We had to run a quick errand in
Chapel Hill Sunday morning. We had meant to do it Saturday, but didn't,
so by the time Sunday morning came, we felt some urgency. We fed the
animals, let the dawg out to do his business, and with a whoosh of
kisses all around, we darted out.
We had originally thought we might motorcycle ride somewhere fun and
exciting, but we had awakened to an amazing display of window-rattling
thunder, bright lightning and a remarkable deluge as the rain came down
in sheets, darkening the sky to a murky dusk in spite of the promise of
great sunshine the hour before. When the rains had started to subside,
we had snuggled deeper in the covers--it's going to be incredibly hot
and humid, we commented back and forth, as the near-100-degrees
predicted for the day would evaporate all that water back into the
steamy airsoup. The air conditioning was a welcome reminder of how much
I love living in the 21st century.
So
by ten, which is a rushed rising time for us second-shift workers, we
were in the car, heading to Chapel Hill to drop off a few items with a
friend. Once that was done, we headed back to the main road, at which
time Bill looked at me and said, "which way?" He ended up going right,
and we drove through a delightful stretch of woods and farmlands, that
then opened out beautifully onto Jordan Lake. The sun had completely
recovered his position of sky dominance, and the wet world simply
gleamed and sparkled as the intense July sunlight hit the rainwashed
vista.
I
learned during our motorcycle trip a few years ago how much I love
scenery after the rain. The browns of the natural world--branches and
tree trunks--darken and contrast beautifully against the greens, which
take on a jeweled intensity when swollen thick with rainwater. I also
love wooded lands that have grown such that you can see the areas
between the trees at eye level while the branches and leaves of the
treed areas stretch overhead. On this stunning day, the outer edges of
the wooded areas were bright with yellow sunlight, and then shadowy and
magical on the inside, where the damp areas were still cool and dark.
We passed a farm of a few Angus bulls, their black coats gleaming extra
shiny and fresh.
Soon
enough we found ourselves at a familiar intersection in Wilsonville,
just down the road from home, and Bill pulled into the "Grill and Go"
parking lot. It was a little after 11 and we hadn't eaten yet--we'd
watched this establishment go up and eagerly awaited its opening; now
here it was, and we ordered a hot dog for me and mini corndogs for
Bill. It took about 38 seconds to nosh down these delicious treats, and
in the end, we decided I would drive so Bill could navigate the most
interesting rides. We agreed, we had nowhere to be and neither of us
was motivated to return to the chores waiting for us at home.
It
was another right that led us out into deeper country roads, over our
favorite Pea Ridge Rd bridge and into the wilds of the area, with the
well-leaved trees pushing their way closer and closer to the roads, the
wooded areas suddenly opening out to pasture or expanses of tobacco
fields. We ride out through the farmlands often enough to have watched
the tobacco grow from tiny sprouts of just a few leaves to the
several-feet-high, large-leafed, healthy crops they are now, with wide,
poofy leaves, dark green in the folds, and looking healthy and well
fed. For years I've passed tobacco fields and wondered how long they
would continue to dominate the landscape, and now I realize they will
soon be replaced with marijuana plants, as it's probably only a matter
of time before weed/grass/maryjane is legalized in our fair state. How
strange will it be to pass these fields a few years from now and see
those spindly plants stretching before us?
Bill
picked the turns, using a complicated matrix of the maps app in his
hand, a general sense of which direction we might want to go in that
moment, and which roads looked like they held the most promise of
interesting scenery, previously-untraveled territory, and adventure. We
went left, we went right, we passed white farmhouses with black
shutters, an RV park, and much of the classic NC scenery. I cannot say
often enough how much I love the North Carolina landscapes. We have
beautiful farms, rolling hills, adorable homes, woods, cows, goats, and
turkeys. Our roadways are simply gorgeous, and I love to just ride
along and take it all in.
After
many turns and farms and goats and horse fences, I noticed the
landscape change, the soil starting to look sandy, and the fields start
to have a more barren look. We were in the Sandhills, I realized, a
part of North Carolina south of us, and remarkably inland, that was the
original coastline of the state. Bill directed us through two-lane
roads here and there, and eventually we were in Fayetteville, one of the
original destinations we had considered, to pop in and visit some
friends. So we did, pulling into our friends' driveway and happy to see
their truck parked in it. They had not yet answered our warning text,
but we were prepared to leave a note of greeting, the time not wasted,
of course, as the ride had been magnificent.
But
they were there, and we visited, being greeted by the powerful force of
three dogs in total competition for the most possible love that can be
given. Cuddles is a beautiful dog a little smaller than Eddie, with a
shiny black coat. She was more likely to hang back and accept love as
it was given. Roscoe is a brindle pit bull who demands total adoration
and will lick every bit of exposed skin to get to you. But hello, what
is this? Bella was a shiny black great dane, tall enough to practically
look you in the eye while standing. She is clearly young, with spindly
legs that look impossible to stand on. She is trim and fit and
beautiful and enormous. E. Nor. Mous.
I
remember my dad raised great danes before I was born, and as I grew up
he would tell stories of those days, how their biggest danger was to
clear a coffee table with their tales. I watched as Bella did just
this, staring down at me (down!) as I sat on the couch and she
considered me with her large brown eyes, curious about my odd behavior
as I sat, completely uninterested in the fascinating and wonderfully
odiferous Kong ball in front of me. She stared.
Bill
and our friends chatted pleasantly while Roscoe, with great patience
and not much ado, licked absolutely every bit of my exposed skin and
then continued on to lick some more.
We
eventually left and it was about 3:00. Again, we came to the main
road, and we went right. Bill consulted the map. "Are we ready to go
back? If we're ready to go back, tell me now and I'll turn around.
Otherwise, we're going all the way." I agreed we could keep going.
Nothing at home was so important we needed to rush back; we were headed
to the beach. I think we'd both had the idea separately but neither
wanted to voice it. We were still two hours away but in no hurry.
And
so this is how I found myself in a Wings store, buying a pair of pink
shorty shorts and a black tank top with a skull and crossbones on them,
the cute little "Carolina Beach" script on both items. Bill sought out
swimming trunks, and since he is allergic to the sun (right? how is this
possible??), he also purchased a t-shirt, and off we went. We changed
in a public rest room near the beach itself, and a few minutes after
5:30, we were out past the breakers, hopping up rhythmically to float on
the swells. North Carolina beaches probably don't have much to offer
those who like to surf, but for me, a little old lady who is afraid of
water, I love to bob up and down in neck-high water, riding each swell a
little to the north. It was perfect.
We
had to get out after a while, when we could no longer see the landmarks
of our entry point, and walked south down the beach a bit. We came back
to our things--Bill's boots, his hat perched atop, and my
sunglasses--and got back in the water. Once bored of the wave bouncing,
we walked a bit on the hard-packed sand while we dried off, but not
really, because when we headed away from the beach, we were still soaked
through and nearly dripping. We found a restaurant right there and
went in for a bite. The waitress noticed our look and asked if we were
just at the beach. Surprisingly, everyone else in the restaurant was
dressed in street clothes and none looked as though they had come off
the water, even though we were so close to the sand. Bill and I,
however, were literally dripping under our chairs.
We
drank a little bit (something called a pain killer had quite a few
types of rum and something delightfully coconutty in it as well), and
ate. I looked over and realized for the first time since we had left
the Wings that Bill and I had chosen the same shirt design--his in a
black t-shirt, mine a black tank. How had I not noticed sooner? Now we
were ridiculously wet, my hair looking like I had ridden in on a broom,
and we were matchy-matchy. Sigh.
Eventually
we got back in the car and headed straight home. The clock showed 11
when Eddie and I crawled into bed and slept beautifully. It was a
perfect day.
