Day of Thunder

Late last night I discovered, in the phone book, that we were just a block from a laundromat, and that they would be open, ostensibly, at 8. I made plans to gather everything we wanted to wash and go there when they opened the next morning. Which is what I did; but of course, being the off season, they weren't open. we'll just have to wait until tonight.

Light thunder awoke me in the early morning hours, just loud enough to be heard over the air conditioning unit on my side of the room running at high. I hesitated before looking at the clock - you know that feeling, that 'Oh, I'm awake, and it's probably only about 20 minutes before I have to get up, but it might be two hours' feeling - but I looked anyway, and it was only a little past 1. Nice. For a little while I just laid there, straining to hear the thunder, listening to Nancy's breathing, watching the bike clothes we had washed by hand wave gently in the air from the air conditioner. By the way, we are getting pretty good at running a clothesline inside motel rooms without leaving evidence that we did. . .

We ate our Frosted Flakes this morning, but that only got us about 10 miles before we were both feeling famished. We stopped for some fruit and some peanut butter crackers at Sneads Ferry, and then headed off for the gate to Camp LeJeune, to pass through the base on Route 172. Just as we approached the bridge over New River, we were passed by the beginning of (Five, you'll appreciate this) a long line of MOTORCYCLES with a police escort. LOUD motorcycles, too, and most of them waved to us as they rolled effortlessly by, while we sweated and pedaled. There must have been more than 100; THAT sounded like thunder, too.

We paused for a picture at the entrance to Camp Lejeune, but due to National Security concerns, we are not able to post it here. We were mildly scolded for taking the picture at all, but the sergeant at the gate said he didn't see anything and waved us through. I guess terrorists don't ride bikes - AND, because the Marines weren't all gung-ho about enforcing their rules against two clearly harmless cyclists, I guess the terrorists HAVEN'T already won. Here's to a little freedom.

While riding the approximately 16 miles through the Camp (nice, smooth blacktop all the way, I might add), we frequently crossed places prominently labeled "TANK XING", but we never saw any tanks in the wild. We did pass a few that had been placed on display, apparently with the help of a skilled taxidermist. They looked imposing. We DID hear numerous concussive booms, which I can only conclude came from some large-caliber artillery off in the distance. MORE thunder, too, in it's own way.

We took a brief rest at Hubert, so we could rest our butts and get a little A/C in a gas station, before turning more or less east on SR 24, four-lane divided highway recently designated 'FREEDOM WAY', which has ample shoulders and good pavement to ride on. We made good time there, making it to the Swansboro library by about 10 minutes to 2. Turning this direction put us into a headwind (although nothing like what we fought in SC!), and the rumble of wind in my ears as we pushed through was yet another in the litany of differnt kinds of thunder we heard today. Later, we are hoping to hear the thunder of the waves as they roll and froth at the shore. Maybe, like yesterday, we'll go get our feet wet, gasping at the bracing cold of the sea, and then wiggling our toes in the sand as the wave recedes.

Haiku moment:

sand between our toes

wiggling them won't free the grains

still we enjoy it.

Tonight, we may push on to Bogue Sound, about 15 miles from here. That way we have a chance to make it to Ocracoke Island by tomorrow night. We will also, as a result, pass the 10% mark in the trip, just short of 700 miles. And, when we get to the 'elbow' in the Outer Banks, we will ritually dip our tires in the Atlantic Ocean (perhaps a hackneyed practice, but for us it still holds meaning).

As a last note for today, I wanted to mention something we saw on our little diversion through Wilmington yesterday. We had found our way to Wrightsville Avenue and were headed to Two Wheeler Dealer for some minor repairs. In a nicely treed section of the city, as some cars (safely) passed us, I saw two blackbirds in the road ahead, squabbling and flapping and pecking at each other over something. I thought they would see the cars and get out of the way, but they did not and were both crushed under a cars tire. The end, for them, was mercifully swift. I think it illustrates an important idea, though: Don't let the trivial distract you from what really matters.