“I’m so glad you pulled me over!” I cried to the surprised police officer. “I’m soooo lost!” I don’t imagine the folks he pulled over were usually glad to see him, but they probably weren’t as lost as I was either.
My road trip was turning into a fiasco. Instead of saving two hours of time and a tank of gas by taking a shortcut, I wound up driving in circles for hours along country roads lined with nothing but churches, trailers, and elementary schools. For the first two hours, I didn’t see a single middle school, high school, or gas station. Which told me two things: a) no one in this godforsaken area ever made it past fifth grade, and b) if I ran out of gas, I’d also be out of luck.
I began to question my decision to quit my job, pack my car with all my belongings, and drive up the coast to a new city. My old job had left me dissatisfied and hungry for new frontiers, so I said goodbye to all my friends and set off on a road trip from Atlanta to Washington, D.C. My mom had relocated there herself a couple of years prior, so she said I could have her guest room until I was completely settled. In return, I promised to be in our nation’s capital by Friday evening to celebrate her birthday. I bought a map the day before I left and plotted a course along out-of-the-way roads rather than interstates. I was taking my first step toward a new life. I was striking out on an adventure.
And then I got lost. Not a good sign, I thought. This does not bode well for my new life.
I had a reservation at a hostel in Charleston, S.C., but my first stop turned out to be a lone gas station in the middle of the boonies instead. The folks inside, who looked like movie characters from Deliverance, all had something to say about my situation when requested directions.
“You’re traveling by yourself?”
“You’ll be in Jamaica by the time you get out of here!”
“Yeah, you’re going to run out of gas.”
“All right, well, thanks everybody…” I replied meekly. It had long since become dark, and I didn’t have time for discouraging comments from strangers, so I took off. As I pulled back out onto the unfamiliar road, I started to panic…and press the gas pedal. Not two minutes had passed before I got pulled over by a New Ellenton police officer for going 60 in a 45.
I’d never heard of New Ellenton, but apparently they have a police force that doesn’t mess around when it comes to speeding. I was bawling when the officer approached my car, and he still gave me a ticket for $128. Truth be told, I would have paid $500 cash at that moment for the directions he gave me. He even told me where I could stop to eat. I’ve never been so excited to hit the interstate in my life as when I merged onto I-26 at 12:30 in the morning. I snuck into the hostel at 2:00 a.m. under the cover of darkness and thought, Okay. It can only get better from here…
That was Sunday. The rest of my road trip went something like this:
On Monday, I met two English girls, Lucy & Terry, and an Australian, Haley. Found out they’d each recently been to D.C. during their travels. I offered Haley a ride to Charleston’s historic downtown when we realized we were headed the same place. After walking all over the place, we returned to the hostel and promptly fell asleep for hours.
That evening, Terry and Lucy invited us to join them for “Metal Night” at a club downtown. “Metal Night” apparently means various locals get up and sing classic rock favorites to a live band. There’s a special camaraderie you feel when singing the words to “Bohemian Rhapsody” with a room full of strangers. I also experienced a not-so-special feeling when I later got hit on by a drunk guy.
The highlight of the night, though, had to be the crazy lady in baggy white pants who enthusiastically danced and hopped about the venue whether music was playing or not. We couldn’t tell if she was drunk or high on life, but either way she kept bumping into innocent bystanders. The three of us ducked behind Terry when she bounded our way. “What’d you think I was going to do about it?” Terry later asked. Once back at the hostel, we stayed up talking into the wee hours.
Next, I headed up the coast of South Carolina. It was hot as Hades. We suffered record-breaking temperatures that whole week. I stopped at an efficiency stay in Wilmington, N.C (after passing Wilmington and having to double back. Darn those faulty directions!). Sat with my toes in the sand at the main beach where all the vacation homes are lined up along the shore.
On Wednesday, I headed to Virginia Beach and kept to the state roads, which was a beautiful drive this time, of countryside punctuated by old Southern towns, where I met up with Nicole, an old friend of mine who happened to be in town that evening. We walked along the main drag and up to the pier looking at all the touristy stores selling pirate hats and painted hermit crabs.
Thursday, I met two South African au pairs on vacation, Vanessa and Jocelyn and we went to a dance club that night. The eeriest conversation I had was with a pilot from Charleston who used to regularly attend “Metal Night.” He even remembered the crazy bouncing lady with the white pants! We closed out the bar (second time that week for me).
I took the long way up through Maryland so I could cross the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. It turned out to be miles long. I felt like I was driving across the sea amongst the sailboats. It was a very surreal experience.
The farther north I got, the murkier the roads on my map became. Here we go again, I thought. Better watch out for cops. I had to switch highways at the next town, so I was on the alert for road signs when a woman pulled up beside me at a red light. I just barely noticed her off to the side waving for my attention.
“Hey!” she called. She was an African-American lady about my mom’s age.
“Hi there!” I answered.
“Do you need help?” she offered. All kinds, I thought. But do I really look that lost?
“Sure, I’m trying to reach D.C. by way of Salisbury.” She thought for a moment.
“Follow me,” she advised. “I’ll get you where you need to go.”
“Are you sure?”
“Salisbury’s not far,” she insisted. “Just follow me.” I couldn’t believe it. Not only did she somehow know I was about to be lost, but she was willing to personally lead me out of confusion.
I stayed behind her for a left turn. And then a right turn. And then another right turn. And then over a bridge. Seventeen turns later, I realized why she thought it easier to drive the whole route rather than attempt to explain it to me. I never would have found my way out of that convoluted maze if she hadn’t found me.
At one particular red light, she jumped out of her vehicle (still running) and ran up to my window. I rolled it down to hear what she wanted to tell me.
“Just take a left at the second light and follow that road the rest of the way,” she quickly instructed. “It’ll take you to D.C.”
“Gosh, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help,” I told her. “I never would have made it without you!”
She smiled. “My daughter lives in Atlanta, so when I saw those Georgia plates…” She chuckled a bit. “Well, I thought you could use some help.”
She returned to her car while I shouted Thank you’s after her. I waved for the last few moments our cars were parallel and then she was gone. Throughout that trip, amazing people had showed up right when I desperately needed them. No matter how lost or alone I was, help had always arrived.
A few hours later, I was sitting with my mom at her favorite restaurant.
“Thanks so much for cutting your trip short to be with me on my birthday,” she reiterated over chateaubriand. “Did you have a good time?”
“Time of my life,” I replied. And it was only beginning.
