We leave Apex at 8 a.m. and travel on limited access Route 1 for an hour and a half. Rockingham, North Carolina, is a handsome town, lots of porches and houses of various sizes, including a lovely two-story Colonial brick house, and a Victorian with a wrap-around porch. The streetlamps are shaped like my Bryn Mawr lantern (sans owl)
We drive right through the town center: a two lane street with parking along the side.
After Rockingham we enter South Carolina. Immediately there is a sign for fireworks and the two lane road falls into a rhythm of signs: ‘Do not pass’ and ‘Pass with care’. Route 1 has become very rural. We pass the Sand Hills State Forest to our east and the Sand Hills National Wildlife Refuge to our west.
The small town of McBee (population 900) has streetlamp holiday decorations: snowflakes. That makes me laugh. Perhaps it snows here, but more likely not.
Northeast of Columbia, the state capital, we stop to eat at Hot Box. The motto is “Eat now. Die later.” Jeremy, the co-owner, is an earnest, energetic young man with a paisley black bandana across his forehead. He talks us through the menu of about 18 items. I have the twin deep-fried hot dogs with fried dill pickle spears. Jim goes for the deep-fried chicken breast and deep-fried mushrooms. (Do you detect a theme here?)
Hot Box has been in business for exactly two years today. However, they are shuttering the doors in two days. Jeremy explains that the October flood meant there was not enough clean water to run their kitchen. The rain also caused roof damage, which the landlord isn’t willing to repair. Falling ceiling tiles discourage customers. The holiday season has been slow for business too. Jeremy describes his restaurant with great passion. It’s sad to see it fail. Jim buys me a souvenir Hot Box bracelet, Army green with red accents.
As we drive through downtown Columbia, I spy a dome, cry out, ‘zip!’ and say, “Let’s stop, for Matt.” Our son Matt has a goal to touch all 50 state capitols. My Grampa Hazen took pictures of all 50. It’s in the blood.
It’s New Year’s Day, so everything is very quiet. The State Capitol grounds are lovely, complete with a flowering bush.
We cross over the Savannah River into Augusta and the rest of the afternoon and evening is spent driving through rural Georgia. No big box stores here; no national brand car dealerships either. But Route 1 is still an auto road: occasionally there is a small dealership, selling mostly used cars.
We end our day in Waycross, Georgia, just north of the Okefenokee Swamp. What a lovely name for a true crossroads: on the map Waycross looks like a six-pointed star.
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That food looks deep-fried delicious. Perhaps their motto should have been "Eat now. Die sooner than later."
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