One
Day, far, far into the future (Outer Banks 3)
Susan and I left early for work last Friday so we could take a
half day off to drive to the Outer Banks of NC to start our bike tour. We drove the 7 miles to work through the six
stop lights without a single red light!
It was a perfect omen to start our trip, a trip that had been postponed
a week due to tropical storm Eduardo.
Now the 10 day weather forecast showed only a 20% or less chance of rain
for the week. You gotta
love those good omens.
The nine hour drive put us on
Two an a half hours later we are in Ocracoke. We pulled out our camera to take the
obligatory starting picture, and the “good omen” took another hit; the camera
battery was dead. OK. We'll stop and get a battery on our way
out. 20 minutes later we drop a new
battery in the camera and a little more shine gets knocked off the “good
omen”. The camera still doesn't work. It has a reset function that I can't
remember, and this information is safely stored in the manual back home. Now we have gone from having a really nice
35mm Cannon Rebel camera with a zoom lens, to carrying a big, bulky, heavy,
piece of stuff that only adds weight.
It's funny how the mind works in these situations. I actually thought about chunking the
camera. As the trip wore on that camera
symbolized all the things that drained our energy- you want your windbreaker
out of the pannier, move the camera; need your rain coat, it's under the camera;
want a snack, take the camera out. Is
everything packed? Uh ho, I forgot to
pack the damn camera! It's funny how
demonic a camera can look.
We rode out of Ocracoke and turned toward the
northeast. The wind blew in faces as it
has both times I have ridden this route.
We have 14 miles to ride to catch the next ferry to Cape Hatteras. The wind is strong, but we pedal on and catch the
11:30 ferry. 45 minutes later we
disembark. As we pedal away from the
ferry landing the road travels through the villages of Cape Hatteras,
Frisco and Buxton. It winds along
sheltered roads lined with stores and shops that block the wind. Only
occasionally does the wind gust through a snaggled
tooth gap in the buildings and trees to forewarn us of the struggle that lies
ahead. As we past the lighthouse we
again turn towards the northeast as we ride out of town, and this time we run
smack into 15 mph winds. For 6 miles we
grind away barely getting above 10 mph, but usually hovering around 9 mph, with
dips into the 8 and 7 mph range when a gust hammers at us. As we roll into Avon it's break time. The wind has taken a toll, and we spend 30
minutes just sitting. We have 14 more
miles of open riding.
The road is lined with sand dunes on each side and runs straight into the
horizon. It is a wind tunnel 14 miles
long and we slowly reel it in. It's here
the mind begins to focus on things of the moment: seat pain, food, how many
more miles your legs have in them. You
forget about your "real world" problems of office politics, social
commitments, and why can't you wear white shoes after Labor Day. Those kinds of things don't hold much sway
when all you want to do is fall on the ground and gulp air and let the fatigue
drain out of your body. Its here I have
to mention the one really dumb thing I did before this trip (there may be
others, but I'll leave that up to the reader).
Most regular bikers, as well as casual bikers, will agree that the bike saddle
is made without much thought given towards comfort. Well, for father’s day I received from my
daughters what is considered by bicycle tourist as the ultimate touring seat,
the "Brooks Saddle". It has
been everything it was advertised as, and more.
Seat pain on my single bike has become nonexistence. Now, my tandem has a pretty good saddle, but
not as good as my Brook so I decided to put the Brook on the tandem for this
tour. To make a long story short, the
Brook did not fit the tandem so I took it off, and put it back on my single,
and the tandem saddle back on the tandem,... I thought. Actually I put my old single saddle on my
tandem. This is the worse bike seat I
have every ridden on, and I now have a week of sitting on it ahead of me. My mood has now become decidedly darker.
By 6:00 we roll into the Wave Campground and pull up next to the picnic table. As we slowly remove the bike from our rear
ends we look in horror as our legs, and arms are covered with a mass of
mosquitoes. No slow relaxation now. We dance around beating at ourselves like we
are on fire, trying to find the Deep Woods Off.
Finally, after looking under the camera, we find it. We both spray ourselves so long that we are
drowning mosquitoes that make the mistake of going for one last bite. “Deet” has now
become my favorite cologne.
After Supper we dive into the tent, and hunt down, and kill the few mosquitoes
that came in with us. While lying in the
tent and shining a flashlight on the sides we make a frightening
discovery. The outside of the tent is covered
with a gillon mosquitoes. We feel like we are in some kind of twist on
the Alfred Hitchcock movie "The Birds", except these birds are
mosquitoes! You almost hear them cutting
through the fabric. Any minute I
expected the weight of them to flatten the tent. The tent held, and we finally drifted off to
sleep. Good thing it stayed up too, because our “good omen” finally gave up the
ghost about 3:00 AM that morning.
It started as just a drizzle, but it slowly built into a torrential down
pour. It was deafening. We were trying to sleep in a giant kettle
drum. Finally sleep was not an option.
We just lay there hoping we would not float away. Finally it began to slacken, and eventually
it stopped. We looked around for leaks
but our little tent had weathered the storm, and the skeeters.
The sun finally came up, and we walked on the beach as the morning heat dried
our tent. This is the one place the
mosquitoes can't get us; the wind is too strong. By 9:00 AM we are packed and ready to go,
only stopping to grab the forgotten camera, and stuff it into the pannier right
on top of our rain coats.
As we head to Pea Island the wind is a little stronger today. We feel as if we are on an exercise bike, and
the resistance as been cranked up a few notches. 12 miles later we pull into the Pea Island
Visitor Center for a much needed break.
The Oregon Inlet Bridge looms up ahead, and we both are dreading
it.
After riding the whole way with a three foot bike lane, it now runs out about a
mile from the inlet. The traffic is
zooming by as we pull onto the bridge. A
half mile run-up and we start to climb, and climb, and climb. At the top the view is spectacular, but we
don't hesitate to enjoy it. The wind is
dead in our face as we start down the other side, and we have to pedal to keep
rolling down the bridge. The line of
cars does not show much patience and we are glad to be able to pull over after
crossing the inlet. The chance to
standup is appreciated as well. A few
more miles, and we turn onto the Old Nags Head Road, and the traffic is almost
nonexistence. There is also a six foot
bike trail. The ride is now more relax,
and after a few breaks we pull into Nags Head just as the rain hits. After madly scrambling for the rain gear that
is of course under the camera, we ride a few more miles before stopping for
lunch. As we eat we make our plans for
the night. We had planned to camp, but I wisely decide we could use a
hotel. Especially as Susan claws at her
many skeeter bites and comments, "We aren't
camping tonight are we"? 32 years
has taught me some things.
The rain had stopped as we started for Kitty Hawk ten miles away. The wind still continued to howl though, and
it wasn't long before the rain started again.
We ducked into the opened carport of an empty beach house and began
pulling on our rain gear. With raincoats
on we pulled back into the wind, and painfully grind our way toward Kitty
Hawk. My mood is now black unless a
darker color comes along. See, the point
of my many bike journeys is always in getting there, not being there. But I'm tried of getting there. I want to be there. I want to be there now! Finally we are there.
At the hotel we heard the name Gustav for the first time. Huh?
What kind of name is Gustav? You
just can't take a subtropical storm named Gustav too seriously. Besides, we are in a hotel and we can be
cocky.
The next morning we talked to the desk about Gustav and find out the
"subtropical storm" is still coming our way, and is now considered a
full blown nor'eastener. Hell, I could have told them that. Susan and I had been riding northeast for two
days against it. This changes our
plans. We decide we would keep the room
for another night, and ride the 21 miles to Corolla, our next destination,
without our trailer and panniers. We
would spend the day, and ride back to the hotel with the wind to our backs.
Great idea! Wrong. The wind has now picked up to a sustained 25
mph, and even without the trailer we couldn't push through it. After a few miles we change plans again.
We ride back and cancel our room, and load up the bike. We have decided to make a mad dash for Cape Hatteras in hopes of making it to Ocracoke. Its 76 miles to Cape Hatteras,
but we have those 25 mph winds at our back.
We start a little shakey as we ride into wind
a few blocks before we can turn toward the southwest and Cape Hatteras. Now we
feel the power of riding a tandem. With
the wind at our backs we fly along at 20 mph!
At times we hit 22 mph as we zoom through Nags Head toward the Oregon
Inlet Bridge. In no time we are rolling
onto the bridge. It is here the rain
begins. It is a light mist as we climb
to the top, and it slowly turns into a drizzle as we reach the peak. As the bridge curves across the inlet the
gale has become a cross wind that cause us to wobble and weave as we fight to
stay upright. It is very frightening
with traffic on our left, and a drop off of hundreds of feet down on our
right. It's now I decide to just take
the lane, and ride in the middle as we drop down the other side of the
bridge. The cars will just have to wait.
The drizzle has now turned into a
downpour as we roll off the bridge and pull over to put on rain gear. I snatch the camera out of the way and pull
on my raincoat as the downpour turns into a torrential rain. Three miles later we pull into the Pea Island
visitor center.
We walk to the door, and notice rangers inside but there is a close sign on the
door. They let us in, and tell us that
they are shutting down because of emergency evacuation orders. Huh?
It seems ole Gustav has now gone tropical on us, and it is heading
straight for Hatteras. We are on a bike, and it's shorter to keep
going than to turn back, so we decide Avon would be our next goal. It's almost halfway between us, and Cape Hatteras 50 miles away.
The rain has stopped now, and the sun is out, and we strip off the
raincoats. We establish a rhythm as we
ride. We pedal a 70-80 rpm cadence that
pushes us to about 22 mph until we pass a mile marker. We then stop pedaling, and stand in the
pedals, and take a butt break while the bike coast down to about 16 mph. Then we start cranking again. 25 miles with 25 butt breaks. With the tail wind the markers fly by, and
soon we stop in Avon for lunch. We have
been rained on again, and again the sun is out as the rain squalls swing by about
every 45 minutes or so. After a couple
of hotdogs, those really red ones, with some onions and greasy chilly, we are
standing by the bike. We are both
reluctant to climb back on those seats, but the storm forces us on. We have
given up trying to make Ocracoke, and have set the
ferry landing in Cape Hatteras as our distinction.
Six and a half hours after we started we pulled into the Holiday Inn at the
Cape Hatteras ferry landing. With the wind howling as we slam the door
behind us, we walked to the desk. The
hotel, that was booked just yesterday, now only has thirteen guests, and we
quickly get a room. The last three days
have been hell, but things were about to start going down hill fast.
We walked to restaurant next door and find that it is closed because of the
storm, as is the pizza place. We just
make it to a deli that is closing, but they agree to make us some
sandwiches. We bought two big bags of
chips and a couple of cokes, and walk through the rain back to our room. We eat our sandwiches and watch the weather
channel. Gustav was coming and would hit
in the morning. So much for catching the
first ferry out. Also another worry has
crept into our minds; our truck is parked at Cedar Island right on the point
with water on three sides. Cedar Island
is in the path of Gustav. Gustav is not
sounding like such a wimp now.
We wake to sunny skies and wonder where the heck Gustav is. We pack up and head to the lobby for a
continental breakfast, and a checkout.
It's here we find that Gustav is just a little late, but is still
heading our way, and the ferries have all been shut down and secured for the
storm. We keep our room, but are told we
would be moved to the second floor if the water continued to rise. While the sun is shining we walked to the
convenient store next door only to find it closed. A quick check of all the places to eat around
us finds them all closed as well. Surely
they will opened by lunch, or supper at the latest.
Around 11:30 the power, that has been flicking on and off all morning, finally
gives it up, and stays off for good. We
do have one light that works off of hotel generators, but no air conditioning
or TV. Now I'm worried. I can live without TV, I can make it without
the AC even, but no power means no food! Our last hot meal was Sunday night, and it's
Tuesday noon and I want something to eat!
I've been eating Doritas all morning mingled
with M&Ms, and Lances crackers and I'm starving for real food, like pizza,
cheeseburgers, or fried chicken. I can't
even get anymore junk food. The vending
machines run on electricity. Now I'm
scared. What if it doesn't come back on,
and we don't get supper. I thought the
low country, coastal people were suppose to be a hardy, robust lot. You know, damn the torpedoes, full speed a
head. They are letting a storm named
Gustav kick their butts. Gustav. What kind of foreign name is that? Where was their patriotism for goodness
sake? With no food and no TV this was
going to be a long day, but fortunately I brought a book with me. Susan, on the other hand, with no book, was
starring into the blank TV, and was probably not having a lot of fun about
then.
By 3:00 Susan was reading the menus from restaurants listed in the yellow
pages. We had already had a wrestling
match over an M&M that had rolled under the night stand, and the power was
still off. The wind and rain had only
gotten stronger, so the chances of the power coming back on anytime soon were
diminishing. 5:00, 6:00, 7:00 rolled
past, and still no power. We are reduced
to licking the dorita dust off of our fingers as we
wiped the bags down for flakes of chips.
At 9:00 the power is on, and we are up and running for the vending
machines. Soaking wet from the blowing
rain we pile back into the room with packs of crackers, M&Ms, gummy bears,
and cheese popcorn. We have a virtual
cornucopia of junk food. Any weight we
have lost the past three days riding we are putting back on squared! With our stomachs full we now turn on the
TV. The cable is still out. We both just stare at the white snow on the
screen, and listen to the static. It’s
been a long day.
The next morning the weather breaks beautiful!
The wind is down, and the sun is shining, and white fluffy clouds race
high in the sky. A quick check with ferry
and our hopes of leaving early are dashed.
Ocracoke Island went under water during the
storm, and the roads are cover with sand and water. There was heavy equipment on the island now
scrapping the roads. Finally at 9:00 we
boarded, and by 10:00 we are rolling off the ferry. We rode through water a few inches deep for a
few miles. The holes in the sand dunes
where the ocean broke through could be seen in numerous places. It was fourteen miles to Ocracoke,
and we rode through water about half the time.
The wind had also changed as we now got the backside of Gustav. It blew from the Southwest. It wasn't bad, but it added its weight to the
water, and sand that we rode our loaded tandem through. It was down this stretch of road that we also
broke our second spoke of the trip.
Changing a spoke and truing the wheel is a little tedious while on the road at
the best of times, but with the mosquitoes chewing on you it takes it to a
whole new level. And when a little old
man comes over, and starts giving me advice it is almost more than I can
take. Thirty minutes of swatting
mosquitoes, and smiling like some kind of maniacal Cheshire cat while being
lectured on how wheels were trued in the 1920's by a guy that was old in the
1920’s, we are finally flipping the bike back over and pedaling on our
way. It's now that Susan decides to come
up with a game to take our mind off the skeeter
bites, the wind, the water, the spokes, no food, and our truck. She wants us to try and name all of our old
grammar school teachers. I learned long ago not to say any of the things you
think in your head when you’re exhausted.
She may not like the silent treatment, but it is because I love her that
I clench my teeth and pedal on. We
finally round a bend and ride into the village of Ocracoke. The plan is to get a ferry ticket for the 2.5
hour trip to Cedar Island, and then eat, but the ferry is leaving in fifteen
minutes, and the next one won't leave for 3 hours. Susan wants to catch this ferry so lunch has
to wait. It's now Wednesday noon.
As we sit on the ferry we can’t help but worry about our
truck. We were told at the ticket office
that Cedar Island was at the same sea level as Ocracoke,
and we could expect the same amount of flooding. I also had left a side vent window open to
help ventilate the truck for the week we were suppose to be away. Susan was against me leaving it open, and now
takes very opportunity to remind me as we sailed toward Cedar Island. As the ferry docks we stand by our bike,
nervously waiting for the cars to unload.
We push the bike off the ferry and climbed on for the short ride to
where our truck awaits us. It is with
great relief that we spot our little truck sitting where we left it with no
outward signs of trouble. Reluctantly I
open the door on the side with the open window and expect to see water roll
out, but I am happily surprised to see none.
It seemed our “good Omen” did have one little piece of luck for us that
it saved for the end, and it was much appreciated. We loaded up, and started driving to Beaufort
to find a room for the night, and a meal.
It was now 3:30 Wednesday.
We made it to the Cedars B&B and got a room. After a quick shower we headed for the Blue
Moon Bistro. It is 5 PM Wednesday. As we sat there enjoying our meal with
appetizers, entrées, dessert, and copious amounts of bread and ice tea, I could
not help but think how one day, far far into the
future, this will probably be hilarious.