48.0 mi / 12.6 mph / 106 ft. climbing
Home: Bells Island Campground

Last evening, a park ranger pulled into our site with his pickup truck. But he wasn’t there to bust me for my can of beer wrapped in Rett’s bandana; he wanted to talk about bike touring! He had recently gotten back into it, and in 1988 had done an epic loop of Europe, riding through Poland and Germany a year before the Berlin Wall fell, something he said he could feel was about to happen from talking with the people that he’d met. We’ve seen so much of the world in these three years, but that sort of massive social and political change is something that (for better or worse) we’ve not been a part of.

Then this morning as we were packing up at the bathrooms, a young woman’s face revealed some of the purest joy I’ve seen, when I answered her questions about the life we’re living. Then a fixie-riding bike mechanic stopped to say how much he’d been admiring our bikes. And finally, a maintenance worker, shaken out of his early-morning reverie by the sight of our bikes, expressed his excitement for the life we’re living. He and his girlfriend were from Madison, Wisconsin, and had recently completed the Ice Age National Scenic Trail (that runs literally right behind my grandparents’ farm), so long-distance human-powered travel was inspiring to him. As we rolled out, with all this 3rd-party love buoying our spirits, we got one final lift as Rett overheard the maintenance guy telling his coworker, “legendary stuff, right there!!” You hear that Lamby, we’re legendary! (“um…yeah, sure dad”)

We were in shorts and t-shirts as we hit the highway, since the temperature bottomed out at a warm 59 degrees overnight. There was a surprise moment of light drizzle as we started, which the maintenance guy confirmed as the first “rain” they’ve had in a month.

The bike-touring spirit that had embraced us inside First Landing State Park continued outside of it, and it was a night-and-day difference from yesterday’s suburban-nightmare riding. Instead of being surrounded by strip malls (which I assume still existed just half a mile behind us), we were surrounded by forest, riding on wide bike lanes, and being passed by a large peleton of Saturday morning riders.

Most of the roadies had no time to slow and talk, but one guy (whose brother had done cross-country tours…maybe the ranger?!) rode with us for a bit and shared some valuable local knowledge (particularly that we should take the boardwalk, something I hadn’t had time to check). Along the road he would run into other riding buddies and introduce us, and one of them was so impressed with us that he extended his fist out toward Rett as we rode. She missed on her first attempt, but I was so proud to see her quickly catch back up, and connect on her second attempt at an in-motion fist-bump, the first time she’s ever even tried such a thing!

The recommendation to take the boardwalk was certainly correct in normal times, but this morning there was a Halloween-themed 10k run going on. We decided to cross the course where it ran a block off the boardwalk, only to arrive to the water one block over and find that the course looped back to use the boardwalk as well. Luckily there is a dedicated bike path between the pedestrian/runner path and the high rise hotels, so it wasn’t too bad at first (though there were probably more non-10k joggers using it than normal), but by the time we reached the finish line it was mobbed with finishers and supporters aimlessly wandering. But fist-bumping Rett gingerly stepped her way through the traffic barely putting a foot down.

Once we reached the boardwalk’s southern end we were ejected into a bit more suburban-hell, though the obvious cycling culture on this side of the city and the lighter Saturday traffic meant that it still wasn’t as bad as yesterday. I’d warned Rett we wouldn’t have any more of the quiet Delmarva farm roads for days or weeks, but then surprisingly on our way to Knotts Island the suburbs vanished and those wonderful empty roads returned.

We went a little too far before our stomachs told us it was time for lunch, and at that point a steady stream of rural houses had begun populating the highway, making it difficult to find a spot to pull over and set up our chairs. Thus the bit of pseudo-public land at the “Welcome to North Carolina” sign pulled double-duty: a spot to eat, and a spot to get perhaps the first proper “Welcome to…” photo since…California? Even though California was the 3rd state of our nomadacy, and North Carolina is #24!

A causeway across grass-filled marshland brought us to Knotts Island and eventually the road’s end. North Carolina runs a (free!) ferry back to the mainland, which we’re glad for (it allows us to ride a much more peaceful route to the Outer Banks), but it’s a bit mystifying because the small population of Knotts Island could drive back around in roughly the same amount of time it takes to cross on the ferry. Maybe it’s because the road route circles back through Virginia, so North Carolina maintains the ferry route in case war ever breaks out between the two states?

Following the 40-minute ferry ride we repeated the same causeway-through-marshland to-an-island routine, this time to smaller Bells Island, from which we would need to backtrack. But only tomorrow, since this was the site of our campground. It’s a private place, cash-only with no website and just a few tent sites on the Intracoastal Waterway next to the permanent dwellings and RVs. It felt very much like one of the many old-school New Zealand holiday parks we stayed at, minus the fully-equipped kitchen of course.

The showers were an unusual outside-the-bathhouse setup, though the sun’s warmth through the translucent roof made them quite comfortable. The problem was that the shower handle was spring-loaded, so it was nearly impossible to both turn the water on and wash yourself. Our solution was to put Rett in the men’s shower, which, unlike the women’s, had a rope attached to the handle to allow it to be tied in the “on” position.

Due to another lengthy day, we had a no-cook tuna-on-bagged-salad dinner, which I ate in my chair backed right up onto our tent. All day a northeast wind had been blowing at 10-15mph, and unlike the stronger wind a couple days ago, this one was unusually steady both in strength and direction. The sunset also did nothing to slow it down, so while it made every part of camping annoying, it also meant that a properly-oriented windbreak (for which our tent was the only option) did an unusually-effective job at eliminating its effects.

Over the last three days, we’ve done more than 150 miles, which we’ve only exceeded two other times. The tail(-ish) winds and flat ground have made such a push easier than those other times, but it’s still a strain, so it’s a good thing legends like us can handle it!