Savannah, Georgia

[Rolf]

I went South for a conference this week and rented a bike for a couple days. Savannah is a gorgeous town about the same size as Victoria (metro pop 370,000) with a historical downtown full of beautiful little parks every block or two. It also has plenty of ghosts that have haunted the cool, three hundred year-old buildings since the Revolution and Civil War. It's one of only nine places in the States you can walk around town with your drink in a to-go cup, something I took advantage of four nights in a row.

I did a few spins around town and then used my last day to head out to Tybee Island, which is 30km away, where the Savannah River meets the Atlantic. In order to make sunrise on the beach (and be back in time for a 9:30 plenary) I had to leave the hotel at 5:50. Sunrise was at 7:20. Local riders told me to only do the Tybee run in the morning because "drivers don't usually start drinking until 10 am." The guys at my rental shop loaned me a crappy little headlight which wasn't good for much, but I had the foresight to bring my good tail light from home. Without a big red flasher out the back it would have been an even scarier ride. Because of all the tributaries and marshy bits, much of the route is along highway bridges featuring about a six-inch "shoulder" outside the fog lines and nowhere for passing trucks to go. Where the roads had shoulders, they were full of crap—crap my headlight would only pick out at the last minute. Even the roads in town were pretty nasty, with plenty of crevices and holes that could wrestle a 25mm tire to the ground in a heartbeat. Riding down there made me really appreciate our B.C. infrastructure.

Riding with Tripleshot, and especially Barton's recent LSDs, prepared my legs well for the three hours of semi-panicked effort. I didn't get hit by a truck, which was good. The only hills in this part of the world are the slight inclines that lead up to a bridge deck. I made it to the beach through the warm (17C), humid darkness with 10 minutes to spare before sun-up. Then I rode three kilometres down the beach before asking a local walking his dogs about a good breakfast place (always a priority!) Turns out he also rides a road bike and once worked in Vancouver. He invited me to his nearby condo complex so I could rinse the rental's drivetrain and feel less guilty for covering it in salty sand.

The ride back took me past some very cool, old riverfront estates, surrounded by iconic southern live oaks, draped in Spanish moss. It's a truly picturesque part of the world, and I found nearly all the folks I met gracious and very polite (after I got past the standard reply of "uh-huh" to my "thank you"!)

Here's a short edit of some ride video I took on my crappy iPhone. The park at the end is where Forrest Gump was filmed, sitting on his park bench waiting for the bus.

I also went to a gun show. But that's another video...

Atlantic sunrise at Tybee Beach

[LouiseF]

Enjoyed reading your trip highlights Rolf! Travel is balm for the soul, eh? Even if it involves plenaries and conference air conditioning (I'm guessing....) Your post has made my feet itchy. Thanks.

Greg will have to chime in but he lived in Florida/Georgia for quite a time and I did hear about the inclines onto bridges for hill training

Southern hospitality, its quite something ain't it. But don't turn your back on 'em.

17 degrees sounds pretty nice right about now. Never thought I'd say that....

[Greg F]

Ahh, the South....

Where heat & humidity starts in Feb and ends in October.
Where the peanuts are boiled and everything else is fried.
Where "Smokey and the Bandit" is viewed as a educational documentary.
Where "alternative transportation" means driving on backroads as fast as possible vice driving on I-95 as fast as possible.
Where NASCAR is a religion and holy wars break out between the "3" sect (worshipping Dale Earnhardt) and the "95" sect (worshipping Darrell Waltrip) at every parking lot.

Where the cockroaches are big, the alligators bigger, and the sand gnat bites biggest of all.
Where every lawn is a fire ant nest and every fire ant is immortal.
Where every road's lack of shade and lack of shoulder is beautifully compensated for by head winds and logging trucks.
Where logging trucks have an exhaust silencer that is disengaged within 12" of a cyclist or when their horn is blown at 150dB.

Where men are called by their middle name and... why is that exactly? If I wanted my son called "John" I would name him "John <middle name> Fennell". But in the South, he would be named ""<First Name only seen on signature & phone book> John Fennell". And everyone would call him "Jack".

Where bike lanes are blatant social-liberal-progressive-BIG government violations of the 2nd Amendment.
Where the rating of a bike ride is measured by the number of bottles thrown at you and dogs that chased you. (lower = better)
Where the rating of a teenager's backroad NASCAR training session is measured by (speed) x (100 - inches passed within a cyclist). (faster x closer = better; no penalty if distance < 0)

And where, indeed, the biggest hills are the bridge overpasses. No joke - our Jacksonville Thursday hill training was multiple circuits over the river crossing.

[Rolf]

Greg: this made me wake the cat with my guffaws and carrying on.