Savannah Georgia USA

It was 1974 or there about, the Age of Aquarius had already dawned, those of us boys that could wore our hair long, the rest of us were envious. I fell into the envious group, still at school and subject to school rules, an inch above the collar and no lock to touch the ears, my standing in the cool group was at an all-time low. I attended a strict boarding school, bit of a borstal in fact, that brooked no shit at all, beatings were as regular as clockwork and more often than not administered by a prefect. Happily getting buggered was not… it was not that sort of school.  Mike, on the other hand suffered from none of these drawbacks, he had long blond hair that hung down to his shoulders, was gainfully employed, owned a car and a motorcycle. He was also my elder sister’s boyfriend, the coolest guy I knew and a definite departure from the bad choices in men my sister had been exercising up to that point in time. The motorcycle was indeed the quintessential bike of the era, a 650 cc Triumph Bonneville that he had built up from a scrapped bike with love, care and attention to detail. It was the sort of machine that, had he kept it, would have been worth a small fortune to a serious collector today. It was the first bike that I ever rode on, passenger only, I hung onto that pillion for dear life as Mike carved through the twisties of the Magaliesburg Mountains on a breakfast run one Sunday morning during a school holiday.

Mike - still a cool guy

Today, forty odd years later Mike is still a cool guy and still has more hair than I have, which does not say much because I’m a natural bald – to be honest his is considerably thinner and wispier than the long blonde locks of yore. He and my sister were married before I finished high school and shortly after that happy event they moved to Hong Kong. We have spent most of our adult lives with only sporadic contact, sometimes years have passed with no more than a telephone conversation or two. Many, many gallons of water have passed under the bridge since that breakfast run in the Magaliesburg Mountains, but finally I get to repay the favor. Circumstances have brought us to the same continent and time zone for a few weeks, so we decided to meet-up in Savannah Georgia, which is how, right now, he is riding behind me on the passenger seat of a rented Harley Davidson Softail Heritage.

You can say whatever you like about Harley Davidson, but if you are going to ride two-up on a motorcycle and you are two sizable guys, a large Harley is definitely the bike to do it on. The stock Harley 103 cubic inch v-twin motor has enough torque to plow a corn field and plenty of horses, so there is absolutely no problem with the hardware we are riding. The software is perhaps not quite as good as it once was and mounting the bike for both of us is an inelegant affair, I had to take care not to kick Mike in the balls as I contorted myself to get my leg over the saddle whilst minimizing the pain in my (slightly) arthritic hips .The first few slow maneuvers  to get onto the route, which includes doing a few U-turns, are admittedly quite ropey, getting used to a different center of gravity takes a bit of practice, but as soon as we get going and the power of the bike puts me in control, I start to feel more confident and comfortable. Not only does the Softail deliver considerable brute force and the sheer amount of steel gives it stability, it really is a high spec machine – ABS brakes, cruise control, fuel gauge as well as miles to empty indicator. On the comfort side the seat is as easy on the ass as any seat I’ve ridden on, Mike claims that the passenger seat is not too bad either, but perhaps he is just saying that to make me feel better about his ordeal, and it does have a backrest. The bike has a pair of roomy black leather panniers that on this trip are nearly empty, but would be very useful on a longer trip, or if I owned this machine I’d fill them with the junk I like to carry on a ride. Thank goodness it of course does have a windshield; I am a total whoopsy where windshields are concerned – it is a must have. The suspension is excellent and despite the weight hasn’t bottomed out over any of the bumps we have traversed, oh yes, no false neutrals, not a single one – I really like that. This actually is a very easy bike to ride.   

The first few miles are not entirely what you would call picturesque, it is typical of the outskirts of any North American city, even one as lovely as Savannah, cookie cutter strip malls, car dealerships and ugly warehousing. We are heading south down USA highway 17 to Jekyll Island, just south of Brunswick. Mike is doing a course at the Gulf Steam facility in Savannah which has kept him occupied until two in the afternoon which is why I’ve chosen a route that I expect will get us home before nightfall. Fortunately, the scenery improves quite quickly, soon we are riding through marshy plains. Rivers, both small and large meander through the marches that are covered in tall reeds or grasses. I assume that as summer gets going these will change from grey to green, which probably improves the view... still it is pleasing enough on the eye. The Savannah River traverses just such plains on its route from Savannah Harbor to the Atlantic Ocean, so when you look across the plain to a ship sailing up the river you get the illusion of a ship sailing through the reeds. The route we are on, however, is more the province of small pleasure craft and we pass several little lakes with boat houses and jetties. This is not an area that I would gladly take a swim in and definitely wouldn’t walk the Dachshund through, I suspect that it is well and truly infested with ‘gators. Not that I have any issue with alligators, they were here long before us so I wish them well, will not buy shoes made from their skins, but I will give them a considerable wide berth.

The road is very straight, it’s a bit disappointing as there are so few twisties, but that is the nature of the area, it is flat so when engineers build roads there is no motivation to add a bunch of curves, a lamentable tendency not to consider the motorcycle fun factor and focus only on the cost of building the road. As a break from the marshy reed plains we do get to ride through some forest. There are a lot of pine plantations, but some patches of deciduous forest remain. Here the new leaves are making a light green appearance. It is mid-March, at least six weeks ahead of the schedule that the forests of Southern Ontario are following, but then it is 26 degrees Celsius here and people are wearing shorts and T-shirts, back home it is still overcoat weather.

We make our first stop in the little town of Eulonia at the Piggly Wiggly, yes for all the fans of ‘Driving Miss Daisy’ not privileged to visit the South, there actually is a chain of grocery stores called Piggly Wiggly. We park under a massive oak tree, liberally hung with Spanish moss, dismount with all the dignity we managed when getting on, and buy a couple of Coke Zeros and sugar free Red Bulls which we suck down our patched throats – it has been a warm afternoon ride so far.  Next stop Jekyll Island.

Piggly Wiggly and Oak tree we parked under 

 View from Piggy Wiggly

It isn’t long before we pass through the western side of Brunswick, not hugely attractive with the main feature being a large factory with a smoke stack that belches a constant belch of white smoke, it smells like a paper mill, but I’m not quite sure. I know that the town has a whole lot more to offer, with pretty squares in an old town center and the several islands attached to it are serious tourist attractions, but that smelly smoke stack does detract form it’s many virtues.  A short way beyond the town we cross over a lovely graceful suspension bridge. Americans certainly know how to build bridges and as you know, if you have been following this blog, that I love bridges, especially suspension bridges. This one is a decent height to allow for shipping to reach the Port of Brunswick a few miles inland along the oddly named ‘Fancy Bluff Creek’ which is no mere creek at all, but a sizable piece of water. We get a glimpse of a great view as we cross, but there is just no place to stop. Memo to bridge building engineers, would it add that much to the cost to make a few lookout points where a chap can stop and admire the view and your brilliant work?  Shortly after crossing the bridge we turn right to Jekyll Island.

Along the USA Highway 17 

There is a $6 toll to get in which is fine, only we are not planning to stay long, possibly just long enough to have an early supper before heading back the way we came. I’m not entirely sure what I had hoped to find, perhaps something a little more rustic, maybe a seaside village like Tybee on Tybee Island close to Savannah, with little greasy spoon diners, bistros and shops that sell beach crap like belly boards, postcards and flip flops – I like that sort of thing though I wouldn’t actually buy that stuff. Instead Jekyll Island is very upmarket, manmade and a little clinical, it’s nice for sure, but just not what we are looking for. We stop and take walk around, mosey onto the beach which is pretty empty. 

Tybee Island 

Best T-shirt ever - don't know why I didn't buy it

Mike mentions that he spotted an interesting place a few miles before the bridge that we could have supper at, it sounds like the sort of place that would suit my mood. The Marshside Grill turns out to be a pleasant, busy, noisy place that serves good food at reasonable prices. I have fish and chips, which is grouper, washed down with copious glasses of diet coke, no Scotch for me, no sir, not while riding a motorcycle. We eat inside, although there is a verandah overlooking a river which looks pleasant, already the midges are becoming a nuisance, I bet the mosquitoes here are something awful in summer. While we eat I notice that the sun is setting at an alarming rate so chivvy the proceedings along a bit. I want to minimize the distance that we will ride in the dark.  It’s the critters I’m worried about, nocturnal forest animals, I’m not sure if skunks are common here, but I’m sure raccoons and coyotes are plentiful. Hitting one of these creatures would probably undo us in a spectacular way. The wrath of my elder sister for returning Mike in a less than pristine condition does not bear thinking about.

In the end I drop Mike off at his hotel in one piece, we rode the last third of the distance in the dark, but without incident. I ride the final few miles to my hotel, a little closer to downtown Savannah, but still outside the area that would be classified as the historic center of town. I’m booked into a crappy Days Inn hotel/motel and lucky to be there, Savannah is busting at the seams with visitors. This is March break and St. Patrick’s day week to boot. Savannah is the second most popular city for this drunken street party in America, second only to Chicago, apparently bigger even than Boston, this is a piss-up that goes on all week. I wonder what St. Patrick, a sober character by all accounts, would have thought about this boozy annual celebration in his name that takes place more than a millennium and a half after his death, on a continent that hadn’t even been imagined by the Irish people he had supposedly converted to Christianity. I guess most of what he is thought to have done is more modern myth than real history, certainly he did not banish snakes from Ireland and did no better than anyone else to shoehorn a polytheistic doctrine into a monotheistic mold…. and he wasn’t even Irish at all. 

Party gearing up for lift off - time to get outa there - River Street Savannah,  St Patrick's Day week