I had ridden all day and into the night. I got lost several times because I was sure I could remember all the road numbers and turns but couldn't. Reading my map by the light of my headlamp I finally found the campground I intended to stay at. It was closed by the time I got there so I was left on my own to pick a site that was unoccupied.
I woke to a feminine “Hello in there.” I crawled out of my tent to find a young woman who claimed that the spot I had chosen was her very own. I explained my troubles and said that if she were to return in an hour I would be packed up and gone. I offered to pay for her breakfast but she declined and accepted the situation with equanimity. We sometimes forget how many nice people there are in the world.
I rode my bike down to the water's edge and dipped the tires in the Atlantic ocean. From there everything was west. Better still everything would be the original US 50 all the way to California. No map required.
Traffic was turtle slow getting off the shoreline. All traffic funneled across a single 2 lane bridge. Looking ahead at miles of traffic I decided to explore side roads to see if I could make better progress. Maybe I did and maybe I didn't but at least I wasn't trapped in the funereal procession on the main road.
Finally across the
bridge and free to blow some wind through my helmet I immediately got
lost again. US 50 is not as well marked as it should have been. Some
hunting and backtracking got me heading west again. This lost and found
theme was to be repeated many times on this trip, mostly with
interesting events along the way.
(to be continued)
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