A Beautiful Day for a Drive along the Graveyard of the Atlantic

view from my room at the waterside inn
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I don’t mind beginning this entry with my corrections for the previous entry, because today was that great of a day. Onancock is neither the birthplace of Blackbeard, nor a very interesting town for that matter. I was thinking of Ocracoke, which is where I am now.

Blackbeard, well, who knows where he was born, but my travel companion (book) tells me that he hid out on Ocracoke Island, where he was actually stabbed over twenty times and beheaded in 1718.

Disclaimers aside, I had not only a very pleasant traveling day, but an eye-opening and productive one. I work best chronologically, so let’s start at the beginning.

bridge part of the bridge/tunnel
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Last night I stayed at the Waterside Inn, which was disappointingly impersonal (which doesn’t mean impersonal, I was in Virginia after all) but as I drive along this route of mine I find that most places I had developed an interest in are closed for the season. This does benefit me to a certain extent, however, and I’ll get to that later. Thank you to the people who were home and answered the phone, our conversations improved my evening. I’m discovering how I can spend a little extra money on my nightly accommodations and make myself feel better by not eating most meals. For instance, today I breakfasted on free coffee, bought a danish in Onancock (57 cents), and feasted on carrots for lunch, which I did for dinner last night. For the first time that I can remember I am more consumed by my need to explore and write to you all than to plan and eat my meals. That’s huge! But I digress.

bridge too
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I awoke very early in attempts to avoid the storm systems that are covering this half of the country. On the rainy road by 8:30 I was in rather good spirits. First of all, I am happy in the rain. (I know, I’m happy all the time. It’s true.) Secondly, there is no better thing to do on a rainy day than drive (although I also greatly appreciate the afternoons spent curled up in blankets watching mindless films with dear friends) because you get to tick off the miles and not feel guilty for this particular choice of travel, that some would deem dishonorable. I have a guilt complex after working at the Mountain Goat- if I’m not exerting all the stored energy in my body as either a mode of travel or activity, than I am wasting my time. As my writing reveals, I am winning the battle over guilt. Don't get me started on guilt, I seriously just deleted a whole paragraph of impassioned argument. I’m sure Jesus didn’t mean to leave so much guilt behind. Maybe he’ll right that when he returns. I read “I’m going to come again! -Jesus” on a church sign today. OK, many digressions today, sorry.

Roanoke Historical Marker
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So I drove from Chincoteague - I didn’t see any wild horses of those marvelous books, the weather must have been too nasty for them - down Assateague Island as promised, and noticed that I was outrunning the bad weather. I stopped in Onancock and was baffled to see no attempts at Pirate-related tourism, and became especially disappointed when nothing was open except for the Corner Bakery (remember that I breakfasted on coffee? Yeah, I was considering which empty bottle to use before I found a Soda Fountain Pharmacy that had a restroom down the road in Cape Charles). It’s as though these states don’t want me buying crappy postcards or souvenir spatulas! Soon I will be in perpetual Primavera and everywhere will be open- I’m thinking Charleston by Thursday. So after I dawdled around Onancock, there on the way out of town was the Ker Family Museum. An old dugout canoe was on display, showing the breadth and length of the riverfaring vessel used to accommodate up to four sleepy colonists. I peeked inside the gift shop where tours were supposed to gather, and happened upon a little sign that said one was in progress, please wait until the completion of that hour for the next. Two ladies did not attempt to keep their voices down from the stairwell, but were most certainly not leading any official tour. After a quick survey of the shop’s offerings- I was tempted to purchase “George Washington's Rules of Civility & Decent Behavior in Company and Conversation”- I snuck out the door.

roanoke 'wilderness'
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Just a jaunt after Cape Charles I'm at the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel that shoots me over and under for twenty miles back to the mainland. Now this is quite an engineering feat. Most of the passing is above the water on a very simple bridge, but from time to time the road ducks under the water for a spell. Which was less romantic than I had hoped. I had been picturing a pool at one of those tropical resorts that's filled so it looks like it connects to the ocean. But instead of me driving into basically a Sea-World tube (which is honestly what I wanted), the set-up was much safer and more concrete-constructed.

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The sun was poking out but truly emerged once in North Carolina. My next detour was the plan to see Roanoke and discover the abandoned settlement for myself, and take a picture of the notorious 'Croaton'-engraved post, but was disappointed that most of the seashore had been developed into million-dollar properties. However the historical site and surrounding forest was preserved, and so I drove to the site for a nice stroll in the woods, reading the random learnings on commemorative monoliths. After walking about in the forest I braved the visitor's center, wary from my recent Bill Bryson addiction and his reviews of most American visitor's centers. A nice ranger was incredibly excited to see me and be able to offer a private viewing of their 17 minute movie about the island and its first colonies. I declined, much to his disappointment, but he must have been happy when I went to the museum because most of that were stills from the movie, a very cute reenactment. I checked out the gift shop, run by a surprisingly unenthused lady who snarled complaints at her register as I poked around. When it comes down to, I am rather delighted to report that I "had a pee and a look around," as Bryson says all people do at such places.

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I left Roanoke Island and continued south to my most favorite drive yet on this adventure: the Cape Hatteras protected sea shore. There are three islands lined up with either a bridge or free ferry connecting them, and mostly they are completely preserved. When there was a teeny town, it was mostly deserted, as I imagine the Midgett family, who somehow owns almost every property along the banks, was out of town. I drove along at my fuel-efficient pace and watched the dunes roll to my left, catching glimpses of the ocean (I stopped and collected a shell, you can see the pictures), and a brush-fire on my right, contained (started?) by some fire 'fighters'. The views and the wind and the weather were perfect. I could smell that musky Atlantic saltiness, watch the empty waves, and barely move the steering wheel. I felt utterly alone and it was grand.

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There are two major resources along this strip: seafood and wind. The latter not only dumps literally acres of sand onto little route 12 every storm, which I suppose provides nice labor opportunities to the bored locals, but also provides loft to the kite industry. The kite industry is huge! I was tempted to go hang-gliding but the offices were, of course, closed for the season. Which brings me back full circle to my discussion on the pros and cons of traveling during the off-season. Now, some of you are probably wondering why I'm not camping out every night, because the campgrounds are actually open. May I remind you though, the difference in sprawl between the east and west in this country, and the strange phenomenon of the KOA monopoly. Every time I see that nice little tent icon on a brown sign I think maybe tonight is my night, but then I see "KOA Kampground" followed by the paved RV septic stations, which is all there is. So, I am very excited to start camping, but in the mean time, here's a little bonus of being the only tourist in town. Nobody needs any money.

Fragile earthen mounds
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I have been generously accommodated the last few nights because nobody really cares what they charge me, and I'm nice, I hope that has something to do with it, so they give me luxury suites for the price of a room.

When I drove into Ocracoke, off the ferry, I had just found out that I was stranded on the island. I had taken the 4 o'clock ferry in, and the last one to leave, left at 4pm. I found the Island Inn, which my travel companion (book) told me was open year-round, and Tom (all my hosts will be named Tom, in honor of the first, unless I remember their real name) was saddened to tell me that for his lowest price I'll have to deal with having a whole luxury villa to myself. Darn. I wasn't quite feeling the culture after having read many red white and blue W2004 stickers on the ferry, so I feigned disappointment, took the key, logged onto his weak internet signal, and made myself some spaghetti. I even did laundry. And took a jacuzzi. My life is so hard. Unfortunately there wasn't much local charm when the locals are all wintering up in Maine or somewhere. But I did try, I ate at the local joint for breakfast, experienced my first real southern charm, and explored their lighthouse, of which they are very proud, it being the second oldest operable in the country. Oh, and the local cemetery. The same families occupy the graves for centuries back. The Wahabs were there in the beginning of the 19th and they're still around and dying to this day.

dunes on one side...
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On my way south to Hartsville, I was in a particularly pleased mood. When I saw a pirate and a confederate flag fluttering in the wind on an old maple leaning over a river, I knew I was in the South, but I was ready.