Bald head

~Edd
I don't take many pictures when I travel. Perhaps having a Blog will change that. I tend to just absorb the world around me wherever I am. I guess I figure I'll come back to it later in my memory. Besides, the pictures never do it justice. The image on the screen or paper just seems flat compared to my memories. Maybe nostalgia is just a perfect filter, and, then again, maybe I'm not a great photographer. Having a social media presence is going to force me to take more photos. Either way, I'm going to have to paint pictures with words. We'll see how that goes. I realize I sound like a fucking douche when I say all this, like some Holden Caulfield, Catcher in the Rye wannabe charlatan. Maybe I am. But at least I would know what to do with a hooker. Maybe not... How much for a half-n-half?

I wanted to go the beach today. I live on the coast, so it's not all that intense an afternoon, but I didn't know where to go. A cursory Google search for "Best beaches in North Carolina" pulled up two close to me. According to a random Travel Channel article, Wrightsville Beach and Bald Head Island are two of the 4 best listed beaches in that article. Having been to Wrightsville pretty frequently over the last 4 years, I said why the hell not, and took off for Bald Head. I took a towel, a change of shorts, some deodorant, and a bluetooth speaker. I'm a child, so I never wear sunscreen, but I'm getting old, so I bought some on the way.

The only full-sized motor vehicles I'll see on the island

35-40 minutes of Audible audio book later (The Wise Man's Fear: Book II of the Kingkiller Chronicles, by Patrick Rothfuss for anyone interested. Check it out here.), I arrive at the Bald Head Ferry. $10 to park for the day, and $22 round trip ticket. Alright, not including gas I'm already $32 down. This had better be one HELL of a beach. The ferry runs every hour on the half-hour, the ticket lady says, and it takes me to the island after a short wait, and I start to stroll. When I travel alone I have no plan, ever. I spent a day in Paris once, and I only knew that I wanted to see the Eiffel Tower, Arc de Triomphe, Notre Dame, and eat a crepe. That was the whole plan, but ya know what? That's what I fucking did. And it was lovely. Anyway, I know NOTHING about Bald Head Island, but I saw from the map conveniently placed near the ferry that it wasn't too big. There was a bike rental place nearby, so I rented a bicycle from a nice man named Warren (I called him the Warren Buffet of bikes, which I thought was terribly clever.) for $10, and, armed with a map of the island, was off. 

Bald Head is a strange little island where nobody drives. Well, at least nobody drives cars. It's golf cart only aside from the smattering of utility vans for repairmen, one truck for a construction crew, and a random foodtruck pictured above that ferried over at the same time I did. Had I accurately gauged my laziness, I would've rented a golf cart instead of the bicycle. But, being the adventurous cheapskate I am, I biked. The roads are little more than wide bike paths, barely wide enough for the golf carts to pass me, but it was beautiful. If I was better on a bike I would've gotten some photos. (Tangent: I didn't even learn to ride a bike until my mid-twenties.) The roads were shaded by Spanish moss and temperate/tropic canopy, only occasionally breaking to let a stream of sunlight down to the path. It was hilly for my beach-bred single speed bike, but it was 75 degrees and breezy. 

Close to the Ferry docks is the lighthouse, called—I shit you not—Old Baldy. Built in 1817, the Bald Bastard is 200 years young this year. There were signs for an old fort, but I couldn't seem to find where it actually was. 

Down the street, Bald Head has a "Merchant Row" in the middle of the island with a tiny grocery store and a handful of shops, which I couldn't really find, and just half-ass rode through anyway. 

After riding through the Merchant Row, I got a little turned around, and ended up going further out of my way than I wanted. Luckily for me, it's an island, so eventually I ended up at my much-sought-after pile of sand, the beach. At this point you're saying to yourself, "Christ on a cracker, this guy SUCKS at directions!" Typically, that's not the case, but with nothing to go off of other than sandy bike trails and occasional street signs with wet-landic names, I was not on my A-game today.

Armed with nothing but my shades, a towel, a bluetooth speaker, and my sunscreen, I headed to shore. This was, far and away, the windiest damn beach I've ever visited. I laid down on my towel, and was immediately and constantly buffeted on one side of my body for the remainder of my stay. There was more sand attached to my scalp than hair at the end. Being late September, the water was cold as SHIT, but I put my feet in for a bit and absorbed the scenery. It was a beautiful beach, and damn near empty. Upon returning to my now wind-buried towel, I laid for a bit longer, enjoyed my music and the sound of the waves, and relaxed.

I'm surprised I was able to find a spot, really.

It was getting late, and I had to return my bike before 5pm. So I repacked my bag and headed back to the ferry. An uneventful bike ride brought me back to where I started. I turned in the bike, and grabbed one of the best chai lattes I've ever had from Alyssa at Sandpiper Coffee and Ice Cream. The ferry was extra choppy, and I got more than a little wet. I didn't make it out as badly as one guy, though. As I was sitting on the side, I see a black backpack just come hurtling through the air and overboard. Everyone is very concerned, except for the owner, who looked up from texting, said "Eh, there's nothing valuable in there anyway," and looked back at his phone. His nonchalance was impressive. He stayed buried in his windbreaker and his phone for the remainder of the trip. Either that is the most stoic man on the planet, or he hid his murder weapon in there and was just glad to be rid of it.

All in all, Bald Head Island's beaches are beautiful, and white, and clean. But so are all the beaches where I live. I was impressed, however, with the island as a whole. I truly felt like I was riding through a tropical island paradise as I biked by way around. I never made it to the "good beach" on the far side of the island. Alyssa at the coffee shop asked if I was staying for sunset, as the sun goes down over the water, something I've never seen on the east coast. I didn't stay for that, and so I'm sure I'll be back to Bald Head in the future, to show people around or solo to pick up where I left off. But I'll be back.