Fucking Myrtle Beach, man. I was warned. The campground was a great radiating mass of RV's and tents in a dirt semi-circle orbiting the Ranger's Station/Gift Shop. Don't misunderstand, the people there were great, incredibly welcoming, but the place itself was just the sort of thing I had been trying to avoid. Still, I should have known, cruising down 17 with the bright lights of heavy tourism streaming through the windows of Thee Witch, what I was in for. I did, however, manage to capture my first glimpses of a beach sunrise and document it in my most fucking Motorhead moment of the trip thus far. I'll take it.