At sunrise, my rear tire was in the Atlantic Ocean as I held my bike facing west. Kayitesi photo-documented this moment on Tybee Island, off of Savannah, Georgia, May 10. The plan was to start right as the sun came over the horizon but a cloud bank hid it. We waited for a few minutes in case it should show but, eager to get going, made our way back across the sandy beach. Just as we were about to leave the beach, I looked back and saw the sun. We hustled back to the water's edge and Kayitesi again documented the moment.
This accomplished, the first half-mile of my attempt at a coast-to-coast trip was back to the campground where we had stayed the night before. Tess had slept in the pick-up bed and I in my hammock. There, I strapped the bags onto the bike and started off on the next segment: 18 miles into Savannah. Kayitesi would wait for a while to give me time to bike a few miles and see if there was some glitch needing early attention. Then she would continue on to Savannah where we would meet for breakfast.
The ride went smoothly enough, the traffic not as heavy and the drivers more considerate and cautious than I had imagined. The eastern part of the city was very pleasant, reminding me of a neighborhood in downtown Murfreesboro: small houses are close together with people sitting on the front porch, talking with neighbors, and waving at the guy passing on his bike.
I had never been in Savannah before but, from my map, concluded—correctly, I would find—that Bull Street would be a good route to the northern side of the city, through several squares for pedestrians and bikers only. So Tess and I had decided that we would meet at Forsyth Park and look for a place to have breakfast. Right next to where she parked was a busy hole-in-the-wall café with great coffee and a burrito egg casserole that would keep me for most of the day. The dessert for our festive meal was Tesi’s telling me that Bull Street was where Forrest Gump sat on a bench, recalling his life. I thought this a good sign somehow: some sweet connection between two simple-minded guys, one who set off to run across America, the other to bike across. There would be two more good signs on this street.
The second came as we left the café. I saw a trim woman locking up a high quality bike and asked her if she could tell me where I could find “a very good bike shop”. Without hesitation she replied “Perry’s Rubber Bike Shop is a ‘very good bike shop’ and it’s just a couple blocks from here,” in the same direction that I was heading. A second good sign, I thought.
Tess and I met there. I was concerned about two things: my seat, not made for long distance, had contributed to a very sore butt on my trip to Ohio last year, and my bike pump was a cheap-don’t-waste-your-money-on-it-Schwinn-bought-in-Walmart. Perry’s is indeed a very good—a great—bike shop. I believe the guy who waited on us was the manager if not the owner: whatever, he was good-humored, precise, informative, and patient. The first thing I asked for was their best bicycle pump: it was a Lezyne, with a hose that makes it easier to link the pump and the tire valve and that stores inside the handle, the slim pump mounting neatly beside my water-bottle. He then said, “I don’t like to get customers to buy things they didn’t come in for but I want your daughter to hear this—” she smiled, attentive, “—your helmet is really unsafe; it won’t provide any protection at all.” He went on to explain the construction of helmets—which has advanced well beyond the twenty-year old, entry-level helmet that I had. Tess was indeed happy that I got the Specialized helmet he recommended. I then asked about bicycle seats, telling him of how my local bike shop took the measurement of my sit-bones and then sold me one that I took back the next day because it was so uncomfortable. “It’s like finding your shoe size but not asking what you want the shoes for,” he said. He took my measurement, recommended a Specialized seat, had it mounted and asked me to take it for a test ride. Oh, so much better.
We went back to the truck, parked in front of another café. Three women, whom we would later learn were sisters on a vacation get-together, were having coffee on the sidewalk, near where I was strapping the bags onto the bike. One asked about our plans and I briefly indicated them. “Oh, you’ll love it,” she said, “my husband and I did that last year. A wonderful experience...” And a third good sign.
Tess and I hugged. I got on the bike and was on my way. Tess would later tell me that the woman squeezed her arm and assured her "He'll be just fine."
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