On Saturday morning we packed Vince and Holly’s van with luggage and groceries and headed to southern Virginia. It was a little too early for the beauty of fall foliage, but we could tell that in a couple of weeks it would be just glorious. We had to make a few stops, for coffee and a change of drivers, so we were running late and missed about the first half hour of Laura’s rugby game in Norfolk.
I wish we’d seen more of it. I’d spent 14 years watching my son James play soccer, but I’d never seen a rugby game. It’s like a cross between soccer and football, rougher than soccer and played without the padding of football.
Some of the women wore mouthpieces, but that was all about all there was for protection. It was a vigorous, aggressive game. Laura has only been playing for a few months, but she loves it. And, indeed, she looked right at home. Art took a couple of pictures of her tackling her opponent. As she said, “I’m big enough to play backfield, and I’m fast enough to catch them.” I remember thinking how great it is that women can play the game these days. I can’t recall ever being exposed to rugby when I was a young woman.
We said goodbye to Laura and retraced our route towards Williamsburg. The passage between the cities of Hampton Roads and Norfolk is an underwater tunnel for car traffic. The waterway is clear so the many military vessels based in Norfolk can leave port and go to sea. I could see the scaffolding of large Navy ships across the water. We had hoped for a tour of Laura’s aircraft carrier, but she said that, with heightened security, that wouldn’t be possible.
Our timeshare condo was about six miles outside the city of Williamsburg – a nicely furnished two-bedroom on the third floor, only a couple of years old. We’ve had good experiences with the timeshares we’ve stayed in over the last couple of years. They’re always comfortable, attractive, and furnished with everything we need to make ourselves at home. I remember feeling a little foolish when we went on a tour at Whistler, BC two Aprils ago. We were only going for the free dinner, but we ended up buying a timeshare week. I was embarrassed to tell my colleagues when I got back to work that I had succumbed to a sales pitch. But we’ve traded our timeshare for two years now, and made use of bonus weeks, and it’s turned out to be a positive experience.
On Sunday morning we headed out early to meet people for brunch in Virginia Beach. Terry was a high school classmate of mine at Camp Lejeune, North Carolina, whom I had known only slightly. When I was doing my fundraising for the Avon 3-Day last spring, I’d sent an email to a distribution list of my classmates, and Terry was one of six people who responded. He had a friend named Jackie who had had breast cancer a couple of years before. He would sponsor me in her name.
Terry and I had chatted by email during the summer. When we knew for sure that we would be in the Virginia Beach area, I wrote to suggest that he and Jackie and I meet for brunch. Terry made the arrangements for us and spouses to meet at a restaurant in south Virginia Beach.
I hadn’t seen Terry since 1966, when he was 17 years old. The middle-aged man who greeted me at the restaurant was tall and friendly; I remembered that about him from high school. After introductions, the six of us found a table. We all ordered the buffet, which was set out in a room of its own in, as Art says, “what we people from Ballard call a smorgasbord”. Some of the foods I was familiar with. Some offerings I remembered from three decades ago – hush puppies, for example. And some items, like corn pudding, were entirely new. And delicious. Art remembers several fish dishes, which he prefers, with fish that he had never tasted before. And all the Southern dishes were very new to him. We enjoyed a fine meal with Terry and his girlfriend, and Jackie and her husband. When we were preparing to leave, Terry asked us if we were planning on going to Kitty Hawk. I said we hadn’t considered it. Terry said all we had to do to get there was turn right instead of left at the street in front of the restaurant.
We started back the way we had come. Then I asked Art if he would like to go to Kitty Hawk. He said, “I don’t know. I’ve never been there.” That’s what he usually says when he wants me to make a travel decision. So we pulled into a parking lot, turned around, and started off in the other direction. Five miles down the road we saw the “Welcome to North Carolina” sign. And another sign that said it was 92 miles to Kitty Hawk. I had a brief second thought about going that distance, but decided, what the heck, we’re on vacation.
The last time I was in North Carolina was in 1966, when I graduated from high school and moved away. The geography hasn’t changed, of course. But I recalled more ramshackle houses and neglected country places than we saw on that day. It was still rural where we were traveling, but not so run down. I guess anything can happen in 35 years.
We crossed the bridge from the mainland to the island. A strong wind came up. I wondered if there was a storm on the way. We drove ten miles or so further to the Wright Brothers National Memorial in Kill Devil Hills, near Kitty Hawk. I remembered that I had been here once before. As I recall, my mother had dragged me out here sometime during my high school years. I didn’t want to go. I believe I put up some sort of fuss about having to be there. My mother finally said fine, stay in the car and wait for me. She was gone over an hour. I read in the back seat. This memory didn’t come up for me until we pulled into the parking lot and I could see what the place looked like. I remembered the front of the building, and that was all. I asked my mother later whether she recalls going to Kitty Hawk, and she said no. But she is sometimes forgetful these days, so I will rely on my own memory of the sulky adolescent in the back seat.
The wind was blowing at about 35 miles an hour that day. We braced ourselves as we made our way to the small circular exhibit building. Inside was a replica of the plane the Wright brothers had flown on their first successful flight in 1912. Oddly, we had seen the original the week before at the National Air and Space Museum. The sign said there would be a lecture at twenty past the hour. While we waited, I walked around the inside. Along the walls were portraits and photographs of people who made aviation history. I’ve never been a fan of either portraits or aviation, but this exhibit was interesting. Each person’s contribution was personalized, and I could see how the achievement of each laid the groundwork for those who came later. We have come a long way since the first successful flight in December of 1912. Art saw pictures of people he had heard about, but he had never known what they looked like.
At twenty past, a park ranger started to speak. He reminded me of Barney Fife, the character played by Don Knotts on the old Andy Griffith show. He told us the story of the Wright Brothers. How they lived in Ohio, got these ideas about flying and what would be required for a plane to stay in the air. How they needed to find a windy spot with sand to do their experiments, and how Kitty Hawk became their selection. How they came from Ohio to the Outer Banks of North Carolina for several years as they perfected their design. How they were under some pressure in December of 1912; they needed to get home to Ohio for Christmas, and didn’t have the luxury of taking their time with their flight experiments. The ranger was dramatic and engaging, a real storyteller. As we sat there, listening and watching him as he pointed out the features of the airplane that made it successful, it was like it was happening all over again. Real living history. I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen an exhibit brought to life so vividly.
The Wright brothers had attracted a following of local firemen during their stays in Kitty Hawk. On the day they planned to try their latest plane model, they sent a message to the fire station. A number of men showed up to watch. One of them was asked to record the event with a camera. He agreed, though he had never used a camera in his life. The photo he took is in the history books.
After the lecture, we walked down the wooden walkway to look in the windows of the replica of the building where the Wright brothers did their work. The building has the original rustic look, like it’s been there, untouched, for a hundred years. Further along the walkway we looked out onto the runway path. On the day of the historic flight, there were actually four attempts made by the brothers. The first flight lasted for only a few seconds and went 112 feet. We could see where the plane lifted off and there’s a stone marker where it landed. Not a long distance. However, there are also markers at the end point of the other three flights that day. The last one was over 900 feet. Clearly, that day in December was a triumph.
We continued on the boardwalk, walking with the wind, to the hill on which the actual national monument has been erected. As we followed the walkway around the hill and up, the wind fought our advance. Reading the inscriptions at the top, we could just about lean into the wind and feel it keeping us upright. Going back down the hill, and returning on the boardwalk, we were walking against the wind. It was easy to see why the Wright brothers had chosen this site for their flight attempts.
We drove back over the bridge from the island to the mainland. Art and I commented on how fortunate we were to have taken Terry’s suggestion that we visit Kitty Hawk. We had expected very little. What a treat!