Discoveries are awesome, especially the accidental ones. We needed a long ride under Spanish Moss laden Live Oaks, so spent an afternoon riding to Hilton Head Island. The ride was the destination, per se, but along the way we ran into a tiny town called Bluffton. This was due to an overwhelming inability to follow a GPS through a traffic circle, but not the point. This little cutey goes on my list as another Norman Rockwell antecdote; a small town with charm, smiles, blooming jasmine, shopping, food and organic carrots. We stop at a couple beautiful shops, peak our heads in a couple retailers too rich for our blood, and end up reading a yacht magazine over a cup of salted caramel espresso (served in a real mug, thank you very much….screw you Starbucks) I ordered avocado toast with fruit, people watched, looked at realtor signs, bought some shoes (I never buy shoes) and had a basically beautiful 70 degree sunny day in the low country. If Pat Conroy was still alive, he would have been there, along with any other notable southern writer. This is a town where people don’t rush. They aren’t sappy friendly, but certainly not cold. They give you space, but not too much. It’s not touristy, in the sense, that you feel crowded. It’s small town special….American flags, picket fences, a summer ballpark just waiting for the “just cut grass” smell and a whole bunch of kids in matching uniforms. I love these little hamlets. They remind me of my own small hometown……the place where I learned I wasn’t the best pitcher, and I learned the boy I liked preferred our third baseman, I got ice cream if I lost, and life was safe, simple, small.