Yes, Size Really Does Matter

I’ll say this for the South - they sure are polite.  I’ve been ma’amed everywhere I go and I think I rather like it.  I even caught myself ma’aming a toll booth worker when she politely pointed out that the outside lane was usually for wide vehicles.  It’s infectious, this “yes ma’am” business, although Dan seems to resist - but you know what they say about taking the boy out of New York etc. 

Granted, the politeness may only be a thin veneer, but it sure beats the outright hostility I saw and felt in Florida.  Many people don’t consider Florida to be the South - it’s like an extra appendage just sort of dangling there.

So, north to the South, with some trepidation I confess.  After the glossing over about slavery and the Civil War we received in St. Augustine, I was afraid of what we’d encounter in the epicenter of “The Lost Cause”.  

We would follow Spring up the coast, stopping in State parks near Savannah, Charleston, Myrtle Beach, New Bern and the Outer Banks of North Carolina, before heading into Virginia to cross the Chesapeake Bay to the Delmarva Peninsula, an area that is home to 3 States - Delaware, Maryland and Virginia. Personally I think that mashup is completely uninspired.  If the Mormons had been in charge it could have been VirginAwareLand. ( see Virgins Locked and Loaded, November 9 2021). If I’d been in charge it definitely would have been DeGinLand.

A separate post is required for Savannah and Charleston, but let me just say that despite the impressive good manners, there is just too much Weather going on here in the South for my liking.  Heat, humidity and hurricanes.  Oh, and tornadoes.

Living in a trailer puts you at the mercy of the Weather Gods. You might as well have a giant target painted on your roof.  How many times do you read about tornadoes decimating trailer parks?  

Dan’s favorite Gary Larsen cartoon seemed rather apt.

Yes, so this was a fun way to start our day.  I grabbed our passports and medications and stashed away the Nespresso machine (no way could I have that baby damaged).  We had the radio on, ready to run with the dogs to the concrete toilet block.  Luckily we didn’t need to.  But the experience did make me ask the question (again): how early is too early for gin?

One other gin-invoking experience not strictly weather related was our crossing of the Chesapeake Bay in Virginia.  Dan had always wanted to drive this massive, nearly 18 mile long bridge that connects to the Delmarva Peninsula.  Very convenient too, as the alternative journey around the bay would involve passing through the Washington DC and Annapolis metro areas - hours and hours and many, many miles.  A no-brainer.

Our campsite for the next three days is the heart, just over the bridge.

Just before the bridge we stopped to fill our tank and, while Dan was inside arranging a second mortgage to pay for the diesel, a friendly attendant asked me where we were heading.  When I said over the bridge he said we’d have to remove everything from the bed of the pickup “because of the wind”.  Really?  It wasn’t particularly windy that day.  He explained it was because of the tunnels.  The what?  Then he asked how tall the rig was.  13ft. 5 in.  Was I sure?  Did that include the air conditioner?  I think so.  Wait!  What tunnels?  I thought this was a bridge!

Turns out it’s a bridge, then a tunnel, then a bridge, then another tunnel, then a bridge again.  And the height restriction for the tunnels is 13ft. 6 in.  

My chatty friend went on to tell me that not too long ago a semi trailer was blown over the edge when it came out of one the tunnels.  The driver died.  But we should be okay - if indeed we had that one inch to spare and emptied the truck bed.

Dan returned looking pale but I was even paler.  A quick Google search reveal that Chatty Cathy was indeed telling the truth.  It was too late to go all the way around - all our sites for the next 10 days were booked, starting at the southern end of the Peninsula and it would take another 8 or 9 hours to get there.  We had to trust that the rig manufacturer included the AC in the height - of course they would!  Why wouldn’t they?  It would be ridiculous if they didn’t. And dangerous.  Right?  

I was so nervous that I picked the wrong lane at the tollbooth and had to retract my side mirrors to squeeze through.  I crept forward blind, with what looked like maybe an inch on either side, waiting for the sound of the rig scraping concrete.  That’s when the lovely attendant was so polite about my stupidity.  She also assured me that an alarm would have sounded if we were too tall for the tunnel, so at least there was that.  Still, once we were through the tollbooth I had to pull over to gather what was left of my wits and nerve.  With one whole inch to spare I prayed there would be no bumps.  I think I set a Personal Best for holding my breath.

I felt like kissing the ground when we finally got to the end of the bridge-tunnel-bridge-tunnel-bridge but settled for an extra large Martini which is the now the Official Drink of the DeGinLand Peninsula. Cheers!