Southern Swing, Part 7

After a long, uneventful day of driving on Wednesday, we arrived that evening at the Outer Banks of North Carolina.  I’d managed to find a decent deal on an oceanfront hotel room in Kill Devil Hills, almost directly across from the Wright Brothers National Memorial.  Thank God for off-season hotel rates!

Our first stop Thursday morning was a place called Duck Donuts.  Yes, the official story is that it was named after the nearby town of Duck, NC.  But I cannot resist trying out a place called Duck Donuts.  Especially when the store offers a t-shirt with a cartoon picture of a duck with a donut flying at his head that reads Duck!  Donuts!  Some of you may have stronger willpower than I do.  In any case, these were old-fashioned cake donuts, deep-fried and then offered with your choice of six different glazes.  I went for the regular sugar glaze while the kids opted for chocolate.  Man, they were good.  Crispy on the outside, chewy the center.  My cholesterol just went up 5 points by thinking about them.  Unfortunately, their coffee was more like Pennzoil.  I had to dump about 8 packets of sugar in it before it was drinkable, and that was their “medium” roast.  Win some, lose some.

An exact replica of the Wright Flyer. Presumably this would fly, but sadly we didn't get to try.

We entered the Wright Brothers National Memorial soon after it opened and went inside.  This place is really well done.  In the visitor center, the rangers asked the kids if they wanted to do the Junior Ranger activities–basically filling out a worksheet where they gather answers to the questions from various places in the Memorial, and then requiring them to attend one ranger talk.  In return, they’d get a Junior Ranger patch.  We thought this was a good deal, and went with it.

The ranger talk was extremely good–a 20-minute re-telling of the Wright Brothers story.  Fascinating history.  My favorite character was a local from NC who was recruited to help with the plane’s launch.  He offered to take the famous picture of the first flight, having never operated a camera before.  They only had one shot at a photo.  When the time came, the historic first flight took place.  The brothers asked the man if he had gotten the photo, and in all the excitement, he said, “Uh…I don’t know.”  He couldn’t remember if he had tripped the shutter.  As it turned out, he did, and the photo is considered one of the greatest photos of all time.  He never took another one.

Later, that same guy was trying to help tie down the plane after it had taken 4 flights and the winds came up.  They struggled to hold it down, but finally the 600+ lb. weight was too much to handle, and everyone let go–except for our buddy, who went tumbling [rear end] over teakettle as the plane flipped over.  For the rest of his life, he told anyone who’d listen that he survived the world’s very first plane crash.

Outside, there is a monument to the Wright Brothers on Kill Devil Hill, as well as stone markers for the actual take-off spot and the 4 landing points.  There’s also an exact replica of the Wright Flyer inside the Visitor Center (the real one is in the Air & Space Museum in D.C.) and a Wright Flyer jungle gym outside for the kids to play on.  We’ll come back to that one later.

Stone marker at the spot where the first flight took off
Big Dave reads the results of the first flight in history

The kids completed their tasks, said a pledge (that included a promise to clean their rooms), and got their Junior Ranger patches.  These were promptly lost once we returned home, probably under beds and desks in their pigpen rooms.

The kids promise to clean their rooms. They might as well have promised to cure cancer, too.

Next, we drove to Jockey Ridge State Park, home of the largest sand dune on the east coast.  You can freely climb all over it, so we took off our shoes and took advantage.  And boy, is it big.  At points, you could feel as though you were walking in the Sahara, although once you reached the top, the view of the ocean kind of spoiled that effect.  Great view, though.

Jockey Ridge
Those specks are me and the kids.

We had our daily PB&J ration in the parking lot (admittedly, I was starting to get sick of PB&J at this point) and drove down the way to Cape Hatteras National Seashore.  The plan was to drive down to the Bodie Island Lighthouse, just to see one of the famous lighthouses that dot the shoreline here.  The next closest one would have been at Cape Hatteras, 55 miles away.  That wasn’t going to happen.

As we drove, I saw what appeared to be a water tower in the distance.  I figured the lighthouse was beyond that somewhere.  Then, as we got closer, I saw what appeared to be scaffolding around the “water tower”, and got a sinking feeling in my stomach.  We found the turn for the lighthouse and my suspicions were correct: it was under renovation.  The top of the lighthouse had a large white enclosure around it that resembled a large roll of toilet paper.  So much for our dramatic, scenic pictures.

The beautiful and scenic Toilet Paper Lighthouse.

So we did the next best thing, which was visiting a cheap t-shirt outlet followed by mini-golf.  We chose Professor Hacker’s Treasure Hunt, since you could ride a “mine cart” (a trailer attached to a poorly-disguised riding lawnmower) to the Adventure Course.  Mini-golf with our kids is mostly herding cats, if the cats have been injected with liberal doses of sugar and caffeine.  Dave and Scotty like to barge 2 or 3 holes ahead, then run back, play a hole as fast as possible with no regard to score, and then run down the path again.  We spend our time yelling at them to get back here while attempting to putt juggling a putter, scorecard, pencil, and camera.  Then the kids start getting competitive with their scores, bragging about their good holes and making fun of their siblings’ struggles while we play peacemaker.  I had 2 holes-in-one, and Scotty announced that he needed to pee starting at the 15th hole.  Good old-fashioned family fun.

That's either Scotty's Heisman Trophy pose, or he really has to go.

Late in the afternoon we returned to the Memorial to let the kids play on the playground.  The Grumpy Ranger Lady in the ticket booth didn’t want to let us in, and resignedly announced that we only had 10 minutes, and they’d be closing at 4:45 p.m.  Look, Miss Grumpy Ranger Lady, the sign says you’re open till 5:00.  I don’t care if you’ve been sitting in this sweaty ticket booth all day and want to leave.  Buy a fan next time.  We went in anyway.

We parked and raced over to the jungle gym, determined to get our playtime in.  The kids had a blast climbing all over the Wright Flyer, while I amused myself taking stupid pictures with the statues scattered around.  You really shouldn’t let me have the camera.  Ever.

Orville didn't care for my airline food jokes.
We got Sarah into the act as well. Here she's ready for her close-up.

Of course, my wife was encouraging me here.  Honest.  She’s the one who took the shots, after all.

We played for 15 minutes or so, thank you very much, and then piled into the van.  As we left, it was 4:52 p.m.  Grumpy Ranger Lady was placing traffic cones across the entrance.  I started encouraging the kids to wave and laugh at her as we passed, but this idea was shot down by my wife.  So I gave her the stink-eye instead.  I was getting good at that.

Dinner was at Pigman’s Barbecue, where we confirmed our opinion that Slow-barbecued pork = Awesome, Carolina vinegar-based sauce = Just OK.  Then, it was back to our hotel for an evening walking on the beach, watching the sunset, and trying to avoid the melancholy that comes with your last night of vacation freedom.

Another potential Christmas card candidate.
Sarah took this one. Note our family proudly displaying Disney propaganda.
It's all fun and games till somebody gets thrown into the ocean.

Coming Up Next:  The return home, including an historic meeting of DIS Dads that was years in the making.  Either that, or I called him up last minute since we were driving through his hometown.  I forget.

Dave at 10:30 p.m. He sat like this for a few minutes. I think this calls for a caption contest, for an OFFICIAL (tm) Captain Oblivious No-Prize.

4 thoughts to “Southern Swing, Part 7”

  1. “Especially when the store offers a t-shirt with a cartoon picture of a duck with a donut flying at his head that reads Duck! Donuts! ”

    Tell me you bought the shirt!

    “These were promptly lost once we returned home, probably under beds and desks in their pigpen rooms.”
    Oh thank God. It’s not just my kids.

    At least the lighthouse looked like 2-ply. If that’s any condolence.

    “We spend our time yelling at them to get back here while attempting to putt juggling a putter, scorecard, pencil, and camera.”
    What you need is your very own Steve Williams. Someone who is not afraid to put your kids in a headlock with his hand over their mouths to keep them quiet while you putt. If you’ll pay travel expenses plus 10% of whatever winnings you get from betting on the games with your wife, I’ll do it.

    Nice job with Trademarking your No-Prize. A lot of people forget to get the right legal protection on figments of their imaginations.

    Caption Contest submition: “The can-do spirit of Orville and Wilbur flows through Dave, even as he sleeps. He bolts upright in bed, visions of advancement in air and space travel racing through his subconscious. Or the Carolina vinegar-based sauce is wreaking havoc on his GI track and he’s mere moments away from blowing chucks all over Scotty and Sarah, a la the Disney Wonder”

  2. Unfortunately, I did not get the t-shirt. I had already blown all my cash on Masters souvenirs.

    I like the idea of a Steve Williams-esque mini-golf caddy. You might be slightly disappointed in the 10% take from winnings, though. Just thought I’d give fair warning.

    Well, you’re definitely in the lead on the caption contest compared to all of the other dozens of submissions from the masses of readers of this trip report. Bonus points for the reference to my previous trip report! (insert DIS thumbs-up smiley here)

  3. I fear I may have intimidated the competition out of the gate with my witty and well thought out caption, and for that I am truly sorry. It is much more my style to let others submit their entries and gain a false sense of hope before I swoop in at the 11th hour and crush their dreams of success with my own.

  4. Looks like you scared ’em all out of the water with your entry. I hereby award you the No-Prize. Display it proudly.

Leave a Reply