Day 12: Felton to Nags Head, NC

Anja and I had originally planned to spend a full day and a second night in Felton, but after much discussion and further examination of our atlas, we decided to leave the afternoon of the second day and get a head start on the trip to Georgia. We spent the morning doing laundry (and, in Anja’s case, feeding everyone crepes – yum!), then headed out shortly after 1 p.m. to drive down the Delaware/Maryland/Virginia peninsula to the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel.

It’s not a terribly picturesque drive down Route 13 to the CBBT, but we did see a few entertaining license plates, of which Anja took pictures. We also ran into another blinding rainstorm, which was again the most fun thing ever. This time some stupid idiots were racing down the left lane, despite the complete lack of anything that could accurately be termed “visibility”, so we stayed as far right as possible. Safely.

We pulled into a gas station shortly after the rain ended, and had the distinct pleasure of pulling back out behind some idiot in a truck that he had piled high with tires. Big truck tires. Big, not-secured-or-tied-down-in-any-way-shape-or-form truck tires. Sure enough, one came bouncing off and flying toward my car. I swerved with my super racing skills and avoided it, *then* remembered to honk and alert the idiot. Who looked at me with great disgruntlement, but did at least pull over, I assume to get the tire.

The Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel is kind of expensive ($12 toll), but AWESOME. Seriously, there were parts where all we could see was the bridge just in front and just behind us, because the rest was covered in mist. It was like driving on a sky bridge! If you ignored the water lapping just to your left or right. Which I did. Because bridges kind of freak me out.

On the other side of the CBBT, we entered Norfolk, VA. Now, Anja and I had decided that, since we had left Felton early, we had time to go in to the I-95, cross the border, and then head back out to the coast again to reach the Outer Banks. (Or, as Anja remembers them, the Outer Limits.)(In the second alternative, as I remember them, the Outer Hebrides.) We wanted to go inland to the I-95, you see, because there is this incredibly awesome, kitschy tourist trap called “South of the Border” that we wanted to visit. It was, according to my guide book, just south of the North Carolina state line.

Norfolk is ugly and we managed to just hit work traffic. Took us about an hour and a half to get through it and finally make it to the highway. Some poor woman in a Yaris pulled up next to us at one point to ask directions; I have no idea why you’d ask the only person in the massive car line-up with Ontario plates, but we were rather predictably unable to help her. She pulled in behind us and followed us, though.

Anyway, we make it to the I-95, head across the border, and start looking for Exit 1, which is supposed to lead us to South of the Border. We see none of the promised billboards advertising SOTB, and the first exit we see is Exit 180. As you can imagine, we were a little confused, so Anja pulled out the guide book to see what was going on.

Turns out? South of the Border? Is in South Carolina. Not North Carolina. When it said “south of the North Carolina state line”, it meant the southern state line.

Yeah.

May this hard-earned lesson serve you well some day.

Anyway, we laughed our asses off, Anja apologised a million times, and we stopped for ice cream. We then figured we would just head back out to the coast and go as far as we felt we could. (And by “we”, I mean “me”, since I was the only one driving.) We followed a semi-country highway for three hours, alone most of the way, in rain most of the way, and extremely confused by the highway signage most of the way. (Watch out for bears? In North Carolina? Really?) Finally, completely exhausted and cursing the hotel-free stretch of highway that is the last hour’s drive out to the Outer Banks, we arrived in Nags Head and, with the help of Anja’s boyfriend googling in New York, found a Comfort Inn. Where we promptly collapsed in Becky and Chris’ lovely, air conditioned home.