Tap…tap…tap

Whack…whack…whack…

Bang…bang

“This better be good at…4AM”, I yelled whilst wiping the muck from my eyes.

“Who the f*ck is it?”  I demanded, as I treaded across the frigid oak floors towards the back door.

“It’s Dr. Don.”

I unlocked the door and swung it open in anger of be awoken.

“What are you doing here this time of the morning?”  I pleaded while rubbing my dreary head and heading to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

After putting the water on to boil, I realised that he was sporting a green t-shirt with a big shamrock on it.

“Shite”, I exclaimed whilst running to my bedroom.

“Happy Saint Patrick’s Day, dude”, he said, as he looked through the cupboards for something to snack on.

I grabbed my camera gear and supplies and headed out the door a few minutes later.  We got on the main highway about 4:30AM.  It’s quite fun to drive early in the morning.  The roads were empty at that time of dawning, so I could use two lanes if I so desired. 

Just as we started making good time, it started misting rain.  I turned on the windshield wipers to alleviate the haze overtaking my view.  The drivers side wiper started acting erratic, veering way off its predetermined course, so I turned them off and back on.  It fell over and hung precariously off the drivers side of the windshield.

“This is not a good omen”, I cogitated whilst looking for a place to pull over in the pitch blackness of an empty road.

We pulled into a rest area and inspected the damage.  We couldn’t help but laugh, when we discovered that the gears in the wiper motor were stripped.

“I hope the rain stops”, I laughingly muttered whilst getting back in the truck.

“Ah, throw a string on it and yank it every time it starts to mist”, Dr. Don muttered, as he stared into the vacuous rest area.

Luckily, the rain clouds dissipated and we continued down I-385 S.  Once we got on I-26 East, the driving was a breeze.  I put the truck in cruise control mode and relaxed a bit.  Dr. Don freaked out a bit, when I pretended to be asleep and let the vehicle veer closer to the concrete median. 

After breakfast somewhere near Columbia, SC, Dr. Don went to sleep and I sliced about a half hour off the trip by speeding.  When I saw the Savannah River in the distance, I turned up the radio to wake him.  We arrived about an hour before the parade.  People of all colours, shapes, and sizes were painted in green.  The one’s that weren’t covered themselves with a lovely green beer.  It wasn’t Guinness, but eh?

After fighting through a crowd of a half million people, I finally found a spot to take pictures.  I normally hop from place to place to get different perspectives, but because there was a mass of people and I was trying to stay within seeing distance of Dr. Don, I stayed in one spot the entire time. 

It was an all out celebration of Craic.  Some whacky and legless college guys ran out into the parade street and high fived everyone while screaming, "Éirinn go Brách".  Others would run up and yell, “Irish, yeah”.  It was a party on wheels. 

I watched bands march by from about thirty US states, including:  Georgia, Wyoming, Florida, New York, New Jersey, Connecticut, Maine, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, New Hampshire, Pennsylvania, South Carolina, North Carolina, Virginia, Tennessee, and Delaware to name a few.  Heck, there was even a bagpipe band from Edinburgh, Scotland. 

An African-American woman with a hellish attitude and seven kids tried to root me out of my spot.  I didn’t mind the kids getting a decent spot, but when she tried to push me out of the way, I got irate and decided to leave before saying something and causing a riot. 

Dr. Don was arguing with her husband, so I grabbed him out of the crowd and walked away.

“On the one day when American’s with Irish ancestry can celebrate their heritage, someone has to start some shite”, I muttered, as we walked away.

“She was just dreaming that Obama was in the parade and had to get a closer spot, being that he’s Irish and all.”

“Yer not Irish, unless yer born in Ireland”, I muttered, as we walked into a quaint little cigar shop.

“Does the north count?”

I laughed and we picked out some proper cigars.  We sat by the river and watched babes in short shorts and skin tight T’s compete in a wet t-shirt contest. 

We hung around for about another hour talking junk to the fairer sex.  One woman thought I worked for a paper, so I went with it.  

I hadn’t been down there since I was knee high to a grasshopper, so it was nice to go back even for a day.  When we returned to the truck, we decided to take a wee side trip to Charleston, S.C..  It is older than Savannah and even more picturesque.  The city was formed in 1670 and was once the fifth larges city in the United States. The first shots of the Civil War were fired there as well.  So, it is truly a historic playground.  One of my ancestors, a Mr. McManaman (can’t remember his first name at present) from County May, died there during the Civil War. 

We hopped on I-95-S  and sped away from Georgia.  I stayed behind a big rig that was speeding, so we made good time.  We crossed the massive Cooper River Bridge around 4:30PM.  It is the largest cable-stayed bridge in the Western Hemisphere.  And, people say we’re a bunch of hicks in South Carolina!?

I took a few shots of the coast and the Cooper River.  We walked through battery park.  The architecture of the plantation houses and mansions is awe inspiriting. 

After observing the rich women (A person has to be well off to reside in auld Charleston.)  jogging through the park, we treaded down some side streets.  The streets are very narrow, so I was not surprised when a lady in a minivan ripped a mirror off the side of a painters van.  The painter ran out into the street discovering his drivers side mirror laying shattered on the paving stones.  The nice lady returned and apologised to the gentleman. 

“dun’t w’rry ‘bout it ma’am…these types ah t’ings happ’n down ‘ere”, he muttered as the lady helped him pick up the mirror shards.

She offered her insurance information and her number, but he wouldn’t take it.  After she left, he got all of his things together and proceeded to leave.  As he pulled away, the rear bumper fell off.  He parked, got out, rubbed his head, and yelled, “Shit’”. 

Dr. Don and myself got a good laugh out of this and headed back up the road.  When we arrived at his house, my hands were stuck to the steering wheel, and I was unable to bend my arms. 

“So, how long is it gonna take you to get this on the blog?”

“I’ll have it up by the time I pay dearest deeds to the moon before it fades away.”

“Yer full of shit…”

“Within a fortnight”, I mummbled whilst puffing on a cigar in the mountainous night air. 

Dr Don sighed and went in the house.

I drove a wee bit over 600 miles in a day not including all of the walking.  We had a blast!  I look forward to doing it again soon.  Although, next time I may have a chickidoo with me. 

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