The Great White Chesapeake

The Chesapeake Bay snuck up on me like an Apache warrior in the Mojave...swiftly, and without warning.  In an instant, I realized I had been deftly overcome by an intelligence superior to my own, and could only cower and pray for mercy, as the Tomahawk's silver pressed coldly to my scalp. 

There I was, minding my own business, driving down the Charles M. Lankford Jr. Memorial Hwy (otherwise known as US 13) - en route to Williamsburg, VA.  My head swirled with thoughts of the life I had left behind, and mysteries held by the road ahead.  

Actually, I was thinking: "Where was the Ocean City boardwalk?  Was it to the right?  Should I go back and find it?"  And this, in all likelihood, was how I missed traffic signs for what was really ahead: a 23-mile bridge-tunnel of terror.  Let the nightmare begin.

During the days when I created my itinerary via Google Maps (love Google Maps), there was a vague awareness of having to cross 'a big lake' some point after the car-ferry.  At that time, my intense fear of heights had asked me, "Is there any other way to get to Virginia?  What are our options, here?" ... to which I replied, "Oh, hush."  

That internal dialogue was lost and forgotten, traveling through a toll booth and wondered, "why am I going through a toll booth?" - soon after approaching what appeared to be a hill in the highway with lots of guard rails, and something - blue -  on either side.  Can I convey the feeling of utter dread that set in at this moment?  Like a blanket of ice wrapping around my heart and setting my body into convulsions, I quickly realized I had come upon The Chesapeake Bay, without any advanced notice.  No time to get psyched up.  No chance to turn around and go home. 

BUT, there must have been an angel on my shoulder this sunny afternoon, because I'd pulled over at the rest stop *right before* the bridge-tunnel, and if there was any moment on this trip I was in danger of peeing my pants - it was in the next 25 minutes.

Sidebar, but...hello McFly??  The rest stop was called "The Chesapeake Bay" rest stop, and contained this map according to Wikipedia, which I do sort-of remember looking at...how could I not know what was going to follow??  THIS is what happens when one does not remain aware, people, and in the interest that you learn a lesson today - dear Reader - I will be quizzing you at the end of this post (which is quickly approaching, like ever-present Death, as I was reminded June 2nd).  So pay attention.

If you have a fear of heights, you know what this is about.  Well, this bridge-tunnel totally sucked, like, WAY more than any other bridge I've ever been on (until New Orleans, which we will get to another day)- and that includes the Poughkeepsie-Highland Walkway over the Hudson, which is no day at the park you crazy walkers.

Essentially, this is a death trap.  Somebody's process improvement for overpopulation of the area, apparently.  Two lanes, complete with the up-close-and-personal guard rails pictured above that wouldn't stop a three year old from plunging to his death, let alone my rental.  Two lanes, that eventually merge into one lane via construction cones.  If there is ever a thing no one wants to see on a bridge, it's a construction cone.  (Exception:  the Newburgh-Beacon, or "Hamilton Fish" if you want to get technical, because in the 13 months I traveled it twice daily it NEVER failed to have construction cones.)

Why does it merge into one lane, you ask?  Because you are required to go into a tunnel, that's why.  Oh, I'm sorry, did I say one tunnel?  Actually, there are two tunnels on this bridge.  One is what you'd call "safe" - a one-way, two-lane passage, bright and cool under the waters of the bay....

...the other has clearly been designed to keep Virginians in Virginia, or Marylanders in Maryland, whichever you please.  Because it is a dark, two-lane Autobahn...the speed limit an unfathomable 50 mph, the darkness lit up brightly by the vehicle approaching you head-on from the opposite direction - again, going in excess of fifty miles per hour.  If I had to work across the bridge...well, I'd find me a new job.

As it were, I disregarded the 80-year-olds in the Oldsmobile up my ass and drove a more comfortable (or, slightly less terrifying) 35 mph.  It took the edge off - can you just imagine this?  Twenty-three miles of bridge-tunnel-bridge-tunnel-bridge, with suicidal vehicles whipping around turns (who builds turns on bridges? That's just cruel!), construction cones, and oh - this really got me going - scenic pull offs!  Oh yeah buddy, I'm gonna slam on the brakes and pull off onto a four-foot shoulder to have a look-see at uninterrupted water, no land in sight, no end on this pathway to hell, just enjoy the ride! aHaHa!!  

Around mile 19 I just started laughing, because what else are you gonna do.  It could have been 100 miles, for all I knew at the time.  I think I snapped a little that day.

So it's time for your quiz.  What have you learned today, Reader?  What did I do wrong?  Let's be honest, nothing too bad because I'm still alive, despite taking my sweaty right hand off the wheel to haphazardly snap crooked photos - I felt an intense need (as Death swung his scythe in my general direction) to document my final moments, lest the camera survive the plunge into icy blue waters below.  What I did wrong was not pay attention to what was going on right now, because I was either thinking about what did happen a few hours ago, or what could happen a few moments later.

Your lesson, aptly deserved after reading this long and ridiculous post?  Pay attention to what's happening in life at this very moment.  Don't bother thinking about what happened in the past, because what's done is done, you can't change it, you can't redo it, and you can't get it back.  So you never found the boardwalk - big whoop, move on.  And...don't spend time thinking about your possible future in the cold waters below, because if your mind isn't here-and-now, that sweaty hand will slip off the wheel and send you overboard anyway!  At the very least, you'll miss the view :)


~A


P.S. If you are one of those people that would like to read about The Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel (not to be confused with the 4-mile Chesapeake Bay Bridge - yeah, didn't know about *that* one before setting off..), click HERE for a Wikipedia-good-time, complete with the statistics I don't want to know any more about.  Incidentally, my first post pic is not the one featured in this article, although they do look nearly identical!

"Ocean City" or, "The Land of No Bathrooms"

Driving down the Delaware and Maryland coast is a delightful experience.  It's lovely and relaxing, the beaches are gorgeous, and quite frankly, I wouldn't mind taking a week or two just to explore these shores.  They are full of the type of laid back seaside communities I would love to be part of year-round, and see if I can stomach the tourists during high season.  (Probably not, us tourists are the worst!).  At the very least, a summer pad down the coast would be super.

(Yeah, that's kind of a crappy picture, but it's all I got.  See the sign though?  Just trust me, it's a really nice drive.)

And apparently, a summer pad in Ocean City, Maryland, is an essential aspect of traveling to town.  Because if you don't have a place to hang your hat, you will NOT have a place to...um...do your business. 

I stopped in town, having been told OC is a "must see"...probably by someone that stayed in a house there for a few weeks...and drove around, looking for the beach.  Now, that's easy to find, and the parking is free and abundant (another incentive to vacation here!)...and boy, was it beautiful.  I ran out onto it, just to snap a few shots:

Boy, was it hot, too.  I hot-footed it back to the car.  Then...I wondered...where is the boardwalk?  I tried calling a friend who was suppose to be an expert on this, and it was explained to me that the boardwalk "is not where the beach is", and honestly, I still don't effing know where the boardwalk was (or still is) in Ocean City. Because at this point, I was very confused and quite frustrated with Maryland geography.  And, I had to pee.

So, I stopped in a convenience store, bought some overpriced batteries for my flashlight, and a very old and warm apple (also overpriced).  The batteries turned out to be the wrong size, and the apple turned out to be, well, gross.  The help was extremely friendly!  But...no bathroom.  Try the Subway.

What Subway?  Where?  The one that looks closed?

So, I drove to a gas station and bought an overpriced bottle of water.  No bathroom.  Try the McDonald's four miles down.  Four miles?

So, I drove down to find the McDonald's.  Where's the McDonald's?  Stopped at another gas station.  No bathroom.  You've got to be kidding me.  Try the candy store across the street.

Bathroom is for customers ONLY.  Please, I beg of you.  I will purchase one pound of those overpriced chocolate-covered pretzels, even though chocolate is a terrible road-trip snack, and they will not only turn out to be stale, but melt all over me in the car.  You are so friendly miss Candy Woman, and I will banter with you while you wrap them and box them and bag them and put a sticker on them, and some ribbons and daisies.  PLEASE LET ME USE YOUR BATHROOM.  But of course!  It's right around the corner, help yourself.  Thank you thank you thank you thank you....(run to bathroom...which is of course....occupied).   Oh, don't worry - I waited.  No pants accidents to report on this trip, I am extremely proud to say.  

 This is a picture of me from Texas...hot, dehydrated (to avoid pants accidents), and clearly still thinking, "where was that boardwalk"...

I got the hell out of Dodge, or Ocean City rather.  I still can't figure out how the beach could be on one side, and the boardwalk could be in another dimension.  Sometimes, late at night, when I am drifting off to sleep...the questions come. Where was the boardwalk?  Was it on the other side of town?  Did it just stop suddenly?  Is Ocean City really an island with a bridge I didn't notice driving over?  Can't they just set it up like the Jersey Shore, everything in the same place; nice and simple?

Arg!  Curse you, OC, for sleepless nights and brain-cramps (yes I just coined that phrase - stop, you have not heard it before).  TILL WE MEET AGAIN.

~A

The Great Voyage

♪ It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday.♫ 

     It's also hard to go on a road trip by oneself, for the first time.  I knew this would be a tough endeavor.  I've never seen a movie by myself.  I've eaten out alone once, prior to this trip.

     I didn't really feel like a solo adventurer until the morning of June 2nd, when I woke up early to bid my mother adieu and catch the Cape May-Lewes Ferry (here).  Suddenly, I realized....this is it.  No turning back.  It was with a heavy heart, and a heavy suitcase, that I left my mom in New Jersey.  Don't worry, she had a car, to get back to NY.  What do you think, I would just leave her there?  Geez.

To be honest, I was very nervous.  I have never taken a ferry you drive onto before.

Also, there were seagulls following in the wake of the ferry for the whole journey.  Cute?  No, more like, Alfred Hitchcock.  I mostly sat on the other side of the boat.

(Note the sign says PLEASE DO NOT FEED THE SEAGULLS)

At first I sat on the side benches outside, feeling lonely and missing my mom (what, who just turned 30?)...but then I got cold in the shade, and bored, so I ventured around the ship.  Here are some shots:

Walking on the rocking vessel was very difficult - especially on the upper deck.  Attempting to stroll casually by the ladies in the above picture (distance left), I inadvertently walked directly at them.  "I feel drunk!" I exclaimed.  "You look like it!" they shouted back.  We had a good laugh.  (Ferry jokes.)

I visited the gift shop and, after knocking a few things over, eventually purchased a fish book for my little cousin, Hailey, to present to her once I arrived in North Carolina:

Isn't she cute?  Yes, that's sunscreen, not the book.  Fail.

By the time we could see Delaware in the distance, I was ready for the rest of the journey.  I think listening to Queen on my shuffle helped boost my confidence, a little.  We are the champions, my friends. 

I'm the king of the world!  OK, it wasn't the Titanic.  Thank God; sinking would have sucked.

What a funny little rite of passage this was.  I left behind an old "me", without realizing it, when I got onto this ferry.  I drove into sunny Delaware and didn't look back.

~A

...so what's the deal in Room 10?

As I have stated several times, and maliciously taunted my three internet readers with - well, two readers, since mom already knows what happened - the first hotel I stayed at on the road trip, in the first destination on my itinerary, was a notoriously haunted room in an old Victorian hotel.  Being a careless planner, there was some neglect when I initiated a haunted tour of the United States, in the simple truth that I am terrified of ghosts.  So - I brought my mommy with me, for a good start.  (Hey, sometimes you need your hand held the first walk to school, or perhaps a push your first time at the deep end of the pool!)

Please look at this old picture of the Hotel Macomber.  I said look at it!  It's old, right?  The hotel faces the Cape May boardwalk and has terrific-to-partial ocean views.  Above is a close up of our room 10 windows (along the right side of the building), often pointed out from street level on ghost tours.  I circled them in red, for your viewing pleasure, but did a pretty shoddy job of it, so you'll have to look closely.  Below are the windows from the inside!

Now kindly refer to the first picture.  You'll notice there is a window to the right of Room 10's, all in dark.  This is a small utility room (number 14) next door:

The reason I point all this out, is because I'm going to give you a little background information on the hauntings inside room 10.  Supposedly, when people stay in this room (the "hot" ghost months are up for debate, but we have heard June, August, October, and November are prime)...paranormal things happen.  Drawers pull out on their own.  Lights turn on and off.  The bathroom doorknob jiggles.  One guest reported the chain lock sliding back and forth on its own.  But most commonly, one hears the sounds of heavy furniture moving, which has given the elderly woman that haunts room 10 the nickname of "the trunk lady".

Ms. Trunk in the living went by the name of Irene Wright, according to psychic Craig McManus, who did a little digging by way of a previous owner's son (and had some paranormal experiences in the room himself).  Miss Wright loved room 10, and came to the Hotel Macomber often since around 1930, bringing a large trunk with her summer wardrobe inside.  Apparently she may still be lugging it around!

The stories surrounding the room are often contradictory - Miss Wright supposedly never married nor had children, and yet, the tale goes that the ghost is a widow who stayed in room 10 several times a year after her husband passed.  People also state that paranormal activity is more common when children are present in the room.  Miss Wright was said to have befriended the owner's child back in the day - perhaps she always wanted one of her own, and still does.  One thing is for sure, though - she loves to do laundry.  The washer/dryer in the utility closet next door is said to start up randomly in the middle of the night, causing guests to call the front desk and complain!

So, after the fudge, and dinner at the Mad Batter, and the trolley ghost tour, and combing the beach for ghosts at night, Mom and I got prepared.  We laid out more fudge for the evening, and cracked open the macaroons.  Sparing no expense, we also brought out the candy-covered nuts.  I mean, we didn't know what to expect.  Provisions were essential.

OK, I'm sorry, the above picture has nothing to do with us getting prepared, but in a sidebar... it makes me look back fondly at how disorganized I was with all my bags that first night - couldn't find ANYTHING even though I had packed like 10 hours beforehand.  I have now become such an expert in living out of bags and rental cars in the span of four weeks, it's slightly terrifying to think how well I could manage if suddenly homeless.  OK, that's insulting to the many homeless people I have seen throughout America, sorry.  Whole 'nother post.

Anyways...after setting up - and eating - the provisions, loading our Ghost Radar apps on our smart phones (what?  Yes I am serious!  What do you think, we have professional equipment?  Download it immediately though, hours of entertainment)...attempting to set up a flashlight like they do on Ghost Hunters (barely screwed in so the ghost can play with it) and failing miserably, it was time for lights out.

...and what happened?  I'll tell you what happened, we fell asleep.  And we slept *really* well...like the dead, if you will.  Did we hear anything strange or get woken up in the night?  No, as a matter of fact, we both felt like there was a kind and maternal spirit in the room that wanted us to feel safe and sound, and sleep tight.  Perhaps we came at the wrong time of year, or didn't ask the right questions before passing into slumber.

Or perhaps Miss Wright didn't want to disturb a mother; or frighten a particularly jumpy daughter (*gulp*).  Perhaps she stays about not only for her love of the room, but because the child she befriended at this hotel was enormously important to her, never having raised her own.  Perhaps that lost chance, to have a child, haunts her still.  And although she is said to be more animated in the presence of young children, I like to think Miss Wright holds the mother-child bond in high respect, and wanted to protect and nurture us that evening.  My mother and I have had many a good time together, and a good night's sleep in the town of Cape May, and this day was another fine memory to add to our collection.  Love you, ma.

~A

P.S. Or perhaps the trunk lady could give a rat's ass about children, hence the reason she had none, and was down at the Southern Mansion getting plastered with Ester.  Who knows?

Ghosts of Cape May

To get us in the mood for ghost hunting, Mom and I went on a ghost Trolley Tour of Cape May. 

The highlights of this spooky tour include famous ghosts and haunts, and areas where paranormal activity has been found by psychic Craig McManus.

Our Room 10 windows at the Hotel Macomber were pointed out on the tour!



Some highlights:

The Emlen Physick Estate, which is said to be haunted by several ghosts, including a few doggies!  Read about it here.  Our tour guide said she had a paranormal experience in this house, while on a ghost hunt.  She asked if anyone would like to touch her, and felt a finger distinctly press between her shoulder blades.  That's a fresh little ghost, IMO.

 

The Southern Mansion.  Two female ghosts, among others, are said to haunt this establishment.  One was a party girl named Ester Mercur, niece of the original owner, and known for having such wild parties back in the late 1800's that guests would pass out in the yard.  Champagne glasses have randomly shattered in people's hands, at the Southern Mansion.

The other was a late owner, Mary Crilly, who occupied the house for over 50 years until forceful removal, prior to her death in 1996.  She is thought to have returned in the afterlife.

The Inn of Cape May.  The top floor is said to be haunted by a very sad ghost - a nanny, who hung herself after two children in her care wandered across the street and drowned in the ocean. 







Speaking of the ocean...that's where we wandered after the tour.

The beachfront here is very old, as I have mentioned previously.  This is the oldest seaside resort in the country, dating back over 400 years.  A woman in white is seen on the beach at night.  Another entity appears in black and follows walkers.  Psychics say the shore at night is full of souls.  What do you think of these shots?  Orbs?

Woops...that last one is just a cool case in the lobby, we came across on our way back up to the room.  It represents a lot of drunk souls, not lost ones.  Thought it was a cool shot, and a good opportunity to linger, as I was getting pret-ty nervous about whatever was waiting for us, in room 10...

~A

The Way to Eat in Cape May

      First and foremost, before discussing crazy New Jersey Ghost Stories, we must address the delicious meals to be had at The Mad Batter Restaurant & Bar - a favorite places to grab some grub in Cape May.  I recall watching adults feast on such delights as soft shell crab and frogs legs (which looked oddly like half of a little man) here at the Mad Batter, in my youth....shutter.

The Restaurant is part of the Carroll Villa, built in 1882, and just makes a person giddy to walk by it, what with all the Alice in Wonderland references.  Plus, it's on Jackson Street - the most haunted avenue in town - and incidentally, where my family stayed in 2003 during Hurricane Isabel, causing the owner to board up all our windows and the ocean to rise all the way to the boardwalk in an angry, river-like current of darkness.

...but I digress.  Back to dinner!   We chose to sit out on the screened-in porch for our meal, which is nice and breezy.  The ocean is only a block away from this villa.











To start... some homemade baguettes,
and a make-your-own dip of olive oil and spices.

Mom ordered a bowl of clam chowder (generously shared), which may-or-may-not have been served with whole clams.  She is allergic to clam bellies - as in, hospital allergic - so I helped her out with finishing those (woo-hoo!). The soup was decidedly shalloty, and we think shallots are underrated.

Then...dinner.  Mom went healthy-style and had a chicken Caesar salad, which had approximately three pounds of tender chicken on top.


Her salad made me feel guilty about ordering fish and chips, which consisted of freshly caught-battered-and-fried cod, and the best tarter sauce this side of - well, France.  But clearly not guilty enough to change the order.






For some reason, it was difficult for us to finish our meals.  Did I mention we had already ate a good amount of fudge and candy-coated nuts?  We did.  Like, within 90 minutes of arriving in Cape May.  Hey, we have our priorities straight, here.  After dinner was the Trolley Ghost Tour...stay tuned!

~A

P.S.  Back in Room 10 of The Hotel Macomber (see previous NJ entry), which I will get into (eventually), we supplemented our ghost-hunting with more fudge, more candy-coated nuts, and a couple of homemade macaroons.  If you need a reason to visit Cape May, look no further than the homemade fudge and sweet treats - they are some of the best I've ever tasted, anywhere.  None of the goodies made it through the night!