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BLOOD BOUND
CHAPTER ELEVEN - Tobacco Festival
Ya know - life is just too hectic anymore. It's just a simple ride to South Carolina but what a difference a day makes. I'm going to be heading down to the Tobacco Festival on my own as work is keeping Lance home til Saturday night. I suspect he just doesn't care about visiting a local street festival, even if there IS going to be a Beauty Queen in attendance.
We made our plans to meet in Murrells Inlet that night, and I turned my attention to the simple packing and preparations I needed to cover the story for Thunder Press Magazine. My negotiations for expenses were demanding... mileage, a motel and two cigars. They agreed way to readily and I wondered if I left too much on the table... of course I did, but it was a ride nonetheless and I was looking forward to the trip.
"Ya know," I said to Kim, "Tom's beginning to wonder if you still live with me, why don't you hop on the back and come down with me?" I was referring to the owner of Bullfeathers Bar & Grill in Murrell's Inlet, south of Myrtle Beach. Tom and the irreplaceable barmaid, Carm, and I have been friends for a couple years now, and they have only heard me talk about Kim since the first time they met the two of us on our way down to Daytona in 1999. For one reason or another, Kim has not been able to join me on any of my trips to Murrells Inlet since.
"Well, take out the digital and we'll take some pictures for him to prove I'm still here." That was her way of saying she's not going and to stop giving her any more shit about it. I must have shown some devious and decadent expression in my eyes when she mentioned taking pictures of her, because all I got in response was a thrown magazine aimed at my head in response, and she walked out of the room to stifle any further talk about it.
Because my plans were to leave really early on Saturday morning to take advantage of the light traffic as well as the cool of the day, I hadn't tried to find anyone else to ride with me. I didn't care to deal with the crap I'd surely get as I explained why I wanted to leave two hours before morning light. That's why I tend to be a solo rider on my trips, too... I have peculiar habits about riding. The most annoying is my love of sunrise rides. Besides the obvious - traffic and cool mornings - every now and then you just get to witness a spectacular display of colors that on occasion beat the hell out of any sunset. And on top of that, most of the world's population will see, or COULD see the average sunset. Damned fewer people see sunrises. And when you think about it, the reds and yellows and blues of a nice rainbow are all represented but unlike a rainbow, they are splayed all across the sky for long minutes while the sun rises. Makes for a great way to start the day.
So, with only a few hours to go, I finished the final packing, what little there was for a two-night trip, and climbed in the sack for a couple hours sleep.
With her foot planted squarely in my back, and accompanied by a grunt, my wife straightened out her leg and deposited me unceremoniously on the floor at the side of the bed. Not that there is likely any scenario where such an action could be considered ceremonious, either, but there I was nonetheless, eye level with the dog who was pleased that I came down to play in the dark.
"If you snooze the alarm clock one more time, I'm gonna rip it out of the wall." She's not real happy that her day off is interrupted so early, but knowing I wanted to get an early start on this ride to South Carolina, my bride of 25 years took drastic action. It worked.
Staring back at me, from the bedside table was the red glow of 4:15AM; a quarter-hour past when I wanted to leave for the 'other' Carolina, and a little 'burg called Lake City, about 4 hours away.
I had traveled, over the years, all the various alternate routes to SC on my countless rides to Myrtle Beach, so Lake City, being not far from I-95, qualified as one of my uncharacteristic Interstate-Express rides. By 4:30 I had left the shower, the dog, the wife and a toasted pop-tart breakfast behind, and was headed for I-40 eastbound to connect with I-95 south. I figured by the time I reach Pedro at the SC state line, it'll be time for a real Waffle House breakfast, a tank of gas and a chance to take off this silly helmet. (For any of you who don't travel I-95, Pedro's 'South of the Border' is an obnoxious tourist trap at the NC/SC state line.)
With the breaking dawn and Waffle House both behind me, I'm back in dark glasses, with the leather flying cap's chin straps trailing behind me in the wind. By 8:00AM I'm pulling onto Main Street in Lake City in search of the director of this, and the past 7 Poker Runs at the SC Tobacco Festival. With $2250 at stake for first place, and quite a number of runner-up and worst hand awards being given away, (even 4th place got $250!), there were already bikes lining up for the run.
My contact made sure I had all the maps and flyers and festival brochures when I arrived. I was among the first bikes out of the gate at 9am, and followed very accurate maps to the first of five stops. Turned out the maps weren't even needed as the route was well marked by signs along the 100 mile run.
Nestled deep in the woods at stop #1, I draw a three of hearts - not a good start! My only hope of winning depending on drawing nothing but threes from this point on, I get a six of Clubs at Doug's Harley Davidson in Florence, SC; a two of spades at Frances Marion University, stop #3; and an Ace of clubs at Lynches River County Park, the next to last stop on the run. Now, I've played enough poker to know that I had a winnable low hand here, if I got a four at the last pull back at the rally site.
I decided to sit here a few moments and talk to the some of the rally coordinators at the County Park - besides; it was the shadiest spot on the run now that it was getting on Noon and over 85 degrees.
It sure was in the forefront of my mind that this was the first Poker Run that didn't stop at at least ONE bar for something cold to drink.
I got a chance to talk to two members of the SC Army National Guard here to help with the event, and learned more than I really wanted to about 'gators in the swamps around these parts. They were discussing nearby detachments being called up for duty for extended periods of time, too. It was unspoken why, as we all knew the reasons, expecting an escalation of Middle East tensions.
Not wanting to jinx the lousy poker hand I was finding myself with, I rode the last 15 miles back into Lake City hoping for a four of anything to complete the lowest hand you can get in poker, and my chance of winning some of the $5000 in prizes.
Rally headquarters was a lot different now, hundreds of bikes coming in and some still going out kicked up a dust storm at the huge covered shed in the middle of a tobacco field. In actuality, I never saw more than maybe an acre of tobacco on the entire run, with the roadsides covered predominantly in Soybeans, but they all swear it's still a "big crop in these heah parts". I step up to the desk, and promptly draw another ace, making a loser on all counts… too high for a low-hand winner, and too low for a high hand. Crap!
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