After saying goodbye to Dia when she left for work around 7:40 or so, we slept in a little bit, and ended up leaving around 12:19 Eastern time. The traffic leaving the barrier island was pretty bad, and came quickly to a halt. As traffic slunk along, we nervously eyed the fuel gage as it sunk lower and lower. Luckily we were able to refuel when traffic returned to a more bearable pace. After driving into Virginia for awhile, it came time to refuel again. We stopped at a gas station in the middle of nowhere, and inside this lonely station was a genuine “mountain man.” He had about four teeth, was dressed rather modestly, and he was drinking Diet Coke out of a can while babbling something to the cashier, who seemed to be able to understand him just fine. To us, however, it sounded like absolute nonsense. I managed to suppress my laughter and confusion as I paid, and we left quickly. The rest of the trip to West Virginia managed to pass without incident, however once we crossed the state lines it was a whole new experience. First let me interject that I had no previous prejudice against the state of West Virginia, and that all of what I am about to write is true to the fullest extent. Due to the insanely twisty roads leading to Charelston, we arrived around 10:30 pm. Tired from our journey, and ready to get some sleep, we headed to the nearest cluster of hotels. It’s surprising how much fun one can have in a mad scavanger hunt for a place to stay. First we stopped at the Knight’s Inn, but they only had the Honeymoon Suite left. Next we headed to Motel 6, and after waiting in line we were rudely told that only persons over the age of 21 were allowed to have rooms. With fury I inquired of the insolent clerk, “Is that a state law?” “It’s our law,” he rudely replied. After assuring him that I would never return after the age of 21, we left. Our next step was the Days Inn, but alas—they only had a Jacuzzi suite as well. Sean and I then proceeded to drive around the befouled city of Charleston, looking for a suitable place of lodging. Wow! What idiot planned these streets? The only sure way we had of getting to where we wanted to be, was by driving in the opposite direction. There was a large Holiday Inn on the other side of some river, however the bridge to cross it was above us. In an effort to gain access to said bridge, we turned uphill. Ha! This only lead us up insane 45 degree slopes with more crazy turns. Before long we were well above the bridge, and the city. By now we were getting low on fuel zyban for smoking. Somehow we managed to find a 7-11, and we were able to refuel. After we secured a full tank of gas, we headed up the street to a hospital-affiliated motel. Well, they were completely full, and after talking to the clerk we learned that they only accepted those over the age of 21. Despite this setback, the kindly old clerk told us how to find the Ramada Plaza Hotel, which she seemed to think was our best shot. Sean and I pulled up in front of the Ramada at about 11:45 pm, and headed inside. To our luck, we were granted a nice room for only $69 with my AAA discount. At this fine establishment, age was not an issue. As I was completing the check-in process a couple of exotic birds screeched in the background. As we walked back out to Blue Steel to retrieve our bags, several prostitutes were being escorted out by Charleston Police, one of whom winked at Sean. Finally, at close to midnight, we were in our room. After ordering a pizza we slept very soundly.