Around thirty miles inland, Walterboro is far enough to escape the traffic madness of the South Carolina coast. The roads are quiet this morning and we enjoy taking in the scene without needing to constantly monitor our rear view mirrors.
Once we get back to U.S. 17 the traffic is thick and fast. We take every alternative side road we can find, paved or not. When there's no alternative we endure the close passes on the shoulder of 17. As fast as the cars and trucks are moving, I'm not taking the lane here. Fortunately these stretches aren't long and a light tailwind is giving us a push.
Old Jacksonboro Road running parallel to 17 is unpaved here and there. The hard packed dirt is easy to ride.
I really goofed up this route. Mike found a greenway running south of 17. It was on the ACA route, but somehow in the process of chopping up and editing the longer RidewithGPS map to make a route for one day's ride, I managed to move our path north to 17. There's a lesson for me - compare the final plan with the original one.
Our post for the next two nights is the county park on James Island. As we coast down the bridge over the Stono River to the island a beachy scent - something like Jasmine, wafts over us.
Heavy traffic continues on the island all the way to the park entrance. On the last two miles down Riverland Drive, a narrow two-lane road, we pull over four times to let long lines of cars pass us.
The bridge looks a little intimidating from a distance. It's fine, plenty of room.
We are camping in the cheapo primitive tent loop which is isolated, far from the main camping area and the bathrooms. The mosquitos here are the worst yet, even bothering Barry who doesn't usually attract them. "Don't they know who I am?" he asks.
The bugs drive us off to the activity center in the main loop, a nice escape. It's near the shower house and the laundry, and has tables, power, wifi, a stove and sink. I'm making pasta with pesto and chicken so the kitchen facilities are appreciated.
Pretty campsite for the short time we can hang here with the mosquitos
The squirrels were busy last night. They managed to scamper down the clothesline to Mike's cooler bag and chew open a side zipper to steal the last tortilla. He's had more than his share of bad luck lately. Later this afternoon he'll pick up a new Wahoo at an Amazon locker to replace the one that was stolen a couple of days ago.
The park offers a 9:00 shuttle run to historic Charleston. We'll let them drive and take the day off the bike. Barry and I are signed up for a walking tour in a bit. There's time before to walk around for awhile on this sunny day and admire the houses and gardens.
Marion Square, named for General Francis Marion. During the Revolutionary War his skill at irregular tactics and surprise attacks on the British earned him a reputation as one of the fathers of guerilla warfare.
The William Vanderhorst House, built in 1740, served as the first post office in Charleston. The cross on the facade covers an earthquake bolt. These were added to buildings after a devastating quake in 1886.
Bill, our tour guide, is a historian who specializes in southeastern colonial history and the transatlantic slave trade. His narrative focuses on enslavement and its role in generating 90 percent of the wealth in the south before the Civil War. As much as 45 percent of enslaved people entered the country through Charleston.
The Old Slave Mart Museum, originally one of 41 indoor slave auction sites in Charleston and the only one still standing.
The Dock Street Theater originally opened as the Planters' Hotel, a favorite of plantation owners. Charles Dickens stayed here and wrote about witnessing the hotel manager being stabbed in the neck with an ice pick. The manager survived the injury. Even more surprising, the assailant was Junius Brutus Booth, the father of John Wilkes Booth who assassinated Abraham Lincoln.
Tours are offered at the Heyward-Washington House, the home of Thomas Heyward, a signer of the Declaration of Independence. George Washington slept here during his tour of the country in 1791.
Back at camp the squirrels have been at it again, chewing a six-inch hole in Mike's tent. Jeez, the guy cannot catch a break. We spend the evening in the activity center again away from the bugs. Our visit to Charleston has been interesting but we're over it with this campground. Moving on tomorrow.
