Ugh, so much for sitting on a shady, breezy porch and sipping Margaritas! The Bacon family and friends are spending the night in Morehead City, N.C., before heading to Ocracoke. Last night was insufferably hot and humid, relieved only by a 20 mph breeze coming off the sound. Today, the temperature read 77 degrees — at 6 a.m.! Looks like another day in the sauna.
Morehead City is a poster child for dysfunctional human settlement patterns. There is the germ of a quaint downtown business district and residential area in the historic area on the waterfront. The streets are lined with cool, wind-beaten trees with gnarly branches — someone said they were a kind of oak, but I have no idea if that’s accurate — distinguishes Morehead City from Virginia burgs of its size. But most of the town, from what we have seen, consists of an endless commercial strip running along state highway 70. Mile after mile of shopping centers and big boxes.
A few miles down the coast lies Beaufort, an ante-bellum port city, with a larger, better preserved historic district. Beaufort is truly charming. Although Beaufort’s historical core, too, has been swallowed by dreck, the dreck is at least relieved by an abundance of colorful crape myrtle trees. Across the sound, is Atlantic Beach. Beautiful beach but godawful human settlement patterns: an endless succession of residential and commericial pods strung along a single coastal road. Forget walking anywhere, riding your bike or even riding a golf cart. Virtually the entire North Carolina coast — Ocracoke Island excepted — represents the apogee of the auto-centric beach resort.
Argh! My goal for the day is to head to historic Beaufort, camp out at one of those little restaurants on the waterfront, drink Coronas and finish reading “The Elegant Universe.” I suspect, though, that my wife may have other plans in mind.
