To-Bee at Tybee '23 - From Campground to River Street to Inman

From Campground to River Street to Inman ...

we left River's End Campground to shop and eat along River Street then headed north to Inman, a small folksy east-coastal town.

At the RV campground, it was a bit dark out, no sun, Spencer says, "I want one."  

After I'd said, "Did you see THAT!?"

It was a black SUV driving slowly past us.  It was wrecked.  It look like someone had driven it straight on, into a telephone pole! How it still ran, I don't know!  The engine was evidently in tact 'cause it was able to motor along, the hood was still there, maybe forced to stay, but still there.  The added oddest touch was 2 extremely long racket straps that went from under the body and over the hood longways from fender to fender ...  in bright neon green!

Still we laugh at the remembered image and Spencer saying, "I want one!"

At Huey's on River Street after eating and drinking copious amounts of iced tea, I asked directions to women's restroom.  You know what, it was a directional challenge!  It felt like visiting the catacombs of Rome!

Spencer wanted to go next.  I tried to remember the way and told him we definitely need to bring the grandkids.  They'll get a kick out of the passage between the wall and the flight of upward stairs, "On your way check it out, it's a fatman's squeeze!"

You have to go through a white trimmed arching doorway, down three concrete steps into a wide waiters' work area where the walls are cement blocks, the floor is concrete, and all was windowless.

"Take a left, then go right, then a left, when you get through the small arched doorway, you'll run right into the men's restroom door.  To get to the women's restroom, at the men's door I had to take a left, then a right, and go to the end of the hall.  That's the emergency exit door.  But stop there, 'cause the waitress said, "You want the last door on the left."  

Oh, my word!

NO, I DON'T WANT TO GO BACK THERE.  I WANNA GO BACK TO MY HOTEL!"

Speaking of going back:

Spencer asked us, "What time is checkout?

Surprised, I said, "You paid!"

Spencer turned to his dad, "You signed."

John passed the buck, "I didn't have my readers on..."

   

Then it was the city of Inman, South Carolina, with a population of about 3,600 whose main street was lined with thrift stores their revenue supporting animal rescues, and lined with antique shops ... galore. 

We ate at Boots & Sonny's Drive In.  It was packed full of truckers and firemen and local male merchants.  Quite the watering hole for the locals, it was.  Waitress/cashier/delivery woman who was short, wrinkled and as old as Whistler's Mother, was the fastest server of burger and onion rings as I'd ever had in my life!

Inman, South Carolina?  I'd visit that little town again, even if they can't count their cats and keep track of them.  "Oh, he's probably in the basement hunting mice."  

That was a tell -- mice in a clothing, stationery, thrift store?  "Me - OW!"

In one day we left Tybee Island's RV campground, browsed the River Street shops of Savannah, and went through South Carolina to eat at Boot's and Sonny's; what a jam-packed day!