48stateroadtrip.com

You asked me once, what was on Day 101. I told you that you knew the answer already. Everyone knows it. The thing that is on Day 101 is the worst thing in the world.

In this case, coastlines and forts. It’s the combination of the two that’s so frightening.

(Alternately, I could have made a Fallout 3 reference — but I was guessing that would be even more obscure to the present audience.)

So I went to Georgia’s oldest fort. Imagine that, the oldest fort in *all* of Georgia! There was some intrigue about building it in Spanish territory and on and on. 1755. It’s so important it doesn’t have its own Wikipedia entry.

The fort — yet another location that warned me about disturbing American alligators, but then failed to provide said alligators.

The swamp at the fort: also alligator-free.

The (entirely re-constructed based on … ?!) fort. Nice Union Jack, though.

Spanish moss festoons the… yeah.

At which point I went back in time and had breakfast.

Poetry of the road.

I’m starting to share the Freitai fascination with Waffle House. Just have to remember the two key truths:

1. Their eggs are terrible.
2. Their bacon is terrible.

Once you focus on waffles and sausage patties, everything (and I mean *everything*) becomes a-okay (outside of the eggs and the bacon, which remain awful).

From there headed to Jekyll Island, which was originally some sort of haven for rich capitalists who wore stovepipe hats. Now it’s this place that charges $5 for entry/parking and has an island-encircling bike path that inspired me to extract my bike from the ol’ king cab (and bike shoes, helmet, gloves, water bottles, and pump).

Ride on:

The most serious croquet match ever.

You can tell I’m going fast by how blurry the grass is.

Bike path.

Beach with trees.

The bike path is made out of crushed shells.

The biking photos were taken with my cell phone and mostly while moving. And when I was done, I just threw the bike in the bed of the truck because I was too lazy to disassemble it and re-arrange the… uh. I’m too lazy to describe the problem as well.

Does anyone actually read all these words?

Anyway: Georgia Coast.

bkd

Fortunately, geography was on my side and enabled me to celebrate the exact way I’d always planned.

1. With Fireworks!

2. And a banquet of pigs’ feet!

I was happy to have found the pigs’ feet at a Piggly Wiggly somewhere on the outskirts of Savannah. The fireworks were just barely on the South Carolina side of the border. I would’ve actually *bought* fireworks, but the guy who ran the place kept trying to talk to me and then, after we eventually talked for fifteen minutes, he stood up, thanked me for coming in, and wished me a nice day. (I think he’d been trying to watch TV.)

I imagine it looks *just like* a Cajun pageant.

And then I kept going.

bkd

Another *two* lighthouses actually. Drove into Savannah, saw confusing-looking streets, decided it was probably the same idea as Charleston, and instead headed out to Tybee Island where there was at least a fort. And lighthouses of course. Of course.

The fort was Ft. Pulaski, mostly famous for being the Civil War fort that guarded the Savannah River. It was taken by the North early on and then used as a prison. Also known as being the site of the earliest known photograph of men playing baseball. They know it’s the earliest photograph because someone claimed it was and so far no one has refuted the claim.

Executed for overthrowing his cut-off.

I always think fort photos are going to be interesting.

And then they turn out to be not all that exciting.

And yet I persevere.

Cockspur Island Lighthouse, right next to the fort.

My animal spirit guide assumes tangible form.

Purportedly, over 5,000 shells passed over this lighthouse during the battle.

Evidence that I may have been there.

The Tybee Island Lighthouse — way too well-kept.

Caution indeed.

Another big day of looking at old stuff! The fort also had a rifle demonstration. I always wonder why it’s more interest to watch someone else shoot a rifle than it is for me to shoot one myself. Wait — maybe it *isn’t*. Hafta think about that one.

bkd

I suppose it’s sort of a full sentence, but it still seems strange to not have title caps on your welcome sign and then since they didn’t, they could’ve at least given me some punctuation to work with. Maybe next state.

And I don’t know that Georgia was consciously on my mind at that moment.

Only 14 left…!

bkd