Thursday, August 21, 2008
Tuesday I decided to go down to New Point, which is literally the end of the road in Mathews. It's a small peninsula where the Mobjack Bay and the Chesapeake Bay converge. I was caught trespassing only once, down Bavon Beach, but I drove off and did not make eye contact with the nice elderly couple stopped dead in the road waiting to know what I was doing there. If I had to tell them, I'm not sure I could explain myself.
To get to New Point, you do the following:
• Take Route 14 through the Court House.
• Drive past Port Haywood and remember when your friend used to leave you stranded in the middle of the road there when she popped the clutch on the tractor which caused the trailer she was pulling you in to come off the hitch. She kept on going, cackling with glee and leaving you to fend for yourself.
• Drive past Susan.(Susan is not some girl standing on the side of the road. Susan is the name of an area and a post office.)
• Drive, drive, drive.
. Pray you don't run out of gas or break down because you won't see another human being for days.
• Drive past Shadow. (This is not the name of a cat on the side of the road. It’s the name of an area and a post office.)
• Drive, drive and drive some more.
• You are now in Siberia. The End.
I went to New Point to shoot some pictures of our infamous light house (I'll put these up later this week). In true Chesapeake Bay Woman fashion, I took a wrong turn and ended up somewhere near the light house where there were some very interesting water scenes.
A few other things happened. Naturally.
1. I screeched on the brakes when a whole herd of fighting mad fiddler crabs ran across the road. Why would a fiddler crab be in the road, you may ask? In this case it's because the road is at, and sometimes below, sea level. When they showed up one time in my yard and driveway, it was because they were plotting an overthrow. They almost succeeded.
For those of you who know something about fiddler crabs, you might ask why they were on the offensive rather than their typical defensive stance of scurrying as quickly as possible to cover. All I can say is a seldom-seen car down The Wrong Lane in New Point + low-lying New Point road (as in below the mud level of their natural habitat) = the need for a fiddler crab cross walk or better yet, I vote for a fiddler crab resettlement program. I am quite sure they'd do nicely in Louisiana, for example. Or Alcatraz.
2. I got out of the car to snap a few pictures and had to hit the deck immediately when horseflies dive bombed me and tried to carry me out of there. They were the size of flying monkeys and just as scary. I see no need to resettle these things anywhere other than the backside of the world's biggest flyswatter.
3. Swatting madly at the air, and, as my son says, spittin’ and hissin’(with a side order of cussin’), I quickly snapped the pictures before the flies made off with me. I left my car running (because it was sweltering and I needed the a/c) and also left the door open because I was afraid if I closed it, somehow I'd get locked out, and I did NOT want to be stranded in the middle of nowhere with fiddler crabs and flying monkeys attacking me. However, by leaving the door open, I managed to let a few flying monkeys into the car (thankfully, no fiddler crabs made it inside).
Between dodging fiddler crabs in the road and swatting mutant killer horseflies inside the car, it is a wonder I made it out of there without driving up a tree and inflating my airbag.
Speaking of airbags, I will stop now. I feel things crawling on me and I just know it’s either a horsefly or a fiddler crab.