03/01/2025 ICW Day 60 : Get a job!

What a great campsite last night! The tent was dry again, so I think we are up to 8% of our mornings on this type of a high!

We launched into the river, however, my prediction of following currents was… wrong. In spite of us beginning shortly after the turn of the tide, some other factor was in play, so we pedaled against the current until the predicted Southerly began amping up.

You might think that a strong tailwind is a delight for a boat with a sail… however, in this particular situation, we did not have the tools to harness this beast. The correct sail for these conditions would have been a spinnaker, which flies like a kite and is designed for downwind sailing. I opted not to include it on our boat to keep things simple—it adds extra rigging and makes lowering the mast for bridges more complicated. Instead, we relied on our main sail, which usually works for downwind travel. But in the narrow waterway, we had to keep adjusting our angle to the wind by “gybing”—a maneuver that can be risky in strong winds, especially on a larger boat.

Adding to the complexity, it seems that the people of Myrtle Beach like to wake boats like ours. We had been out in big uncrowded water for weeks, where most boaters slowed down and gave us space. Here, though, they blasted past us, sending wakes that rocked our boat violently. It was frustrating. “These people are incredibly rude,” I grumbled. Janet, ever the optimist, replied, “At least that one waved…”

Even with our attempts to control the boat’s angle to the wind, it would often swirl due to the corridor of trees. This would cause the sail to loudly slap over to the other side, catching the main sheet on the posts of our trolley. Janet, meanwhile, was tasked with the tiring job of lifting the taut main sheet over these protruding poles with each jibe.

I longed for the open water.

We decided to take our chances and land at a boat ramp for the night. One of the Good Samaritans who wrote us after seeing Peter Frank’s post (the costumed kayaker we meet last week) was up ahead (Mark and Danielle). If we were going to be able to meet them, we would have to slow it down. We took this time-killing opportunity to get groceries at Walmart.

As I checked out with our food, I prepared for the usual line of questioning about the folding bicycle. My conversation with the massive, wheelchair-bound cashier took a slightly different trajectory today. It began when I told her that I didn’t need a bag because I had a backpack.

“Well, whattami ‘sposed to do with that?”

“Don’t worry, I can put the groceries in there; I do it all the time.”

She began dropping and/or throwing the items. A few she placed into the plastic bag anyway for good measure. I sensed that she was upset.

We talked about the bike anyway, and I had to explain that the reason I had a folding bike was because we need a small bike to fit on our kayak. I explained that we had come a long way.

“Y’all goin’ round the world on that?”

“No,” I laughed, “just doing the intra costal waterway.”

“Whydoncha’ll get a job!?!”

“I have a job!”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

I explained that I work remotely from my tent using my phone. She rolled her eyes.

“Y’all raisin’ money?”

“No.”

She paused, then said, “There’s them hurricane victims in Asheville. You ought to go help ‘em. The church’ll feed y’all three meals a day and give you a place to stay.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond. On the outside, I probably seemed like a guy with an easy life—some Californian who didn’t want to use a plastic bag, sailing around for fun. Meanwhile, she was sitting in a wheelchair, thinking about people who had lost everything.

I told Janet the story, and we both sat with that for a moment, unsure what to say. Our journey felt suddenly small, and we weren’t sure if we should feel inspired, ashamed, or just humbled.