ducks driving to DC

After 1,878 miles, 9 days, 216 hours, 19 cups of coffee and a billion bathroom breaks we have covered the northern corner of New York and Long Island and started an entire new section of this venture. As we are southbound the upcoming section is titled ‘DC in a day.’ We shall see if we fit every piece of history, every tourist opportunity into our single day in Washington D.C. Exploring D.C. is indeed a must, which is why we are squeezing it into our already jam packed schedule. But with the method we take to view the sites I am almost positive we will have no problem seeing every sight. Remember how I said we only view things from a far, because we lack patience? (Or you could look at it that we are just so content in our company with one another that the Empire State building does not contain the greatness of Gaines or that Ellis Island does not hold the wisdom of our El Salvadorian and we all know full well if I dared to stand next to the statue of Liberty they would probably take it down and build a copper me.) [If you do not know me and are reading this, please read that last line with every ounce of sarcasm you hold, thank you]

            Talking about our impatience and desire for instant gratification came into play once again today. This morning we took the winds and the wounds around every tree-grasping

curve that lingered along the Atlantic Ocean’s coastline with the early morning sun. As a special surprise I took Lacey and Candice to Montauk’s point, which held an enormous and glorious lighthouse. Well the lighthouse museum didn’t open until 10:30am and it was 9:30am, the lock was off the gate so I figured I would help them out by opening up that gate, while helping Lace and Candice by giving them a tour without payment and crowds. So we gandered and we gawked for a short moment at the over looking views and than we began our accent to the lighthouse’s front door. As we climbed up the steep road that over looked forests to our right and left and was followed by terraces to the ocean’s mouth we had smiles plastered across our faces. That was until we got stopped dead in our tracks when a woman’s voice as loud as an oncoming train started to scold us for being inside the lighthouse's gate. She told us we needed to turn around immediately and come back at opening time. Some people say there is a tiny little woman living at the top of that light house watching out for trespassing tourists, I for one believe the light house is haunted and she was offended that we even entered her grounds before the other humans, so she ran us off, which did indeed work. Worked so well we didn’t even come back at 10:30 with the other paying tourists.

            Instead of touring our haunted lighthouse lady we drove down the rode to the beach, where we surfed. Or more an attempt to surf, the surf was better the night before (which we did) but this sunny afternoon had the waves in a fret and all you could see from the shore line was white, it was wave after wave coming in furiously slapping the rocks it landed on. But we did get Lacey out on a surfboard for the first time, and we also got her stuck in a rip current after 10 minutes of her and I swimming no where the non-Baywatch 16 year old lifeguard came to our rescue as we paddled back to Candice standing at the shore with her camera that never leaves her hands.

            But the night before, please if you will read for a second more, let me tell you about the late surfing on Monday night that took us all day to get too. We planned on being on the beach on our boards by noon, well with shops and rain and no fore-knowledge of where we were headed we didn’t get to the sand dunes until 5:30pm. It was a dark overcast that put a dim doomed mood all over Montauk’s point beach. But that didn’t stop Candice and I from grabbing our 9” planks and rushing into the pounding waves that bashed into the sandy shoreline. I only got rocked a couple times and only caught a few waves. But I was home. I the girl from the farmer farther and the most land-locked state was home, and I’m positive my California Candice felt the same way. I sat up on my board, legs danggeling off the sides and slowly let the waves roll under me. The water was a dark green that turned black into the distance and when I looked to the west I saw surfers as if they were sitting ducks, just waiting for the next 

wave to come in. I saw the gloomy mourning waters mimicking the clouds darkness. But to the north of our wavy waters the cliffs were topped with dark ferns and grasses as they crevassed sharply into the beach line. The fogged hovered like a mother over her child on top of those Irish-imitating cliffs. And I sat there on my board, shocked by the warmth of the hard water and I felt at peace, whether I would catch a wave or not, whether there was oceanic danger lurking below me or not, I was at peace sitting like a wading duck upon my board.

            So we left the surfing behind this afternoon, we left New York in the dust. Well not necessarily the dust, considering we had to stop in the middle of 8-lane traffic because the New Jersey turnpike held an $11 toll and we only had one dollar. The end of this story is a lovely conversation with a police officer; the reasoning of this story is because I spent $10 on a pair of high-heels and a leather watch at a beach side thrift store. So leaving all that behind, except our ticket and future tollbooths, we are finally on our way back south.

            We head downward to DC, to Virginia, to the south with the intentions of hiking and camping in the sunshine and musing music and good eating in the moonlight. In other words we are now traveling with a new motive in mind: Play dirty in the day and party fancy in the night.