Richmond to Savannah, With Love

More cars than roads

If the traffic problems on I-95 that plagued us all the way to Richmond yesterday had occurred today as well, the four of us would have committed seppuku in the passing lane somewhere near Fayettesville. Fortunately for us, and for all the drivers who would have delayed still further by our life-ending decision, the delays were not nearly as bad. They were bad, but after yesterday, delays would have to be really, really bad to qualify as bad any more. Maybe that's why old people seem pretty happy for the most part: most disappointments can't hold a candle to disappointments they've already had.

Goodbye, Richmond

We had a few things to accomplish before we left Richmond, to wit: Find some scopolamine for Joanne's motion sickness; wash some of the road dirt from our faithful old MPV so we wouldn't lose it again like this morning when we came out of the hotel and mistook it for a pile of driveway plowings; and put some gas in the tank, which helped the car to move yesterday on those rare occasions when that opportunity arose. Patti Tripp found us a pharmacy, some ten miles off the interstate in what was probably retribution for ignoring some of her instructions. Good vision found us a gas station, since it was across the street from the pharmacy. And dumb luck, which is my primary talent, found us a car wash just before the on-ramp to I-95 south toward Savannah. By now it was nearing 9:00 AM, and we had 470 miles ahead of us.

Shortly into our journey we took this picture, indicating the ideal way to travel I-95--nearly alone:

The way to travel the interstate: nearly alone. What could possibly go wrong?

So we left Richmond quite the opposite from the way we arrived. With a full tank of gas, a clean Mazda van, and a revitalized Joanne, we drove from Virginia to North Carolina without a hitch.

Here's a view of the seat behind us, with Kent steadfast, Joanne happy, and...what the hell is that bearing down on us in the rear window????

OK, nice pic of Kent, Joanne and the threatening semi--but my ear?

North Carolina

Normally, crossing into the great state of North Carolina brings visions of the true South. But snow? We New Englanders didn't expect to see so much of it here:

The whiteness alongside I-95 in North Carolina.

South of the Border

OK, in North Carolina there were some delays on I-95. A fender bender caused by a sudden slowdown. A rubber-necker where somebody's car caught fire. But not nearly as bad as yesterday, about which we've pissed and moaned long enough. Besides, crossing North Carolina into South Carolina can only mean one thing, right? SOUTH OF THE BORDER! Pedro, amigo mio, it has been a long time. Almost thirty-five years, in fact, since we hauled our children and Coachmen pop-up camper through these same crazy byways in the bicentennial year.

South of the Border seems more corporate and less pleasingly cheap and gaudy as it was back in the day when our kids pawed through useless souvenirs after reading silly billboards for a hundred miles. Now the billboards look like Pedro brokers mutual funds on the side and South of the Border looks like a theme mall that doesn't really like itself that much.

Somehow the hot dog doesn't seem that happy. Maybe we're getting old.

Nobody climbs the South of the Border tower in December, it seems.

Waiting for food at South of the Border. It wasn't worth the wait.

Thomas Wolfe, the first one, said you can't go home again. I suppose you can't go back to South of the Border again, either, because you are not who you were then, and it is not what is was then, but one of us misses the other.

After South of the Border, the state of South Carolina is largely a swamp with a couple of popular beaches either side of Fort Sumter. You sort of get the idea of good things to come when you see this lovely bridge rise up in the distance:

Approaching the bridge into Georgia over the Savannah River and the Port of Savannah.

Oh, Savannah!

At dusk, we approached this beautiful bridge which is the highest span in Georgia and yet has no name [update: further research now indicates this bridge is named for Herman Talmadge, long-time Georgia politician from the days of southern gentlemen politicians]:

This beautiful unnamed bridge crosses from South Carolina to Georgia on Route 17.

Such a lovely sunset.

As darkness approached, we found ourselves in the lovely city of Savannah, and our digs at the Marriott Courtyard on Liberty Street in the Historic Section. After checking in, we walked to the equally historic Crystal Beer Parlor on the advice of our bellman, for a sumptuous meal of steaks and shrimps and scallops and desserts with liberal beverages. We even managed the walk back to our hotel without incident, had we been capable of incident, which we probably were not:

Well fed and spiritually nurtured, on the way back to the Courtyard in Historic Savannah.

In all, a good day, the middle day of our ground-flight to Florida, about which more will appear on the morrow.