Kitty Hawk Flies

I love history. The past shows the future and the knowledge that the past occurred before I was born reassures me that history will be made long after I cease to exist so I know I have my place in the continuum. To tread where the modern era of flight began is a privilege and the more I learned about the Wright brothers the more astonished I became. They were geniuses. And I am embarrassed it took a trip to Kitty Hawk to teach me how little I knew. I have walked down the first flight path and I am better or it.

The fact is it was freezing cold, as predicted when we drove to the Outer Banks from our second stop at Rocky Mount, North Carolina. Of that town we saw only the crappy shopping malls astride Highway 64, and walking Cheyenne through them brought down the icy drizzle in 45 degrees, as cold as it gets in Key West. Ever. My Labrador perked up; she likes the cold! We were less enthused, my wife and I. We drove the seventy odd miles to Manteo, (pronounced weirdly enough as man-ee-o) which is a small town on a large wooded island between the mainland and the Outer Banks. The road was boring as hell, four lanes then two through pine forests, an hour's drive through an absolute wilderness punctuated by a couple of small towns equipped with gas stations and feed stores. Then we reached the Croatan Bridge, which seemed as long and as scenic as the Seven Mile Bridge. Except the scenery was shrouded in moisture.

We drove through Manteo, taking notes in case the rain let up the next day and we could return and heck out the Elizabethan recreation of the original colony on Roanoke Island (pets welcome when leashed! Excellent). History of Manteo, Wanchese and Roanoke Island: On The Outer Banks Of North Carolina - History, Events, Attractions - Dare County, NC. Croatan, Roanoke, Pamlico and Albemarle Sounds They call this place Dare County after Virginia Dare the first English child born in the Americas. Nag's Head on the Outer Banks lays claim to shopping, not history and it's a horrible place. Urban planning was lost along the way and the four lane highway is a collection of traffic lights, strip malls and chain stores. Useful perhaps, but not nice.

My wife the navigator rooted out a small café in her phone so we looked for Lachine, and had superb soups, apple rutabaga which was sweet and yellow, and crab bisque which was also divine. The owner, Mrs Lachine, told us she has lived here for five years with her husband and two children and in that time has never visited our destination: Ocracoke Island. She's heard it's nice though. I am an explorer and I shall take nobody's word but my own.

The rain eased a bit after we left lunch and we drove north to the Wright memorial. It was fantastic. December 17th 1903 the Wright brothers made four flights here witnessed by a few life guards who were stationed here to keep an eye on the five thousand local fishermen and any passing mariners in trouble. They saw powered flight for the first time here.

What I learned is that the Wright Brothers, cycle mechanics and acknowledged capable racers from Dayton Ohio planned and executed a well reasoned and researched campaign to learn how to fly over a period of four years. After those first successful powered flights they decided to let the world know. Then they carefully patented their inventions and made a fortune. "Inform Press."

They built a hangar and a shed to live in in a sandy plain next to a sandy hill. They first used the hill in 1900 to learn how to glide, a difficult and slow learning process in a world filled with theories of flight and no facts. Their gliders, masterpieces of elegant simplicity (eventually!) have been overshadowed by their powered Flyer of 1903, but they launched themselves from the hill perhaps a thousand times until they knew their 1902 model worked and could be controlled...

It turns out they were competing with a man who believed he could launch a plane called an 'aerodrome' off a houseboat moored in the Potomac River. He had received money from the military and all eyes were on him as failed to fly in front of God and everybody. Hence the secrecy preferred by the Wright brothers in their remote sandpit.

Where they flew for the first time photographed by a freaked out mechanic who couldn't even remember if he had successfully opened the camera shutter. He had. And because he did we have the picture and all the efforts to commemorate and reproduce that amazing moment in that very plain place.

The rain quit but the wind remained and it was cold but I challenged my wife to hike all the way across what had been a sandy wilderness In the Wright brothers' time. Modern solar panels power the most excellent exhibits inside the permanent tents.

The big marble monument built between 1928 and 1932 looks like all the classic Greco-Fascist statuary of the era. I've seen it all over Rome. It was like standing on the edge of the earth, with the wind plucking at us, as though to induce us into free fall flight.

We were alone up there, floating on the icy wind.

What lies behind the doors I asked myself. I believed the promise that the doors were locked and I failed to twist he handle to see what might happen...

And there was a helipad nearby. I wanted to shout out to the shades of the pioneers: "Hey guys! Check out how easy it is!"

Wilbur, moustache-free unlike his brother, flew second, but over four flights he flew furthest and got the greatest control over the bucking bronco Flyer. He got the longest flight of the day accurately measured at 57 seconds and 850 feet.

Where they flew. The rail on the left marks their take off system in the soft sand that would have bogged down wheels:

I was free to walk the flight path so Cheyenne and I did just that. It was just there in the grass rubber mat covering the original sand with a fake pathway to make it easier to walk over the spiky cactus grasses in this area. Cheyenne did not like them at all. I was walking on air, this was where it happened... I was born into the era of space, a few months after the Sputnik circled the earth. That was just 55 years ago. So much has happened in so little time.

 

It was all accurately recorded by the brothers. They knew they were making history.

They seemed to love breaking the code of flight:

There was a family flying a Flyer kite. "Hey, " I called out, "You're too late. They've already done that. A hundred years ago." It looked lovely and evocative.

We ended a fun afternoon by listening to a thirty year veteran ranger explain how the brothers figured out how to fly. The principles they learned patented and expounded are still used today on any and all flying machines.

No pets allowed inside.

Taking off, turning and roll control. All learned from scratch by the bicycle mechanics from Dayton. America didn't care for their discoveries so they went to Europe and created the world's first production aircraft with Britain's Short brothers in 1909.

I loved this place. Put on for us courtesy of the US government. Your tax dollars at work, and we got in for eight bucks.

I loved this place. Now I need to get to the Smithsonian to see the actual plane. And I'll know how it works. What a great day. As wintry as it was.

Did I mention I loved this place?

 

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World's Best Barbeque

We got to St Augustine after a hurried round up at home Friday afternoon. I watered the plants and prepared the car while my wife got the last items packed. Cheyenne wandered between us seeking assurance she was coming too.

My wife has become a master navigator since she got her iPhone. A woman who can't read a road map much less a maritime chart (we've tried both) can navigate with aplomb with a phone of all things. Wiley's Barbecue is somewhere between Savannah and Tybee Island off highway 80. It's a nondescript store front in a nondescript strip mall. It's like the Tardis in the world of food favors. Inside it's amazing. My wife has learned to love fried green tomatoes ever since the eponymous movie, and while I don't mind them I'm not wild about green fruit with limited flavor. However, like cracked conch, green tomatoes live or die by their batter. These were nicely done with a tangy mustard sauce. The sweet tea wasn't too sweet so I could say, so far so good as we bellied up to the only available space -at the counter.

Wiley's Championship BBQ Their website is a bit forgotten but it has all you need, except the food itself. There aren't a lot of tables inside the store, and we were greeted by apologetic staff telling us the ribs were finished for the afternoon. No problem. I like it when they run out after a busy lunch. That tells me they use real ingredients in limited supply. A freezer full of Sysco boxes never runs out!

Trip Advisor had several comments in support of the burnt barbecue tips. That sounded gross to me little did I know, so I went with my favorite meat which is brisket. My wife's dish, above, was the burnt tips which came with sweet potato that was sweet and delicious and as you'd expect along with a dish of mac & cheese, made with real pasta and a creamy liquid cheese sauce, not at all traditional but delightful. My brisket was the moist tender fantasy you hope for when you plump for southern cuisine. It was soft as butter and made spicy with the hot barbecue sauce on the table. The brown mess is Brunswick Stew, a poor cook's dish traditionally stewed with whatever is to hand and left over. It was delicate soft and filled with barbecue flavor, a dish unto itself. The rice and broccoli with cheese was the perfect foil to the stew and brisket. I was in heaven.

The woman on the left is Jenna the owner of this five year old venture and she immediately bonded with my wife after they both found out they were, or had been teachers. My photographic skills are dreadful when it comes to people so ignore the moronic expressions. The chef in back looks suitably suspicious but the front staff were having a grand time and they included us in their fun. It was a fabulous meal with left overs for dinner in our Rocky Mount motel and a slice of chocolate pecan pie for dinner desert in North Carolina. With a bottle of sauce and extravagant tip we spent $67. Worth every penny.

The barbecue joint isn't in downtown Savannah but we stopped off on our way back to the freeway to walk the dog, patient friend, in the drizzle.

Southern cooking is a cliche but done right it is a cultural expression that is hard to forget. I enjoyed the meal even in retrospect. We have good food in Key West but not like this. Perhaps because as they like to say Key West isn't really in the south. Whatever, I wish it were available which would not be a good thing for my waist.

Cheyenne likes her puddles wherever she finds them. I love my dog but she is no gourmand.

 

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Brunswick, Georgia

On the road Cheyenne gets her own bowl on a shop towel to stop the bowl sliding around. Travel in my family is a finely honed affair. I drive my wife navigates and Cheyenne lies across her bed on the back and snores. Then she walks then she snores then she eats.

A couple of weeks ago I was nearby on my motorcycle or a family gathering to see my nephew graduate the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center. However my sister in law had a room at nearby St Simon's island and my nephew was not interested in showing us Brunswick, a order Navy town fallen on hard times since the Navy left in the 1970s.

I wanted to check Brunswick out and my wife the explorer was nothing loathe so we stopped off on our way to our vacation in the Outer Banks. The Federal Building, modern block ugliness:

 

City Hall was classically elegant which suited me:

Brunswick is an island of grid pattern streets laid out in the middle of low Country marshes so we were lunch to some strong little no see um biters.

I loved the details on the buildings, classical touches with elaborate cornices and... Pompeii style sidewalks? Amazing and lovely.

The old theater was still there, no longer showing movies, a monument to the fallen glory of old down owns. I curse the mall.

Kress Department Store, a southern monument, is fallen. In Key West it was Fast Buck Freddie's for years but here it is home o Wells Fargo Bank. Ugh!

Brunswick lives, against the odds and it's too bad my hip young nephew didn't notice it when he was training in Glynco next door. I like this town a lot more than the Stepford quality of St Simon's Island next door, a gated golfing community of no visible vibe.

I will be back. On a bright, hot sunny day, in the shade of huge spreading oaks. Hmm, Faulkner, Capote, Welty, Hurston, alive in modest little Brunswick.

 

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Angels and Horses

As great as it is to go on a road trip and explore the Outer Banks for the first time I am missing a rather decent event filled weekend in Key West on my weekend off! The Blue Angels are flying this weekend and their arrival was celebrated by a bunch of Clydesdales towing beer. I read that they were at Daytona Bike Week so it make sense for them to put in an appearance here. Everyone likes to have a reason to be paid to be in Key West in winter...my colleague Robert came across them in the Overseas Market in New Town and sent me this picture from his rather poor quality (!) cell phone camera...

Makes me miss Key West already!

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A Change And A Rest

I warn my colleagues that I'm going to start getting antsy on my last shift before a vacation. They know that as the clock inches toward six in the morning I will be shooting out of the dispatch center like Calvin dashing out to play with Hobbes after school. It's not that I don't like work; I do, but one does need a break for time to time.

Working twelve hour shifts I end up with what appears to be a crazy patchwork quilt of shifts, Saturday, Sunday Monday, four hours Tuesday, off Wednesday then work Thursday and Friday. The next week I work the opposite except I always have a four hour shift Tuesday night to make up my forty hours weekly. By the city's payroll schedule I work three twelves and a four Monday to Sunday. It's fabulous. Especially as when I am working I get to spend my afternoons at home after I wake up, alarm clock free. I have lots of time to myself to recharge my introverted batteries.

So when my vacation starts the minute I wake up with me getting on or in a vehicle I still get a stab of uncertainty...should I perhaps plan to spend a little time at home enjoying the sun and the peace and quiet of my refuge? Then I remind myself that I can do that any day of the week. Time to get going.

Cheyenne is not a great traveler, and by that I mean she derives little pleasure from riding in a car, and whatever she does get comes from sitting behind me knowing I am there with her. I make it as good as I can with plentiful stops along the way, but at day's end when she sees us pull up in front of the bright lights of the front desk of a dog friendly La Quinta she starts to perk right up. This is where the day's road ends and she is a happy Labrador, swishing her big yellow tail importantly as she struts down the corridor impatiently nosing each door we pass wishing it to be our refuge for the night.

 

There are some people who never leave Key West, a circumstance I find extraordinary for I am addicted to the internal combustion engine and the freedom gained thereby. Life in Hawaii or worse in the Virgin Islands or Puerto Rico would be too circumscribed by impassable water. I look forward to mountain excursions this summer on my motorcycle as relief from the flatness of the great Florida sandbox. Even in the car the road is a expression of an absence of responsibility of not having a place in the scheme of things. In the car we are freed from the bonds of societal convention, and we can drive any direction we please untrammeled by security checks or prohibitions we can carry large bottles of shampoo or even guns if we were so inclined (we're not). In the movies the road trip stands for new beginnings and unlimited possibilities. We aren't quite so far reaching my wife and I but we appreciate the freedom our car brings. It is not unlimited but It is a pretty stretchy elastic band that extends our scope far from our jobs and responsibilities and place in the world.

I will look forward to coming back, breathing a sigh of relief as we cross the Dade county line and leave behind the mass of people Up North. I have plans for when I get home, to launch the boat and look forward this year with the hope of a summer afloat. There will be road trips I don't doubt but first I shall be glad to get back to work, to my motorcycle, and to my routine. I will collect my accumulated mail and resume my newspaper delivery in the driveway. Things will be back to normal next week.

Meanwhile we have to confront roads, maps and weather and cold temperatures and we shall be the better for it, if only for a week confronting an actual seasonal change.

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Elizabeth By Night

I took Cheyenne to work on my short shift this week and after four hours of sitting up and noticing Spring Break seems to be over, thank heavens, I got to take the Labrador on an early morning walk in town which she liked a lot.

However I managed to forget that the sun wouldn't be up for more than a hour so we ended up walking in darkness which was die actually. We were alone most of the way and Cheyenne is so well behaved I let her amble on the sidewalk as she pleased. First stop was the Minor Basilica of St Mary Star of the Sea whose Lenten Mass schedule struck me as impenetrably complicated. Monday through Friday you got two shots at hearing Mass but Monday through Saturday you only get one? Or is it three? Cheyenne couldn't even read the sign so she was no help. We moved on.

My cunning plan was to wander north on Windsor, cruise past the cemetery in the dark and make a short circuit on a lane and head back to the car with time to spare to pick up a coffee at Sandys before stopping at Publix to do some light grocery shopping. Then home to bed. Brilliant, except Cheyenne had other plans.

Cheyenne took a left on Truman Avenue and started heading inbound with me trotting along behind. I worked to keep her out of the Minor Basilica's property as The One True Faith in my experience isn't too fond of animals on sacred ground. I wanted to cruise over and check out the illuminated grotto but with my Yellow Labrador in tow that wasn't possible. The grotto supposedly keeps hurricanes at bay so I don't doubt I'll check it out again this summer.

Following my busy dog we happily turned off Truman, the main thoroughfare and plunged into the shady darkness of Elizabeth Street, a gently sloping street that passes Solares Hill, the highest point in town, between fourteen and sixteen feet above sea level depending who you ask.

I enjoy playing with my Android camera though I find the settings quite fiddly. However I do like the black and white effects especially after dark. Above we see Elizabeth looking north toward Solares Hill and below in color the opposite direction from the area of Petronia Street. You can freewheel a bicycle down here with care and concentration.

Angela Street ends at Elizabeth between these two large imposing homes. The furthest house is being massively rebuilt, while the nearest house has bowls of cat food and water on the sidewalk which requires some deft dog control when we get close by. You can see Cheyenne aiming for her free breakfast already.

I very much enjoy walking the streets of Key West after dark especially after the bars close (at 4am at the latest by law) but before the good working burghers of the city are up and about making noise and commotion. This is the time when the silent, light- free cyclists are home and the drunks have passed out and all you can see indoors from time to time is some night owl staring at a small screen or caught up reading a book. This time of year the night air is cool and there are lots of open windows and doors which give the silent streets a strange intimacy. It's almost like tip toeing Invisible through people's lives.

I especially like the architecture at night, the shadows lend a certain mystery, along with the silence, no voices no engines no footsteps. And then you ask yourself why a sports pennant matters that much, but I suppose one has to make concessions to modern fads, so because one lives in an attractive older home. I'd prefer the gate without the pennant but I am a sporting philistine.

It's been damp in the morning, my motorcycle seat is like a swimming pool most days when I leave work, but I'm tough.

I'm never quite sure what my plants are supposed to be doing and my frangipani has been looking pretty dead but in fact I found this one, pictured above and it looks equally dormant so I am reassured. I am child free religion free sports free and botany free. Some days you just feel useless.

Half way across town on Elizabeth following my intrepid exploring hound I started to wonder where Marlene Dietrich was; or more properly Lili Marleen leaning up against a lamp post waiting for her soldier. All I had was my shadow and my dog's shadow combined as one shadow. And then I found a bomb, or was it a tank pretending mighty unsuccessfully to be a scooter.

 

I took a color picture further along, highlighting the whites and blues but in the end I figured the monochrome picture looked better.

The Hilltop laundry boasts a pretty colorful tropical botanical scene on its walls. Still better in the stark black and white I thought. Besides Cheyenne was picking up speed on the (relatively) steep downhill section of Elizabeth heading toward Caroline Street. This part is decidedly easy to freewheel on a bicycle.

She got ahead of me as usual, but never too far. While I fiddled with the camera getting the scooters backlit she stopped and waited more or less patiently for me to catch up. Good girl.

Oh yeah, this is Key West where not everyone can hold their liquor. This guy stank like a distillery, and snored like a locomotive tackling a steep grade. It looked horribly uncomfortable to me sleeping curled up on a brick step with a reeking cup of alcohol still under his nose, but he was blissfully unaware. I nudged him with my foot and it turned out it was Jack Riepe on a private visit to Key West looking for his long lost BMW.

The walk was drawing to a close, we had reached our furthest point, Harpoon Harry's on Caroline Street where the bright lights and open doors had yet to attract their first customer. I was tempted but happily for my waistline my wallet was in my car. We marched back across the city on Margaret Street, still with hardly anyone but a couple of fearful dog walkers haring the sidewalks with us. I saw nervous nellies tugging leashes and waiting for the royal procession to pass by, Cheyenne in front, by now also leashed owing to the number of cars rushing to work, and me striding along behind. God forbid two actual dogs should cross paths.

A glance at the mirror wall (née bottle wall) at the late Carolyn Fuller's house and we were steering a course past the cemetery back to Windosr Lane and the car. The sun was coming up by now backlighting the trees across the cemetery, blue skies with a hint of orange where the sun was about to rise. We had places to go and food to buy.

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