Running It Back to Myrtle Beach and Meeting Our Heroes

Sometimes our heroes do not wear capes; they either don state troopers’ uniforms or an apron.

As we have shared all of the fun times and blunders of spring break with each other, it dawns upon me that making a jaunt across state lines for a week away from work and school is a solidly middle class thing marking a signifier that we have either gotten lucky or have drank the Kool-Aid of emulating the Joneses at every turn. It doesn’t mean that good planning is always congruent to being able to enjoy more of God’s creation as some of the best things around us are typically right underneath our noses and only a day trip away from home. Yet, a road trip is always going to build more memories than standing in line at Foot Locker for the latest Jordan Brand sneaker or the Apple Store for the latest and greatest smartphone or laptop.

Anyway, we kicked it – and this time, we brought two more riders to the Palmetto State.

Because my wife is a creature of habit, we found ourselves back at the Breakers resort overlooking the Atlantic Ocean on one end, and the Carolina squat fanatics cruising across the street with their Tahoes and older Silverados blinding walkers and oncoming drivers with the brightest misguided LED lights available. Since the other two riders – our niece and my mother-in-law  – had not experienced this part of the country, we figured the best thing to do is slide down the road and check out some places that were familiar from the last trip, and throw in a couple of new destinations to mix it all up. One thing I will say in the post-COVID world, Myrtle Beach and Horry County at large has gotten expensive in two years’ time. [Maybe we should’ve kept our mouths shut.]

Where did we go that was super cool, and how did I miss meeting a culinary hero?

For the girls, they went to Ripley’s Believe-It-Or-Not! Aquarium and the missus, the Hollywood Wax Museum. Me? There is that certain whole hog barbecue joint in Charleston that every backyard or better pitmaster absolutely must add to his/her bucket list, and for those who talk smack about it, it doesn’t get much better as far as me paying for product. That place:  Rodney Scott’s BBQ. Unfortunately, he was in Hemingway tending to the family’s namesake restaurant (Scott’s BBQ in Hemingway is only open Thursday – Saturday while the Charleston location is open daily) the day we made the 95 mile drive south on US 17. What we were unable to reach – and that will likely be a separate weekend visit – are the Market where our ancestors were quarantined prior to being sold throughout the colonies in the countryside and cities alike as enslaved men, women, and children; and the Gullah interpreters who told the stories America is somewhat paying attention to lately as well as checking out the basketweaving wares plied as a way to provide for their households.

Of course, we spent time at the beach. The Atlantic was a bit choppy and cool for anyone to really participate in much more than getting a splash at the knees.

There is something to be said of spending fourteen hours behind the steering wheel of a Camry (hopefully, a newer car or larger SUV is coming before the next trip – if we can find a Highlander/Palisade/Explorer/Pathfinder reasonably priced before early August, that would be the move) and managing to time it to avoid most of Atlanta’s parking lot aka rush hour at my age. Unfortunately, driving through Memphis is becoming more of a clusterf**k than it should be due to all of TDOT’s construction zones and general ineptitude regarding filling potholes.

About the other hero: Thanks to TDOT being absolute morons at their jobs, Chastity hit a pothole immediately flattening a tire. After a bit of wrangling with a certain roadside service provider, she made the right decision in calling a state trooper to assist (and vent) to about that crater in the middle of Interstate 55 which not only got her but also another driver perhaps 100 yards ahead of us.

Four hours and 160 miles later on a donut, the squad made it home for what needed to be rest and relaxation since vacations are not always the breaks we truly desire. So many other things happened on this adventure that we did not mention, and as one tourist town finds itself priced out of not only our budget but also for many local residents, it remains to be seen how this widening chasm between rich and poor can either be bridged or end up something like Miami Beach or Connecticut’s Gold Coast where a working class toils in quiet servitude while the affluent and middle-class visitors ball out like there is no tomorrow. It’s not the best way to end a spring break blog but in the first real trip since my sabbatical of sorts from the church ended, it is difficult to not see the eyes of the wonderful servers, maintenance and renovation crews, and cashiers as they presented smiling veneers of the best the Pee Dee region has.

Understand this very clearly: We had fun, and with a couple of tweaks, will be back in two years to make even more memories on the East Coast.