Guacamole and Sweet Tea

Half a bottle of Firfly Sweet Tea and a speeding ticket from officer Hicks were the epic souvenirs from the trip to Francis Marion National Forest in South Carolina. The trip started with me nervously driving down the freeway while I watched my rear view mirror in horror. This wouldn't be the last time either. We had opted to take off the roof rack for better gas mileage and instead affix an ancient strap rack to the hatchback of my hatchback. I must say my level of paranoia when it comes to bicycle security on vehicles looks about like this.

The borrowed bike for Britt began to flail through the wind like a sad kite, and thus our first pit stop took place in the "Vast Wilderness of Rednecks and Retired Hippies" according to this map. Finally we let a man pump our gas for the last time and headed into the unknown, also known as the south. Then, after adjoining the hood of the car with an innocent dear (she was ok) in Pennsyltucky, we meandered our way south like a flock of seagulls pausing only to sip margaritas and eat fresh guacamole.

After a wonderful Mexican Banquet in Virginia, we pressed on through the night playing games of "Would you rather?", MFK, and enjoying the delight of peeing on private property right off of the highway. Finally, we could bear the road no longer, or perhaps it could no longer carry our load of vegetarian food, camping equipment, and bicycles. Either way, we knew we had to pull off soon before the lurking highway monsters disguised as police attacked.

In our cozy motel room, which did include free wifi and breakfast, Britt spent the entire six hours hacking into the government's mainframe to gain intel on whether or not Dick Cheney is actually a human being or an alien cyborg. The results were inconclusive, however she discovered Mitt Romney is just a hologram that appears when you rub two one-hundred dollar bills together. That morning, or rather later that day, we checked out and ate our free breakfast. Their waffle maker was piping hot and ready to go, yet something atrocious happened next. The waffle batter caked itself onto the griddle and began to crack and smolder. Our breakfast pretty much turned into an archaeological dig. I took this footage on my cellphone camera. Then, with tired arms and the worst cup of coffee humanity has ever brewed, we drove the rest of the way to the campsite!

We rode bikes on really awesome trails near the water and hung out on this dock where Britt pushed a man out of his kayak into the water, though she claims he fell in all by himself.

The camping was beautiful, the nights crisp as we hunkered down into our sleeping bags. We even got in a day at the beach where we watched a very large woman play with her pitbull and some pathetic parents antagonize their wonderful children. Kidding (or not) aside, the beach of Isle of Palms in South Carolina is truly a gem of the east coast. Sadly we packed up the toyota and began our journey north and got pulled over before we crossed the state line. I still haven't paid that ticket, but I intend to, maybe.