Day 21 -- Enfield to Coinjock, North Carolina -- 129 Miles

Today we continued our trek east getting ever nearer to the Atlantic Ocean. The morning's drive was spent mostly wending our way through endless miles of ramrod-straight pines that stood like sentinels on both sides of the freeway. We were traveling quite happily on North Carolina's sparsely-traveled Route 64 which was aimed almost directly at our destination of Kitty Hawk.

However, at one point our trusty GPS on Concetta's iPhone directed us to leave Route 64 and transition over to Route 17, a change that I considered suspect. Not wanting to end up further north in Virginia (where Route 17 goes), I pulled into the handy parking lot of an abandoned fast food restaurant and checked the map.

After a few minutes of study, I decided that the iPhone lady obviously knew her stuff, as the map indicated the KOA we had chosen for the night could be more easily reached via Route 17 followed by Route 158 to the Outer Banks. Satisfied that we were on the right track, we made the transition to Route 17 and started looking for a lunch spot.

The perfect place to leave our traveled route and find a nice place for lunch came when we noticed a sign for "Edenton." Obviously the name started out as Eden Town and we were hoping that the lunch spot would live up to the name. Sure enough, as we reached the town's western edge, we came upon a building sitting on the edge of a large vacant parking lot. We pulled right off the highway and into a perfect, out-of-the-way spot with a view of three dozen yachts just scant yards away.

While Concetta got started on lunch, I grabbed the camera and started exploring. An overcast sky made sure the light for photographs was disappointingly flat, but I thought I might still get a few shots for the blog. After wandering around for a few minutes, I circled back to the rig and lunch and immediately ran into a guy who was standing next to what looked like a bright yellow Kayak with retractable outriggers. Turns out it was a Hobbiecat catermaran atop a trailer pulled behind his Subaru Outback.

I altered my route and stopped next to the guy and we both stood for a moment studying the craft. Finally I spoke up and said, "Hobbiecat?" He turned, smiled, and said "Yup. Just got it. I used to have a boat in this marina, but it just got to be too much work for me. So now I have this little craft, and I think I'll like it better. No upkeep, no scrappng the bottom, and no mechicals."

"What's your name," I asked. He told me his name was Brian and we shook hands. I told him that I had done a bit of sailing on a Hobbiecat back in the day, then I told him about my buddy's dad who designed things for spacecraft professionally but as a hobby designed racing catamarans.

Bill perked up, so I continued my story of a guy named Norm Riise who designed and built what would be the fastest sailboat in the world back in the 1960s. The boat was known as the "Wild Wind," and it held that top speed title for two years running. I got to sail on her a time or two, I told him, but I also got to spend some time cleaning the fiberglass hull which was not so much fun.

We continued our discussion of boats in general for awhile, and then I decided that I better not keep Concetta waiting. Brian and I shook hands, and in parting I told him if he needed help launching his new boat to come knock on the RV door and I'd come out and give him a hand. As it turned out, Brian must have had second thoughts about today being good for sailing as he left after a few minutes and we watched him head off down the road, his little trailer and yellow Hobbiecat in tow.

After lunch was over, I told Concetta that I'd like just a few more minutes out on the dock where I could grab a few shots from a different angles. That done, I was wandering back down the dock when another local boat owner ambled in my direction and asked me what I was doing.

"Just getting a few photos of these great boats," I told the guy who looked like he was probably in his mid-eighties.

"Ah," he said. "I was just wondering."

Knowing as I do that yacht owners don't much like strangers wandering the Quays, I immediately set out to put him at ease. "What's your name?" I asked him.

"I'm Bill," the old man said.

"Tom," I said, and I held out my hand. Once we had shaken hands Bill seemed to relax, and I immediately started questioning him about his life. "That your boat?" I asked, and I pointed to the fiberglass sloop behind him.

"Yup," he said. "That's where I stay."

"you mean you live on this sloop?" I asked him.

Bill said, "That's right. At one point I just decided to give everything I owned to my kids, and I moved onto the boat. It's not a sloop, though. I've rigged it more like a cutter."

What sort of rigging differentiated a sloop from a cutter was beyond my education level, but I just smiled and pretended I knew. It was time I was getting on, but I had a final request of Bill. "How about you lean up against that stanchion there and let me get your photo?"

"Nah," Bill said, "I'll just break your camera!"

"Come on, Bill," I said. "Let's do it." And at that point Bill decided that he wouldn't mind a photo, and he stood right there while a snapped a few shots. The light wasn't the best, but in the end I think we got something usable.

After that I hastened back to the rig where Concetta was waiting in the passenger seat. I jumped behind the wheel, and off we went to seek out new adventures.

At the end of today's drive, finding our KOA turned out to be both harrowing and tiring. Still, the scenery was fantastic even though the tiny, impossibly narrow roads that led out to the camp at "Coinjock" severely taxed my late afternoon tolerance level. Still, once at the camp the employees were wonderful to deal with, our campsite was nice, and the neighbors seemed amiable. We are too far from the laundry facility, however, to consider that task as doable. But we are just mere paces from the Atlantic (or albemarle Sound perhaps) to get a few decent photos if the sun comes out tomorrow.

I did have one more interesting conversation once we got into camp, and that was with the woman and her husband who were the guides to our respective spot. The couple had sold their house in Virginia and were now having a difficult time buying another. So, the two have hired on as camp workers which allows them to make money while they try and decide where to relocate. I suggested the Cumberland Plateau in Tennessee because we thought it was so beautiful when we came through. They said at this point they were considering nearly anywhere.

There seems to be a large number of folks who have found themselves in need of a new location, and I have been able to talk to a handful of them. Concetta and I have found most of the camps where we managed to get a spot full to overflowing. Though we've never done it before, getting reservations this trip has been almost mandatory as there are so many folks we call "full-timers" ahead of us.

I sure hope the next administration gets the country back on the right track, or we're really going to be in for some rough sledding! There just way too many people hurting.

In closing, we wish you many exciting adventures of your own. Ciao!