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May 16, 2005
Outer Banks, Outer Limits
KILL DEVIL HILLS, NC -- May 16
And is there any better one-two-three punch of beach town names in America than Nags Head, Kill Devil Hills, and Kitty Hawk? These three districts comprise the veritable "top" of the Outer Banks, where I decided to lay anchor for the night in leiu of straining myself to get to Virginia Beach. All told, it was an inspired idea as I got to stay in my first oceanfront property of the trip, enjoy by far the best seafood meal, and ensure I'd have a warm and cozy place to watch 24 and surf the internet for the next day's adventures.
But the most striking feature of the day was surely the brief swath of pouring rain, my first of the trip. It took 17 days for Mother Nature to get her revenge for this uncanny good luck, but she had it in spades by the time I exited the first ferry to North Carolina's Ocracoke Island around noon in a torrent. Still, her wrath would be quick and over with by the time I left the second and final ferry to the Hatteras "main land" of the Outer Banks.
The morning did not betray this eventual tryst. There had been dawn showers, but by the time of my 10:30 departure the sun was out and the sky was blue. First I had to figure out breakfast. With a tight schedule to adhere to in order to make the first and most important ferry leap onto the Outer Banks (if I missed the noon one, the next would not be until 2:30 pm), I once again opted for the hotel's offerings just to get on the road. Little was I prepared for what may well be the quirkiest breakfast on my trip.
Most hotels are content to put out a smattering of stale bread, sealpack jellies, and a self-serve toaster oven. What the Buccanneer Inn lacked in an actual kitchen and waitstaff (in order to adhere to the "hotel continental breakfast" tradition), it made up for with one of the strangest dining rooms I've seen. Amidst tacky carpeting, bare folding banquet tables, mismatched wallpaper, and those tapering padded chairs in most halls -- none of which matched -- the tables lining the edges of the room featured an odd spread.
On one table was a chafing dish filled with white sausage gravy and a plate of biscuits. On another was the inevitable industrial coffee maker. Still another table sported a self-serve old style belgian waffle iron with plastic cups full of batter rations -- 3 queued up: two 'regular', one blueberry. Another had a french toast server heated by sterno tin. A sign hung up saying "Ask your host about cheese omelets". Doting upon all of this, and any guest who dared venture in for breakfast, was an ancient yet cheerful old lady who was eager to make omelets, waffles, and make sure everyone tried the gravy.
Despite the frozen-food nature of the setup, it was all surprisingly good. I helped myself to an omelet (which was perfectly shape as though made in a microwave omelet shell as seen on TV), two biscuits, gravy, and a waffle amidst a few cups of coffee until I was satisfied I wouldn't go hungry on the multi-ferry run of the trip. Then it was time to finish loading Diana and check out.
It is actually 37 miles from Morehead City to the tip of Cedar Island, where the first ferry station is located. With plenty of time before noon, this gave me a leisurely ride through an intriguing combination of swampland, woods, and the occasional farm. As you get closer to the ferry docks, it almost feels like you're headed towards a dead-end street in an old neighborhood. There are no businesses or commercial districts, and the area immediately adjacent to the docks is full of small residential houses surrounded by deep woodlands.
When I finally got to the gates, the attendant had my reservation and waved me towards "lane 1" which was already occupied by 8 bikes -- mostly gigantic touring behemoths, with a few leaner Harley sportster/fatboys and a Suzuki SV thrown in for good measure. Loading was to commence in 10 minutes, giving us enough time to mingle and stare at each other's vehicles. I soon gathered that the 3 touring bikes -- massive boats sporting matching trailers and each fully color coded in red, white, and (turquoise) blue -- were 3 couples traveling together from Arkansas. The other batch of bikes belonged to a group of guys from Ohio.
As the last biker to show up, I ended up with the parking spot precariously close to the stern of the ferry's deck, with only an orange safety net and a few feet of riveted metal platform between Diana and the churning wake behind us. The going soon proved stable, even with the sky rapidly graying above us. With 2 hours of sea travel ahead, I set off to explore the ferry decks. Not being a full-size job like some of the larger ferry operations up north, the passenger lounge was rather small and sparse with a few vending machines, and an upstairs open deck leading to the restricted-access bridge where the crew did their thing. One of the passengers amused herself by feeding the many gulls who enthusiastically follow the ferry from port to port, giving me my best "bird in motion" shots of the trip.
Near the final half hour of the pleasant trip, the gray skies became even darker and it began to drizzle. This was it, then. The first significant rain of the trip, and the last few blotches of precipitation hinted at by the forecast that we had to get around. A ferry ride with 20 minutes to go is a much better environment for putting the rain gear on than the side of a busy road, and as I began to unload the heretofore-unused suit from the heretofore-unopened bottom compartment I was soon joined by the red, white, and blue couples with their touring monsters. I was disappointed that they didn't have matching rainsuits in those colors as well.
By the time the ferry docked at its destination port on Ocracoke island, it was downright pouring. By this point on the return trip Diana seemed to be having a hard time getting warmed up, and the rain compounded this situation forcing me to apply extra choke just to get her into first gear enough to decamp the ferry. As the last one on, I was the last one out in our queue of motorcycles.
Ocracoke Island is the southernmost portion of the Outer Banks, and pretty much is shaped like a 14 mile twig with this ferry port and a small fishing village at one end, the ferry to Hatteras at the other, and nothing but dunes and beach on either side of the highway in between. As we filed out of the ferry parking lot, I figured it would be merely one sparsely traveled road with no intersections for the length of that highway. I equally figured we'd have a nice moto-caravan to the next ferry and get north of this rain as soon as possible. That was when I saw every single tail light turn signal in front of me start flashing right, and every single bike pull into the first viable restaurant bar. Wusses.
That left me to push ahead solo for the Hatteras Ferry. Instinct would prove to be the best option as, despite enduring a constant barrage of rain the entire way, it was easy to hold 50 mph without feeling too slippery or unsafe. I only passed (or got passed by) about 5 cars the entire way before arriving at the Hatteras ferry queue where I was the only bike. This gave me a priority over the long line of cars, despite the fact I'd be loaded last. After all, they can always fit one bike anywhere. As the ferry began boarding, the rain finally began to subside, and I saw the sportier gang of bikers from the previous boat up at the last second before being held back for the next ferry. Oh well.
The second ferry ride was much shorter at just under an hour, and by the time it docked at Hatteras, the rain had subsided back into wet gray clouds. I topped off at the adjacent gas station, and soon had 60-odd miles of beautiful cloudy open road in front of me with few diversions. Despite being an island unto itself, Hatteras is connected with the "main" portion of the Outer Banks by a 2 mile long bridge, meaning no more ferries for the day. By the time I arrived at the more congested Nags Head / Kill Devil Hills area, the sun was finally poking out and my rain gear had completely dried.
I made directly for a little store called the Good Life Gourmet, which was listed in the wififreespot.com directory. The place billed itself as a combination coffee shop, deli, bakery, and wine bar, and did not disappoint in any of the categories. It very much reminded me of the Collegetown Bakery chain up in Ithaca. Within no time I was happily surfing online to book tonight's hotel room, with the priority of getting a place with wireless access as well. It took a few tries, but the nearby Comfort Inn had what I needed "provided you're not local". Come again? Apparently there is a huge problem with teenage boredom and alcohol/drug use in this portion of the Outer Banks, to where most hotels will not rent to local residents who may turn the place into a 24 hour party.
Before leaving the Good Life, I enjoyed a wonderful pesto and portabello mushroom sandwich, bought a pair of Warsteiner bottles for later in the evening, and ended up meeting the proprieters who turn out to have lived near Ithaca for awhile and used to do distribution via their old company with the Wegman's right there in a previous life. A quick group photo and recommendation on where to go for seafood, and I was off.
The hotel desk clerk equally vouched the recommendation of a place called Awful Arthur's as the premier fresh seafood joint in the area. At about 2 miles distance from the hotel, I decided I'd walk it and get some exercise in on a day where I had been mostly cooped up on ferries and ferry parking lots. This presented a beautiful tour of the many NC style beach shacks with the occasional chain motel or luxury resort plopped in every 20 houses or so. I even got to walk a bit of the beachfront by my actual hotel before making double haste for my dinner spot.
When I reached Awful Arthur's, the massive clog of people in the waiting area on a Monday night provided the third and final voucher of this place. As a solo diner with no problem sitting at the bar, I happily sauntered past the hungry queue and found the last available spot at the far end of the bar, right in front of the Newcastle taps. I had 90 minutes to order and eat, then walk back before 24 came on. Even in a place as slammed as this with the inevitable flaky service, it wasn't a problem. The bartender was an affable fellow who resembled a retired surfer, and he kept the Newcastles coming as I decided on the best-sweeping combo platter I could scarf down without leaving anything behind.
Not only were the oysters, snow crab clusters, and shrimp their expected level of quality, but I was amazed to find the clams near perfect. Even decent restaurants tend to serve funky-smelling clams with bad aftertaste if not smothered in sauces or spices, but these got by on pure freshness and basic steaming. All in all, a perfect meal, my only regret being I couldn't stay for dessert. I ambled back to the hotel a happy man, and made it with 5 minutes to go before 24, the last time I'd have to worry about where to catch it if I stuck to the current schedule of making it back by Thursday or Friday of this week. Being clearly past the halfway mark from Florida, I liked my odds.
Here's the gallery for today:
No playlist, iTunes erased it.
Posted by Todd at May 16, 2005 11:22 PM