Dela-where?
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Yeah, that's right. Delaware. Can you believe it?
I've never met anyone from Delaware. I know of only two cities in Delaware -- Wilmington and Dover -- yet I have no idea how many people live there, or what they even DO in Delaware. Until this quarter, I've never even MET anyone who's ever even BEEN IN Delaware.
So, at the beginning of the Our Nation's Capitol Experience, I made it my mission to step foot in Delaware, and our friend over at Dickie Cronkite wanted nothing to do with said mission. In fact, he basically told me to go (insert expletive here) myself, and that he wouldn't be going to Delaware under any circumstances -- ever.
Frosty 1, Dickie 0.
Ahoy Delaware!
After a less-than-anticipated trip to Canoe-ville fell through, the troops gathered and fortified.
We came up with only one logical solution: Let's Go To Delaware! (By the way, there's a reason Rick Steves never did a PBS special on this state... more on that later)
Not knowing much -- wait, no -- not knowing ANYTHING about Delaware (aside from a few whispers of surf, sun and fun), we loaded up a couple of cars and set our sights to the East.
RND booked the room, and Dickie, Jed, Scooter, El Matador and Smash would find a way to sleep seven in a five-person room.
Because of the Frosty Guarantee of heavy traffic on the famed Bay Bridge during the peak season, we pulled out of Our Nation's Capitol around 11 p.m. on Friday night. Three hours later, we were in... uh... Delaware (?).
"Imagine being able to be magically whisked away to . . . Delaware. "Hi, I'm in Delaware."
Yeah, we're in... Delaware.
There's not much to it. Maybe 50 miles from the MD border to the Hot-lantic. No elevation change. Lots of corn. Not many people. No speed limit signs.
We sipped a few cold ones and fell asleep to the Weather Channel, which was looping the local forecast for "Rehomo" Beach.
The message wasn't pretty, and it was starting to make me think of (gasp!) Detroilet
"Morning showers and afternoon t-storms. UV forecast: LOW." Shit!
Thankfully, the next morning, the sun was rapidly burning off the fog and turning away the threat of rain. Perhaps my luck has changed... and as usual, The Weather Channel sucks.
After my early morning rallying cry (well, OK, it was like 9 a.m.), we headed down to the Surf Shop to humor Dickie , rented two boards and hit the beach.
Just as I secretly prognosticated, the weather was hot and sunny, and we had a cooler full of beverages, a frisbee El Matador craftfully rented gratis from the bloke at the Surf Shop, two long boards and some sunscreen. Niiiiiiiiice.
The beach was great, aside from a troubling lack of "breakers, dude," and we had a fine time drawing lines in the sand.
After some heated discussion and long deliberation, we headed down to the local watering hole for some Crab-tastic dinner, and decided to make the trip a two-day affair.
A drink or two later, we were suffering from exhaustion, overindulgence and overexposure to the sun, and soon things were going a bit less amicably. We absorbed a lost camera, a hungry parking meter, and some White Trash.
Once more time on that last one: White Trash -- and I mean EVERYWHERE. Dewey Beach, DE was teeming with jean shorts and mullets, drunkards and DBs... Delaware's beach towns are just like one might expect in New Jersey -- white trash, meatheads, skanks, druggies and losers, driking overpriced beer and whiskey, looking for their next target (whether it be fight or female) and listening to Monster Ballads from the late 80s... If you're not in the right mood, Delaware could be Hell.
And just then, with that perfect mix, all Hell broke loose.
Indeed. After a series of misunderstandings and misinterpretations, Smash and I had a little blow-out, during which both of us learned we were stubborn and not very good reporters.
How does something like that happen? It's like we were the only two playing Opposite Day, where yes means no and no means maybe...
Anyway, after a real head-shaker, we made good, and went to bed fat and happy -- her next to the snoring mass of Dickie, and me on a roll-away bed without a blanket dreaming of Fiancee...
I blame it all on Delaware, that little slice of Hell nestled between Maryland and Nowhere.
Only in Delaware, folks. Only in Delaware.
I've never met anyone from Delaware. I know of only two cities in Delaware -- Wilmington and Dover -- yet I have no idea how many people live there, or what they even DO in Delaware. Until this quarter, I've never even MET anyone who's ever even BEEN IN Delaware.
So, at the beginning of the Our Nation's Capitol Experience, I made it my mission to step foot in Delaware, and our friend over at Dickie Cronkite wanted nothing to do with said mission. In fact, he basically told me to go (insert expletive here) myself, and that he wouldn't be going to Delaware under any circumstances -- ever.
Frosty 1, Dickie 0.
Ahoy Delaware!
After a less-than-anticipated trip to Canoe-ville fell through, the troops gathered and fortified.
We came up with only one logical solution: Let's Go To Delaware! (By the way, there's a reason Rick Steves never did a PBS special on this state... more on that later)
Not knowing much -- wait, no -- not knowing ANYTHING about Delaware (aside from a few whispers of surf, sun and fun), we loaded up a couple of cars and set our sights to the East.
RND booked the room, and Dickie, Jed, Scooter, El Matador and Smash would find a way to sleep seven in a five-person room.
Because of the Frosty Guarantee of heavy traffic on the famed Bay Bridge during the peak season, we pulled out of Our Nation's Capitol around 11 p.m. on Friday night. Three hours later, we were in... uh... Delaware (?).
"Imagine being able to be magically whisked away to . . . Delaware. "Hi, I'm in Delaware."
Yeah, we're in... Delaware.
There's not much to it. Maybe 50 miles from the MD border to the Hot-lantic. No elevation change. Lots of corn. Not many people. No speed limit signs.
We sipped a few cold ones and fell asleep to the Weather Channel, which was looping the local forecast for "Rehomo" Beach.
The message wasn't pretty, and it was starting to make me think of (gasp!) Detroilet
"Morning showers and afternoon t-storms. UV forecast: LOW." Shit!
Thankfully, the next morning, the sun was rapidly burning off the fog and turning away the threat of rain. Perhaps my luck has changed... and as usual, The Weather Channel sucks.
After my early morning rallying cry (well, OK, it was like 9 a.m.), we headed down to the Surf Shop to humor Dickie , rented two boards and hit the beach.
Just as I secretly prognosticated, the weather was hot and sunny, and we had a cooler full of beverages, a frisbee El Matador craftfully rented gratis from the bloke at the Surf Shop, two long boards and some sunscreen. Niiiiiiiiice.
The beach was great, aside from a troubling lack of "breakers, dude," and we had a fine time drawing lines in the sand.
After some heated discussion and long deliberation, we headed down to the local watering hole for some Crab-tastic dinner, and decided to make the trip a two-day affair.
A drink or two later, we were suffering from exhaustion, overindulgence and overexposure to the sun, and soon things were going a bit less amicably. We absorbed a lost camera, a hungry parking meter, and some White Trash.
Once more time on that last one: White Trash -- and I mean EVERYWHERE. Dewey Beach, DE was teeming with jean shorts and mullets, drunkards and DBs... Delaware's beach towns are just like one might expect in New Jersey -- white trash, meatheads, skanks, druggies and losers, driking overpriced beer and whiskey, looking for their next target (whether it be fight or female) and listening to Monster Ballads from the late 80s... If you're not in the right mood, Delaware could be Hell.
And just then, with that perfect mix, all Hell broke loose.
Indeed. After a series of misunderstandings and misinterpretations, Smash and I had a little blow-out, during which both of us learned we were stubborn and not very good reporters.
How does something like that happen? It's like we were the only two playing Opposite Day, where yes means no and no means maybe...
Anyway, after a real head-shaker, we made good, and went to bed fat and happy -- her next to the snoring mass of Dickie, and me on a roll-away bed without a blanket dreaming of Fiancee...
I blame it all on Delaware, that little slice of Hell nestled between Maryland and Nowhere.
Only in Delaware, folks. Only in Delaware.
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