Leaving the Tide Behind
Chapter 5 – Across the Bay in the Rain
We started the morning with a quick, muggy-day breakfast of granola and milk before saying goodbye to our Harvest Host farm. The farm stand was irresistible — a cantaloupe for a dollar, a zucchini and eggplant each the size of a small child, and a pint of cherry tomatoes so sweet they barely lasted the day. With fresh produce stashed in the van, we stopped for sparklers at a roadside stand and hit the road toward Virginia Beach.
The real thrill of the day came with the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel. Twenty-eight kilometers of bridge and tunnel stretched across open water, and in the middle of a rainstorm it felt like driving into infinity. No land in sight, just ocean in every direction, the tunnels so narrow that oncoming trucks felt uncomfortably close. When we finally rolled onto solid ground again, the relief was palpable.
A Trader Joe’s stop was next — my new guilty pleasure. We stocked up on smoked salmon, Gouda, trail mix, rice crackers, boba mochi balls, and dark chocolate pretzels. Rain jackets kept us dry outside but also made us look like mismatched tourists, and inside the store the AC felt like a walk-in freezer.
By the time we reached Northwest River Park, it was still pouring and the ranger’s office was nearly impossible to find. But the quiet woods, electric hookup, and even air-conditioned bathrooms felt like pure luxury. Dinner was a snacky charcuterie board with Woody’s BBQ leftovers, eaten under the soft hum of the AC while we knocked out three episodes of Squid Game.
Chapter 6 – Camp Life Rhythms
There’s a particular joy in waking up and knowing you don’t have to drive anywhere. The heat was oppressive, but breakfast of fresh bread, chicken sausage, and hard-boiled eggs fueled a slow, easy morning. A pair of curious squirrels provided entertainment — until one decided to christen our running board, instantly downgrading its cuteness.
The day became a full-on maintenance session: laundry that seemed to take a lifetime, fresh water tank filled, gray water dumped, and the cassette toilet deep-cleaned after a suspicious odor revealed some… less-than-ideal flushing technique. New “best practices” were quickly established (flush the pee first, thank you very much). Nelson gave the van a quick exterior rinse while I scrubbed the cab floor clean of muddy footprints.
By afternoon, we were snacking on yet another charcuterie board before heading out for a walk along Deer Island Trail. The heat was unrelenting, the air still as glass, and we returned drenched in sweat. A quick shower, steak salad dinner, and another Squid Game episode closed the day. The van was slowly transforming into a lived-in home, complete with clever bungee cord clotheslines and towels hanging wherever space allowed.
Chapter 7 – A Quiet Independence Day
The Fourth of July was unexpectedly peaceful. I’d pictured raucous campfires, music, and kids setting off fireworks, but instead the campground had only a gentle hum of activity. We both slept in until nine and enjoyed scrambled eggs with smoked salmon on toast.
In the morning, I set a pot of Taiwanese beef stew simmering while we tidied the van. The weather was warm but blessedly dry, with a steady breeze, so we turned the picnic table outside into our workspace. Nelson tinkered with his projects while I knocked out a list of admin tasks — booking storage, planning upcoming meals for when Cindy and Lilian arrive, and even starting this trip diary.
It was the kind of day that feels small in the moment but anchors itself in memory: good food, good weather, a clean space, and the quiet satisfaction of feeling caught up.
Chapter 8 – Swamps, Storms & Sunsets
After pressed sandwiches for brunch, we left the shaded stillness of Northwest River Park for the Great Dismal Swamp. Despite its romantic name, the reality was raw and wild — supersized insects buzzing the air, narrow unpaved roads, and Lake Drummond hiding deep in the interior. It was more rugged than I’d expected, and I left with a sense of awe tinged with relief to be heading back to civilization.
Our destination for the night, a drive-in theater in Henderson, promised a fun outdoor movie night… until we learned the projector was broken. We were the only ones on the lot, which gave the place an eerie, unsettled feeling.
The next morning started light — banana smoothies and granola — before errands in Raleigh. REI for camping fuel (and a cowboy hat Nelson couldn’t resist), a final Trader Joe’s run, and a feast at Sam Jones BBQ: whole chicken, pork ribs, smoky perfection.
By afternoon, heavy rain slammed the highway, reducing visibility to almost nothing and flooding parts of the road. Later we learned Chapel Hill had been hit hard. Our reward for white-knuckle driving came at Round Peak Vineyards — sweeping views, rows of grapevines, and a golden sunset over the hills. We set up on their patio with leftover BBQ, the air warm and still, the quiet broken only by crickets. It was the perfect close to a stretch that had been equal parts wild, nerve-wracking, and beautiful.
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