All things, not necessaritly all good . . .

. . . will finally end sooner or later. We decided Tuesday we had had enough, and as we had finished our drink mixes, we would pack Wednesday and leave Thursday (two days early).

We went out to dinner to celerate this decision, and also, just to eat in another restaurant, and when we were done, we couldn't start the van. Luckily the nice people in the restaurant gave us a jump, so we could at least get back to the Sandpooper.

Once we shut it off, it wouldn't start. Tried again in the morning, and no dice. So we called AAA and settled in to wait. Watched more and more houses fill up around us, congratulated ourselves for our decision.  AAA finally showed up around 4 PM (and we didn't care, because we spent the day packing anyhow) and figured out it was a starter problem that could be overcome using a special ignition spell and incantation, which I duly learned.

They went away and we packed as much as we could in advance so the next morning would be easier. It was already easier leaving than arriving because many things could just be tumbled down the stairs or dropped over the bannister.

"Packing" here also includes cleaning the damned house, as in vacuuming, sweeping and in the morning starting the washer and dishwasher. Or you could pay them an arm and a leg to do it. Nah. We left a decent tip so they wouldn't report us for our spotty efforts.

We headed south accompanied by lots of rain and tornado warnings. Luckily we drove out of all that as we left South Carolina the next day. Two nights on the road brought us home and sent me to the computer to look at our usual location and yes! They have added a new property we can use, so goodbye forever to the Outer Banks.

Next up: France, Belgium, Luxembourg and Germany in the steps of the 101st Airborne next June, before we get too old to climb in and out of buses. This has been on Joyce's bucket list forever and we'll go with Valor Tours again. If they can manage the Philippines, Europe ought to be a real cakewalk, right? Right.

See you then.

The good stuff

Maybe you wonder why not just leave, it's not all that entertaining. But there were reasons to stay as well.

First of all, when there were no people, especially kids, screeching, it was very peaceful there. It smelled nice. I enjoyed sitting out on the screened porch and reading once the sun was off it.

Second, there was no phone and no mail, forcing us to contact people and do stuff. I only use my computer for social communication, not for any sort of work or official business. Joyce doesn't use it at all. So the utter isolation forced us to rest. It also gave Theo a chance to bond with the rest of us without interruptions like the phone, the doorbell, motorcycles, lawnmowers, and people coming and going to maintain or fix things. Except that one time with the toilet pump, but never mind. It only took a couple minutes.

It was quiet at might, good for sleeping, and the sky was full of stars. In fact, near the end, we got a full moon that was very beautiful:

Looks better larger, so click.

Them there was eating out, and visiting little beachy shops for souvenirs. This was my favorite and I wish they shipped stuff, but they can't ship some of the chocolate stuff, especially in summer:

trymynuts.com

If this doesn't turn into a link, just copy and paste. We went there three times. I think the best thing there is Dirty White Trash, but Joyce was partial to the various salt and sugar coated nuts.

And of course, there was inertia. The drive up wasn't fun, and having got there, we weren't in a rush to repeat it in reverse. So we decided to stay as long as it took to empty the margarita and pinacolada mixes we had brought. And weather permitting, we sat on top of the house and looked at the ocean. With an onshore breeze, you could even hear it some of the time.

I would say click to hear better, but we all know that's a hoax, just like the concept of an Outer Banks vacation when you've been somewhere else that's a lot better.

The sports nuts

We took breaks from the neighbors' nonsense by going out. We went to dinner and shopping and figured out why we couldn't take the dogs, or ourselves, onto the actual beach, ever. When we arrived, the weather was almost cool, but by the following weekend, it was hot. I mean, hot. Okay, not Philippines hot, but burning sand hot. Too hot for the dogs unless we wanted to go out really early or really late, which is when the flies and gnats are all over the place. If I was going to just be outside long enough to walk the dogs, I had to cover myself with Off! and sunscreen.

However, meteorological conditions did not dissuade our next batch of neighbors, who arrived in several SUVs, with canoes on top and trailers full of gear behind, such as several dozen fishing poles. Their vehicles looked like this.

 

I can hear you asking "Why put a forest of fishing rods on the FRONT of your car?" As a matter of fact, you can put them on the rear. We saw that a lot, too. So I guess it's some sort of macho bullshit. Imagine the driver, realizing s/he is about to rear-end someone, thus destroying the whole lot of them. Karma.

 

And of course there were many people including children and a dog. Some of them used their cell phones outdoors constantly, as if they really wanted to be somewhere else. I certainly wanted them to be somewhere else. Some mornings they would load up and drive away, others they would hang around and/or use the walkover, dragging kids and crap.

 

Between them and the Bickersons on the other side, walking the dogs became really problematic. We would have to try to sneak out when we saw an opportunity, ready to reverse direction the minute they showed up. Stella and Ollie just got distracted, but Theo went nuts. It figures, the one time we try to take a new dog on vacation, he turns out to have mental health issues.

 

So we renewed our discussions about possibly leavimg earlier than at the end of our two weeks. You can probably see where this is going.

New neighbors

We had arrived on a Saturday, and no one else showed up until Monday, although a few people parked in the cul-de-sac and walked over to the beach, or they might just show up, dragging a canoe, from one of the nearby houses further inland. Imagine how pleased Theo was to hear that going over the loose plank boardwalk. Pretty much as thrilled as he was when the waste management people showed up in the middle of the night.

Theo himself never got near the walkover, nor did Joyce, nor any other dog. I felt it was just too dangerous and not worth getting hurt for. We had found a public parking lot over less of a dune on the far end of town, and hoped eventually to take them onto the beach that way. Besides, seriously, Stella probably collected that piece of cactus when exploring the tall grass around the house, and we didn't want them collecting anything else. We had to deal with sand spurs daily as it was. So we just kept them on the mowed part of the yard, which was adequate. Not pretty, just enough clear space and some sad grass. 

Anyway, the first neighbors to show up came very late at night in a huge van. More and more and more children kept getting out of it, so that I wondered if it was a trip for an orphanage or something. They made a lot of shrieking noises and we figured we were screwed and ought to think about going home early.

Next morning, we saw that all the children were girls and all the adults were wearing long checked dresses and little cupcake hats. Yes, they were Mennonites, and very nice people besides. Except for the first night, and whenever they used the walkover, we hardly heard a peep out of them. They borrowed our picket fence for a group picture which was when the mothers told us they were all sisters and all the girls were cousins (six of them) which reminded me of my own childhood with my cousins down the shore in New Jersey.

So we really missed them when the next two families showed up. The Mennonites had been directly behind us, but the new families were catty-corner behind us, and also directly to our left, or north. And did they fight! And when they fought, our dogs barked and set off the other dogs in the neighborhood. So we talked even more about leaving early.

In this shot, taken from atop the dune I climbed, the Sandpooper is just right of center, and the Bickerson's house is to the right of that, about twelve feet away. This is not far enough in relation to sulky teenagers, screaming toddlers and big-mouthed, pushy husbands. They carried on like there was no audience for their antics, and believe me, I wish there hadn't been. And you can see the width of the path over the dunes, which makes it easy to understand why we would not walk the dogs out there. Finally, this shot illustrates really well how far the house really was from the beach. Don't forget to click on it.

Over the dunes. Almost.

One day after we went sightseeing, which means we drove as far as the Ocracoke Ferry and back, I decided to climb the dunes to see just how much trouble it was to get to the beach, or if it was even possible. Just for the fun of it, here is Stella at the rental where we usually go. Note the proximity of the house to the beach. Note the proximity of the house to the water. Please observe the height and depth of the dunes. Yeah. This is why we won't be returning to the Outer Banks, although I'm glad I got to see what everyone was raving about. Not WHY, just what.

My plan was to hike as far as I could see from the house. I assumed that would put me on top of a dune just above the beach. I had no plans to go further because I wasn't up for hiking back UP from the other side, at least, not yet. And I also took my cell phone with me, because you never know. A spiny cactus could be lying in wait.

I went up the walkover path to the steps to the little platform in the middle and down the other steps till they ran out between the dunes, then up the far slope, which was very steep. I mean, you were standing on the path, and where you were going was almost straight up, over your head. And all of the walkover was all splinters: foot planks, rails, seats; everything. You didn't want to grab those rails either, because they were loose, and steps were missing, etc.

Yeah, it's a little out of focus, but you get the general idea. And here is what I saw from the top of "our" dune:

That's right: two more dunes just as wide as and only slightly lower than the one over which we couldn't see. I could see quite a way, and there were four people, total, on the beach. All had tents, because once you get out there, you don't run back and forth over the dunes. Go ahead and piss in the ocean. No one's there to see. 

Days at the "beach."

Given the difficulty of all that stair climbing and the trucking of crates up and down, we didn't go out every day. In fact, we probably only went every third day or so, to eat out or shop or sightsee. So those days we spent at the Sandpiper,  (which we started calling the Sandpooper in honor of the dogs) I examined our bizarre surroundings, and concluded the reason the Outer Banks are so popular is that so few people have discovered the Florida Panhandle.

First, it's a ghetto. You don't jam houses in on top of each other if it can be avoided, but in order for every property to have a sliver of beach view, they have to be shoe-horned in at impossible angles. This is a view from the top of of the house looking west.

It's easy to count seven or eight houses on every side of the house except the east front, which points at the dunes. Where we usually vacation, if you look in any direction, you see one other house and they are on substantial lots, and they certainly don't look into your bathroom windows from their various porch levels, or vice versa. And the further back from the beach, the higher they are built in order to give the occupants some sort of a view.

When we first arrived, there was only one other occupied house in our immediate vicinity, by which I mean houses whose property bordered ours. Unfortunately, this didn't mean it was quiet. A couple of houses away was a dog who barked constantly. And we were the proud overseers of a beach walkover, which is what everyone uses to get over the dunes to the beach if they don't happen to be in a "beachfront" house.

This is the front end of our walkover.

 



As you can see, it's about as safe as a minefield. People carrying and dragging various equipment accompanied by dogs and screaming childrfen traipsed back and forth all day every day, and they absolutely had every right to do so. But none of us liked it. It was insanely intrusive in my opinion, and compared to other beachfront locations.

And here's the view from our screened porch. It was a nice place to sit and read but you couldn't see much, just the dunes and other houses.

So if you wanted to see the ocean, you had to climb all the way up to the top, where there was no shade.  You also had to drag chairs up there because if you wanted more seating than a narrow bench. And if you wanted to eat or drink up there, you had to carry all of it up all those flights. And there was no taking dogs outside the screened porch because they either had to be leashed or they would escape. So a couple of times we carried up four beers in a small cooler, when it was overcast enough not to fry. Two beers is my bladder's limit anyway, so half an hour and we had to climb back down again. Not worth it.

Next day, more discoveries

Luckily one of us remembered to put the trash out for pickup. They have those big plastic bins you roll to the curb, like here at home. The last occupants had obviously left on a non-pickup day, so we did it. Not complaining, just setting the scene. We had to go up and down the stairs with the dogs several times before bed anyway, so it was no big deal. I took Theo to sleep with me, and Stella and Ollie went in with Joyce.

In the middle of the night, ear-splitting crashes and grinding. The trash and recycle people showed up in the pitch dark, about 4 AM. The bedrooms face the street side of the house, of course. Remember, Theo doesn't like noise. Honestly, I don't, either. He became hysterical and we all jumped up in confusion while the dogs all barked frantically. Our house was in a cul-de-sac so they had about six pickups to make right there in that one small area.

Since we were all awake, we took the dogs out after the trucks left, so that once we got back to sleep, we could stay there. The underground parking had plenty of light for the yard so this, at least, was not a problem. We had brought, as we always do, loads of bread bags and newspaper sleeves and other small plastic bags to clean up after the dogs. However, this was how we discovered Theo likes to do his business in a nice, quiet private place. He chose the back hall after we got him back upstairs. Out with the cleaners, etc. again. Finally went back to bed.

Late morning before we got up, and decided we must go grocery shopping. Loaded up the dogs and drove up and down the coast road loooking for a place to shop. Nada. Went into a gas station. They told Joyce there was a Food Lion and we had driven past it several times. Found it, located behind mounds of contruction material and equipment. One tiny sign said. "We are OPEN! Entrance in rear." Good thing we asked. So Joyce shopped while I minded the dogs (which means I read a book, because they were in their crates).

Driving up and down a lot meant we got to see where the restaurants were, so after we put away the groceries, we hauled the crates up the steps and put them in the spare bedroom, corralled the kids and went to a place called Dirty Dick's for crab sandwiches. It's one of those places that sells a T-shirt that says, "I got my crabs at Dirty Dick's." Yeah, I will wear that if you GIVE it to me. I will not pay you to do your advertising.

The host called us "girls" and we pointed out that we are a total of 130 years old, so no girls present. Joyce got an extra beer for that. The sandwiches were great, just one of the reasons we went up there in the first place, for the food.  They had a very large menu and many designer beers, our kind of place.


http://www.dirtydickscrabs.com/ordereze/intro1.html


Later that day, when we returned to the Sandpiper slightly loopy, we devised a better way to walk the dogs, rather than go up and down three times per outing, or try to get them all down all at once. The Shuttle is when one of us (usually but not always me) goes to the foot of the stairs and the other sends down one dog at a time while waiting on the screened porch. The dogs cooperated by going up and down in turns as requested, and by carrying down additional shit bags if we ran out. This was totally new to them so I give them all the credit in the world for learning so fast. And I also learned that if I took Theo out at night (I mean the dead of night, not just in the dark) and gave him enough time, he would produce and save toilet paper. And since he eats and shits like a horse, it was well worth the extra effort.

Surprises galore

Imagine our surprise when we discovered out house was NOT on ground level. But what could we do? And it was only one 12-step flight, so we decided to see if we could tough it out. Obviously we did or there'd be no trip to blog about. We parked under the house and left the car running so the air conditioning would stay on for the dogs while we unloaded, at least partway. We worked as a team to get the heavy stuff up there and decided we didn't need certain things at all, like the barracks bag of dog towels and sheets for covering furniture. We could come get them as needed. And we had not packed that much food this time because up until the last minute, we really weren't sure if we were going at all. Even our personal luggage was on the light side.

When we stumbled up the steps into the living room, we discovered a big blue plastic tub. What can this be? we wondered. Why, it was our bedding, of course. Our beds were not made. We had to do it ourselves. Have never come across this in all our years of rentals. We pushed it aside and continued unpacking so we could get the dogs in.

Once everything but the dogs was up in the house, we got them out for a trot around the yard before taking them upstairs, and guess what we found? Cactus! Sand spurs! So we picked spurs out of their pads and made a note to locate something for dislodging cactus plants from the sandy soil, which may well have been illegal, but we really didn't give a shit.

Once they were empty, we got them upstairs, poured a couple of big drinks and made the beds. Decided cheese and crackers would make an excellent supper, as we had yet to locate a supermarket. Actually we weren't sure if there even was such a place, and wondered if we'd be shopping in convenience stores for two weeks.

Sat on the couch to have a look at the weather channel and discovered there was no VCR, DVR, or any other such equipment. This explained why the cabinet contained no DVDs, either. That isn't such a big deal to us, but it's pretty standard in beach rentals where we usually go.

While figuring out the TV, Joyce saw something on Stella's coat and brushed it to dislodge it, whereupon she let out a blood-curdling scream and began running around the room with her hand in the air. Joyce, I mean. A thing was stuck to Joyce's fingers, and she wouldn't hold still or shut up so I couldn't even see what it was. I chased her and the dogs bayed and ran around the house in confusion. I finally cornered her in the kitchen while she was screaming about spiders and bugs and waving her hand. I finally got hold of her hand, found a spiny thing on it, dragged her to the sink and got her hand under water, and while she screeched and struggled, I managed to dislodge the thing and about five spines, using my own bare hands. There was no time to hunt for tweezers. 

She kept screaming it was alive, while I tried to reassure her it was from a plant, probably the cacti in the yard, all dried up and having blown to where it stuck on Stella, who was totally unharmed, by the way. I had to dig it back out of the trash and show her it wasn't a living thing.

Here it is when green:

 

See how the spines are long and black. When it breaks off, it dries to a light tan, which you can see starting to happen in the lower left corner, and blows around. It doesn't stick to fur but it does lodge in flesh. For the next twelve days, I dug that shit out of the yard with a slotted spoon and put it in a plastic bag to be hauled off by the ever-present Waste Management people.

 

This would probably be a good time to point out that Joyce is a highly-decorated combat veteran from the First Gulf War. I am not making this up. She has two rows of medals ALONE plus two more rows of ribbons. Probably a good thing they weren't lobbing cacti at her over there.

Packing list

Here are some things you will need for your vacation to the Outer Banks: a camel, a grappling hook, counter-weights, pitons, crampons, axe, rope, porta-potty and a telescope.

The camel is for traveling over the dunes from your house to the beach, which, even if you are "oceanfront," is a third of a mile away over dunes far too high and deep to see over. The telescope is for seeing the beach from your house. The top of your house, by which I mean, a platform over the roof. The rest is climbing equipment that will permit you to follow or lead your camel over the dunes. You cannot ride the camel because it will be carrying your porta potty.

Here is our oceanfront vacation rental, the Sandpiper:

 

Note proximity and number of nearby houses. It's cute, isn't it? It was very comfortable inside. It was very inconvenient outside.  See the roof platform? You have to climb up there, four levels up from the ground, if you wish to see the ocean.

 

The ocean:

 

It's that narrow grey band in the middle. See? Pays to have a telescope. We didn't have one, so we just squinted.

Note in the top picture how the house seems to be sitting on the ground. It's not, the bottom level is the garage. Try taking three dogs up and down the stairs six times a day. Want great legs? That's one way to do it. Another, probably, is climbing the dunes a couple times a day, which I might have done had I not been worn out from walking the dogs!

 

What? On the road again?

I know. What the hell is wrong with us, right? And we planned it this way. Well, not the disaster part. The other parts.

If you read the Philippines blog, you know we had this Outer Banks vacation planned for a long time. It was to compensate Joyce for having to be home with the dogs, without me, and for me to kick back and decompress. Of course I expected the Philippines trip to be hard, but not that hard, and I certainly hadn't planned on Nick's rather abrupt departure in my absence. I'm dealing with it. I'll be okay. Just glad I'm not any younger, is all.

For two days after I got home from that last trip, I was basically an emotional pile of goo. After two nights with no sleep and constant crying jags, Joyce said, "You want to cancel our vacation and stay home and get a dog instead?" And like an idiot (don't worry, it worked out eventually) I said, "No, I want to get a dog AND go on vacation, and the devil take the hindmost." If you are young, you will not recognize that saying. That's what Google is for.

So she said fine, dragged me out of bed and we went to the pound. This was the Saturday after the Thursday I got back, and we were scheduled to leave the following Friday for the beach, just to put things in perspective.

At the pound they had no small male dogs available. I love all dogs, but at our age and in our condition, and with a small dog door, we can't manage anybody over about 25 pounds, especially since there are three of them. Also, older dogs die sooner, and bigger dogs die younger. Not good. And we always adopt, we never buy a dog. There are so many dogs who need homes, I couldn't justify it. Besides, purebred dogs have genetic problems. Not like adopted dogs have NO problems, but there are certain problems that can be avoided with a nice little rescue mutt, so we always get one.

On to the Humane Society. They had exactly two males in the right size range. We took one home. Here he is.

His shelter name was Winter but we named him Theodore Cody, Theo for short. Theodore was Nick's middle name and Cody was the ancient dog we adopted earlier this year, and who died a couple of months later. He was a friend's dog, and we knew him all his life, and she got sick, and that's how all that happened. So we remember them both in Theo's names.

So Theo came home for about ten days, and then we dragged him off on a road trip. Not ideal, but we thought we'd had enough dog vacation experiences to handle it.

Well, guess who hates a car ride? He puked on the way home from the Humane Society, too, but we thought that was stress, nerves and excitement. It may very well have been, but long trips don't calm him down one iota, either. Three towels later, we made it to our first stop in Brunswick, Georgia.

And guess who hates motel noises? And guess who apparently can't do his business outside when stressed? Yes, you guessed them all. Luckily we travel with all kinds of cleaning agents and equipment. The rooms are probably cleaner when we leave than on arrival. He "slept" with me the first night, meaning neither of us slept, so Joyce had to drive the first shift the next day, and of course it poured. The only thing she hates worse than driving is driving in the rain.

But we got to Florence, South Carolina, in very good time, and went shopping in the Dollar Store for cheap towels. We always carry lots of dog towels, sheets and so on, but we were going through them like shit through a goose. And this dog, who spends the day throwing up, compensates by eating and shitting like a horse all night and the next day. And he only weighs 21 pounds! Yup, smaller than Nick was, and a few pounds larger than Stella and Ollie.

Anyway, that night I got Stella and Joyce got the boys, and the next day, I drove the early shift to the beach.