From this website.
Sarah (Sulkosky) and I got bikes from her parents in honor of our marriage. Sarah bought a bike rack and I bought some helmets, chains, and a pump. Actually, now that I think about it, Sarah bought those, too. I must have been there for the purchase, at any rate.
So, typical with of my involvement in things we actually honeymooned @ Tybee Island, east of Savannah, and not Savannah herself–as I had claimed from time out of mind. But Tybee was a champion event, the cage match of honeymoons. On the first day, bikes and luggage in tow, we journeyed east at an easy pace. Sarah did most of the driving. I commenced King’s Under the Dome in the navigator’s chair. We got to our Inn, located at numerically sufficient 12 17th street. We began riding our bicycles immediately, went to a long and fancy pier, watched the gray water and the old men hook fish in the mouth. Call me what you want, the whole hunting/fishing thing is at its basic level pretty barbaric. Yeah, yeah. I know.
So . . . for dinner, we liked the lasagna, if you know what I’m saying. We watched some TV, a real away from home treat. We went to bed. As we awakened, I grabbed some baseballs and gloves and we biked beachside (which was incredibly close to our Inn) to find a neat little sandbar just off shore, uninhabited by any Jack Sparrows, Toms, Dicks, or Harrys. We played ball, liked the wind in my ha–on my scalp, liked the way I had to sprint after the ball after a wild throw, and enjoyed the absolutely perfect partly cloudy weather. We decided to go put up the equipment and bring the bikes back for a beachride.
There was a tidepool that had been there since the early morning, when we played catch. I saw something splashing in it. “Oh, a fish.” After all, we were in the ocean. But no, it was a little cow-nosed sting ray, flapping its wings water that couldn’t have been more than a few inches deep. I wasn’t going to touch the thing, it may not have been beyond rescue but I wasn’t getting stung. I went to get Sarah, but, lo, she had found a hundred more further up the tide pool, in slightly deeper, glideable water. As we stood in the middle of their nautical formation (a lady called the grouping a “slug,” which was definitely appropriate), them sweeping the sands like bombers, an actual bomber flew out, hooked over the wide Atlantic and circled round near the pier. In the distance, 8 little dots cascaded out and deployed their green and yellow parachutes, looking seriously like little toy men. Jet ski’s frothed out where they were landing–some kind of training exercise. Still, it was pretty neat to watch surrounded by the little aeroplanes of the tidal pool.
Sarah and I biked the rest of the day. Saw Fort Pulaski (neat history there) and biked a jungly, Cretaceous path out to a nearly forgotten lighthouse that efforts are now trying to restore. Sarah described the bike path as like a rollercoaster, and she was gosh darn right. Except the insects got in on it to, as I was occasionally chased by tenacious bumblebees and hornets (tried to avoid the Tenacious B connexion). Took pics–woo! I’m losing hair like Tom Cruise is losing pieces of his mind.
Had a respite whereupon I bit off another large piece of King’s Dome. That night we went on a Ghost Tour in downtown Savannah–a guy walked around with a group and telling ghost stories. The first few really creeped me out, but as the night when on I sort of lost the vibe. It had a lot to do with some of the haunted houses still being inhabited by very alive, elderly vacationers. Overall, though, a positive experience. I forgot to tip him, a huge dishonor on my part, for he was more enthusiastic in 2 hours than I have ever felt in my life about anything. A wonderful oral storyteller, an envious trait.
We at a crappy sushi bar, the table was next to a wall, might as well have been bolted to the inside curve of a toilet bowl for the humidity, the smell, and the pickings on the sticky place mat in front of us.
The next day we didn’t do a whole heck of a lot. During a morning beach walk, we chanced upon another serendipity–the release of sea turtles into the wild, complete with state-of-the-art tracking equipment, mini-sub Nuclear reactors on their backs, and whatnot. The turtle, Cara, walloped her fins at the sand and kept racing away from the ocean, so they threw her in the water and she seemed to understand. It was raining, and would pretty much all day. We biked lazily in the afternoon after a quick walk on a nearly deserted beach–great view of the ugly, but interesting, cement breakers. Maybe to keep Tybee from ERODING.
Throughout the trip, I dined quite gluttonously on designer cheeses and coconut-milk yogurt, the beach, my new bike, and my new wife. I swallowed King’s Dome almost whole (almost), and on Sunday we wound back. I was discontented at the shortness of it all, but I work now so that there will be time. I can’t predict the work situation, big aggravation.
A thanks, deep, warm, and sincere–goes to the kind thoughts, gifts, and acts surrounding the beginning of new and auspicious things. Title was a happy accident, as I stumbled bicycle olympics even as I was outlining the heavy influence bicycles had on the outrageous success of my honeymoon. Otherwise, the title would have been heavily influenced by Deftones new ish Diamond Eyes, which is, like a good man-powered vehicle, cycling around and around the acoustics of my chilled green walls. See the WLWB community in about a month–school’s out!
Robbo
