I love Maryland. I am on the Eastern Shore and it feels like I have been transported to a place time is trying to forget. Apparently the chain stores and restaurants are relatively new. They seem out of place when they are so near the places I only knew about from history books.
Easton was established in 1711 when the courthouse was built in Talbot County.
I imagine the young people move across the bay to chase excitement and fortune in the big city, leaving their families safe in the past. I would.
Well, maybe I wouldn’t. I am drawn to both the rural and urban lifestyle. My fantasies flip-flop seamlessly from one to the other.
For now, I am just going to enjoy soaking up the history while I marvel at my good luck.
Life is good today.
I land in Baltimore and head to pick up my rental car. I am on a highway headed towards a huge bridge spanning an impossibly large body of water.
I hate bridges. I probably hate bridges more than any other person on the planet.
As I approach through the toll booth I find myself wondering if this is the only path to my destination. The concrete barriers stand still, but I am convinced they are waiting to jump out and scrape along this vehicle that doesn’t even belong to me. Why is everyone driving so fast? Why aren’t they more afraid? Those big blocks are going to get them!
Relax. Everything is fine. Wow. This is truly beautiful. I wish I could stop and take a photo. I will never be able to explain how the blue water of the bay is shimmering below me.
I relax the death grip I have on the steering wheel. I descend onto the next section of the bridge and feel a shocking twinge of disappointment that solid ground is barreling toward me.
I want to ride again.