Steve damico williamsburg dating
Fried chicken at the little mom-n-pop just down the road, and the day really comes around.
Now, if I can just get my hips, feet and legs from constantly complaining.
The history of The Outer Banks goes back some 300 years.
During this time, over 2,000 ships have been lost along this treacherous coastline, giving The Outer Banks the distinction of being known as the “Graveyard of the Atlantic.” Indeed, the waters here are some of the most treacherous in the world.
A little about the Wright Brothers and big Kill Devil Hill tomorrow.
You can go flying up that road with your air and your stereo full blast–but you won’t see The Outer Banks!
In a gas station after some pop, a lady explains to me that the plates are displayed by folks that live on Hatteras Island!
Anyway, that doesn’t take from the fact that they’re all very friendly.
The traffic on US158 was absolutely crushing today, and the hair-raising crossing of the three-mile Albemarle Sound Bridge, from the barrier islands, across to the mainland, is a story in itself.
Sluffice to say, and perhaps you can imagine spending over an hour wedged in a two-foot wide slot, hoofing it along between the bridge railing and the grilles, wheels and boxes roaring past your elbow as both lanes of oncoming traffic go whizzing by at sixty-plus. Well, I said two prayers: one as I set foot on the bridge, and one at the far end. Toward evening now, just shy of a thirty mile day, and in the rain, the little tornados constantly slamming me from the oncoming barrage, my prayers are answered once again. But the sign on the door reads “No Vacancy;” bummer number two, but I knock anyway. After greeting me, she says, “You’re in luck, just had a cancellation.” Whoohee!
The tarmac is lifting and dancing before me, like a desert mirage, a literal frying pan.