After a rough Albemarle Sound crossing on Monday, it was time to take a break. The Sound was the worst water we've seen and it shook up my wife pretty good. We've spent two days in Coinjock, NC and we're leaving today. Maryna feels much better now and is eager to move on, too.

Coinjock Marina is quite a hospitable place, with nice people and delicious food. Even more, Coinjock is a town where we had a remarkable day.

Maryna and I have had precious little time to do anything but move the boat lately. She fell behind on deadlines for her green card paperwork and yesterday seemed like a good time to drop it all in the mail. The tiny town is just about 100 yards away, but across the canal. So we took the bikes down from topside and mounted up to ride a few miles and cross a 65-foot bridge over the Intracoastal Waterway.

It is important to note that Maryna is rather new to bicycle riding. I taught her in Miami but she's still a little wobbly. We were eager to get her papers filed, so she sucked it up and we headed out with the tall bridge in our sights.

Coinjock is an Indian word for mulberries, which used to be plentiful here. We rode past trailer park after trailer park and farm house after farm house as Maryna got her first close-up look at real America. Folks around Coinjock are pretty simple but live tidy lives. The trailers were old but nicely kept; the farm houses were small but the kids seemed to spend most their time outside. She commented that it reminded her of where she grew up in Ukraine - scrubby fields lined with tall trees and chicken coops fenced nearby paint-flecked barns.

People waved and smiled as we rode by and Maryna looked pretty content on the road. It struck me that I spent much of my youth in a place quite like this, too - Lima, Ohio. I spent a lot of time and energy running away from there.

We turned onto the bridge road and discovered it was actually a four-lane highway. As soon as we rolled toward the bridge a long procession of cars loomed behind us. I noticed all the car lights on and a hearse at the front of the line. As it passed slowly by, I could see a flag draped over the coffin inside. The first few cars were packed with young Marines and the Marine flag waved from the hood of a few vehicles. We stopped and I took off my silly hat to hold it over my heart. I could see the faces of the warrior's family as they rolled by. Tears streamed down the young girls' faces; the men looked somber but strong.

There must have been forty cars in the procession - this in a town with less than forty houses. I explained to Maryna what we were witnessing and she grew quiet.

The last car in the procession crawled up the steep hill to the bridge and we mounted our bikes again. I couldn't see much of a bike lane as the bridge climbed higher so we pulled over while still on the embankment to discuss what to do next. Should we ride and take our chances with her wobbly balance, walk the bikes across or return to the marina and borrow a car?

The traffic had slowed a bit and I noticed many passing vehicles were pickup trucks. Mind you, Maryna had asked me a few weeks ago why Americans drive pickups. I told her many use them for work, but around Miami many were driving them for fun. She couldn't understand why folks would drive a truck by choice - they were ugly and rather silly, by her measure.

Standing on that highway considering our options - and without telling Maryna why - I simply stuck out my thumb. The very first pickup pulled right over, driven by a young fellow returning from the beach. He invited us to load the bikes in the back and took us across the bridge. I thanked him for his help. He looked over and said "that's Southern hospitality, my man."

Maryna's first words since I hitched the ride: "That's cool!"

"Now do you see why some guys drive trucks?" I asked. "To help other people."

The look on her face said she understood completely.

We rode on into town, passing more trailers and farmhouses. Town was exactly one blinking stoplight, three gas stations and a barbeque joint. When we pulled up to the post office about the size of a chicken coop, we noticed it was closed for lunch. Returning to our bikes, a fellow standing outside the mini loading dock said he'd open up early for us. "I'm not doing anything but smoking a butt," he said. Minutes later, her paperwork was on its way to Chicago.

We decided to hit an ATM and get some lunch while we were out riding. As we passed the only barber shop, I decided to stop in and get trimmed up a bit after four weeks on the water. Inside was one chair and an older man watching network television. ("What do I need cable TV for?") He and I talked while his clippers hummed. Maryna just sat quietly. The topic roamed from weather to boating to politics, as we all know it does in local barber shops. He dusted me off and sent us along with a strong recommendation for the barbeque place. Outside, Maryna simply said "Cool!"

Now I don't have to tell you much about the North Carolina barbeque - it was out of this world. Maryna doesn't eat meat, so she just enjoyed a cool drink and a twice-baked potato. The folks inside were sweet as the tea and offered Maryna a tiny push pin to stick in their wall map to show where she's from. She was the third customer from Ukraine. When finished we rode off, me a bit rounder and her fully hydrated. For some reason, she insisted on crossing the bridge so we rode as far as we could and then walked the bikes across the high point. Safely across, we rode on back to the marina.

A ride through real America; a funeral of one of our heroes; a selfless hand from a man in a pickup; a smiling postal clerk opens early; a barber with strong opinions kindly put; a small town barbeque joint with real Southern hospitality. If there's a better way to spend the day taking your first steps toward citizenship in the United States of America, I can't think of one.

Maybe that's why we're on this trip: to teach Maryna more about our country and to remind me why I love it.

Thank you, Coinjock. We'll not forget you.