The next day dawned with hope, with renewed ardor and the ongoing burn of heavily punished feet. Today, we would trek over yet more of the city of Washington D.C. and beyond.
The National Archives and the Big-Ass Constitution
Ah, yes, the chance to see some of the original writings of history’s most famous people. Alas, this would be one of the most underrepresented parts of our story, since the delicate nature of historical documents required that the National Archives forbid the use of cameras inside…apparently, the flash can deteriorate the inks and paper. So this account will have to go entirely by verbal description.
The layout of the Archives was such that we had to stand in a line and walk slowly inside. Then we were directed by uniformed federal guards around the perimeter of the interior, where the documents were either mounted on the wall or in glass cubicles.
The most fascinating document that we got to see was the original larger-than-life Constitutional preamble and a page of the Bill of Rights. They were gi-normous! Yes, in grade school, I had always been left with the impression that the Constitution was the size of an ordinary 8½ by 11 sheet of paper, just with fancy quill-pen writing on it instead of typewritten script. Not so! No, it was at least two feet wide and three feet long. We noticed that it had a funny greenish-gold sheen to it and asked one of the guards about it. He grunted out to us that it was held under a special type of light that didn’t degrade the paper the way florescent or incandescent bulbs do.
ABOVE: The U.S. Constitution as it appears in the National Archives. BELOW: Ditto for a page of the Bill of Rights.
Among other memorable writings were letters from General George Washington to the Second Continental Congress, a sloppy, bleary note from Elvis Presley to President Richard Nixon and a life-sized copy of the Magna Carta from England. Jennifer and I both agreed that seeing the written documents of some of history’s larger-than-life figures somehow made them more real as people to us. Such findings make us wonder if perhaps someone, someday in the centuries to come will read the original writings of young couples who like to record the stories of their vacations…?
Extra, Extra, Read All About the Newseum
We were delighted to discover the Newseum in Arlington, Virginia. Actually, “discover” might be a bit of a strong word, since Jennifer already knew of its existence before we ever set foot in The Mall. However, it wasn’t originally planned as part of our D.C. tour until Jennifer got her hopes dashed on the previously referenced debacle on the “Hundred Years in Film” exhibit at the Smithsonian Museum of American History.
The Newseum is a little organization, south of Washington D.C. that was completely unrelated to the Smithsonian. It deals entirely with mass communication and is funded by the Freedom Forum, which advocates the First Amendment. Jennifer and I had to take a lengthy Metro ride to get down there, then put yet more strain on our bloody, mangled lower extremity stumps to walk the rest of the ever-lengthening city blocks to get there. But it was worth it! As soon as we walked inside, we were bitch-slapped with whirs, buzzing and a thousand and one other examples of electronica and multi-media. Arrayed in huge letters on the ceiling was the text of the First Amendment. Jennifer wanted a picture for posterity.
We got to try interactive computer simulations for “getting the scoop” as a reporter, and we read newspaper headlines on display around the world. Jennifer and I were amused by one little terminal that allowed us to punch in our birthdays to access the front page of a particular newspaper on that particular date. World events at the time when we were passing through the birth canal. Neat! The Newseum also had a 128-foot television screen showing about five different television channels at once. The most unique exhibit they had was a gigantic geometric ball made out of three-sided plates that had engraved upon them the names of every major newspaper in the country. Before we stopped staring at it, we managed to identify the Ashland Independent, Maysville Ledger-Independent and the infamous Lexington Herald-Leader. Overall, I think Jennifer got reimbursed for her original loss at the Smithsonian!
Clunk! The Camera Crashes
Yep, it’s one of those infrequent happenings that travelers hope will never happen to them on an important vacation. Jennifer and I climbed back on the Metro and rode out to Arlington National Cemetery, our intent to see some of the wonders of the U.S. Armed Services. No sooner did we arrive and try to begin our journey inside, however, when the film on our camera freaked and bound itself up in a convoluted mass. The camera thereafter refused to advance appropriately and we found ourselves stuck. Neither of us wanted to enter Arlington without a viable camera. There was no help for it; we had to ride all the way back to the previous Metro stop, where, as a helpful staff person had assured us, there was a small store that sold replacement film. After probably an hour lost, we crammed in our new film and huffed our way back to our original destination.
Arlington National Cemetery
I must agree with Jennifer that this was the most emotional point of our vacation. It started from the beginning, when we stepped off the Metro and beheld the opening gates. In bold letters was a sign that said something like: “Please remember these are hallowed grounds.”
We saw the hundreds of tombstones, each marking the spot of a fallen soldier. Even if you don't believe in the military way of life, or in violence, you have to respect the raw discipline military personnel demonstrate and the passion they show for duty and honor.
The pre-Thornberries solemnly accept that this is the price of liberty.
I was very much impressed by the serenity of the property, and both of us were very aware of a quiet energy that pervaded the place. We saw monuments dedicated to the seven NASA astronauts who died in the space shuttle tragedy of 1986, the mast of the USS Maine, as well as memorials to a number of different wars and the cost of wars. Jennifer and I even had the privilege of standing over the Eternal Flame of the JFK Memorial, where we saw not only Jack Kennedy’s headstone, but those of Jackie and their two children. I felt the need to salute the stone out of respect, since, after all, ol’ Jack was a veteran of World War II.
ABOVE: A memorial headstone dedicated to the seven astronauts who died in the 1986 Challenger accident. BELOW: The Eternal Flame for JFK and his family.
During our time there, I felt like I walked in the shoes of those who dedicate themselves to the Armed Services. For just a few minutes, I shared their frustration toward those “liberal hippies,” who invoke their rights for this or that, while refusing to support the group who spilled their blood to establish those rights.
The high point of the Arlington was the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. Jennifer and I came up on a subdued crowd sitting on the terraced area right before the sarcophagus. Standing at precise attention was an immaculately uniformed soldier who carried a ceremonial rifle and an expression of absolute dedication. The man was a machine. I timed him with my watch; exactly every 30 seconds, he would clack his shoes together and walk from one end of a prescribed walkway to the other. Insofar as I could tell, he consulted no timepiece and used no visible means of judging the time interval. But he was always precisely on time.
After we sat quietly and marveled at his discipline for several minutes, another soldier, this one presumably an officer, came out and joined the first. He faced the crowd and said something to the effect of: “We ask that you observe the changing of the guard in silence and standing!” With respect, we all stood and watched what was probably the finest example of human precision in either of our entire experiences. The officer put the soldier through a series of maneuvers and inspected his rifle with a white glove. Then they guided another soldier into place to relieve the first one. Overall, it was quite a show, one I’d like to see again someday.
As an aside on this otherwise serious chapter, Jennifer and I got a bit scared at one point, because we ventured past the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier with the intent of getting a couple of distance shots back at it. For some reason, after we got a few hundred feet out on the well-tended lawn, the replacement well-oiled soldier suddenly walked away from his post to a nearby phone booth. We were convinced he had seen us trespassing or something and was calling the MPs to come pick us up! Although nothing ever came of it and we never knew why he suddenly broke discipline, we also didn’t hang around to ask him.
This emotionally draining chapter marked the end of the events of the trip. Jennifer and I returned to Manasses where we went on a brief excursion for a bottle of wine. Then we settled into our room and just mentally chewed on the day’s experiences.
Sunday July 11, 1999: The Return to Paintsville
There really isn’t much to tell about the end of the trip. We packed up and set off at a time as early as possible, knowing we had a seven to eight hour trip ahead of us. We returned home from our first vacation together. There had been a few rough patches and some stress involved, but overall, we had spent the time together smoothly and lived to enjoy a fine “grab and scramble” through a rich area of our nation’s heritage. Someday, we may even return there and see some of the areas we couldn’t fit in this time. In the meantime, there are many places we yet wish to visit!
Friday, July 9, 1999: The Nation’s Capital Unveiled
We rose quickly the next morning and threw ourselves together for our trip into the nation’s capital. Today would be the most rigorous day of the entire trip. The bulk of our planned activities would occur over the next several hours.
Jennifer and I did have to overcome the first hurdle, which was traveling the estimated 10 miles to the nearest public transportation system, the Metro. Once we got there, the parking was a nightmarish situation, as every vehicle was crunched next to every other vehicle like a neverending crush of automotive fish sticks. This was, after all, a weekday and we were there at morning rush hour. Just as I despaired that we’d ever find a place to park, Jennifer spotted one and snizzed into it. Our world fell back into place again, and with our trusty, if low-end, 35mm cameras stuffed into our backpack, we set off to confront the next unique part of this experience.
The Metro
I had only seen public transportation systems on television programs, so I had long associated them with other features of the Big City: crowds, filth, pollution and fear of crime. Once we entered the station of the Metro, I was confronted with crowds, filth, pollution and fear of crime. Sometimes, it sucks to be right. Ultimately, however, the most difficult part of navigating the Metro was figuring out how to buy tickets at the automated machines and then running them through the automated scanners. Jennifer quickly deciphered the bowel-like maps of the different colored train lines (We were on the “Orange” line.) and directed both of us to the waiting point. After that, it was a leisurely ride on the next train. The most remarkable part of the process was watching all the cars on the roads below and adjacent to us as we left them in the dust. One advantage of the subway system is that there are no red lights, so they can pour on the steam and just go until they stop.
I remember sitting next to Jennifer and listening to a father rebuking his son about being too rowdy. At one point, the son asked where they were going, and the father replied, “The Smithsonian.” I was both excited and annoyed when he said that; the former because we had plans to go there as well, the latter because it meant we’d probably have to continue to listen to the boy being loud and obnoxious.
Our First View of The Mall
It felt like the Metro stopped at a subterranean level just above Dante's first ring of hell. Oh, it wasn't unpleasant or anything, just crowded, rushed and seemingly deep underground. But once we rode up the long escalator and broke into the sunlight above, it was truly a sight to behold. We were in The Mall, the area of D.C. that houses many of the familiar landmarks we'd come to see. Behind us bulked the Washington Monument, though it took us a second to recognize it, because it was blue. Apparently, we had chosen just the perfect time to see it while it was under renovation. The blue was an insulated scaffolding that had been erected around the phallic structure, like flexible steel Viagra.
The memorable Washington Monument, under the scaffolding of renovation.
The renovation problem would follow us through a few other great tourist attractions as well, though it did nothing to detract from the appeal of the city.
As we would walk through D.C. over the next couple days, I would feel a strange niggling that something was amiss, sort of like finding that hole in your gums after having a loose tooth for so long. After awhile, I finally figured out what was missing…traffic lights! Yes, in the streets of D.C., they don’t run wires across the intersections and suspend the lights the way they do in Kentucky. No, they mount them on poles at the sidewalks. The result is an “open air” effect that allows one to see more of the sky and the trees. We didn’t realize how accustomed we’d grown to the webbing of wiring until we got away from it.
Hoodwinked and Hornswaggled!
We’re bumpkins.
Okay, that may be a little overstated, but nonetheless, one point was always poignant for Jennifer and me during our time in D.C; we weren’t in Kentucky any more. I’m sure that we just looked like gawking hillbillies, the potential prey for the crowd of sheisters and snake-oil salesmen who affix themselves to such places like sleazy barnacles on the side of a clueless boat’s hull. And so it was that one such con artist gravitated to us and generously sold us a map of the Mall area. We thought him helpful, until we later found that the same map was available in all public tourist buildings, for free. More, the one he sold us was just a photocopy, so it was in black-and-white! Jennifer and I agreed that we’d been shnookered, and vowed that such street people would never pester us like that again.
In point of fact, we were later accosted by another such person who started out his charm-spiel by saying, “Excuse me, sir, but you’re breaking the law!” When I gave him a look of dread, he smiled brightly and said, “…by being out with such a beautiful woman!” Once he had us roped into his spell, he proceeded to try to get us to buy some cheap bead jewelry as part of a contribution “for the children” of some nebulous cause. That time, we turned him down and kept our meager reservoir of cash.
Otherwise, we saw the expected plethora of the homeless and destitute standing around and panhandling for coin. Some played instruments with the stereotypical hat on the sidewalk. Others just marketed their hard luck. By and large, they left us alone.
The Smithsonian Institution
With glee in our hearts, we journeyed to the first attraction on our “to do” list, the Smithsonian. Yes, both of us had preferences for this trip and that venerable institution was clearly in my camp. Neither of us had any interest in the city’s art museums, as we figured those were for old fogies and pretentious professionals with something to prove. Boring!
Museum of American History
So it was that we entered the first branch of the Smithsonian that we had planned to see…the Museum of American History. That chapter held much promise, heralded as it was by the gigantic idealized statue of George Washington that waited to greet us at the door. I have to say that ol’ George was too buff for his own good; he had been rendered with a muscular build like a Greek god, an obvious attempt by the artist to depict him as larger than life. Onward we went into the museum!
Eh.
Insofar as the rest of that branch of the museum, it was okay, but not stellar. What really struck us was that the entire thrust of the exhibits seemed less about showing American history and more about apologizing for past wrongs done to every minority group in the country. They couldn’t just show a depiction of an old slave quarters, they had to dedicate ¾ of the educational card to saying how wrong slavery was. We know that; we had it drummed into us all through grade school. I was more interested in learning about how they slaves maintained their history, culture and families within a slave system than about how tyrannical our ancestors were. Show instead what about them has survived and prospered, despite the historical atrocities. Educate us on how these people kept their dignity; don’t create monuments to their shame and our regret.
Jennifer too was a bit disappointed by the experience. She had hoped to see an exhibit dealing with “A Hundred Years in Film.” Apparently, however, our sources were outdated, because we searched fruitlessly for some time before asking one of the staff persons for directions. She told us that yes, that exhibit had been there as a temporary show, but that was over a year ago!
Museum of Natural History — Finding the Little Boy Within
Other parts of the Smithsonian fared far better in the judgmental eyes of Jennifer and I. The next branch we visited was the Museum of Natural History. Here at last, I gave into my boyish tendencies, as the environment resurrected from me what lies quiescent in the heart of every young man who was ever a younger boy - the love of dinosaurs! Yes, these were in great abundance here, those stone cold copies of long dead bones, the last evidence we have of the stunning megafauna that once roamed the lands of a much younger, less forgiving planet. We took pictures galore of creatures spanning not only the Mesozoic Era, but also the Pleistocene.
Thomas stands before the Tyrannasaurus Rex skull, what was once considered the mightiest predator in the history of the planet.
Since I had heeded Jennifer’s advice and started reading Clan of the Cave Bearnovels earlier in the summer, I was eager to see the skeletal remains of an actual woolly mammoth. But alas, those 11-foot-tall pachyderms just weren’t in evidence this trip. My brief disappointment was assuaged by the replication they had of a prehistoric shark, which was probably three times the size of a modern Great White. Although it wasn’t prehistoric, I was also wowed by a 70-foot replica of a modern blue whale that was hanging down from the ceiling. I remember reading the descriptor that said the replica was bloated in its presentation, because the original specimen on which it was based had washed up on shore and begun decomposing by the time the artist started trying to capture it. As a result, its body had belched out a whale-load of gases that gave an artificial appearance of a ballooned creature. The 12-foot true skull of a blue whale that was adjacent to the model made up for that distortion!
Megafauna weren’t the only attractions of a Museum of Natural History. There also was quite a collection of stones, both precious and mundane. In particular, we got to see the infamous Hope Diamond, spinning slowly behind its cylinder of three-inch, bullet-proof glass. The whole wall behind that beautiful, boron-laced crystal was painted with its history, which has traditionally been very dark. In fact, most of those to whom it has fallen have themselves ultimately fallen…into misfortune or from the world of the living. I was amazed at how it will turn red under ultraviolet light, though we only got to see a picture of that, not the event itself.
The Hope Diamond in its bullet-proof glass casing.
Jennifer laughed at me as I ran from exhibit to exhibit, looking at all of the bones and other evidence of an alien world across an unimaginable gulf of time.
Museum of Aviation and Space Flight — Glee!!
Although I enjoyed the Natural History branch, I touched the very essence of glee at the next branch we visited, the Smithsonian Museum of Aviation. Here, we weren’t dealing with an alien world across time, but alien worlds across space. In the front entrance, they had some of the human race’s humbler beginnings with regard to heavier-than-air travel. The Spirit of St. Louis, that brave aircraft flown by Charles Lindbergh on the first transatlantic flight, hung suspended in the air over the entrance area, along with models of old satellites, and even actual splashdown capsules that still had the re-entry burns on their hulls. The little replica of the cutting-edge Pathfinder rover from the 1997 Mars landing was actually cute!
Jennifer and I had decided that because of cost and crowds, we wouldn’t take any major tours of the different monuments and tourist attractions. There just was not enough time in a single weekend to wait in long lines for lengthy tours. We were there for a “grab and scramble.” But we did at least want to snap a few pictures of ourselves outside of the memorable entities of our nation’s capital. One such entity was the White House.
Not only was the seat of the Presidency a salient experience, but it was also a matter of endurance. After all, 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue was quite a walk from the sights we’d been seeing at the Mall. It took quite a bit of pavement-pounding to finally find our way there.
Eh.
Ultimately, we were both glad that we found it, but the view left something to be desired. The black gates that existed to keep people like us out were so far away from the White House itself that all we could really see were a few White Windows and perhaps a bit of White Shrubbery. Getting a camera shot was difficult, because there were just too many people milling about and lowing contentedly. But we managed.
Honest Abe is Big…Honest!
Ah, yes, both of us had yearned for this moment. After all, who hasn’t heard of the Lincoln Memorial? Jennifer and I pushed our poor tootsies back to the large location of Honest Abe’s old marble ass and stood before the majesty that was Him. He was huge!! Just looking up at him, nothing could really capture our awe, except Jennifer’s single, uttered: “Wow.”
Both of us wanted to abase ourselves before the mighty marble monarch and declare our loyalty to the Kingdom of these United States. The only mar on the marble was that the Lincoln Memorial too was under repair, so unsightly plastic flapped in the wind like the baggy granny-panties. Didn’t matter. We still felt we were in the presence of Greatness. The marble man was truly a work of art.
Bloody Hunks of Foot Meat
ABOVE: Jennifer in her fashionable sunglasses, poses like a government agent before the Capitol Building. BELOW: Thomas sits on the wall at the Capitol Building, with the Mall unfolding behind him.
Arrg!!
Yes, this had been a very trying day for our feetsies. We both felt we’d walked the length and breadth of the city and the Mall by the time all was said and done. Our shoes emitted a palpable gout of steam when we loosened the laces, and our toes were like individual cured hams. The bones of my feet felt like they’d been flattened and fused into one unified plate of inflexible calcium. Jennifer and I spent the evening using lotion and soothing touch on each other’s wounded soles. It felt good, but geez were we ever paying the price for our glee!
In a relationship that was only a few months strong, Jennifer and I both eagerly anticipated this vacation, as much as we worried about it. The journey represented our first trip together and a chance to see how we would do when placed under stress. We lived in two different locations, such that even getting us together in one place was going to be an effort, before we could even think about beginning the trip itself.
Thursday, July 8, 1999: The First Long Road Trip
Since Washington D.C. is east of Kentucky, and I lived in Paintsville at the time, it made more sense for Jennifer to travel my way Wednesday evening and stay with me the night before we began the trip. We intended to leave out early Thursday morning; even from my little dump of a trailer, the journey would span at least eight hours behind the wheel of her spacious wine-colored Dodge Dynasty. Not entirely to our surprise, however, both of us had trouble sleeping and woke up several hours earlier than we had anticipated. Giving in to our excitement, we went ahead and left out in the wee hours of the morning, egg salad and bread in hand. The trip had begun!
Jennifer's beloved Dynasty carried the pre-Thornberries to Washington D.C. and back.
Geometric Theory Hits the Skids in non-Euclidean Space
• Fact: There is a time and place for theories about how the world works. • Fact: Traveling the hard, black highways is neither that time nor that place. • Fact: The previous fact is not one that a traveler wants to learn by experience.
Having been studying diligently for my upcoming retake of the Graduate Record Examination (GRE), I had been trying to confront an old fear that reached as far back as the primordial roots of my sophomore year of high school (1988) - geometry. In fact, I had purchased a used textbook on the subject from eBay and could already say much about interior angles, rhombi and transversals.
So it was that I had proudly studied the map of our intended journey, with my little fledgling geometric goggles metaphorically perched on my mind’s nose. It seemed so obvious to me that we were going to put unnecessary distance on Jennifer’s car by swinging south and then continuing east across West Virginia. Why? Because the geometric principle stated that the two shortest sides of any triangle will always add together to be longer than the longest side. If we went south then east, we’d have to go further than just traveling east. With Jennifer’s help, I found a road that went directly to the next stage of the journey east, cutting out miles we didn’t want to spend seated with our buttcheeks stuck to the soft seats of our Dynastic stallion. I was quite smug with my observation and Jennifer was happy to support my new Geometric Vision [insert resonant echo].
Ye Gawds!!
Apparently, it is true that most geometric truths only hold in Euclidean (that is, flat) space. In three dimensions, the rules change a bit. There is a reason why West Virginia is also called “The Mountain State.” True, we did save six miles in distance traveled. And it took us 40 minutes longer! The road that represented that theoretical “third side” of the triangle was a freakin’ dirt trail, as wide as my outstretched arms, that climbed at a 30-degree angle over the mountains in an undulating nightmare. To one side of us, a wall of trees and rock. To the other, a senseless plunge of thousands of feet to certain death. We drove slowly. Very, very slowly. So slowly, in fact, that we were younger when we got to the other side than we started out. I didn’t feel younger, though. I felt like I’d been basted insufficiently with cooking spray and then stuffed into a rotisserie oven half my size. Every part of me, including those previously mentioned buttcheeks, had grabbed as much of the car as possible to hold on for dear life. Six miles. Talk about a Pyrrhic victory. After we rolled at last onto more stable territory, Jennifer and I both agreed that we’d take the longer, less scenic and less deadly route on the way back.
Arrival in Manassas, Virginia-- ¿De que me hablas?
Yep, it wasn’t Washington, D.C. to which we initially made our proverbial camp. Jennifer had mustered her little army of AAA’s and reconned the area in advance. Her determination was that we could save money and headache if we found a cheap room in the reasonably proximate hamlet of Manassas, Virginia.
We rolled in, found our motel and checked into it. At this time, we were quite tired, and the excitement of that far distant morning was becoming a remote memory. Jennifer and I settled down for a nice, fuzzy, muzzy nap, without any distur—
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!!
Yes, no sooner had we started that seductive slide from alertness to soothing hypnogogic brain wave activity than someone knocked on the damned door. We wondered who the hell could have found us so quickly, since we knew no one in the entire city. I slipped on a robe and opened the door a crack and confronted one of the cleaning staff. She asked me about something, probably if we needed the room cleaned or such. Irritation and sleepiness likely contributed to my lack of exact recollection. The short story is that I got rid of her and we finally achieved the rest and relaxation we had so obviously earned.
450 Miles to Find Another Chain
We live in a Standardized Age. The more the large business chains buyout the smaller businesses, the more we start to see of the same. Here, California, Yorkshire or the Jovian moon, Ganymede, it seems that all cities and towns have about the same suite of places to shop and eat. Jennifer and I ended up finding our dinner that evening at one such chain. At this point, we really can’t agree on which one it was as the exact memory eludes us. Maybe that makes the point better, though; the fact that it really didn’t leave much of a mark tells us that one would have been pretty much the same as the other. Suffice it to say that we didn’t go anywhere or do anything special in Manassas.
After we finished our meal, we hobnobbed around the motel area, just taking in the scenery and experiencing being somewhere other. Jennifer had purchased a new, light summer outfit just for the occasion and she was enjoying being out in the bright sunlight, letting the breeze riffle said outfit. Lighter Fluid on Ice — Brandy Ain’t So Handy
As was said above, we were not able to invest a huge amount of money into this trip. We were not like those people who can afford to go to the beach and pay $7 for a case of beer or sit on a boat paying $8 for a shot of overpriced sipping tequila. Ergo, we had brought something with us that was a little cheaper and new to our palettes…brandy! Yes, that evening, Jennifer and I poured a couple of motel glasses of good brandy, closed our eyes, inhaled deeply of their fragrance, drank heavily…and tried not to wretch up our livers onto the well-made beds. Our epiglotti spasmed in protest. Our bile mixed with our spit. Sorry, but it just didn’t work for us. Maybe it was the brand or the uniqueness of the liquor or that we just weren’t ready for the change. But we could not make brandy go down smoothly, regardless of how we prepared it. Ultimately, we ended up making other arrangements. As far as we were concerned, we were done with brandy for good, though we did heavily dilute this bottle with sodas; we couldn’t let liquor go to waste, regardless of its failing.
The evening ended with full tummies, clouded judgement and eager anticipation of the morrow….
NEXT: The pre-Thornberries start exploring the nation's capitol.
This was a watershed vacation. Jennifer had been struggling for far too long to escape the clutches of a Confederate madman at her old job, whose strongest virtue was that he’d someday no longer be among the living. The gods of serendipity must have been smiling upon her, because we had planned the trip far in advance of any foreseeable changes in her career, but it worked out that she received a new job offer with enough time that she could successfully give her notice to the boor. It worked out that she served her last day in that hellhole right before the vacation began. She would ultimately get to begin her new job after a refreshing time at the beach.
Cartoon depiction of the attitude and mental capability of Jennifer's soon-to-be ex-boss.
Overall, this vacation was intended to be a very different experience from our Washington DC vacation back in July 1999. That vacation was a “grab and scramble” blitzkrieg experience, where we tried to cram in as much as possible. This one would be exactly the opposite; we didn't plan beyond a couple of events so we could just kind of do what we felt like. It was loosely structured and intended to be slow paced.
First flying experience
So that morning found us eagerly waiting to get our baggage checked at the customary lines of the airport. Another hour wait at our concourse, and then Jennifer and I shipped out punctually at 6:00 a.m.
I'd have to say that my first takeoff was not a pleasant experience for me. A quick segue...those who know me are aware that I have a disdain for roller coasters. Many of them believe I don't like roller coasters because I fear falling, but this is not true. The reality is that I just don't like that sick feeling in my stomach that is caused by the plummeting. The fact is that I have a fear (a phobia even?), of being violently sick in a public place. I’ve always been puzzled at how everyone else seems to love that sensation. To me, people who love roller coasters should also love contracting the flu, since it causes that same “fun” sensation of rolling and heaving in the stomach and is safer, to boot.
Anyway, that initial lifting into the air gave my stomach leaps and rolls for most of the flight, and I had to avoid looking out the window for the first part, else my empty stomach would have released bile and other biological nasties. It was bad enough watching the cabin spin before my eyes. But I have to say that once the plane leveled out, it was a truly unique experience. Jennifer told me, "If you can stand it, look outside...we're above the clouds!" On this and all subsequent flights, I was struck by how much having the skyline below us felt like we were traveling over a cloud palace or something. Coolness.
Despite all the stories about airline security, we were fortunate that we were never asked to step out of line for a random search. One poor older woman, however, was not so lucky. At our first layover, she got pulled aside and forced to stand with all limbs extended while the crack security team frisked her wantonly with an electronic wand. We felt sorry for her, because she was taking a gift on board with her, and it was wrapped up already in nice paper. The uniformed heavies forced her to completely unwrap it, so I doubt it looked as good when she gave it to whomever it was intended. We just had to wonder how threatening a gray-headed matronly woman could look.
The Tunnel of Bliss
We had a layover in Detroit, Michigan, which was a gray depressing city that inspired us both to slice our wrists and bleed our life’s blood all over the closest concourse. Fortunately, we were saved from such temptation by the gigantic Tunnel of Bliss [resonant echo] evidenced in that airport. Basically, it is a quarter-of-a-mile long passageway with a conveyor belt that ferries customers through what looks like a gut filled with mellow lights. The lights cycle through a rainbow spectrum of soft, fuzzy colors, while the acoustic ceiling reverberated with a symmetrical chop suey of sounds designed to keep we irate passengers docile.
A Churn With Wings?
From this otherwise dismal bog of a city, we caught our flight into Norfolk, Virginia. This plane was even larger than the first one, and we were all the way in the last seats, right against the engine. Conversation wasn’t possible because of the noise, and it rattled our teeth the entire way there. If we had consumed curds on board, we’d have wretched up cheese by the time we touched down. Most definitely a churn with wings. Jennifer hated every queasy, undulating moment of it for exactly the reasons I preferred it; she couldn’t orient herself to the plane’s motion, because she wasn’t able to see outside. This was probably because she got the window seat that time, and her window was blocked off. Overall, despite the poorer accommodations, I enjoyed that flight much better, as I did the two return planes. I got over my initial queasiness, and was even able to watch the scenery as our planes touched down.
A Legend Born: the Trial With the Luggage
It happens all the time. Everyone knows it happens. And they fear they’ll be the ones to whom it does happen. The Lost Luggage [insert resonant echo]. Jennifer and I got directions to the baggage claim area from one of the luggage drones outside the noisy plane and went down the escalator to that ominous conveyor belt. There, we waited while bag after bag rolled past us, all of them sharing in common only two features; they looked exactly the same and they weren’t ours. At first, we didn’t worry too much, since there were hundreds of bags rolling through and we figured ours would eventually show up. But the minutes ticked by, more and more other people found their luggage and left and ours was nowhere in sight. Then the panic began to settle into our previously churned guts. It didn’t help when another luggage drone stepped onto the conveyor belt and started hurling innocent bags roughly out of the way, so new bags—also not ours—could start to fill the conveyor belt. So we split up to better enable us to watch both ends of the circulating belt, but I was slowly starting to reconcile myself to having to go stand in the line of doomed souls at the office of lost luggage. Time dims my memory now, but I’m certain there were letters of hellfire over the door spelling out, “Abandon All Hope, Ye who”…well, you get the idea.” Then I heard Jennifer call my name and turned to find that she’d fetched out luggage from what was apparently a late delivery cart. With relief, I realized we would, in fact, have fresh underwear for the duration of this vacation.
Luggage in hand, we rented our car without mishap and made the 18-mile trip on the old, familiar I-64 to the humble Sundial Motel. [Sigh] The worst was over. Now it was time to enjoy the surf!
The Beach- More Breasts Than You Can Imagine
Once we got settled into our motel and grabbed a much overdue dinner, we headed straight for the sandy eastern coastline. Having been there before, I was prepared for the marvel of the salt sea, but I couldn't resist turning to Jennifer to say, "Welcome to the Atlantic!" She was totally wowed by it...the smells, the sounds, the infinite spanning into the horizon. And there were near-naked people everywhere! We agreed before we left that we would both be allowed (for the duration of the trip) to gape without guilt at the people with perfect, golden bodies, and there were plenty of them! Breasts were a-bobbling everywhere we looked (those b*tches), along with guys with perfect pecs and washboard stomachs (those bastards).
We’re Gonna Rock Down to At-lantic Av-a-New
Aside from that, however, we spent much time walking up and down Atlantic Avenue (which I couldn't help singing to the tune of Eddy Grant’s “Electric Avenue”), the boardwalk where we could watch the surf, and the people riding the bicycles built for four. At one point, we purchased a couple of "frozen ices," which amount basically to a snow cone with sweet syrup poured over the top. I got lemon flavor, and I think Jennifer got some nasty-ass berry flavor. We were lucky to get to be at the beach during a full moon, so at night, we got to see moonlight draped across the ocean. From the huge-ass pier we visited, it was a very tranquil experience.
Sunday June 23, 2002: Up Front (and Bouncy) and Personal
Personally, I felt no need to frolic in the sea, and I knew this when we left. When I did that last around the year 1988, I felt some creepy crawly on the ocean bottom grab my toe. My brother almost got hit in the back with a jelly fish, that same trip; given these conditions, I have never been able to stomach the thought of being out there again.
Lady J Vs the Atlantic Ocean
However, when the sun dawned on the Atlantic for our second day, I strongly encouraged Jennifer to enjoy herself.
And so she did.
I went barefoot and allowed the ocean to wash over my feet, while I held her towel and sandals for her so she could wade out and allow the surf to pummel her. It was funny, because while she was joyfully jumping around in those salty crests and troughs, she was slowly being pushed to the north, such that I had to keep walking up the beach to keep her in sight. It wasn't until almost the end of her playtime that she realized she'd been moved close to 1,000 feet from our original starting point. She emerged jubilant from her first bout with the Atlantic Ocean.
The Cabana Cafe:
This was a nice little outdoor restaurant and bar that was right next to the beach. We went there three different times, mostly for alcohol, but generally because it was a comfy spot where we could look out at the beach. Since this was a vacation, we decided to try a couple of different drinks while we were there. On this particular day, we both had Bahama Mamas.
Later on during the trip, Jennifer ordered a pina colada, while I tried to order a “Hurricane.” They didn't know how to make that, so I asked the one-handed bartender if she could manage something with whiskey. A few minutes later, I got a red, punchy drink with cherries on top. “Denise,” the bartender, came over a few minutes later to ask me if the drink tasted all right and I rightly guessed that she had never made it before in her life. It turns out that she had called a few people, and asked what one could do with whiskey. In the end, she had made basically a whiskey sour with a shot of grenadine, “to make it look tropical.” I loved it! At long last, I had a fruity drink I could make when Jennifer wanted her “tequila sunrises” or margaritas. Denise was, by the way, missing her right hand, so I referred to my new drink choice for the longest time as a “sour lefty.”
The rest of Day #2 was pretty slow and we wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Monday June 24, 2002: Beyond the Beach
Today, Jennifer wanted to travel up and down one of the bays, and see some of the sights there.
Dredging and Artillery- The Tour Through The Shipyards
A boat tour was one of only two activities that we actually planned before leaving. We loaded ourselves into our trusty rental car and puttered our way to another location on the edge of the North American continent; the Hampton Roads Harbor. Four miles long and 40 feet deep, the harbor is the point through which the waters of the James, Nansemond, and Elizabeth rivers pass into Chesapeake Bay.
We slathered ourselves two inches deep in sun block and climbed aboard the little tour ferry, where I purchased an overpriced Killian’s beer. Then we sat back to watch the sights. Mwow!
We got to see a dredge boat, whose purpose was to send down a large crane to scoop up mud off the ocean bottom. Why? To widen and deepen the bay for larger ships. But these weren't the most amazing sights. No, those were the huge naval ships we got to view, including several battleships (one flying a Turkish flag), and one very large supercarrier. The tour guide told us that at that time, there were only five in the entire American naval fleet. That SOB was almost 22 stories tall, held a crew complement of 6,000 people, and had everything a small city would have, including a bakery and butcher shop!
ABOVE: A couple of supercarriers, at least one of which could hold a population of 6000 people! BELOW: A formidable battleship, one able to track hundreds of incoming targets simultaneously.
Clunk! The Camera Crashes
The title says it all. This was the only downside of this little adventure. We were getting plenty of good shots of the ships in the various shipyards, until Jennifer's high-end Minolta Maxxum 9000 camera suddenly locked up in mid-shot, leaving the shutter permanently covering the lens. Try as she might she couldn't get it to unlock. An obsolete model, it still proved itself a high-end product when Jennifer snapped a beautiful stilled image of a twin rotor military helicopter. Once it locked up, however, we weren’t even able to get a picture of the boat that carried us. Jennifer really wanted that, so it cast a bit of a shadow on that chapter of the trip. Jennifer would later travel on alone to a camera repair facility, to see about getting her baby back up and running.
Alas, the patient was ruled to have died on the proverbial table; the repairman informed her that the bare minimum for a repair would be a part that was more expensive than the entire camera and it would have to arrive by mail. We’d be long gone from the beach by then. So she elected to purchase a cheap pink camera instead, one that looked like a gigantic lozenge that could be sucked down to nubbin if one could find a mouth big enough to ingest it. Girly. Puke. Nonetheless, the nauseating cheapass camera was the valuable workhorse of the day, and we used it to finish out our vacation.
Help, Thomas Has Gone Blind!
Jennifer was quite annoyed when she returned to the room with the cheap camera, so we agreed that we could get our groove back if both of us went back down to the pool for a refreshing immersion.
It was on our second jaunt that I got the bright idea to swim underwater more, and we started playing some games like swimming between each other's ankles on the pool bottom. That required some coordination, so I spent most of that period with my eyes open underwater. What does your mother always tell you about that? I never did that much as a child. Now I “see” why (yuk, yuk).
It started when we first climbed out of the pool. I looked around, and everything was covered by a white nimbus, as though I was looking through a veil at the world. Try as I might, I couldn't get my eyes to clear up. And that was just the beginning of my suffering. An hour or so later, they turned blood red and started to burn and itch. Imagine eyes full of sand, and you've got the idea. I could only hold them open for a few seconds at a time before they filled with tears and ran down my face.
"Weird Al" Yankovich's vibrating, distended eyeballs captures how Thomas felt after foolishly keeping his eyes open too long underwater.
Not to be deterred, we were determined to get another walk on the beach (and another drink at the Cabana Cafe), so we purchased some eye drops, which did finally start to help...but those hours without clear eyesight were absolutely horrible. Next time we went to the pool, I learned my lesson. Swim underwater with your eyes closed, and use your hands to tell you where you are…and whose parts you’re touching. ;)
We ended the day with a nice evening walk around the beach.
Tuesday June 25, 2002: The Virginia Beach Info-Dump
The next day would be a much more cerebral tour of the area than the one before.
This adventure was one that Jennifer suggested after we arrived. Basically, it was a 200-year-old, 900-foot lighthouse first authorized by Congress around 1789. The old sandstone structure was built at Cape Henry, right at the mouth of Chesapeake Bay.
All the history aside (and we had a detailed pamphlet on it), the damn thing was still a pretty tall structure. After getting gouged by those who sold us the tickets, we went inside and traveled up the spiral staircase, all the way to the top. There were no real stopping points, so imagine going almost all the way up a nine-story building, except without any breaks in the staircase.
Whew! We were so exhausted and tired! At the top, there was an excellent view, but it was so damn hot! The information booth said that temperatures in that glass apex could reach 110 degrees, and I could believe that! Jennifer got several pictures. The lighthouse isn't used any more, in favor of the “newer” one that stands across the street, which was completed at the end of the 19th century. At one point, some know-it-all other tourist decided he’d start dictating the geography and history of the region while we were up there, but we had little patience for such nonsense…that was the first part of our brains that bubbled away in the intense heat. So we ignored him and he kindly visited upon us the boon of his absence.
We otherwise walked around the Chesapeake Bay area. It was a nice opportunity to get pictures of the beautiful surroundings, read the monuments of Revolutionary War heroes and see the massive break-walls that line the coastline and protect the shores from storm-driven high waves.
Neat scene capturing both the elder and younger Cape Henry Lighthouses.
Hell on Earth at the Virginia Aquarium & Marine Science Center
Children, children, everywhere.
Yes, as the vacation was spiraling down, this sentiment became omnipresent. Basically, we were just getting tired of people. But the worst was when we went to the Virginia Aquarium & Marine Science Center, a suggestion of mine. I'm quite a fan of museums and had hoped this one would be jolly good fun. It did give us the chance to see a tank filled with sharks, some seals, river otters, and snakes. We didn't have any video technology with us, but you can see someone else's taken some years later:
I even got to see what it would be like for someone in the last seconds before a shark swallowed them whole [shudder].
There was also a great exhibit on Antarctica, about which I previously knew nothing at all.
However, many of the exhibits didn't even work properly (“push this button and see...”), and the ones that did were covered with screaming kids. They tended to rudely hog in wherever we were, and then they took over so we couldn't really enjoy ourselves.
Lady J Shoves Water Down the Kids’ Throats
A bit frustrated at the crowds by this time, we returned from the museum and went for what we hoped would be a peaceful dip in the pool.
Not surprisingly, however, it was not to be.
Again with the kids!! Jennifer got angry because three of the unwholesome brats kept splashing around right next to us. No matter where we went in the pool, the little bastards kept showing up, and we couldn't figure out why three children had to have the entire pool. Jennifer splashed around in an angry huff at one point, and glared at one little boy until he got scared out of his wits. The pool water may have been just a bit more yellow after that….
Sore Yin Yangs—When you Pay Through Them too Much For Beer
Among other reasons, we were glad to be moving toward Kentucky because the prices were outrageous...a case of Killian’s cost about $8, and we never had a meal for less than $20. Our money disappeared very rapidly, yet another casualty of vacationing at a tourist trap. The ol’ yin yang gets quite sore after one pays through it enough times.
Wednesday June 26, 2002: Bodies Hurtling Back Home
Ready to go back home, Jennifer and I packed our things and drove our trusty rental car back to the airport. This entire chapter was largely uneventful, which is always desirable when one is hurtling through space at more than 500 miles per hour.
Home never looked so beautiful. With the previously mentioned prices and the piles of children, we decided that next time, we may only schedule four days instead of five. That way, we'll leave before the annoying parts become overwhelming.
Another thought we had...if we ever go back to the beach again, the Travelin' Thornberries might just want to invite some good friends along! ;)
The National Archives and the Big-Ass Constitution
ABOVE: The U.S. Constitution as it appears in the National Archives.
We got to try interactive computer simulations for “getting the scoop” as a reporter, and we read newspaper headlines on display around the world. Jennifer and I were amused by one little terminal that allowed us to punch in our birthdays to access the front page of a particular newspaper on that particular date. World events at the time when we were passing through the birth canal. Neat! The Newseum also had a 128-foot television screen showing about five different television channels at once. The most unique exhibit they had was a gigantic geometric ball made out of three-sided plates that had engraved upon them the names of every major newspaper in the country. Before we stopped staring at it, we managed to identify the Ashland Independent, Maysville Ledger-Independent and the infamous Lexington Herald-Leader. Overall, I think Jennifer got reimbursed for her original loss at the Smithsonian!
The pre-Thornberries solemnly accept that this is the price of liberty.
ABOVE: A memorial headstone dedicated to the seven astronauts who died in the 1986 Challenger accident.
As an aside on this otherwise serious chapter, Jennifer and I got a bit scared at one point, because we ventured past the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier with the intent of getting a couple of distance shots back at it. For some reason, after we got a few hundred feet out on the well-tended lawn, the replacement well-oiled soldier suddenly walked away from his post to a nearby phone booth. We were convinced he had seen us trespassing or something and was calling the MPs to come pick us up! Although nothing ever came of it and we never knew why he suddenly broke discipline, we also didn’t hang around to ask him.
