PJ's 2006 RAMBLE

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September 21, 2006

Those Hampton Roads

To clarify, "Hampton Roads" is an archaic blanket term given to the several adjacent communities in the southeast corner of Virginia at the mouth of the Chesapeake Bay, namely Hampton, Newport News, Norfolk, Virginia Beach, Suffolk and the "largest municipality in the US with no discernable downtown," Chesapeake. I lived in Norfolk from late 1999 to mid-2002 and got to know the area pretty well, and made some good friends there while working for PETA. Unfortunately most of my friends from that time no longer live there, but a few of them do and I was very glad to meet up with those folks after several years.

For me it's a melancholy thing, visiting a place I used to live. Townes Van Zandt said "There's no prettier sight than lookin' back on a town you left behind," and I agree, it can be heartening to see those things which are still familiar, stirring up all kinds of memories and emotions...but there's also the inevitable change that happens, which can be upsetting. For instance, if someone who grew up on the north side of Chicago years ago had moved away and just come back for the first time, save for the street names they may not even recognize it as the same city; dozens of entire blocks have been demolished and re-worked in the name of "progress," gentrification and urban renewal. Norfolk is experiencing some of this now. My old neighborhood of West Ghent is a prime example, nearly all of the houses on the block next to mine were bulldozed to put in luxury townhomes, and they're popping up like yard fungus after a strong rain. I suppose this is the case in any city where people with money desire to live (I say that because I've seen a marked absence of this in some of the more distraught small cities), out with the old plaster-and-lath and in with the cinderblocks and marble countertops.

I digress, back to the trip. I rode out of Richmond with less than 90 miles to travel, planning to meet my friend Damon in Hampton. I ended up taking Hwy 60, a very good road from Richmond to Williamsburg (4-lane divided, woods all around, 55mph, places to stop, etc) and then taking the Colonial Parkway over to Yorktown where Damon met me.

When Tal and I first got our Vespas, Damon was the only veteran scooterist in the Norfolk area, so we would always rely on him for advice and mechanical help with our scooters. He was always there to lend a hand...and actually do the work for us in most cases! He's an excellent guy and I hadn't seen him in a few years, fortunately he hasn't changed. Now his P200 is in temporary retirement and his daily rider is a very cool Bajaj (Indian-made) which has the best of most worlds: a curvy, Sprint-style body, the HUGE legshield glovebox and the package cowl glovebox, well-integrated turn-signals, a beautiful greenish color, a P200 motor and more. Man, I love that scooter.

Damon and I rode into Hampton (or was it Newport News?) for some Indian food at Nawab. The staff there talked to us at length about the scooters, tickled that they were both made in India and telling us about the scooters they had "back home." The first question from Indians in the US is usually "how much did you pay for it," because they know very well how much it costs in India (usually $700-$1,000 USD new). I think they start dreaming of a side-business when you say they sell for $3,000 in the States, but any large-scale importation would be difficult at best with all of the EPA/titling/customs nightmares. But still a few greymarket bikes sneak through, that's where Damon's oddball late-model 2-stroke 150 came through.

After catching up over a good meal we went back to his house where I crashed on his couch for the night, I stayed up late and did a web update. Damon is a Mac user, thank god for that, I don't have to dislocate my fingers to do a copy-and-paste maneuver, or wait ages for shit to happen when the program doesn't respond, etc. The next morning he went into work late and led me as far as the Hampton Roads Bridge-Tunnel (a breeze after the Holland Tunnel in NYC!), from which I emerged in Norfolk.

I drove down Granby St. by some old familiar sights and then into the Ghent neighborhood, the "hip", gentrified few blocks of town where most of the worthwhile attractions and restaurants are condensed. I'd arranged to have lunch with Danielle, a girl I used to date and had recently unburned bridges with over e-mail (long story, but we're friends again, and hooray for that because she's still hilarious and loads of fun to be around). She's working at a new job that she likes a lot and I'm really happy for her. We had five or six years to catch up on over vegan pizza, saw her new office and then walked around the historic district of Norfolk.

I failed to get in touch with any of my other Norfolk contacts that day, so since I had no lodging worked out I ended up riding the 20 or so miles over to Virginia Beach where they have a Hostel. Checked myself in (Russian girls working there for the summer), met some random dudes who were sharing my room and went out on the town to see what it was like on a Labor Day Sunday night. Some activity but quite wound-down compared to June-August when it's a kaliedoscope of beachgoers, T-shirt shops, the smell of sunscreen and the sound of crotch rockets. In the off-season it becomes like a ghost town, with only a skeleton crew of Saltwater Taffy stores, 3rd-rate motels, pancake houses and souvenir shops remaining open; otherwise you'd expect to see tumbleweeks blowing down Atlantic Avenue. Those weather-dependent seasonal places always creep me out in the off-season, it's like visiting just after a plague. The Wisconsin Dells were the same way when I passed through one Thanksgiving, it's just unsettling to see so much quiet in the face of so much pomp and carnival-barking.

I walked along the drag, through a mostly-empty and pathetic little carnival, took a look at the ocean, then had some miserable bite to eat in a restaurant near the hostel (french fries and a side order of corn, if I remember right), then went to sleep in my plastic-sheeted bunk. I woke up the next morning, went to see the ocean by daylight and grabbed a breakfast of toast and OJ at the Belvedere Hotel on Danielle's recommendation. Great little coffeeshop, glad I went. Hating to backtrack on the same road I took the scenic route back to Norfolk, a quick in-and-out down the scooter-perfect path at First Landing State Park, along the ocean and Chesapeake Bay, past the worn thrift stores, mattress discounters and dilapidated used car lots on Little Creek Rd., all the way over to Hampton Blvd. and down past Ol' Dirty University.

I had called ahead and then stopped in to say hello to some of the few people I still know at PETA. Had a very nice reuinion with several old friends there, including Matt and Cholly (I didn't get a photo of them, don't think I brought my camera in). Stories were told, progress was shown, good feelings all around. After that it was through another tunnel (if I recall there's only one way to drive out of Norfolk that doesn't involve a tunnel) to Portsmouth, this one was dingy and hotter than hell, I've always had a great fear of my scooter dying in one since there's nowhere to pull off (not to mention breathing that air for more than a couple of minutes). Panic would probably set in pretty fast.

On my way out of Portsmouth (a town that always makes me think of another burned-bridge ex-girlfriend, Bridgett) I pulled over at a great old antiques/junk shop that I'd been to several times in the past, delighted to find the somewhat ramshackle place still in business. Just as I pulled in it started to sprinkle, then the bottom fell out of the sky and it came down like a sonofabitch. Fortunately business was slow and the proprietor Neil welcomed me to pull my scooter under the porch roof, take a seat and shoot the bull with him while it rained, and despite being behind schedule, I was glad to do so. We talked for a couple of hours about all kinds of things, his 40-something years in the Auction business, long hauls on the road, maps, photos and other printed matter, presidents, negros being his best customers, the worth of various antiques, his homemade walking sticks, society today, etc. We were also joined by a gregarious neighbor named John, originally from Philadelphia, who offered me a Coke from his cooler.

I had a great time and bought a few nice old roadmaps, but had to put on my raingear and face the storm since it was getting on in the afternoon and showed no sign of letting up. I rode 190 or so miles west to Danville on Hwy 58 through "peanut country" (south of "plantation country" and north of "tobacco country"), a mostly-forgettable stretch of road that just has to be done to get over near the mountains in southern Virginia. I'd hoped to go farther but it was dark and Danville seemed like a good place to call it a night, playing a part in the Wreck of the Old 97 and all... Very interesting place, I'll write about it next entry.

Posted by pj at September 21, 2006 12:14 AM

Comments

Posted by: Katy at October 20, 2006 10:26 AM

Posted by: Don King at January 4, 2007 02:04 PM