Saturday, May 30th

Round and Round

The city was quiet on Saturday morning. Only sun was out on force already; it promised to become another hot and steamy day. Having stayed on the west side of town, I decided to leave westbound, too. The course was simple enough, yet I still managed to miss a turn and ended up on the south side of the National Mall on Independence Avenue. I had to go all the way up to the World War II Monument before being able to turn around and finally leave the city.

Going west provided for an excuse to finally visit the twin hangar of the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum next to Dulles Airport. I had tried to do that a while ago but it had been closed then due to federal budgeting quirks. Like all of Smithsonian, the outpost is free yet parking costs fifteen dollars, a reasonable amount considering what was to come.

The Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center, to give the full name nobody will ever remember, consisted of two large hangars, in itself marvels of twirling white steel pipes and spectacular doors. One, officially the Boeing Aviation Hangar, was full of iconic (and less iconic) aeroplanes and the second, the James S. McDonnell Space Hangar, contained exhibits of space travel. The main reason I had come was parked in the latter: Discovery, the longest serving space shuttle. Standing in front of this remarkable craft surely was worth any detour. There were other great flying machines to see and I spend a happy two hours rummaging through aviation history.

I left shortly past noon with a vague plan to swing around the metro area spawned by Washington and Baltimore. The first quest of that mission was to cross the Potomac River. Bridges were few and far between. I had to go further west still. I plotted a course along minor roads since even on this early Saturday afternoon the streets were busy. With some difficulty I eventually found my road. It was very busy, too. This area was still part of DC’s suburbia, made evident by signs pointing to open houses everywhere.

I circumvented Leesburg on its bypass road, a scary collection of ill-considered designs requiring multiple surprise lane switches and near collisions. Beyond, there finally were hills and farms yet still no quiet. Lucketts, the tiny centre of the area, offered strawberries and tomatoes and, in the Old Lucketts Store, ‘vintage hip’ such as a bunch of old doors displayed outside.

The hills became more aggressive and the farms turned into forests. The river must have been near. The road went down and, indeed, there it was: the Potomac River under a light-blue girder bridge. The water was busy with fisherman, statues in rubber boats, and paddlers in not much more hurry.

I turned off the main road right after the bridge. It wasn’t time to return east just yet, since I had to go around the Chesapeake Bay that extends surprisingly far north.

The land was still more hilly than on the other side, serving predominantly for plant farming as was evident by ever-present grain silos. The farms were separated by tree groves. Often, the farm yard was in the middle of a field, a number of barns and an old, huge mansion. It was exactly like I had envisioned Maryland to be. Indeed, the river crossing had meant that I had crossed from Virginia into Maryland.

Urbana started with a big park-and-ride lot. There wasn’t a railway, though. Special lanes on the motorways reserved for cars with a minimum of two or even three people substituted for public transport and the parking lot organized this ride sharing.

Beyond, the city became somehow true to its name. Instead of a centre if had bike lanes, roundabouts, and a big leafy school campus. It was all very bright and modern. Libertytown, meanwhile, was the entire opposite: cute little houses by a narrow road that had been here for centuries. This return of the old also finally marked the return to more quieter land. Until now, all roads, however small, had been ridiculously busy.

The old towns continued. New Windsor was even listed in the National Register. It was quite pretty and old. Mostly white wooden houses, some brick. A pub by the road, even if it was disguising itself as an eatery. As if on command, a fire engine crossed the road up ahead on the hill, all red and chrome.

Onwards to Westminster, probably also very pretty but its bypass road prevented me from having a look, and Hampstead, were I finally got lost. My intention had been to keep travel east, but somehow I turned south. I tried to recover but that only took me to Cockeysville, a terrible return to modern America. The northernmost arm of the Baltimore area, it featured busy roads and ever-red traffic light with no promise of relief. I gave in and turned towards the motorway, intending to repeat the stunt from two days ago and follow it until decent accommodation was announced.

What I failed to account for was that on a Saturday night any hotel along I95, the main east coast motorway would be expensive. Or perhaps, as the size of the hotel suggested as an alternative explanation, this part was always pricey. Somewhat tired, I shrugged, coughed up the money, and went to find some food.