Tales from the Christensen Cruiser

The next day, after regrouping at the Motel 6 in Elkton, Maryland, I got rolling again, heading towards the Southeast corner of Delaware. I had barely gotten started when I saw a Midas shop. I thought it might be nice to have the pros do the job, the guys in Buffalo not withstanding. I stopped and they couldn’t have been nicer or more professional. The truck hasn’t sounded so good in years. They were great and renewed my faith in Midas. After getting that taken care of, I headed down the road towards what looked like it might be some rural fishing village or something, planning on doing my alternator swap in a remote campground somewhere. What I picked on the map was the little hamlet of Rehoboth Beach. When I got there it was late and I pulled in to the town and it was just the opposite of what I thought – it was more like some sort of Coney Island sort of thing. Boardwalk along the beach, lifeguards, lots of restaurants and shops – a total east coast beach town experience. So I head for the campground that I saw on the map and pull in to it and it is like a large subdivision of motor homes, stacked in there like cordwood. They w. It was now eight at night, dark, and I was beat. I drove back in to town and drove around trying to figure where to go. There wasn’t a parking place to be had, so I kept driving around the main downtown. I then saw someone pull out of the perfect parking place and I snagged it. A parallel space with no meter, the city having just removed the meters that week. Perfect. Not the camping place I was imagining, but a road trip requires one to be flexible. So I end up pumping up the camper, putting the paddleboard under the rig, and hoping for the best as far as the local constabulary goes.

There was a nice restaurant about twenty feet away, so I had a nice dinner, and went back to the camper for a minute or two and went for a short walk. There was a trio of wild women, one of whom was dancing and calling after someone – I didn’t think me, but it turns out it was me they were calling over. Turns out it was a group of friends who had been coming to this town for a number of years for a girls weekend. All of them were married, so we just had a great time hanging out in the bar of the hotel they were staying at, which was even closer to the rig. I didn’t have to crawl home, but I could have, if it had been required.

The next day, I rented a bike for the day and did the beach. There happened to be a beach cleanup that morning, so I got a bag and rode as far as I could and went to work. I found a few treasures (“Billy’s” plastic dump truck was my favorite thing), and turned in my stuff and went on my way. I then got the requisite trashy beachy magazines, a towel, and a folding chair I had in the rig and went and did a real east coasty beach afternoon. I lay in the sun, went swimming in the seventy degree water and read my mags. It was great. People were actually talking about how cold the water was. Sheesh – they should sample a bit of Puget Sound if they want to know what cold water really feels like.  The whole experience was totally what I was not expecting, and was fabulous. Families, couples, kids, beach babes; a guy couldn’t ask for much more. The cops didn’t bother me, it being just past the season, and I ended up in a far superior spot than way out of town with herds of Winnebagos. Nice.

Having been turned away from the tunnel in Manhattan, I looked up the rules for propane for the Chesapeake Bay Bridge/Tunnel from Cape Charles to Norfolk, Virginia and any way I sliced it I had too much propane to be legal, so I headed for the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, where I could legally cross.  (I know. I know. Two bridges, same name but for the tunnel part – a bit confusing.)

I went by Annapolis and skirted by D.C. to the South to get to 95 and head south. I stopped in Richmond to have a little lunch. It was good, but my advice to you would be to skip the lobster roll in Richmond. At least that’s my guess as to why I felt poorly for a day or two. I then drove for the Cape Hatteras National Seashore. I got there in time to visit the Wright Brothers monument and see where they made their first powered flight. Very cool for me. On my first cross country trip with the family in 1962, we stopped at the Smithsonian and in the old building, which was a total jumble of stuff sandwiched in there, hanging from the rafters were both the original Wright Flyer and the Spirit of Saint Louis. Even at eight years old, it was a total thrill for me to see both those planes as I had read the Landmark book on both stories.  Fifty-two years later, being where they actually flew for the first time was a special thing for me. I got there just in time to hear most of the talk by the ranger, with the full scale, flyable replica in front of him. It was really a treat for me. I then headed south to Cape Hatteras…

 I got to the Frisco campground near the cape and stayed for two nights and had a great time – the weather was fabulous and the beach nice. There is a boardwalk out to the beach to protect the dunes, which made hauling the paddleboard a bit easier. There were surfboards everywhere in the campground, and after I talked with some of the folks camping I learned it was about as good a spot as there is on the East coast. Unfortunately it was flat. I paddled out and messed around some. I didn’t get any of the small waves I tried for, but had a great paddle and swim. As I was getting ready to get rolling, a couple walked by and the guy said, “Gee. You came all the way across the country to go to the beach.” I guess that just about sums it up. Beaches. I love them.

 The next day I got up and headed to the southern end of the cape, and took the free ferry to Okracoke Island. I stopped to take a look at the local ponies, or “banker” horses, which I believe were stranded on the island after some Spanish shipwreck in the 16^th or 17^th century. They are different physically from other horses – they have a different number of vertebrae and ribs as well as a distinct shape, posture, color, size, and weight that sets them apart from others. I then got on the ferry at the southern end of the island and got to go on a two-hour ferry ride to Cedar Island and drove as far south as Surf City. Yup. There really is such a place, and it’s in South Carolina. I never did find out if there were two girls for every boy, as I got there late and collapsed.

Next day it was off to Charleston. I got in towards dusk and found a nice place to stay in the old part of town. The Vendue Inn is the name of the place, and it is very nice, and far from the accommodations in the Christensen Cruiser. It has a nice bed, a TV, a paper under the door, the whole works. They had bicycles to loan, so I was up at dawn, borrowed one and rode around the old part of the city. As I had heard, it is both a beautiful and totally charming city. The city is below sea level, which is a dangerous thing these days. I hope the hurricanes miss it for a while. The old houses all have storm shutters that actually work, so it’s pretty obvious that the locals can handle a storm. It was a great bike ride. Onward to Florida!