The next few hours are pretty blurry, as I attempt to sleep by leaning over into the area between the two back seats. Somewhere in the 6th morning
hour, as I sway semi-conscious, there is a loud thump at the windshield and Scott and Mike begin shouting. Something big has become lodged under our
windshield wiper and Mike wants to know what it is before we try to get rid of it. A bird? A frog? Maybe not a living thing at all, just a piece of
debris. Then something shifts and it suddenly becomes clear: it’s a bat. A fucking bat has landed on our windshield. By this time, almost a minute
later, we are all more than ready to turn on the wipers and get it off. I do not know its fate, and I doubt it was a happy one, but it’s skin was not
broken by the impact.

We arrive at Hilton Head around noon, with some driving assistance from Scott. This is one of the few times on the tour I have felt truly worn out,
but I’m glad we did it. This is a real posh place, where the three of us don’t fit in at all, but oh well. We rendezvous with Mike’s parents and
brother and hang out on the beach, reflecting proudly on how recently we were staring out at the Pacific Ocean. I spot a flying fish leaping several
feet out of the waves in front of us.

Mike is leaving the tour here to hang out with his family for a week, and after some discussion and a case of badly planned identity theft at a Super
8 Motel, Scott and I decide it’s in our best interest to take off for home now (about 3pm), so we can make the rest of our drive at our leisure
tomorrow.

On the way Scott and I start seeing billboards for a place that appears to be called “Pedro’s South of the Border.” The first one advertises that
it’s about 63 miles away. From that point on, we see a billboard at least every mile, counting them down, and all feature a different joke, and
appear to advertise a different business. A fireworks store, an amusement park, a mini-golf course, what the hell is this place? After about 80
billboards (sometimes there’s one on each side of the road), we have to find out.

It turns out it’s a combination of all the things advertised, as well as an ice cream store, and actually 2 fireworks stores, and a ‘beach’ store
featuring something advertised as a “great white shark!” It’s a hilarious place, but actually, kind of run down and depressing. I am saddened by the
selection of fireworks; it turns out the powerful stuff like M-80s has been banned for a long time, and now everything’s pretty much the same, and
quite weak. Also, the bathrooms are easily the most disgusting I’ve ever seen. About half of the stalls have notes on the door saying “PLEASE NEVER
OPEN THIS DOOR.” Judging by the stench, I think I’ll take that advice. So yes, Pedro’s South of the Border! Quite a place.

I torture Scott a bit on the drive because I’m suddenly intent on making contact with Jonah, former member of the zero effect who is now an intern at
the Pentagon. I have no phone number or address for him, only a name and a dim recollection of a satellite photo of his home, across the street from
the Library of Congress and the Supreme Court. So we make several stops unsuccessfully trying to find internet access on a Sunday night in
medium-sized towns of South and North Carolina. “I’m looking for a Kinko’s, is there one around here?” “Umm, is that a clothing store?” At one of
the stops I eat at a Checkers, which not only has good food but extremely friendly employees. We stop for the night outside Richmond, VA, still
planning to attempt to meet Jonah for lunch or something. Tomorrow, we go home.