In the morning, we awoke early enough, though we were still pretty groggy. By morning's light, the room was a mess. We wanted to make an early start. We each took showers, then stowed our gear back in the car. By then we were exhausted again, and decided that maybe a little nap wouldn't hurt. We slept until the room maid knocked on our door several hours later.

Where the face Georgia presents to the Atlantic is short, South Carolina's seems to run on forever. Moreover, I-95 was nearly non-existent in this state, so we found ourselves following US 1 most of the way. We began to encounter humorous signs for a place called South of the Border (which stills exists, albeit in a fancier form than in 1969).

One sign bore a giant, 3-D hot dog bragging that we never SAUSAGE a place! You're always a WEINER with Pedro! What got Chris' attention, however, was another sign claiming that South of the Border was the Fireworks Capital Of The USA! We had been passing fireworks advertisements all day, and with each one I had to point out that our funds were limited, and did we really want to spend them on something that merely made a large noise and disappeared? Even if South Carolina was the only place on the East Coast where they could be legally purchased? But Chris couldn't be dissuaded, and we spent some three hours at this unbelievably kitsch-y joint browsing for firecrackers. Even now, I don't want to think about how much money Chris spent there.

North Carolina

Finally, finally, we were in North Carolina! And now, Chris began talking about trying out some of the fireworks he'd purchased. To placate him, I agreed to stop and let him set off one smoke bomb. For some reason he decided to do it right behind the car. Just as I snapped a photo of it, a kindly motorist slowed to a stop and asked if we needed any help. I was terribly embarrassed, but Chris explained we had it under control and the man continued on his way. I don't think I said a word to Chris for half an hour after that.

By late afternoon we found ourselves heading for Currituck on North Carolina's Outer Banks, where we intended to catch a ferry to Virginia. The road there seemed endless, though, barren and untraveled. Chris kept asking if I were sure this was the right road. I wasn't, but I was pretty sure. So I said I was certain.

It was the right road, but the wrong time. We got to the end of the pavement just as the last ferry of the night was pulling out! There was nothing to do now but spend the night.

We had driven hard, and were willing to consider staying at the motel placed on the left side of the road, next to the ferry slip, where it could best snare unwary travelers. We asked what the room rate was, and were told a room for two would cost us about $50. That was far too expensive for us! (With inflation, $50 in 1969 dollars would be about $425.52 today—in other words, this was a luxury hotel—or an old-fashioned rip-off.)

Besides, across the street from the hotel, was an inviting, grassy field, where a few other people had already pitched tents there. So we did the same. Besides, the scene between us and the sea was just too pretty not to want to be a part of it.

But it wasn't an actual campground; and there were no electric outlets for our frying pan. There was no place to build a fire, either. So we decided to eat in the restaurant associated with the hotel (not realizing that, if the rooms were expensive, so too would be the restaurant).

We weren't quite dressed for dinner. Chris and I each wore jeans; Chris wore a red-checked flannel shirt, while I wore a cowboy shirt unbuttoned to my sternum over a blue turtleneck. We weren't disheveled, it was more as if we had jest come in from th' corral. But this was, as we've established, a luxury establishment and we definitely got the look from the maître d' as he escorted us to our table.

And when we opened the menus he brought, we knew we were in trouble. There wasn't a dinner in them we could afford! But, remember, we were both 18 and still lived in agony of being embarrassed by drawing attention to ourselves. So we didn't want to just walk out. We wound up ordering a single plate of ice cream…and sharing it. We hoped we appeared to be not really hungry, just killing time with a small, casually-eaten, snack. Surely the maître d' knew perfectly well that there was nowhere else to go until the ferry arrived in the morning, but all we could do is hope he wouldn't call us on it.

The fact was, though, that we were very hungry. There were packages of saltines on the table and I decided, the ice cream had been so overpriced, we were entitled to as many as we could carry. I started slipping them between my outer cowboy shirt and inner turtleneck. Chris was incredulous but that goaded me all the more, so that when the area between my shirts was filled, I started storing cracker packets in my socks and pants legs, not stopping until the generous basket on our table was empty.

By the time we had finished our ice cream, I was feeling pretty smug. On our way out of the restaurant, I said to the maître d', We certainly got a great value here! Thanks!

He snorted, I see you did, and looked at the floor. My eyes followed his. With each step, I had added to a trail of crackers that stretched all the way back to our table.

With nothing else to say, Chris and I looked at each other, then bolted.

We were somewhat relieved when the maître d' didn't follow us to our tent, which was clearly visible from his station across the road. And now at least we had some crackers to add to the order of ice cream we'd shared. But we were still hungry. We had a big can of stew we could eat, if only we could heat it up. So, with no better way to pass the time, we took the electric frying pan and the stew and attempted to find an exposed electrical outlet somewhere on the outside of the motel.

Which we eventually did, in the motel's laundromat. Of course, we had forgotten to bring our can opener so Chris ran back to get it while I pre-heated the pan. In less than fifteen minutes the stew had gotten hot and Chris and I had eaten. There'd been a few moments of embarrassment but we'd gotten through them.

The sun set spectacularly behind us.

I had gotten the pup tent at the Army-Navy store. It cost me $12 and I was very happy with it, though it was a little snug for Chris. Chris is 6 foot 5, but the tent was only 6 feet long. Still, by sticking his feet through the door, he was able to keep most of him inside. And so, exhausted after a day of driving, we went quickly to a sound sleep…

…For about fifteen minutes. I had just begun to doze when a stinging itch erupted on my neck, accompanied by the unmistakable whine of a female mosquito. I slapped at my neck, too late of course, when I felt another one land on my forehead. Then my ear. Next to me I could hear Chris slapping as well.

I tried pulling myself entirely into my sleeping bag, but the night was too hot and the air inside quickly grew fetid. Plus, my sleeping bag wasn't quite as long as I was; I had never intended to mummify myself in it.

We had brought Off with us; but prowling through our bags for the can was a nightmare, as it exposed my entire body to the ravages of the merciless insects. Still, eventually I found it; Chris and I sprayed each other from top to toe with the oily stuff. Mosquitoes still hovered around us, but didn't land. We were safe.

…For about four hours. We'd gone to bed at ten; at two o'clock Chris and I awoke simultaneously, itching, scratching and slapping. Another dose of Off allowed us to go back to sleep.

…For about another four hours. The Off had worn off again. It was now four o'clock, two hours before the ferry was due. Chris went into the restroom at the ferry slip and stayed for about an hour, while I tried to go back to sleep. He finally returned, explaining that he'd thought there would be fewer bugs in there. He was right; but there was no place to lie down so he'd come back to the tent.

Which had fallen during the night. By the time our travel alarm went off at 5:30, the tent was just a puddle of canvas on the ground. Our activity during the night had proven too much for it. I decided then and there that future tents would have built-in screen doors and windows…even if I had to pay more than $12 for them.