On to Nashville and then the Outer Banks

The grand plan in my mind was to drive from Little Rock to Nashville and stop along the way to explore the BBQ and jazz on Beale Street in Memphis at which we would arrive around lunchtime.  However, having made the two hour trip back to Mt. Ida from Little Rock created a  six or so hour detour.  So we blasted through Memphis and made our way to Nashville where we arrived well after dark.  This was not problem since we had booked two nights in Nashville and could sleep in the next morning.

After arising late, we decided to get breakfast.  Yelp listed a few of the favorites and we decided to walk there.  Three blocks later that was a widely-acknowledged bad decision and we returned for the car.  I really did not know what to expect of Nashville and thought it might be a compact city with everything within walking distance.

In the sweltering sun, we decided that, no matter how spread out the city was, we were traveling via the Great White Sienna.  This was the right decision, however long it took us to arrive at it.

We had breakfast, and then decided to take a city tour.  When we arrived at the embarkation point, we realized that we were not staying in the "happening" part of town, even though, in reality, Nashville is not that spread out...maybe a few miles here or there at the most.  Our hotel was near Music Row and Vanderbilt University.  

I have always liked taking a guided city tour when visiting a city for the first time.  I think it gives visitors a sense of the geography and, more importantly, what locals consider the highlights or the paramount spots in their city.  So we drove down the to actual city center across the Cumberland River from LP Stadium, home of the Tennessee Titans.  We bought tickets to a tour an hour or so in advance and wandered around the heart of the city, along Broadway and 2nd Avenue.

With a very stiff Elvis impersonator on 2nd Avenue

We had walked around Music Row but did understand the significance of it, until we took the tour.  On the tour we learned that song writers are held in much higher esteem than are the performers and that they get top billing on the banners that line Music Row congratulating the Labels' artists for current top hits.  We learned that Tennessee's nickname, The Volunteer State, is from the Mexican-American War when a call for 3,600 volunteers resulted in over 25,000 showing up.  I am a sucker for that...throw in a few tidbits and I am 100% content with taking a tour, whether the factoids are true or not.  

Twiggy was not feeling well because of the heat -- by the end of the bus tour the temperature was 95 degrees with 93% humidity -- and the bus did not have adequate air conditioning and the atmosphere inside was quite stiffling and she felt woozy when we disembarked.  So we stumbled a few doors down and had appetizers and beverages for dinner at the Wildhorse Saloon and then retreated to our air conditioned hotel room (which we set at a nice 66 degrees) and Twiggy slowly recuperated.   

Our plan all along was for Twiggy and I to see some of Nashville's famed local performers at renowned venues such as the Bluebird Cafe.  But again, I did not do enough research ahead of time.   I figured it was just like any NY City bar where it starts late and ends late and the crowd ebbs and flows in and out.  No so.  What I failed to understand is that these venues book multiple shows per night and you must book them well in advance -- the whole booking process is spelled out on its "How to make reservations" webpage.  By the time we inquired and learned out what the details were, the shows were sold out.    So we left Reagan to babysit the other kids and walked down the street to a local venue which also had live music.  It was called Losers -- seriously, and was right next door to another bar called Winners.  Twiggy and I blended right in with the young Vanderbilt students and the bouncer almost inquired about her ID.  

The next day was slated to be the longest drive on our whole excursion - from Nashville to the Outer Banks, specifically, Corolla (pronounced by the locals as "Co-rawl-a", and by non-locals similar to the familiar pronunciation of a popular Toyota model).  We were up early and underway.  However, in the late afternoon, we ran into severe thunderstorms...I mean severe.  Every few miles along the way there were cars that had hydro-planed off the road and were being attended to by tow-trucks, ambulances, police or some combination thereof.  It was so bad that we decided to book a room in Chapel Hill and continue the journey the next day -- this was the first and only time we did not get to our intended destination on our intended day.  But, having woken up the next morning and driven the remaining distance, I am happy we did not continue try to forge on, since it was a drive in itself from Chapel Hill to the Outer Banks.

Cherimoya Fruit

My ex-collegue, David Brown, had offered us his house in Corolla.  It was a very nice place with plenty of space and all the amenities necessary for a great beach vacation.  The day we got there we emptied out the Great White Sienna and moseyed on down to the beach.  The wind was blowing from the bay (off-shore), the water was brown, not clear, and there were horse flies everywhere.  And they bite.  I am not one prone to getting bothered by bugs, whereas Twiggy is a magnet for anything that bites.  I can sit outside next to Twiggy and at the end of the evening, I won't have a bite while Twiggy will look like a cherimoya fruit with lumps all over her body.

Anyway, near the end of the day, I had flies all over my lower legs, almost to the point where you could not see the skin on my legs and they were all biting me.  "Yikes", I thought, this is the beach area everyone raves about?   

The next day however, the wind had shifted and the water cleared slightly and we rented a surfboard for the kids.  The following day was even better and we realized the brown water was a function of the heavy rains and was clearing up rapidly.  The water was so warm, we couldn't get the kids out and they wound up exhausted at the end of each day.  Reagan and Grant practiced what they learned in surf lessons in Del Mar, and actually got quite accomplished...I was proud they were confident enough to go out on their own.

Much to my consternation, we did not do much exploring in the Outer Banks.  The most exploration we did was to visit the Corolla Lighthouse a few miles north of the house.  Otherwise, we stayed close to home and did not go down to Cape Hatteras or Kitty Hawk or Kill Devil Hills, the dunes from where the Wright Brothers took off, or Ocracoke Island.  At this point, the majority of the family was just content to hang out on the beach and not stray too far from their temporary home base.  The kids were happy to be in the water and Twiggy was just happy to not be in the car.  Thus, the spine of The Insider's Guide to North Carolina's Outer Banks remains uncreased.  

Campbell getting buzzed by a hang glider on the Outer Banks

The final leg

The last leg of our trip was from Corolla, NC home to Rye. 

Seemingly, it took us hours to get off the barrier island.  Campbell, as you might have noticed in pictures in earlier posts, had a run-in with a pool wall in Maui.  She really scrapped her face up and to keep the scarring to a minimum, we tried to keep the injury from sun as much as possible.  So we were in search of Zinka, a surfers' sunscreen with a high zinc oxide content which we figured would be easier to find in the Outer Banks than in Westchester County.  Thus, we stopped a few times looking for a very specific item at a handful of surf shops on the way off the barrier island.  

Also, given the eight hour drive ahead of us, I am diligently on the lookout for a coffee shop with easy entry and easy exit.  Meanwhile, during this meandering trip down the island the kids, with the acquiescence of Mom, were auguring for a hermit crab as a pet/memento of their  visit to the Outer Banks.  I was skeptical.  The kids have persistently argued for pets of different persuasions.  But there has always been a general lack of follow-through after obtaining one from fish to rabbits.  Twiggy essentially becomes the caretaker for another animal on top of the five others (1 husband, 3 kids and a rabbit) she looks after now.

Anyway, we keep driving south toward the bridge.  When I finally spot a coffee shop, it happens to be next door to a Super Wings, a ubiquitous, somewhat cheesy beach/vacation/t-shirt provisioner on the Outer Banks, which was selling everything (I mean everything, including hermit crabs, hermit crab enclosures, and hermit crab food) at 50% off, given it was literally (as Joe Biden would say) the end of the season.  

Campbell outside Super Wings

I am having no part of this.  I will not participate in the decision because, frankly, there is no upside for me in weighing in.  If Twiggy decides its OK, then its OK by me since she will inevitably be the caretaker.  So we pull into the coffee shop parking lot and Twiggy runs into get coffee.  When she comes back, we exchange glances and she heads next door to Super Wings (note to the Brown kids in the future: your mother is a softie.  She has a great heart) to get a hermit crab.  Twiggy and the kids all join in to pick out the shell (its like a Winnebago for the creatures of the sea -- you pick out a hand-painted shell, personalized enclosure, etc) for the creature.  I wait in the car.  

The drive for the next few hours is interspersed with talk about what the new pet's name should be: "Kermit the crab", "Shelly", something Hawaiian, "Mr. Krabs", etc.....Then, Reagan asks, "Do hermit crabs molt?"  "Why?", Twiggy and I ask.  "Because there is a crab claw in the scallop shell we put the crab food on at bottom of the cage."  Somehow before we hit the Maryland border our newly acquired crab has lost an appendage....maybe that is what they meant by 50% off.  It was dead before it was named.

Anyway, we drive up the eastern seaboard on a clear and windy day.  We go up the coastal route across the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, through the DelMarVa peninsula,  Delaware, New Jersey and eventually back to Westchester County, NY.  We arrive in Rye around 7:30.  The kids suddenly turn sad...which I view as a good thing...not that they are sad, but that they are sad that the adventure is ending.  The car gets quiet and gloomy.

We make our way to the Roadhouse, just down the street from our house and the place where we were initially headed for dinner when we decided to leave early for our epic adventure.  So the end of the adventure was the place where we started.  Furthermore, the appropriateness of the name is not lost upon us and are all happy that this is the place where we decide to have our final repast of the journey.  

We came home on day 46, to a house full of spiderwebs and with just a weekend to get ready for the beginning of the school year.  If I could have (i.e., if I had won that North Carolina Powerball), I would have continued driving.