rear door, mix in a 15-year-old car who somebody just racked up thousands of miles on, and the insurance company took one look at it and said "We ain't fixin' this jalopy."

Well, effectively, that's what they said. I pleaded and begged, I got an independent assessment of the damages, I thought about salvaging the vehicle (a rather complicated process in Ohio), I cried and ignored it for a few days, but then I started browsing used-vehicle listings. The insurance company is actually offering me a decent price for it - more than I could potentially sell it for. I personally believe in the adventure-mobile's strength, and have no doubt as to the engine's longevity. Not to mention, we've been through so much together! I've had the car for just over six years, and we've especially bonded over the past year.

But, like all relationships, it's okay if it runs its course. I decided that, should the adventure-mobile give out on me even in the near future, it's unlikely I'd be getting quite the offer from the insurance I'm looking at now. I have a bit of dough, so I'm able to dream about getting a slightly newer version of the intrepid 'mobile, for I still have the utmost faith in used Subarus. And it is a little bit exciting, just in the way new friends, new partners, new cities are exciting, to enter anew into an automotive relationship.

So, thank you, adventure-mobile. Over the past six years, we have canvassed much of the country. You accompanied me on countless trips to Seattle and countless more to Portland for marching band. We trekked all over Oregon, to the coast, camping, to casinos. You got me to Ohio, not once, but twice! You patiently let me drive you on extensive detours from coast to coast. You've ferried all of my belongings between several apartments, sometimes housing them for months when at times I moved at a more languid pace. You've also been my companion dashing around town, to the grocery store, to bars and parties, graduations and job interviews. You've carted around friends, family, boyfriends and dates gone bad.

I have sobbed in your domelike embrace, and laughed with utter glee. I have filled you with music, both from the radio and out of my own mouth; humid summer air and crisp mountain breezes have filled in from your open windows. You have tolerated my pasting colorful stickers on your rear, and you even survived when an untoward citizen smashed a window. You calmly have allowed me to grind gears, pop the clutch a few times (years ago! I swear!), and other tiny mistakes as I got used to your odds and ends. We've gone up mountains, down dirt roads, along the shore, parked on muddy fields, and everything in between. You've kept on trucking as I posted some 74,000 miles on you. You were my first car, adventure-mobile, and you done good.

tour de sarah recap

Here are some interesting facts about my adventure!

Miles traveled Ohio-Oregon: 3,036.
Miles traveled Oregon-Ohio: 5,435.
Total miles elapsed (including adventures within Oregon): 11,306.

Days elapsed Ohio-Oregon: 9.
Days elapsed Oregon-Ohio: 17.
Total days gone from Ohio: 83.

Here are some places I visited:

Overnight
Athens, OH
Lexington, KY
Rolla, MO
Salina, KS
Englewood, CO
Boise, ID
Eugene, OR
Portland, OR
Newberg, OR
Seattle, WA
Auburn, CA
Oakland, CA
Valencia, CA
Chandler, AZ
Flagstaff, AZ
Albuquerque, NM
Oklahoma City, OK
Fayetteville, AR
outside Clarksdale, MS
New Orleans, LA
Birmingham, AL
Charleston, SC
Asheville, NC
Athens, WV

Day trips
(or places I stopped for a bit of time while traveling)
Frankfort, KY
Jefferson City, MO
Denver, CO
Lafayette, CO
Salem, OR
Florence, OR
Olympia, WA
Ashland, OR
Berkeley, CA
San Francisco, CA
San Jose, CA
Santa Monica, CA
Phoenix/Tempe, AZ
Sedona, AZ
Amarillo, TX (drove through)
Clarksdale, MS
Gulfport/Biloxi, MS
Athens, GA
Columbia, SC

State Capitals visited:
Frankfort, KY*
Jefferson City, MO*
Denver, CO*
Boise, ID
Salem, OR*
Olympia, WA*
Phoenix, AZ
Oklahoma City, OK
Little Rock, AR
Columbia, SC*
* are where I actually either went inside the capitol building, or wandered/drove around near it. I stayed the night in Boise and Oklahoma City, and drove on surface streets through Little Rock. I also drove through, strictly on the interstate, Montgomery, AL and Charleston, WV

Other major points of interest (National/state parks, etc)
Walnut Canyon, AZ
Painted Desert/Petrified Forest, AZ
Oklahoma City Bombing Memorial, OK
French Quarter, New Orleans, LA

Pacific Ocean - Florence, OR
Pacific Ocean - Pismo Beach, CA
Pacific Ocean - Santa Monica, CA
Gulf of Mexico - Biloxi, MS
Atlantic Ocean - Folly Beach, SC

I visited 25 states: Ohio, Kentucky, Missouri, Kansas, Colorado, Wyoming, Utah, Idaho, Oregon, Washington, California, Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, Oklahoma, Arkansas, Mississippi, Louisiana, Alabama, Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina, Tennessee, Virginia, West Virginia.
That's half!

I drove on these major interstates:
North-south: I-5, I-17, I-25, I-55, I-65, I-77
East-west: I-10, I-20, I-26, I-40, I-44, I-64, I-70, I-80, I-84

several major US highways: US-24, US-33, US-49, US-50, US-56, US-60, US-61, US-64, US-71, US-78, US-90, US-101

numerous spurs of those interstates and highways, and countless state routes

Here is a map I made of my adventures. The black indicates the route I took in November; the purple is trips I took around the Northwest while there; the red is the route I took back in January. Enjoy!

country roads, take me home

I passed a delightful evening and morning with Sara and her boyfriend in Athens, WV. Nonetheless, after enjoying Pancake Saturday with them, my proximity to Athens, Ohio, sprang to the forefront of my mind. Itching to get on the road, and to find home, I bid a fond farewell to Sara and returned to the interstate.

I-77 becomes the West Virginia Turnpike, and it is a challenging if beautiful drive. If a driver is clever, you can avoid two of the three toll plazas by following specific state routes through rural West Virginia. On my last visit, Sara and Arden patiently delineated for me which routes I ought to take, a detour which doesn't add too much time and is generally worth the four bucks saved. Nevertheless, today I was impatient to get home, so I followed the interstate the entire way.

Saturday afternoon in January is a peaceful time to drive long distances, as I was nearly alone on the road. This left me able to enjoy the sun beaming down on the road before me. The mountains beckoned, seeming to say "Come home! Come home!" I heard bluegrass on the radio, and tears filled my eyes. I crossed through Charleston, one of my favorite state capitals, hidden up in the hills and framed by the rushing Kanawha River. I left exploration of that capitol museum for another adventure - I was too close to home to stop!

The Ohio River runs through Ravenswood, West Virginia, at the Ohio state line. I am in love with this river. Its majesty tells of its history: Significant in trade, westward expansion, and forming borders, I could just stare and stare. It's fitting, too, that on my first adventure of last summer, I played along its shores before exploring West Virginia for the first time.

I steered onto US Highway 33. Highway 33! This highway runs through Athens! Oh, I was getting so close. The day was mostly cloudy, but I still marveled at the rural beauty of the hills along the 37-mile drive. As I neared Athens, I crossed roads that I had driven on before, mentally retracing routes to friends' houses, rejoicing in familiarity. I took the southernmost exit for Athens, purposely driving through town the slow way. In awe, I took it all in.

Athens is still here! Athens exists! It was real!

Three months is both a long and short time to be gone from home. Matters are made all the more complicated when two of those months are spent somewhere once known as home. Although I knew this to not be true, often while in Eugene I found myself wondering if Athens was nothing but a dream. The natural features of the town, the people, the things I have done here, are such an encapsulated experience and so removed from Eugene that it was difficult at times to remember their existence, etched upon my mind as they were. I would hear myself speaking of Athens, enthusiastically extolling its merits, relaying anecdotes, and would almost stop to wonder at where in my memory they came from.

I steered through town, turning onto my street and into my awaiting parking spot. I could barely contain myself. I leaped out of my car and half-ran through the yard, patchy and soft under melting snow. I paused to gaze in wonder at the backyard before scampering up the stairs. I couldn't believe it: there it was! my apartment! looking just like I remembered it! I danced around the apartment, touching everything, turning on each light and opening every last cupboard. Emotion overcame me. Flinging myself onto the floor, I stretched out along the smooth hardwood, breathing in the sense of home. I wept, wracked with sobs indicating joy, relief, and other emotions I cannot even begin to express. It feels so right to be here, but altogether alien. I was gone for three months....but now I am back.

Daily mileage: 185. Total mileage: 5,435.
(more stats to come)

Four states in one day!

The sun shone down in Asheville, even as the forecast told of snow. I sped northward, constantly anticipating that around the next curve i would find piles of snow and ice, determined to make this good weather luck last as long as possible.

In all my days of driving on this adventure, I have faced precipitation very few times. (This is not counting the two months i spent in Oregon, where driving in rain is a given.) I faced an onslaught of snow as i approached Denver back in November, which eased within an hour. I fought rain (and low-hanging fog) as i crested the Siskiyou summit on my drive from Eugene to Auburn. and the majority of my drive in the western part of Alabama, from Mobile pretty much all the way in to Birmingham, was marked with rain. Every other day, though? Sunny skies, sparse clouds. I know that much of the rest of this winter has been brutally cold, and many of the locales I visited experienced unseasonable snow at other points.

I experienced some driving confusion trying to find the proper interstate in Asheville. This primarily has to do with the extremely silly nomenclature of I-26. Interstate 26, following the typical pattern of such things, ought to be an east-west interstate, but proceeds in a decidedly northwesterly fashion. Through Asheville, it runs nearly due north, and even has an interchange with my old friend I-40, which I just feel like should never happen. Somehow, as I left downtown Asheville, I found myself on I-40 heading west, a route that would take me to Knoxville, Tennessee. I stopped to ask for directions to I-26 West and was greeted with incredulous looks. "Well," I clarified, "it runs north, but it is called 26 West."

I have since learned that for a stretch in Asheville, I-26 West actually runs east. Now, what is the point of having a well-established system for naming interstates if you do not follow it?

Asheville is only about fifteen miles from the North Carolina-Tennessee border, which was a pleasant surprise. At about three other points on this adventure, I'd considered altering my route just to drive through Tennesse. These plans had never quite come to fruition. I had only decided to go to Asheville about a week ago while already on the road, so I hadn't had time to pore over potential routes. It certainly came as a surprise that morning when I looked on my map and realized I'd be traversing eastern Tennessee en route to West Virginia!

The sun shone brightly, illuminating mountains I was unaware existed in tennessee. Prior to this day, my only venture into Tennessee was at a rest stop in the middle of the night one summer on tour, so it hardly counts. I had envisioned Tennessee more like Kentucky - gently rolling hills, scattered horse farms, but an pervading sense of flatness. Instead, here were my Applachians, glistening in the crisp January sun. Perfect clouds rolled through the blue sky above, and I gaped at how idyllic the sight was.

I-26 terminates just past Kingsport, TN, and from there I picked up Interstate 81 North. This is another interstate that doesn't exactly follow the designation assigned it. I suspect that in this part of the country, the blame for these inconsistencies is twofold: hills and history. It is much easier to carve a straight path through the desert or a valley than the seductively winding Appalachians. Also, by the time the interstate system was created in the '50s, the eastern half of the country was criscrossed by state-to-state routes that had been well-traveled for centuries, compared with the relatively recent expansion of their western counterparts. (Did you know that Arizona became a state in 1902? 1902! That's the most recent of the 48 contiguous states!)

In eastern Tennessee, the interstate in question traverses a distinctly east-west route, but no matter. I knew it would take me into Virginia's softly rolling western hills and farmland that evokes memories of colonial days. I had previously driven on a stretch of I-81 on my Memorial Day adventure that brought me to drop in on my cousin who lives in Roanoke. In short time, I crossed from Tennessee into Virginia. I stopped at the Welcome Center to acquire another of those coveted road maps put out by the state Department of Transportation that put AAA's to shame.

I saw thick clouds in the distance, and envisioned that they held snowstorms and torrential rain, but my luck held. A sprinkling of snow graced the bucolic hills, and piles along the side of the roadway reminded me of winter's presence. The hills, both green and brown in late January, were lined perfectly with a white dusting. I couldn't have painted a better picture.

After a while, I-81 met I-77, an interstate that actually follows the rules by heading north into West Virginia. I-77 goes through the biggest tunnel in Virginia, the Big Walker Mountain tunnel. This is what it looks like in summer, but today it was covered in frosty drifts of snow.

To my left, the sun threatened to set, shooting beams of light through the bare trees to the west. The clouds thickened, a little more gray than before, setting the stage for a peaceful winter's day. I drove through another majestic tunnel, the the East River Mountain tunnel, and entered West Virginia. Four states in one day! My anticipation quickened as I neared the exit that would take me to Athens, West Virginia, where one of my dearest friends lives.

Cautiously, I slowed to the off-ramp. The roadside snow, sparse in Virginia, here consisted of freshly piled drifts of snow, and the road was thick with salt and sand. I followed WV-20 as snow sparkled on tree branches around me and the sun, thankfully, shone on. I got my first feeling of homecoming as I pulled into Sara's drive and scampered up to her front porch, flinging her to me in a heartfelt embrace.

Daily mileage: 254. Total mileage: 5,250.

One more adventure in Asheville

This is the comforting sight that greeted me from the window of the guest bedroom in Kim's apartment outside Asheville, North Carolina. Her apartment is nestled in a wooded area just removed from the hustle and bustle of the highway. With every day that I got closer to the familiar hills of Athens, my heart soared with joy as I found more hills and more trees that sing in their own special way. Asheville is high up in the Blue Ridge Mountains, and the alpine atmosphere permeates the region. I felt strangely, surprisingly at home.

For dinner last night, Kim and i chose a cute little vegetarian cafe. The Green Leaf Cafe is tucked along the main drag of this hopelessly hip hamlet. Composed of two small main rooms, I was again reminded of home, Oregon-home and Ohio-home in some unique olio. A counter ran along the front of the humble kitchen, and a big man in a green shirt sat atop one of the few bar stools. aA dimpled young man, certainly no older than us, and probably many years younger, stood behind the register. His skin was a light copper, and his hair was hidden in a large round hat perched on his head in such a way as to indicate a pile of dreadlocks beneath. He motioned to us to sit anywhere we liked. We sat in the far room in a booth that was built into the window. We were the only ones in the room. The boy brought us two menus, then with a sheepish grin informed us that their server was out for the evening and he would be cook and server, letting on that he had little experience by way of the latter. He ably brought us waters and informed us of the specials, tolerating our many requests.

As we munched, a group of musicians filtered in. A young woman with smooth, caramel skin carried a guitar. Others followed after, carrying guitars, various hand drums, amplification. They began to set up in the back room where we were seated. Kim and i looked at each other in giddy anticipation. This was a surprise! What would happen next?

A duo of stocky, older black men - perhaps uncles or cousins - approached us and began raving about the young woman's talent. Dressed tonight in a neatly buttoned blue plaid shirt, she is the group's frontwoman and lead singer. The group is called Lyric, and I never quite catch the girl's name, so I refer to her as Lyric in my head. Tonight, they play an "acoustic" set, and only three members of the band are present: the young woman, another guitar player, and a man providing percussion accompaniment on a hand drum or two.

We finish our meal, and the chef/server clears our plates and patiently refills our waters. The back room of the cafe opens up into a wine bar and art gallery. We buy a glass of wine and sip, happily, excited about the music we are about to see. Lyric plays one song to lure us in, belting out a soulful tune while strumming on her guitar. The room fills with her passionate spirit and musical talent. We hum along excitedly, though the tune is unfamiliar to us.

After this teaser, Lyric stops and makes way for the opening act. Roberto is an energetic young man. His toned chest shows through his tight-fitting tee, and his Peruvian heritage shines through his face. He writes poetry and puts it to a beat - and what a beat! Roberto sets up a collection of hand drums; I don't know how many, but judging by the symphony of sounds he was able to evoke from them, at least five. Roberto's poems are of the usual angsty sort, but follow a clever and enticing rhyme scheme. Coupled with his frantic, able drumming, they take on a musical character. He is aware of his audience, and engages us with a "c'mon" here and there as he launches into the "chorus" verse of his poetry. He plays five or six charts, and we are dancing in our seats, grinning broadly, aware that we have stumbled upon something special here tonight.

Lyric then retakes the stage. The girl's youthful enthusiasm leaks out from behind her oversized plastic-framed glasses; we gauge her to be no more than 22 or 23. She tells of meeting Lauryn Hill, who recently performed in Asheville. They play song after song - some covers, some originals. In some, she raps, and others have a distinct soul, r & b feel. The night grows late, and my weariness, lingering from my early start with the sunrise and Atlantic ocean, shows. Lyric is still playing when we leave, and the uncles try to persuade us to buy one of their freshly-cut CD's. Even as we drive home, the energy of the night courses through us. Roberto was a treat, but this girl is going somewhere. I wouldn't be surprised if she crosses paths with Lauryn Hill again. Asheville is becoming known as a thriving spot for up-and-coming musicians, and this night showed it right to us!

sunrise to sunset in the carolinas!

Check that business out! This is the sun coming up over the ocean. It is an extremely large photo because...holy crap.

Although I was up late last night in a house full of friends, I jumped out of bed a little after 6:00. I rousted a few housemates out of bed, and we piled into Nora's sedan, heading for Folly Beach, about a half-hour away from downtown Charleston. I was on the edge of my seat with anticipation the whole time, an anticipation that grew as the first reddish glow of sunrise began to tint the sky. What if I came all this way and missed the sunrise? The forecast predicted that the sunrise wasn't until 7:17, but one could never be too certain!

Fortunately, the forecast was right on target. We pulled into a gravel lot at Folly Beach, nearly deserted at this early hour. I bolted from the car and scampered eagerly onto the sand. The Atlantic waves crashed on the shore, bold and blue. I ran madly up and down the sandy coast. Beautiful houses overlooked the shoreline behind me. I danced in place and watched as, every minute, a new shade of color overtook the sky.

At first, the sunrise formed a hazy ribbon of coral-colored clouds along the distant horizon. The waning moon was yet visible as the sky stayed a heavy lavender. Before my eyes, the sky's pinkish border rose, adding blossoms of orange to the nearly cloudless sky. The few clouds that hung above were the slightest wisps of cotton, and the sunrise made them a neon orange against the purple-blue sky. The ribbon of orange widened, and reflected off the sparkling blue waves. I danced madly in place, snapping photos and checking my watch.

At precisely 7:17, true to form, a brilliant ball of orange appeared where the water met the painted sky. It was a tiny orb, distant, and each time I blinked it loomed larger and higher in the sky until it had fully broken free from its watery home, bursting forth into new life. The sun glistened brighter than any gold can shine, more true than any flame, more perfectly round than any ball. I took off my shoes and dashed into the water. The ocean was cold, and my toes tingled as the waves lapped over my ankles. I gleefully splashed, never removing my eyes from the sky, which was now painted end to end with brilliant oranges and pinks, and huge swaths of light blue as the sun welcomed the new day.

Later, after a breakfast of improvised peanut butter-banana-coconut pancakes, I bid farewell to my friends and hit the road for North Carolina. I zigzagged across the state, idling momentarily in Columbia, the capital of South Carolina. Interstate 26 originates in Charleston, and led me straight into North Carolina. The Blue Ridge Mountains, which had certainly been awaiting my entrance from the same position the entire time, suddenly made their presence clear, looming above me as I swept down the first hill and into the state. The sun had begun to set to the west, and shot rays through the trees, casting a glorious ligh
t upon the huge, blue mountains in front of me. Trees surrounded the interstate. I opened my window, and smelled the scent of forests long forgotten. I arrived at my friend's house just as the sun was nestling behind the mountains, lending a soft orange glow to the hills around me.

back to the hills!!

I woke up early this morning and greeted a gray, windy Birmingham. I parked downtown and went for a brisk jog around the city blocks. Birmingham is one of those silly cities that is laid out with number streets crossing number avenues; that is, 2nd St. crosses 16th Ave., 16th St. crosses 2nd avenue in an entirely different place, and so on. As such, I got rather turned around and ultimately frustrated with trying to find my way in Birmingham. I also realized how long it would take me to get to Charleston, and that Birmingham was a big enough city (around a million) to have a rush hour I ought to avoid, so I was on the road before the sun was high in the sky. All the museums I wanted to see didn't open until ten or later - more things I will have to save for a future adventure.

I'm going to attribute this phenomenon to being back in the hills, but everything seems to take so long now! Side routes and back roads which aided my speedy journey across the flat plains often took less time than the interstate - not so in Alabama and Georgia. I also decided on the spur of the moment to check out Athens, Georgia, which is not on any beaten path at all, and I improvised directions to it. Nevertheless, a trip which I anticipated to take four hours (Birmingham-Athens) took upwards of six.

I headed north on I-59 first thing. Out of Birmingham I had two choices to progress in a northeasterly fashion toward my first destination of Athens. I-20 heads reliably due east, so perhaps that would have been a better route. I-59, however, took me northeast to US Highway 278, which in turn headed due east through the town of Gadsden and a few Civil War historic battlefields.

The morning clouds cleared, and the sun began to beat mightily through the thick trees. Most of the trees in these forests are deciduous, but they are close enough together that the sun lit their brown branches. The further east I got, I found more and more evergreens curving along the hilly road, illuminating the woods with their color.

Continuing along US-278, I entered Georgia and Eastern time, setting me back yet another hour. I picked up GA-120, which led me through Marietta and Roswell. The hills beckoned, rising above me and in the distance to my every side. I was still far from home, but felt comforted by the hills. I neared Atlanta, and picked up Interstate 75 to the I-285 bypass, so I easily skirted the capital. I left the interstate and headed east on US-78, and instantly the hills rose again above me, bushy branches reaching skyward.

I wish that I could take a photograph of everything I see while traversing these highways. I will just have to further hone and practice my skills of description. Skills of memory, too, for as profound and beautiful as each bend, each ray of light through the underbrush may be, they tend to run together after a long day of driving.

My plan based on my map had been to take US-29 toward Athens, Georgia, but signs on the interstate instructed me to follow US-78, which I'm not sure why because it's a highway that is surface streets almost the entire way, whereas US-29 is elevated and goes a little faster. Nonetheless, it was a lovely drive into Athens. The sun came out, and I passed through a series of small towns with names reminiscent of colonial days - Washington, Lexington. By the time I reached the University of Georgia, I was ravenous. I had planned to eat a little bit of my granola while roaming what I hear is a pretty awesome town, but then I thought that it would be interesting to check out a local eatery. The kids at the UGA welcome center were extremely helpful, and I enjoyed a drive through the thriving campus en route to my lunch destination. I ordered a salad, which turned out to be the hugest salad I have ever seen. The clerk must have seen the famished desperation in my eyes!

It was an extremely windy day in Georgia, though the sun shone down brightly. As I continued eastward on US-78, the trees continued to enchant me, reaching toward the road and telling me stories of days past. Farmland began to appear, though, interspersed with the ancient woods. I saw cows and horses under perfect clouds in the sky. I passed a few plantations, suddenly remembering how far south of the Mason-Dixon line I was.

As I drove through the Georgia hills, my thoughts frequently strayed to Athens. Though I was still over 500 miles from home, I could taste it. It was a struggle to direct my car to continue traveling eastward, but I was committed to this adventure!

The day I played in the surf in Santa Monica I realized that, before this adventure could be complete, I needed to see the Atlantic. I had never seen it, and I wanted to watch the sun rise over the ocean. It was a little difficult to justify going a day's journey out of my way just to run my feet along the crashing waves of the Carolina shore, and more than ever on this absolutely perfect Appalachian January day. As I neared the South Carolina border, though, my anticipation of reaching the Atlantic coast grew, so I felt like I had made the right decision!

I followed US-221 to connect with Interstate 20. By this point, the sun had begun to set and I was still a state away from my destination! I observed the sun begin to set through my rearview mirror. The entire sky behind me filled with shades of orange and red, like the skin of a ripe mango. I crossed into South Carolina, where the speed limit was five miles higher and everyone around me drove more madly and boldly. The sun followed suit, burning a bright neon orange.

The interstates in South Carolina are counterintuitive because they don't run due north-south or east-west. Also, to the intrepid back route-wanderer, they seem like hardly the most direct route across the state. US-278, a spur of 78 that I had been on earlier in the day in eastern Alabama, seemed like the best route by far, but at this point I was over Route 78. I took I-20 in a northeasterly direction into Columbia, the capital, which led me to I-26 southeast into Charleston.

In the southern peninsula area of South Carolina, Charleston has a distinct beach feel to it. Images of television shows set in Miami danced through my head, and for some reason I had a hard time remembering I wasn't in Florida. Dreams of the Atlantic danced in my head, and I could barely sleep with excitement.

Today's mileage: 557. Total mileage: 4,716.