The Horses of Chincoteague

and visiting both Carolinas with The Gorn

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Ride Misty for me?¹ If you’re old enough to get that twisted reference, so am I. But unlike most of you, I decided to lug my mountain bike along for a road trip down the coast to the Tidelands. We visited family in North Carolina and South Carolina, and then met the horses of Chincoteague Island in Virginia on our way home, and I rode my bike in all three states (and only crashed it in one of them!)

The Gorn on the Wannamaker Trail

Having a bicycle (or next time, two) on a road trip is a great way to explore the place you’re visiting, depending on the location. I’m not big on riding in cities, unless they have serious bike lane infrastructure, which is rare in the United States. Our first stop was Waffle House, our usual breakfast on southerly trips.

We stayed the night in Wilmington, and had dinner at a great German pub called Pröst with my cousin Lou and his partner Teresa. Lou is about ten years my senior, and my favorite cousin. As a teen, he always hung out with me and my sister at family gatherings and made us laugh. He still does! He’s a professional musician, graphic designer, and a magician, and just one of my favorite people. We were so excited, I forgot to take a photo! (I promise, there are many wildlife and landscape photos if you read on.)

In the morning, I let Sarah sleep in and drove to Blue Clay Mountain Bike Park, which is conveniently situated next to a juvenile detainment facility and a bail bonds joint. There’s a beginner’s trail and an intermediate. After getting bored on the flat easy trail, I decided to try the other one. It crossed the road and immediately got more technical, incorporating humps and berms and even a flat rock climb, which I opted to walk the bike up, as it was a wet day and they were slick. I was having a good time huffing and puffing until I found a downward curve that looked deceptively easy…

I didn’t hit the tree, so the tree is okay.

After I cleaned myself up, I found another rider’s reflector and a few other broken parts. I wasn’t the only rider deceived by this spot! I didn’t want Sarah to wait too long, so I cut a few of the looping trails short to get back, and swallowed my pride. Even after a year of biking, I have a lot to learn. But I wasn’t injured, and the bike wasn’t damaged, so I kept on riding. When I visit again, I will try to tackle the whole trail. I really liked what I saw of downtown Wilmington, by the waterfront.

From there we meandered to Carolina Beach to visit my cousin Erin. We used her electric golf cart to get around, but that town looked bike friendly. We also had a nice meal at the Ocean Tiki Bar where her husband Kelly works, so stop there if you want a good meal and drinks right on the beach.

Carolina Beach, and a boat-tailed grackle.

The beach was nice, and I was jealous when I saw someone riding a fat tire bike. I only had The Gorn, my Trek Marlin light mountain bike, which is not good on sand. A boat-tailed grackle pretended to have a broken wing and begged from us. I fell for it, and fed her crackers. Then I tossed one on the other side of the deck, and she flew to grab it! A good con, grackle. A good con.

We spent a few days in Charleston next, enjoying the old town, the beaches, and the food. We met friends and family for dinner a few times, and much was good, but the city is seeing the effects of too much money. The very rich Southern food was quite food, from whole hog barbecue at Rodney Scott’s, shrimp and grits at Virginia’s on King, chicken and salads at Edmund’s Oast, and tomato pie at 82 Queen, but my favorite meal was taco sushi fusion at Mesu, which was lighter, imaginative, and not a bank-breaker. Everything we ate was good except for a fried tomato sandwich at 82 Queen, which was soggy and needed Tony Chachere’s Creole Seasoning, a travesty. We didn’t have the chance to try many of the recommended restaurants like Chubby Fish. I wasn’t too impressed with the local beers either, except for Munkle Brewing, which has a nice selection of Belgian styles. Charleston is an expensive city, from lodging to food. It’s a shore town, after all.

Charleston: a dolphin hunts by the pier, the Angel Oak, a camouflaged Yellow crowned night heron, and a Gulf fritillary butterfly overlooking the Hilton

The nearby gated private island of Kiawah allows you to enter on a bicycle, so I pedaled among the upper crust. You can also drive to Beachwalker park on the Island and pay ten bucks to park, which I did with Sarah later. We sat on the beach and sanderlings begged from us like little chirpy puppies. On my morning ride I spotted an egret, a downy woodpecker, and a whimbrel, the last of which is supposedly rare for the area. The people were nice enough, but something bothers me about gated and private communities, especially an entire island. Blue collar Folly Beach was better than Beachwalker, in my opinion.

Egret and Woodpecker, Kiawah coast, Whimbrel

I also biked in Goose Creek, a twenty minute ride north from John’s island, where we stayed (at a somewhat aged Springhill Inn, which was only eight minutes from downtown and cheaper than staying there, but no bargain.) Wannamaker Trails in Goose Creek were a good jouncy ride, and I didn’t even crash! South Carolina has less elevation than North. I didn’t try their “Alpha” Trail, though! That’s the “technical” one, and after my spill in NC, I didn’t want to press my luck. I’ll try it next time we visit, which may be as early as next year.

The drive back on 95 was boring as expected, and we stopped at our first Buc-ee’s instead of South of the Border, which feels abandoned these days. Buc-ee’s is utterly ridiculous, but I loved it. The brisket was better than plenty I’ve had elsewhere, their selection of snacks was supreme, and I bought some jalapeno sweet jerky to gnaw on the ride home. I also treated the Subaru to a tank of ethanol-free gas! Corn does not burn well in engines designed to combust hydrofluorocarbons, and reduces your mileage. It’s a subsidy for corn agribusiness. I drew the line at buying Beaver Nuggets (which resembled some sort of sweet and crunchy human kibble) or anything festooned with their toothy mascot, but will take one of these over a Super Wawa any day.

We took the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel to the Delmarva peninsula, which was a treat in itself. It’s like driving two Golden Gate bridges and three Lincoln tunnels, without the traffic. On Chincoteague Island, tourist season was over, so everything looked closed. Luckily, our hotel was next door to a local road house called Ropewalkers, which had live music, local beer, and really expensive food that was also very good, from the crab cake egg rolls to the day boat scallops. The Fairfield Inn on the island looks brand new, and was very cozy and reasonable.

The weird thing about Chincoteague National Park is that it’s not on Chincoteague Island, it’s on nearby Assateague Island, a leisurely drive or bike ride away. And there’s a NASA launch site nearby, as well. (We’ll get to that soon enough.) And if you think Assateague sounds funny, there’s a nearby reserve called Assawoman:

Chincoteague Park has paved trails where cars could not go, so it was ideal for a bike. As usual I was up at six or seven AM, to devour the free hotel breakfast—Fairfield Inn, with their breakfast sandwiches and waffle maker, are now my favorite mid-range hotel chain—and hit the trails. I wasn’t sure where the horses would be, so I followed the big loop and stopped to observe egrets with birders and saw some across the water.

I thought that would be my closest encounter with them, but as I circled back to meet Sarah, I pedaled through the herd as they nibbled the grass around another lagoon:

My biggest concern was getting back here with Sarah before the horses trotted somewhere else. The reviews of the park kept mentioning that the horses were “shy,” and “elusive.” As you can see from the video, they are about as shy as a New York pigeon or a Jersey Shore seagull that takes a five pound dump. The ride around Chincoteague, down the Bivalve Trail and Woodland Trails, were beautiful and serene. The only hazards are the giant piles of horse shit all over the roads.

I had little to worry. When we returned on foot—because I only had one bike, and even if we rented one, by rack only holds one—the horses were in the exact same spot, mowing the grass, and ignoring a loudmouth talking on his phone, and a Karen with a telephoto lens barking at everyone else that they were “too close” when she was exactly the same distance away. I took a lot of pictures.

Sarah taught Girl Scouts how to ride horses in Louisiana, so she kept me safe by reading the horses’ body language. There’s something about wild horses that are acclimated to people. They look at you as if to say, “You got a carrot? Some pretzel barrels, maybe? No, you’re one of those rule-following ass-kissers. No touchy, and stay away from the foal, and we’re cool.” Much like deer, they are a prey animal that can easily kick you to death, but not as frightening as giraffes, moose, or hippos. No one broke the rules and tried to pet one, although Sarah was tempted. There’s a corral where the horses are rounded up, so they aren’t entirely wild, but they aren’t tame, either. Even lions are known to flee human voices at water holes, so it’s nice to see a large animal that isn’t terrified of us. Even though it probably should be.

Horses of Chincoteague, Driving on the Beach, Kiawah Sanderling, Photogenic Stinkbug, and NASA Wallops Launch Site Moon Diorama

On the way back home, we stopped at the NASA Wallops Island launch site and visited the free museum, and then at Rehoboth Beach in Delaware for lunch at Dogfish Head Brewing, which serves excellent fried pickle chips and beef on weck. Their beers are also some of my favorites, from the classic IPA to their off-centered ales and experiments. Citrus Squall is a golden ale brewed with grapefruit and agave nectar that tastes like a paloma cocktail, and it’s available in cans to take home! (which we did.)

One more brief video of the horses, which really are delightful and worth a visit, if you are near the Virginia coast.

And here’s video of my crash, if you’d to see me faceplant with a camera strapped to my chest. I wasn’t going very fast, and I don’t know what turned my wheel. I wasn’t hurt, so feel free to laugh all you want.

1. I never read Misty of Chincoteague, by Marguerite Henry, but I did watch Play Misty for Me, directed by Clint Eastwood, and it’s a misogynist piece of garbage.