Nick and I made it out of town around noon Monday, headed due west on I-40. I love how quickly the familiar Tennessee Valley gives way to hills and then mountains. For whatever reason I spent half the ride in a truly venomous mood, irritated with Nick and with the dog's incessantly digging toenails. Luckily, a first screening of Eminem's fantastic new album did much to rescue me from my aimless ire, as did a stop in Knoxville to inhale Zaxby's in the parking lot and talk endless shit about how totally unappealing Knoxville is.
Towards Asheville, the mountains began to rise impossibly out of the ground straight up for the sky, like the trees were rooted in each other's branches.
me and Boudreaux
Nick and Boudreaux
What if Boudreaux was the same size as us?
We reached our roadside motel around dinner time and lazily spent the evening eating Italian takeout and indulging in cable TV. I have to admit that the motel is delightful. Our room faced the backyard, which featured grills and picnic tables and a horseshoe pit and a pool and two massive poles that stretched up and up to hold a huge Exxon sign that bathed the yard in a soft blue light at night. Boudreaux in particular loved the motel's resident bunnies, which scampered across the grounds silently throughout the night.
Correct me if I'm wrong, but that does not look like an Exxon.
I hope you brought your own horseshoes.
Boudreaux says: Can't talk now, mom; there are bunnies.
Since we were due at Edisto Beach early afternoon, we got up early Tuesday to hit the road. Before Nick got up, I walked down to the breakfast buffet. Feeling virtuous, I passed over the pastries in favor of a big bowl of oatmeal and a few apples stashed in my purse for the road. Then I poured myself a bowl of Froot Loops and inhaled it standing up, since everyone knows it doesn't count if you're standing up.
Nick should have had more Froot Loops.
We drove southeast on 26 out of North Carolina and straight through South Carolina. The mountains rolled and rolled into hills and finally level coastal ground. We stopped for half a peck of peaches at a farm stand. The peaches are gorgeous, like jewels. While standing in the shade outside with Boudreaux, I am 90% sure I was solicited for sex. What kind of prostitute wears wicking clothes and brings her dog along? Apparently they do things a little differently in South Carolina.
We also stopped at a Piggly Wiggly for some groceries. All the signs inside were hand drawn with considerable panache. When I complimented the manager and told him it had been ages since I'd been in a store with handmade signs, he smiled and asked, "What do you mean?"
I found a pink Silly Band in the Piggly Wiggly parking lot that is shaped like god knows. Of course, I added it to my collection. Facebook blew up with suggestions, and though many were hilarious, none really convinced me.
A parrot? George Jetson's hair?
After that, it was a long flat empty drive to Edisto Beach State Park.
NEXT TIME: Setting up camp
wtf is that Silly Band??
This is part four in my series about my August of Camping and Tramping.
one: we're on the road to nowhere
two: "Spectacles in the Surf: Seeing and Not Seeing on the DePalma Family Vacation"
three: miles covered
four: you got a fast car: drivin through the mountains