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| A rarely seen scene: a beach empty but for seagulls |
From time to time, Ms. B. enjoys going to these artsy-crafty-scrapbook-makey gatherings to do artsy-crafty-scrapbook-makey thingummies with a bunch of women. She's been to a few in Myrtle Beach, SC, and I especially enjoy these because I get to accompany her and go geocaching while she's doing her thing (see "Geo Artsy-Fartsying," November 11, 2018). The Sun N Sand Resort on S. Ocean Blvd., is one of the traditional settings for these events, which pleases me since it's only a couple of buildings down from Regency Towers, where I spent many a summertime week with my folks at our time-share condo from 1977 to 2000. The building that is now the Sun N Sand Resort used to be the Sheraton Hotel, where, sometime in the early 1990s, for two nights running, my brother and I won their bar's karaoke contests (good for $25 bar tabs—not at all shabby in those days). Unfortunately for us big people, the bar here has been remodeled to be a kids' arcade/ice cream parlor. What the hell kind of fun is that, anyway?
Alas, this may be the last of these Sun N Sand gatherings because, for whatever reason, a bunch of the women regulars are not altogether pleased with this facility. Personally, I find this both sad and mystifying, as it's a damned nice place at a very reasonable price, but then, it ain't my event. This morning, Ms. B. and I put in half a day at the office before hitting the road for the beach. Back home in Greensboro, there was reasonably serious snow in the forecast, but as we drove beachward, we encountered naught but rain. Now, at times, it was a pretty enthusiastic rain. Of course, this hardly put the brakes on the geocaching; I grabbed a small handful on the way. Once checked in at the Sun N Sand, we headed to dinner at Dirty Don's Oyster Bar, which was in the running and is now firmly in the lead for my personal favorite seafood joint anywhere. Steamed shrimp and oysters for me, and fried shrimp for the nice lady. I also had a couple of what may have been the spiciest Bloody Marys ever. Not necessarily the tastiest ever, but I'd still rate them pretty high on the Mighty Happy Drink list.
Afterward, we hoped to drop some coin at the nearby Coastal Wine Boutique, which has been a favorite wine destination on past beach trips. The one at 21st Ave. and Ocean Blvd. however, appears to have odd hours; last time we were here, they didn't open till well after their posted time of 5:00 PM. And tonight, after dinner, they weren't open yet again. Thus devastated, Kimberly and I decided to try the liquid refreshment at Soho, just down the street. We each had a glass of wine each (both just fair), and a spicy tuna roll (fabulous). Before heading back to the Sun N Sand, on a lark, we decided to check out Coastal Wine one more time. Lo and behold, this time, they were open. Go figure. On our entry, the friendly pup we remembered from our previous visit greeted us with his customary unbridled enthusiasm. The wine here, as expected, far surpassed the more muggle-oriented fare at Soho: a Gen 5 red blend for Ms. B. and a Bourdeaux blend pour moi.
A cache in the rain on the way back to the resort, and then some mellow time for Ms. B. and me.
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| Oyster and shrimp bones. All that's left of a Dirty Don's feast. |
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The goodest boy in the wine bar, according to Ms. B. I might have taken
exception except that she might have been right. |
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| Off-season at the beach is the best. |
Hoo-doggies, that was one killer wind this morning! It felt a lot more like Michigan than South Carolina. In November 2018 and January 2019, the temps here were far milder. Needless to say, the blustery bluster wasn't about to sway me from a good geocaching outing. As Kimberly made for her day's activities, I headed toward a few hides—though I did opt for some that required less hiking than those I had originally targeted. Regardless, I ended up with seven, and avenged a couple of DNFs (read as Did Not Find) from previous visits.
I've gotta say, I will never understand muggles who spend several eternities sitting in their cars—always right where the cache is hidden. Not once, not twice, but three times this morning, I entered parking lots that were completely bereft of vehicles except for cars parked right at my respective GZs. Un-freaking-believable. I mean, what the fuck, do geocaches have some kind of subliminal draw for people with nothing better to do than sit in their fucking cars? People, just go. Go away. Go somewhere. Do something. Something besides sit in your fucking car.
After geocaching, some lunch and mellow time back at the hotel—shattered for a brief time by a piercing, pointless fire alarm. I suspect some bored dingbat kid decided to make mischief. At so many fan conventions over the years, I experienced bogus fire alarms to the point that I came to expect them. As there is no fan convention here, I expected this one somewhat less.
We hunted down and killed dinner at Travinia Italian Restaurant, a short distance from our lodgings. The restaurant always appears crowded, and could be considered relatively upscale. The five-piece band playing was quite good, with jazzy tunes I found mostly appealing, though the volume was such that Brugger and I simply could not converse, even seated a fair distance away. Our bottle of wine—an Orin Swift Italian Red Blend, which we have had on any number of occasions—was pleasing enough, though at a 250% markup, not exactly inexpensive. Ms. B. ordered Pollo Isabella (grilled chicken breast, sun-dried tomatoes, goat cheese, lemon basil beurre blanc, & baby spinach), and I went for Short Rib Rigatoni (slow-braised beef, roasted garlic, mascarpone, & tomato cream sauce), both of which were just okay; both somewhat bland, requiring considerable salt & pepper to bring out the flavor. The service, I will say, was exemplary. I can't give Travinia more than a B– in the food and drink/value department, but I'll offer a solid A for the cordial, attentive service and general atmosphere. Given the typical crowds and overall good reviews, I might have hoped for somewhat more distinctive fare. Still, in the grand scheme, we're at the beach, we're not starving, and we've been able to take considerable joy in this respite from the ongoing bullshit of the real world. So let us call ourselves a couple of happy campers on this occasion.
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| Old Rodan at "A Walk Around the Block #19," avenging a prior DNF. Notice my look of pure joy. |
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| So much for any "Cache In, Trash Out." I guess I won't be watching any Gilligan's Island out here. |
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| Nice nighttime view from the balcony. It's cold out thar! |
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| Serious hike requires serious attitude. |
After a bit of a sleep-in, Ms. B. and I set out for one of our favorite breakfast destinations: Woodhaven Pancake House, just around the corner on Hwy 17. Now, this happy place offers 70-some different omelets, and I do love me an omelet on occasion; however, on my last visit, I had not just French toast but Paris toast, and this particular treat has its hooks in me. So, once again, I tore into Paris toast with a side of sausage links. C'est magnifique.
From there, Kimberly went to her sit-on-her-butt-all-day crafty thing while I sallied forth to Murrells Inlet and the Waccamaw Neck section of the East Coast Greenway. Before commencing the hike, I stopped off for a few hides scattered around Murrells Inlet, then parked at the trailhead for the approximately three-mile stretch of trail down toward Litchfield. Most of the caches were relatively easy to find; a scant few required more than a couple of minutes of hunting. None required any physical challenges beyond the hike itself. It started out mighty chilly, but by noon the temp started climbing. I grabbed all the caches on my outbound hike, so that on my return, I power walked the entire distance. Yes sir, as much as I love that Paris toast, I'm pretty sure my body will thank me for getting rid of as many of those nasty old calories as possible. I left a couple of handfuls scattered along the trail.
But, oh, I'm sure I regained a calorie or two at dinner. I hadn't been back from Murrells Inlet for very long when we turned around and headed back that way for dinner. Our choice tonight: Nance's Creek Front Restaurant, which was a regular dining stop for my family when we came to Myrtle just about every summer in the 70s, 80s, and 90s. I remember quite enjoying Nance's fare back then. And tonight, it was very good. Kimberly ordered sauteed scallops with baked potato and cole slaw. Very, very good little shellfish, those, although a few of them were a tad overcooked and on the tough side. Sadly, the kitchen had run out of fresh oysters on the half shell, so I settled for fried oysters, with baked potato and green beans. Good, not great. The dirty vodka martini hit the spot. Still in all, the food was a darn sight better than last night's Italian. Neither came close to our goodies at Dirty Don's from Thursday evening. Dirty Don's, once again, is the clear winner for this trip.
Now, at times, I feel compelled to indulge Ms. B.'s eccentricities. Like, sometimes—rarely, of course—she drinks wine. Last year, while she was doing her sitting-on-her-butt-artsy-craftsy-scrapbook-makey thingummy, I rather randomly decided to take her a glass of wine. I can safely say that I do such things because I love her dearly, and making her happy brings me joy. And I know she appreciates it. This evening, though, I get a text indicating her wine glass is empty. So, yes, I did slog down twelve floors (read push the elevator button) to take her some wine. The warmth of satisfaction I get from this service can no doubt be felt to the ends of the earth. (This is why, actually, the polar ice caps are melting.) However, this afternoon, after returning from a six-mile power hike, I get a request from the nice lady to hammer out the kinks in her back; this because she's been sitting on her butt all day. Now, while I might be happy to indulge Ms. B.'s eccentricities—and I am—I might suggest that she consider increasing my tips enough to put me into the next tax bracket. It seems only fair.
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| Bright but chilly morning at the beach |
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| Have you seen the bridge? Where's that confounded bridge? |
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| It's a swamp out there! By midday, the temp had risen sufficiently for the bugs to start stirring. |
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| A nice evening view from our balcony |
Last night, Ms. B. and I pulled a pretty late nighter (she insisted we sit up and drank wine once she came in from her activities), so we ended up sleeping in a bit later than we originally intended. Once marginally awake and alert, we packed everything up, checked out, and then went our respective ways for the next hour or so—she to her art, I to Surfside to grab a few more caches. I snagged four and spent quite a while looking for a newer, very tough one that eluded me.
We had lunch at Denny's (a place I probably haven't been to since I had hair), and then we hit the road for home. We did venture out a few intriguing country roads after a couple of caches, one of which I found, one of which I did not. All in all, it was a decent, uncomplicated trip back.
It sounds like Ms. B.'s future Myrtle Beach events will be at a different venue; nearby, though a bit pricier. And I've come perilously close to finding the majority of the geocaches at and around the beach. Holy cowz, who'd have thunk it? Hopefully, before the next one, somebody will repopulate the area with some new ones. Hopefully....
A lovely trip, it was. Although at times there were a good many people out and about, off-season at the beach is most definitely the best.
To close, here are a few photos of Ms. B.'s scrapbook pages she made this weekend. They're from our Europe trip back in the fall.
