42.6 mi / 15.3 mph / 429 ft. climbing
Home: Wilmington KOA Kampground

Yesterday afternoon we had a momentary introduction to US-17, but today we would fully get to know the Atlantic Coast highway that would be our “friend” for much of the rest of our journey south. The easy ability of the ocean to infiltrate the land in this area means that there are few roads running perpendicular to all the broad, flat rivers incising up the coastal plain, because they aren’t practically bridgeable. The Outer Banks is a rarity, where the barrier islands are connected (by roads and ferries) to create a continuous path through the water; for all the islands further south, it’s in-and-out only. In-and-out to US-17, the easternmost continuous road, which means that it’s #1) often the only option for us, and #2) carries all the traffic of anyone traveling between those coastal communities.

We’d already done 180 miles of riding over the last five days, a somewhat high amount for us, but I had us scheduled to do another 100+ over the next two days, because it would be a shame to let such good tailwinds go to waste. Today would be 50 miles if we took the recommended bike touring route, but potentially shorter if we just powered through the traffic on US-17 and ignored the detours that would take us off the direct route onto quieter roads.

Rett is more stressed by high-speed close-passing traffic than I am, so it’s proof of how good things were going that she didn’t even hesitate at mile 12 when the first detour option appeared: “no, let’s just stay on the highway”. The shoulder was narrow, and half-filled with a rumble strip, but traffic was light enough that most drivers had no problem moving over to the left lane when they blew by. Cruising at 17-18mph, Rett did the math and wondered if we should go for something more like 70 miles today. For better or worse, I had already booked our campsite, so I suggested that having a 40+ mile day that felt like a rest day would be valuable too.

When we reached Holly Ridge, the detour option started making a little more sense as the shoulder on US-17 disappeared for a couple miles. Though in some ways it made the riding more comfortable, since now 100% of the vehicles were forced to change lanes to pass, rather than just 95% when the narrow shoulder returned (with the other 5% buzzing by just on the other side of the white line). But the final ~15 miles through the outer suburbs of Wilmington removed the shoulder again and increased the traffic volume such that Rett was definitely no longer considering 70 miles. The day’s physical load might have been light, but the mental load was beginning to get exhausting.

Still, our high speeds due to the tailwind didn’t just shorten our riding time, they made the ride safer. If we had been going the other direction, into the wind, the much-greater speed differential between the vehicles and us would have made it significantly more difficult for them to smoothly merge into the left lane and flow past, and instead cars would be getting “stuck” behind us, unable to merge left because traffic in that lane would then be flying past them, and vehicles would then be piling up behind us (sometimes leading the “stuck” vehicle to unsafely squeeze past us in the same lane). Not that that still didn’t happen, but it would have happened a lot more if our speed had been halved.

The 15.3mph average speed that we finished with is the fastest we’ve done in our nomadacy, and we weren’t even pushing that hard, nor was it an especially strong wind. But something about the wide highway corridor just allowed the wind to flow smoothly behind us the whole way.

A few miles from the campground we peeled off into a shopping center to get groceries, and decided to sooth our frazzled nerves with a giant (and very good) pizza lunch. We sat at a table where I could see our bikes unusually well, parked just on the other side of a full-length window. Thus it was fascinating to watch how other patrons walking in reacted to the heavily-loaded beasts. Some would give a double-take, or a close inspection as they passed, but others would not even seem to see them (despite navigating around them). Most odd was how interest varied within the same groups: a wife would turn her head, while her husband wasn’t even curious enough to wonder what she was looking at, or a kid would gawk while his sister ignored. A woman who was amongst the “noticers” later stopped by our table for a nice chat and then even brought her young son over to hear about our unusual lifestyle. I was glad to have the relatively-rare opportunity to plant the seed of early-retirement into someone young enough to be able to easily make it happen.

Despite being just off the highway in the midst of suburban hell, the KOA campground was surprisingly nice. It only has six tent sites, but our corner spot could have been in a state park (and none of the others were occupied). And the bathrooms were some of the best we’ve ever seen. And as darkness fell early on this first night of Standard Time, even the still-heavy traffic on US-17 was a good thing, as it created a constant background white noise to fall asleep to.