It’s funny how each state feels different. You wouldn’t think the difference would be very dramatic, but it is. In fact, sometimes even the county borders are striking. For example, back in Florida, I remember passing from Martin County into Saint Lucie County and almost at soon as we went by the welcome sign, the bike lane disappeared, the pavement went to hell, and all the drivers started acting like sociopaths. Until that point, through all of Florida, we’d run into maybe four or five aggressive drivers. By the time we left St. Lucie County, we’d seen another 30. I’m sure a lot of this has to do with socio-economic conditions and county road policies and other tangible factors, but still. It was weird.

Coming into South Carolina today was like that. We had learned to appreciate Georgia more than we expected, having spent an extra day in Savannah thanks to a flash-flood warning. Wandering about the old town, it was hard not to fall in love with the place. It’s just so spectacularly designed with the squares and parks, and it's not terribly over-wrought with ticky-tacky plastic historicity the way St. Augustine was. It left us with a good feeling about Georgia overall. But the memory of our grueling ride into the city was still hanging over our heads, along with the fear that our ride out of town would be similar to our ride in. And yet, even as we crossed the bridge into South Carolina this morning, it became obvious that this was something different, another one of those dramatic borders. To begin with, we had a 6-foot-wide shoulder, which was something we hadn't seen since Florida. Then there was the route, which followed a series of quiet roads along green pastures, with mostly pleasant drivers. Before we knew it, we’d arrived at Yemassee. Of course, there were a few idiots sprinkled across the day like acne, hanging out the windows of their cars and yipping at us like dogs as they passed, but you get those everywhere. What you don’t get everywhere are the 18-wheeler drivers like the one today, who tooted his horn and waved as he went by, actually happy to see us. It's probably hard to imagine unless you’ve been through this, but that kind of thing gives you a good vibe that lasts long after the driver has forgotten about you. It can be lonely, out there on the road with the multi-tons. Being passed slowly, or passed wide, helps.

Once we arrived at the hotel, we had a good bit of daylight left, and we talked about doing another bike cleaning, but the bikes don’t really need it. They’re holding out better than we expected. In fact, all of our supplies have. We haven’t had to make any major purchases, or change any of our gear except the plastic bags we use for waterproofing. We packed light, so this is a bit of a surprise. Other than my riding clothes, I’ve got two t-shirts and one pair of pants. When we’re not riding, I wear flip-flops. Sometimes, that means walking five to ten miles in sandals. So it's a pretty Spartan set-up, but it seems to be working. Jenny has about the same - two pairs of pants and three t-shirts. Also, we’ve each got a small bag with hygiene stuff: contact cases and toothbrushes and such. And I’ve got the laptop. All in all, I guess we’ve each got about 10 pounds of gear. Today, along the route, we passed a long-distance cyclist whose strategy was clearly different. She had front and back saddlebags, all bursting at the seams with who knows what. On top of her rear saddlebags, she had also strapped a bunch of duffel bags and knapsacks with bunjee cords. It must have weighed 100 pounds. I don't necessarily think this is a bad way to travel; I’ve always felt that, whether you’re hiking or canoeing or cycling, you should bring whatever you want. It’s just a question of whether the pleasure of having it outweighs the pain of carrying it. When I was younger, I used to bring a fairly heavy espresso maker, with coffee, on all my backpacking trips. People would always tease me, but not so much in the morning. So I can understand the decision to bring a lot of stuff and make sure that your down time is comfortable. Still, seeing her, I’m glad we’re light.

So tomorrow we’re hoping to make it to Charleston. The biggest obstacle, unless the roads go to sand again, or the drivers turn maniacal again, will be the weather. It’s been storming almost every day for a week. I’m pretty sick of it by now. But we’ll slog through whatever comes. What else can we do?