My moving buddies invited me out that night, and next thing I know, I was mingling with about 50 med students and eating what would become my closest thing to a real thanksgiving dinner. Potluck Thanksgivings are great, especially when there’s about 50 different recipes thrown in. More eating, and I felt like I was going to burst.

Then we broke out the ping pong table to lighten the mood. It was a Sunday night, and all these kids had intensive medical classes the next day, so we actually used the table for what it was intended for: ping pong. Being a pool rat growing up, I’ve logged some hours on a table. Also, because my brother and I were cut-throat in every single thing that could even be considered a competition growing up, I used to be pretty good. Of course, being in a room full of people I had just met and a complete guest to the situation, I took it easy. I always have been super smooth and casual.

Kidding. When they handed me the paddle, it was the first time I had competed against someone other than myself in months. The future doctor I was hitting with could definitely play, and next thing I knew, we were swinging away in a room full of people. There were jokes after the first few points, and then there was hushed silence, and then there were even little cheers. It may have been the biggest captive audience for a ping pong match in the history of the world. In the end, he took me down. And after match point, I looked around and realized that it was probably a good thing to give up the paddle. Pump the brakes there, Matthew.

Caroline went around introducing everyone to her brother, her boyfriend, and me. She did a great job hosting us, and everyone was super nice. They’re obviously very bright kids who are able to unwind for a little even in some of the most stressful years of their lives. We’d all be so lucky to have the future medical community filled with these wonderful people, cooks, conversationalists, and paddle-sport athletes.

After the party, we headed to a local watering hole to soak in downtown Charleston. We walk in to the bar, and the first person I see is my RA from my freshman year in college, Jenna. It’s a small world, after all. She was working behind the bar, and she spends her time during the day running a gymnastics program. She’s as much of a sweetheart as ever, and she’s been breaking hearts in Charleston for three years and change. Here she is, waiting patiently for me to decide on my next drink:

The kids who still had to worry about school handed me off to Jenna, and she took care of me until closing time. The place was lively even on a Sunday: I was sucked into a birthday celebration, some food and bev conversations, and plenty of travel stories.

The next two days were full of catching up on sleep, cleaning all of my disgusting clothes, fire-drying my tent and riding gear, and enjoying the company of some awesome people. Some killer sunsets, too. Backyard, Daly’s house:

Next night, same thing. Although the best part was blocked by my ugly mug. Sweet peach fuzz beard, dude.

I even got to enjoy a few pints with one of my good buddies from lifeguarding back in Bethany, Jeff Falini–obviously, we drank Dogfish. We caught up on his wedding, his recent graduation from grad school, his massive career moves, and life in Charleston, South Carolina. Then we moved on to the more important topics: old guarding stories and hilarious tales of after-hours debauchery. Summer is only three months long, but man, at the beach, sometimes three months is all you need, or maybe three months is all you can take–depends on how you look at it.

But hands down, my favorite thing in Charleston was spending time with my family. I was also able to confirm that my Uncle Michael is the man. He is incredibly successful in the construction business, and that career path has also allowed him to enjoy his fair share of the travel bug. I got to sit back and listen to his stories of living in a treehouse in Bali, hiking in Nepal, surfing Sri Lanka, hitch hiking through Cali, and surf trips to Costa Rica and Mexico (just to name a few). And then I turn to my Aunt Elli, and she has stories of sub-Saharan Africa, driving through the U.S., and her own tales of Europe. This planet is amazing. And there’s so much to do.

After my time in Charleston, I was able to re-affirm the main thing I’ve learned throughout this journey: don’t take your time for granted. I wish I could say it poetically, but I’ve found that my writing skills have withered after 6 years of doing the numbers.

Maybe I lucked out by not telling anyone about my trip until a few weeks before I left. Not only did I do that because I was scared I’d fail, but also because I’ve found that the more you talk about something, sometimes all you ever end up doing is talk about it. My Uncle Michael told me that the most important thing is the first concrete step: buying that ticket, getting in that car, or those first few pedals away from home. Whatever it is, if you really want to do something, do it!

I woke up at about 4 am to the rain. The cool, clear night that I fell asleep under had turned into my early alarm clock. The rain fly kept me nice and dry, but it’s like a tin roof when it gets going out there. If my down sleeping bag gets wet, it’s basically worthless, so it was super important to keep that thing under shelter.

I took a look at the radar, and it didn’t look good. It wasn’t going to let up at all as the day progressed, so I figured now that I was awake, I might as well get moving. It was still dark, and it was nice and chilly, but I was so close to my cousin’s place in Sullivan’s Island that I could almost taste it.

I could see my breath through the rain and my hands could only last so long out in the open before they wouldn’t work. So I had to break camp and set up my bike in two or three minute increments and warm my hands as best as I could in between.

I put on all my cold/wet riding gear and saddled up. I had broken camp with my headlamp on, and since it was still dark, I kept it shining for my ride. I forgot to eat something, so I didn’t have much fuel for the ride. I figured it was only 12 miles or so, so I’d be okay–it just meant an even slower ride through the cold and driving rain. Then it started to rain harder. The few cars that were on the backroads would try and get out of my way, but they’d end up splashing me instead.  Great little Sunday!

I finally crossed the bridge onto Sullivan’s Island, and I found my way to my family, the Daly’s, house. My Aunt Elli and my Uncle Michael are some of my only family that have moved outside of the DC area, so it’s always a treat when I get to see them. I hadn’t been to Charleston in a very long time, but as soon as I turned onto their street, I knew I had made it.

I couldn’t quite remember which one was their house, so I cruised down their whole road. I was able to pick it out early on, but I decided to keep going. Something hit me when I saw their house. I was going through another bout of déjà vu just 48 hours after my last one. Then I realized it: this road was the exact road where I learned how to ride a bike. It all made sense: I had visited the Daly’s back in the spring after I had turned 5. The road is super flat and it’s a dead end. I even sort of remember my dad chasing me down the street. Then, I would wipe out and cry. It was all coming together–and it was really wild to find myself, 19 years later, on the same road, on a mission, and on a bike. Hopefully I wouldn’t cry this time.

I didn’t want to wake them up, but by now it was around 8:30. I moved my bike and trailer under the garage and out of the rain. As soon as I was under the house, I could truly smell it. I had definitely been to this place before. Or maybe that was just their lemon trees.

But even with all of the self-imposed confidence in my guess, I still called my Aunt Elli instead of ringing the doorbell, just in case. She came running to the door and took me inside. By this point, I was completely and utterly soaked, and we both agreed I looked like a wet rat. She informed me that they basically had unlimited hot water, so I took one of the longest and best showers of my life.

She made me my first of a few wonderful breakfasts–I had forgotten that PB no J’s weren’t the only thing in the world to eat in the morning. We also enjoyed our first of many wonderful conversations. The view of the marsh from their back porch:

Being some of my only family not in DC, it’s tough for them to be around for every holiday: it had taken me like 20 days to get there, but even in a car it’s a long trip. So, they’ve created their own little family down in Charleston. Of course, they’re awesome, too.

We went out for a birthday brunch for Aunt El’s best friend, Susan. I had met her and her children about five years ago when they stayed in my grandma’s place in DC to visit the city. They were great then, and they’re even better now. Scott and Caroline are super nice and I met her oldest son, Raleigh, at breakfast, too. Caroline had brought along her boyfriend, David, and her best friend/roommate, Brielle. Scott sails tall ships and is currently living on and running a ship in New York City; Caroline and Brielle are in med school; David runs his own running shoe store; I’m a transient vagabond who showed up on the doorstep that morning. Needless to say, we were coming at the conversation from all sorts of angles. It was super fun and really interesting.

Susan’s parents are in the middle of moving out of a house they’ve lived in for 50 years. Much like my dad’s mother, who had lived in her home in Chevy Chase for about 800 years, there tends to be a lot of stuff in those places. After brunch, we went over to help move some of their stuff. I remembered how helpful an extra pair of hands could be in these situations, and after two full breakfasts, I had more than enough energy to help.

I woke up to another crisp and clear morning. I got another long stretch in, and began breaking camp. Another thing I do with my food is to store it at night away from all my other stuff, especially me. I normally find a remote spot about 75 yards away and throw a rope over a tree and pulley my food off the ground. It’s a “fun” game in the morning to try and remember where I had put it in the pitch black.

Well this time it wasn’t much fun. I found the spot, but from the angle I was coming from, all I saw was my “pots and pans” bag. Then when I got closer, I realized no matter what angle I looked at it, all I could see was my pots and pans bag. My entire food bag was gone.  There wasn’t even shreds of anything on the ground. It was just gone. There was no one around, but I don’t think that anyone would steal a bag with half a jar of peanut butter, a smushed loaf of bread, and five packs of Ramen noodles–the whole thing was worth about $10. But it was so weird that the entire bag was gone and the other bag was untouched.

I was a little worried about fuel for the day, and more than anything, I was embarrassed. I bet that raccoon couldn’t even open that jar of PB, and I’ve begun to enjoy my little continental breakfast! What a jerk. Looked like I was gonna get to know some fast food joints on the way to my next pit stop, Charleston.

So I packed the rest of my stuff up and readied myself to head out. I met a mother and son camping duo right before I left. The little guy’s name was William and they were super nice. They gave me some water and we spent some time chatting about my ride. I thought it was awesome that William was getting some nights outdoors–I bet he’d never let his food bag go missing!

We said our goodbyes and I hit the road. I only hit it for about 10 minutes because I stopped to check out the rest of the park before I left. I stopped at the beach and found some little marsh spots as well. That place was really cool.

It was a long day on 17 and there were some pretty lonely stretches. Fortunately for McDonald’s breakfast, I was ready for it. I made it to Awendaw, South Carolina. This area was where my cousins had lived until their entire home was taken out by Hurricane Hugo back in 1989. It made me think about Sandy and all the damage I had seen and heard about on my ride. Pretty crazy what Mother Nature can do.

I stopped in at a gas station in town to reload. I almost didn’t go in: I couldn’t believe they weren’t gonna let me smoke my fireworks!

But I resigned to the rule because I had to use their bathroom. Then I stretched my legs outside to a power bar and a Gatorade and sat down on a bench to strategize the rest of my route. One bench down from me was a guitar and banjo duo who had just set up shop and they started to play. They were real old and happy country folk and they played some great lunchtime tunes. When they saw my rig, they stopped and asked me about my trip. But as I said, they were real country folk. I could barely understand what they were asking me. And after many nods and smiles from both ends, we parted ways.

The rest of my day was slow going–the winds were not in my favor and my legs just felt tired. I was going to try and make it to Charleston, but I was still about 12 miles away from my family’s place at 4:30, so I decided to make camp in Mt Pleasant instead of riding into the city in the dark.

Scottie was kind enough to slingshot me through Wilmington and back on the road south. It looked like I was going to be using 17 again, and I began to realize I should get used to this bad boy.

I crossed from North Carolina into South Carolina. It was a beautiful day, and I did my best to soak in the rays in my long sleeves and helmet. When I had left my bag with LB, I had nothing to entertain me on those long rides from the OBX to Wilmington. I literally sang Wagon Wheel about 300 times to myself, most often yelling it out loud. Now that I was reunited with my bag (and headphones) and I was in a new state, nothing really changed. Just kept singing Wagon Wheel. And I certainly did not make it “down the coast in 17 hours.”

There were definitely some cool views, especially when I swung down to the road that is right on the water, but I have a feeling a lot of the shots, if I were wearing the camera (decided to give my neck the day off), would have been of franchise America in the middle of downtown Myrtle. I did learn that Calabash-style seafood just means that it’s fried, and apparently, the “best” is right down the street from the other “bests.” The long, lost, family business?

It reminded me of Ocean City, MD a little. I thought that place had the most Sunsations in the world, but boy was I wrong. I tried to count how many “Wings,” “Whales,” “Eagles,” and “Sunsations” there were, but that might actually be impossible.

I had called ahead to a campground just south of Myrtle, so when I got near the end of town, I decided to pull off and take a little break. I peeled off the main beach thoroughfare and on to this little road. It was the weirdest feeling of déjà vu I’ve ever had. I totally recognized the street, so I kept going. The next thing I knew, I saw the hotel that I stayed in 5 years ago for Lifeguard Nationals. I couldn’t believe it. I literally had passed probably over a hundred hotels and streets that looked like this one, but for some reason I picked this one to pull into. That brought me back. Ah, to be young again.

After reminiscing for a few minutes, I got back on my trusty steed and kept cruising. I enjoyed a little bike path that paralleled 17 for a while, but then I had to hop back on when I got out of town. I only had a few more miles to the campground and I pulled in right at dusk–which meant I had about 15 minutes before it got pitch black. I did stop and watch this dude snag his dinner–probably be good with soup.

I quickly checked in and located the tent sites. Huntington Beach State Park is  beautiful, and it’s also huge. The tent sites were pretty secluded, and I made camp right before sun-down.

I have this weird thing where I always make my dinner at a different site than my own. I know animals will smell it no matter what, but I figure if I trip and fall and my delicious-smelling Ramen splashes all over my tent, I got issues. Or maybe that would be a repellant?

Because I cut back on all non-necessaries, I eat my soup out of the pot I cook it in. My mouth is pathetic–it takes me about 20 minutes of cool-off time before I will sip a cup of coffee–so it takes me quite a while to finish dinner.

So I’ll stretch, make a few phone calls, reassure my mother that I’m alive, and take some time to soak in my surroundings, then I can eat. One of my favorite things to do is to lay back after a long stretch and look up at the stars. That’s a double whammy by the way–stretching WHILE soaking in my surroundings. But it seriously is so cool–you definitely don’t get these views in a big city.

One of my besties, Scottie, has a sister who goes to UNC, Wilmington. I talked with him the night before, and he decided to hop in his car and drive from DC to Wilmington to visit his sister and to hang with yours truly.

It had taken me over 2 weeks to get there by bicycle. On a whim, he got in his car and met me in like 6 hours.

I’ve probably spent more time with Scottie in these past 10 years than anyone else I know. We picked up right where we had left off, and by that night, I had almost completely forgotten I was on this bike trip.

He graduated from UNCW a few years ago, so he knew all the good spots to hit. We had decided to get a hotel overlooking the sound in Wrightsville, and we moved on in and I enjoyed a full day off of the bike.

There were some fun waves rolling through, and even though it was chilly, we decided to paddle out. I borrowed a board and squeezed into his extra wetsuit and we joined the crowd out in the water. There were some good guys out, but it was spread out enough that we could still find our own little spot. We got some good ones, and before my hands and feet froze off, we headed back to the hotel.

His sister, Claire, was great to us, and it was fun having her along. Her friends were super nice, and Scottie was quite the hit. After an afternoon with those ladies, Scottie and I decided to go on a tour of the “beach bars.” There were great little dives and other more popular spots, and we decided to settle in to one with live music.

We found a spot right next to the lead singer, “Juice.” He reminded me of a bigger version of Zac Brown, and he could belt it out almost as well. Every song they played was awesome, and they played through the rest of the night. It was one of the first times that I really felt like I was “On the Road.” I could just imagine Kerouac and Dean Moriarty absolutely diggin’ life. Live music, lively town, with someone there to hang your hat on, just excited on life. Next thing I know, we’re hanging out with the band and the bartender after they had closed the bar.

It was a late night, but we were up and at ’em the next day. We took one last trip out to our dock and shot the breeze while soaking in our last moments in Wrightsville Beach. 

We both had long days of travel ahead. Scottie was going to provide me with a ride out of the middle of town in Wilmington and sling-shot me on my way to my next stop, Myrtle Beach.

It was cold and drizzling at camp in Holly Ridge. As I was packing up all my stuff, a nice lady walked her dog by and said, “I guess summer is over.” I laughed and thought, “Yeah, it’s been over for me for quite some time now.”

The radar showed rain all day as well as some more headwind. It was only a 35 mile day, so I didn’t care. I put my head down and hit the road to town. As soon as I turned back onto my beloved 17, I felt the wind position itself for another “fun” day. The rain started to come down, and I stopped in a small town for some breakfast after a long 8 miles. The rain didn’t really let up at all, so after getting my fill, I suited up and kept rolling.

Without my maps, I had to keep pulling out my phone to try and figure out where I was going. My soaked hands and the rain didn’t help with the whole touch-screen thing; neither did my missed turns and wrong directions. Sometimes I rode on sidewalks, but some parts of the main roads didn’t have them, so I was forced into becoming part of the traffic flow through heavy sections of town. I would stay as close as I could to the curb–pretty sketchy at some points, and those puddles would pool up very nicely right in my path.

At one point, I was kicking off the curb and coasting past some cars to get up front at a stoplight. I didn’t want to be in their way, and those little safe haven islands that come with some stop lights are always good points to figure out your next move. Well, I was kicking my way through a dark puddle, when I looked a little bit ahead to see some metal where the typical concrete curb should be. Half a second later, I realized I was heading right towards a sewage section, and half a second after that my front wheel wedged itself directly in one of the holes in the grate. Luckily, everything swung curbside. My back wheel went up and the trailer smashed into the side. Somehow, I had caught myself from falling face-first into the ground, and I also managed to not slam into the cars next to me. After that, I went extra slow and kept checking my wheel for issues.

I got into the Wilmington area about mid-day. The rain never stopped, and I was starting to get cold. My friend, Hannah, lives just south of Wilmo in Carolina Beach. She was kind enough to take me in for a night, and so I went straight through town to her place and hunkered down under any shelter I could find.

She pulled up after a long day of teaching 2nd graders to a soaking wet mess shivering outside of her door. She really took care of me. I got a nice warm shower, got to clean all of my clothes, and she even offered her place as a delivery point for my backpack. LB had shipped my forgotten bag to her place, and we timed it just right.

I woke up with another killer sunrise in Emerald Isle. The campsite was on the water, so I crossed the dune to check the waves. There was a little bump coming through, and the sun was shining and I had a heated bathroom with warm showers right down the way, so I figured I’d go for it. There were a bunch of people already on the beach fishing, but I found a spot without any lines around and dove in.

The water felt great, and swimming around in the salt water was the perfect wake up. I body surfed and actually got some good ones–as you can imagine, the crowd was going wild. I wanted to perform for my audience, so I went for some late take-offs and a few “SoDel El Rollo’s.” It was cool: all those people came to the beach that morning, brought coolers, set up chairs, and waited for me to perform in the waves. If you can’t tell, all this alone time is making me a bit delirious.

Reminiscent of a Bethany workout, I sprinted from the water and up the dune…and then straight to the shower. I warmed up, and took my time packing up. From what it looked like, I only had a 45 miler today, and I was planning to head to another beautiful campground in Surf City.

I stopped by the campground office to settle up from the night before. Because I showed up after hours, I never paid for my site, and I figured they’d be waiting for me to hand them some duckets. Well, the nice lady had no idea I had stayed there the night before, so I basically turned myself in. Hey, lady, I wanted to make sure I gave you that $30 dollars! Nice work, unemployed kid. But I figured it was the right thing to do, and maybe it’ll earn me some good karma for later in the trip.

I swung into town and found the nearest diner. I forgot to take a picture, but it didn’t disappoint–I learned that a good meal is so important before riding, because once I get going, I really don’t like to stop and eat. And I came to realize the night before, no matter how far I’ve ridden, I never get hungry. I guess all that exercise suppresses your appetite, but after almost fainting, I always remind myself to fuel up every 20 miles or so.

I finally hit the road around 10:30. I crossed the Emerald Isle Bridge–pretty cool view, but there was no shoulder, so I kept truckin’.

I had researched this route that would take me around Camp LeJeune to the south, and it would be a super easy shot to Surf City. Well I made it about half-way around Camp LeJeune, and then I was greeted by a military checkpoint. It was Veteran’s Day, and he was in a great mood. We chatted about my ride, and he was totally diggin’ the trip. He said, “Great, man, all we need now is your military ID and you’ll be on your way to Surf City.” I laughed and told him that I didn’t have one. He laughed for a second and then realized I was serious. Then he apologized–he couldn’t let me through, so I had to turn around, go back the way I came, up and around Camp LeJeune from the north side, and then back down towards Surf City. Out of all of the research I had done, I totally missed the fine print on this part. My day also just got about 20 miles longer.

So I headed to the northern route: Route 24 to Route 17. On my maps, I saw a ton of cut-through’s, but they were all blocked by big gates and more guards. Because of my late start, I was beginning to stress that I’d make it there before sun down.

This route was basically a big thoroughfare with a wide shoulder–definitely not my favorite type of road, but at least I knew it would get me there in  a relatively straight shot. Plus, I wouldn’t miss any turns because the signs were pretty much in your face.

I got to the intersection between 24 and 17 up in Jacksonville, NC. Up to this point, my little highway experience near Bush Gardens was my only scrape with sketchy biking. But here, there was nothing I could do. All of the safer side roads were blocked by guards, and I was losing daylight–I had to keep going. The junction was the most daunting thing I’ve come across, and there was literally no way around it. I spent about 20 minutes trying to figure out what I should do, but at a certain point, I figured I had to charge right through it.

I had to cross about 6 lanes of high speed traffic to get to the shoulder of 17. Then I had to gun it up an on-ramp and hope there would be wide shoulders. There were nails, shredded tire, and shit everywhere. Then there were cars merging onto 17 from my right side, so I had to sprint over to the new shoulder. This happened three or four times. It’s tough to keep yourself exactly straight when your turning your head all the time. My heart was pounding and racing at the same time, but I don’t think I’ve ever kept that trailer so balanced. I would jump out of a plane another 100 times than do that again.

17 finally calmed down into a two lane road with a wide enough shoulder to ride in, which I was very thankful for. But of course, the wind had switched to directly in my face, and the clouds got darker and darker.

Normally, with no wind I’m holding about 15 or 16 miles an hour–I had about 30 miles to go, but I was barely going 11. Every stroke was tough, and there was no such thing as coasting, even downhill. At one point, I was literally cursing at the wind. For a while.

Then it started raining. With about 8 miles to Surf City I pulled out my phone and searched for closer campgrounds. I found one about 4 miles away, so I gave them a call and reserved a tent spot. At this point, I didn’t care about a flippin’ sunrise on the beach.

I pulled in to the campground and headed into the office. It was more of an RV park than anything, but the people were super nice, and they took me into their home. I was greeted by three little dogs, and they chatted with me about the cruise they just got back from. They told me I was lucky I had called, because they were on their way out to visit their grandkids, and no one would have picked up if I had called any later.

They told me I could sleep under their pavilion to stay out of the rain. He walked me over to the pavilion and show me the area. When he saw my bike, we got to chatting about my trip. When I finally told him what I was doing, he looked at me, handed me back my cash, and said don’t worry about it.

They headed out to see their grandchildren, and I put my bike and non-sleeping gear under the roof. The cement floor wasn’t what I was looking for, and I figured my tent wouldn’t melt, so I set her up on some grass. I waved goodbye as they drove past.

He had no idea what a long one it had been for me, but that literally made my day. I know it’s only twenty-five or thirty bucks, but when it seemed like everything was going against me (especially the wind), and life had been pretty damn hard the past 48 hours, it was just what I needed.

I woke up at 5:45. I had my trailer and bike ready to roll inside the motel room, so I carried them downstairs and into the sand-covered parking lot. I hitched up the rig in no-time–that was a first. I crossed the road onto the beach side and got a few shots of the sunrise:

After that, I had to gun it across the rest of Hatteras to make the ferry to Ocracoke. I had a little less than an hour to make the 12 miles, and I swung by the motel office to drop off my key and the nice lady’s charger.

I made it to the ferry just as the last person was getting on. They gave me a little tude, but let me on, thank goodness. I needed this day to be as seamless as possible, or else I would run into some major issues. If I hadn’t made that ferry, I would have to wait two hours for the next one, and there would be no chance of Emereld Isle by nightfall.

It was cold on the water, so I tried to find some sunlight. It was supposed to be another beautiful day, and the sound was pure glass. There was a massive pod of dolphins swimming around our ferry. They were definitely munching on something, and it was really cool to see those guys away from their day jobs up in Bethany: daily dolphin shows that our patrons never cease to be excited about, and some say they also do great impersonations of sharks.

We made good time to the ferry exit, and I had about an hour and twenty to make it the 13 miles from one end of Ocracoke Island to the other. It was a beautiful ride through a basically uninhabited island. At the other end there was a little town, but other than that it was one flat road with some beautiful views. Somehow, I didn’t get lost, and made it to the ferry with time to spare.

This was the only ferry that charged me for a ride. They’ve got a pretty solid monopoly on rides from the isolated island to the mainland, so I had to pay through the nose: $3!

I also barely made it under the clearance.

And I took a quick lap to see if they kept a surfboard on deck. No luck. Looked fun though.

I was 25 miles in, and I had a few hours on the ferries to get me to Cedar Island. Because I timed everything right, I would have the afternoon to make some solid headway. This was the last stretch before I hit mainland again, and from there I was going to put my head down and gun it to camp. My goal was Emerald Isle, and I figured I should eat and get some rest while I can.

PB no J’s taste great sitting Indian style on the deck of a ferry. Then I stretched out in the sun and caught some Z’s.

I woke up just before we docked and tried to shake myself awake. I had a long ride ahead, and as soon as I had service again, I double checked my route and hit it. It was a little after 1, and I had 65 miles to go to Emerald Isle. Sunset was right at 5, so I really needed to charge.

There were some beautiful views along the way. Still no camera, but you gotta trust me. It was the perfect day to ride and I got to enjoy it all while chugging along.

I made it to Morehead City, just inland of Atlantic Beach at about 4:30. I had another 20 miles or so to camp, and I was determined to make it. I decided to cross the Atlantic Beach Bridge while I still had a lot of daylight, and then hope for wind at my back on the ocean route.

I headed south through Atlantic Beach and Indian Beach. My legs were really starting to go at this point, but I was so close. Every single pedal was tough. I would put my head down stand up in the saddle as if I was going up a steep hill, and then I would look up to see a flat road. It was so weird. I was barely thinking–my legs, my hands, my hips, my butt, my neck, my lower back, they were all on fire. Then I started to do these really longs blinks where my eyes would be closed for much longer than normal.

I had to pull over. I hadn’t eaten since the ferry, and even though that meant stopping and losing out on whatever was left of daylight, I had to refuel. I didn’t feel hungry at all. In fact, the thought of food was disgusting to me. But I knew I needed something to burn. I forced a cliff bar down and tried to stretch out my muscles.

Five minutes later, I was back on the bike. In those five minutes, someone had decided to flip off the light switch. It was almost completely pitch black, and I had about 6 miles to camp. I threw on every light I had and charged. I felt much better after the food but it was still pretty slow going. I had to be super cautious about potholes I couldn’t see.

Then I saw the streetlights of town and knew I had finally made it to Emerald Isle. Even at night, I could tell the place was pretty. In the comfort of a bike trail parallel to the main road, I cruised through town to camp.

They were already closed for the night, but the nice guy at the gas station next door showed me to the site. 3 hours of ferries and 90 plus miles on the bike, and I made it. I took my sweet ass time setting up camp. It was nice and dark, but the stars were out in full. I almost decided to just pass out under my bike, but decided to pitch up. I enjoyed another few PB no J’s as well as a pot of Ramen. I know that’s not exactly the most nutritious dinner, but I didn’t care. Plus, I had to save money due to that ridiculous ferry ride.

I think I fell asleep mid-stretch.

We woke up early and shook off the cobwebs. That morning was going to be the start of a three-day, tightly strung travel binge. We loaded LB’s truck and threw the bike and trailer in the back. It was about a two and a half hour ride to Stumpy Point, and it was also the beginning of my next few days of real structured timing.

Everyday, my only goal is to make it to the next destination by sundown–I’ve become more scared of the dark than Will Smith in I Am Legend. There’s also no more twilight like you’d find in the summer. It’s like someone flips a switch and in about ten minutes, it’s dark. I’m not a fan of riding in the dark, no matter how many lights I have going, and setting up camp in pitch black is never good. I can’t tell you how many times I have woken up to notice I had set my tent up on the only patch of rocky ground full of sharp sticks on the whole site, and that never leads to a good day on the bike.

With that said, I needed to make the early ferry from Stumpy Point to Rodanthe in order to make it by sundown to Hatteras. Although we hadn’t allotted ourselves too much time, we were able to take the scenic route and land a quick breakfast. LB also gave me the low-down on each surf shop we passed, and I got quick tours of places like Kitty Hawk, Kill Devil Hills, and Nags Head. Quick tours are much easier in a car. I thought it would be cool to try and ride my bike and trailer over the hill that the Wright brothers used, but we didn’t have enough time, and voluntarily putting sand in the gears is not the brightest move.

We got to Stumpy Point just in time. The line of cars onto the ferry had just started moving, and we quickly swung off to the side to unload. The guy at the gate was hurrying us along, and I had to hitch up the trailer and say my goodbyes. As you’d expect, whenever I need to hitch up fast, it takes forever. Then I really had to go, so I started hustling my gear down the way.

I got to the entrance of the ferry with a little time to spare. I parked my bike by the port-a-potties (genius), and stretched a little. Then I thought about how I’d be taking so many awesome pictures on this leg of the trip. Then I thought about how my GoPro camera was in my backpack. Then I realized that I had left my backpack in the backseat of LB’s truck. We unloaded so fast that I totally forgot it. When everything is loaded up, I only need to remember 3 things: my bike, my trailer, and my backpack. Impressive, Matthew.

I tried to call LB multiple times but I had no service. Then, I started running down the road to see if I could catch him before he was out of sight. Too late. Then, because I always think I’m in the movie, The Truman Show, I thought how movie-esque it would be to see him flying around the corner at the last second to drop off my bag. That didn’t happen either. Unbelievable.

Needless to say, I entered the ferry a little stressed. That bag had all the important little stuff: toothbrush, toothpaste, cough medicine, phone chargers, all of the maps I used for routing, iPad for writing, camera, riding food, and my knife. Not only was I not going to be able to get a lot of good shots of my trip on the OBX, but if my phone died and I couldn’t tell my dearest mother I was okay, the world might actually end before 12/12/12.

I met a girl, Jenna, on the ferry over who had done a bike tour of Europe. She was super sweet, and even though I came off a little stressed due to my latest mental error, she was very supportive and told me I’d be okay. She even charged my phone in her car on the way to Rodanthe.

It was absolutely beautiful out, and I sat down to soak in some rays. The ferry ride was pretty uneventful, especially at the end when we had to sit outside our port for half an hour to wait for another ferry to move out of the way.

This meant that I had a little over two hours to get the 35 miles from Rodanthe to Hatteras. I swung by the only gas station to see if they had a phone charger, but they didn’t. And after about five more stops at various stores on the way, I realized places like that were nowhere to be found on these islands–I couldn’t tell you how many cute little inns there were, or how many seafood places that have the “best fish around,” but if you are in need of some electronics, dream on. Any other time, I would have loved that about this area, but the dread of my freshest mistake overwhelmed the joy of isolation. I was looking at potentially three days off one charge, and without any of my maps, my phone was going to have to be my navigation system, as well.

Then I realized I had about two hours to get the last 30 miles before sundown. I put my head down and charged. Light winds and flat roads helped, but it’s amazing what a two and half hour car ride followed by a three hour ferry ride will take out of you.

The afternoon was beautiful. Of course, I didn’t have time to pull over and take pictures with my phone. But I’ve got ’em all in my head, although that doesn’t really help.

In between the little towns, the ride was pretty much the same sandspit on one side and marshy outcrops on the other. Every so often, I would come across piles of soaked driftwood, fallen trees, furniture, and other household items. But outside of that, the towns looked okay from Sandy. The roads weren’t too torn up, but the little shoulder had a good amount of sand in it, so I stuck to the road. The few cars that passed didn’t seem to mind.

I made it to Hatteras just as the sun was setting. I swung by a spot that looked out onto the sound, and snapped a few. I had decided to get a motel that night because the next morning I had to get up super early to make a ferry and figured I’d save a lot of time not having to break down camp in the morning.

I also lucked out. The lady who worked at the women’s boutique nextdoor to my motel had a phone charger, and she said I could use it all night. I was really thinking about buying something there as a thank you, but nothing was in my size. Weird. I was able to do a bunch of research for my rides with my phone plugged in, and then I hit the hay.

I learned the above lessons from one of my best friends, LB Wales. I met him over in Australia, and four days after we shook hands, we bought a car together. I could write pages about our time in the Southern Hemisphere (in fact, I have), but he was one of the first people who really got me hooked on the travel bug.

At the moment, he lives in VB. Born and raised in the area, it was like walking around with the mayor of town. He surfs his brains out, and he now reps three big surf firms: RVCA, Billabong, and VonZipper.

He’s a wild dude, and I learned a lot about taking care of yourself on the road from him. In Australia, he taught me how to immerse in the culture, protect yourself from thieves who prey on outsiders, paddle out into some gnarly line-ups, and negotiate your way into buying a car without driver’s license or an idea of the rules of the road. It wasn’t his first rodeo, but it sure was mine. I’ve used what I learned ever since, and it’s been coming in quite handy on this trip. I know I’m still in the same country I grew up in, but at times I feel worlds away from anything familiar.

He and his roommate, Thomas, like to fill their free time with some fun little social experiments. He works his tail off during the week, but they choose to be starving artists after hours: been trying their hand in writing, producing, directing, filming, acting, etc. It’s definitely out of the ordinary, but it’s also super fun and interesting. Check out one of my favorite social experiments they’ve done: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C9Ko6Xfa84w. Hilarious idea: sometimes if you create enough buzz, there doesn’t even have to be a bee.

I was happy to be sleeping indoors during the storm that week, and I actually got to reap a little of the benefits. I found some time in between writing to grab the single-fin and paddle out for a bit of a surf. It felt weird using my arms to propel myself again, but after the first wave I remembered why I love it. I met an old guy out there while I was surfing, and it made me happy to know I’ve found at least one thing I know I’ll be able to enjoy for the rest of my life.

Our nights were filled with sushi, boxed wine, forgotten stories of Oz, and monopoly. We didn’t have a TV down under, so our nights were spent passing Go and collecting $200. I hadn’t played since our last night in Australia, but I think it was the perfect way to spend my last night in Virginia Beach.