Tide’s Out

After my walk with Teddi this morning, I grabbed the keys to the cargo trailer and removed the puck lock that secures both Jill’s and my ebikes. The ramp to the trailer is closed on both sides by an aluminum bar that slides into place on either side with a latch that allows the use of a padlock or a puck lock to secure the door. Once the latches are lifted the bars swing away from the body of the trailer allowing the ramp to lower to the ground. The flap at the end of the ramp flips down to the gravel driveway, making a smooth gateway to wheel items out and off of the trailer. After removing the bike from the trailer, topping the tires with air, and grabbing my cigar ashtray, I stowed my other gear in the front basket and what remained into the side pannier. With a thermos of coffee, and a Byron Maduro Cigar gifted to me by Colyn at Christmas slipped carefully into my tactical pack with a gas lighter, I rode my bike into town.

Alongside the tidal salt marsh lining the road leading into the historic district of Beaufort, SC, there is an old, weathered pine picnic table sitting on the high ground. It is located on a cleared lot that may have been host to a small house in the past. The plot is divided from the rest of the park by a low old worn red brick wall. Immediately opposite the wall on the other side of the property, is a newer and more elaborate brick wall running alongside another property sporting a very handsome modern home.

The park is an open area land trust, the first established in the state of South Carolina back in 1981. The cleared rectangular lot sits on the bluff, open to the view below. It overlooks the salt marsh and the canal that goes out to the ocean. About one hundred yards, or so, from shore a handful of sailboats are moored in the water on the near side of the bridge that supports a constant flow of automobiles over the waterway. I parked my bike and took a seat on the worn bench and put my gear on the table and prepared to smoke a cigar and read my book in the warm sun.

Down the slope from my perch on the high shelf of land that abuts the street, the close-cut lawn meets countless tufts of Cordgrass and salt water. There is a sailboat, grounded, and leaning on one side. It appears to be a pretty new boat. As I pull on my cigar, I wonder what the story is; did it get blown there during a storm? Hard to tell, but whatever the cause, that boat will be tough to move back to the canal. There is no direct route. The way is obstructed by huge stretches of Cordgrass, interspersed with shallow pools of salt water that provide no contiguous water escape. The boat is wrapped, sparingly, with yellow police tape to ward off curious spectators who might be inclined to climb aboard her. There is a small skiff marooned next to the sailboat. Mystery. I'll have to ask at the Cafe across the street the next time I go into grab a coffee to see if anyone knows the story.

There were some wispy clouds in the sky, and the sun was still warm in the late afternoon. I think I've found the perfect spot to read, write and smoke. It is about a mile from the Airbnb. On my next ride, I think I'll explore the waterfront that is about half a mile further up the road toward the seafront.

Just about done with my cigar and it's starting to cool off. Time to leave.