Tybee's tides are remarkably low, so from mid-afternoon until sunset there's at least 50 feet of packed sand to play on. We borrow two cruiser bikes, and Nick gives us 10 minutes of pointers. The Basta family runs the Georgianne Inn, three houses in from the beach, and the adult son Nick is our enthusiastic host. Georgia's most developed island feels kind of like Atlantic City meets Coney Island-a little shabby, but that shabbiness often translates to a retro charm.
I pocket a chocolate-chip cookie for the 18-mile drive to Tybee. Matthews Bakery it's a delicious approximation of a spicy falafel. We make do with a black-eyed-pea sandwich at B. Our first attempt at finding barbecue is unsuccessful. We have to go through town to get to our evening's destination, Tybee Island, so our plan is to park, fortify with some food, and get on our way. Tourists cluster in the middle of the street to peer at the impeccably restored 18th- and 19th-century houses. Tour buses slowly crawl around historic squares. Georgia's First City, as Savannah declares itself, is architecturally awesome-and maddening for drivers. My husband, Michael, and I land in Savannah around lunchtime.
