Monday, January 8, 2007
The other day, Mark drove and I sat beside him, in a Dramamine-induced haze. It was only the first week of January, but because the world is coming to an end, the weatherpeople were predicting a record high of 70 degrees. And so we decided it was time to revisit nature, traveling through the Hamptons on to Montauk, the eastern tip of Long Island, where we’d hit water and have to turn back.
But because the air was so warm, and the water a bit less so, there was nothing but fog for us to see. As we wound along the generous roads, I could make out the twisting trunks of old trees alongside and the tidy lawns of well-to-do lives in the background. Everything was quiet and misted over, and I felt like I was looking at the insides of my brain.
We sped through Southampton, then Bridgehampton, then East Hampton, with all the fancy stores in between. Gradually, the trees shriveled and crept away from the road, to tussle with the brush and tall grasses. The road bucked and struggled a little, as if in protest, and suddenly it gave way, to finish in a long swooping curve. We’d reached ‘The Point’, or ‘The End’, as they call it, the end of the road.
We circled, hopeful to catch a glimmer of the water meeting the horizon. But the road kept going and we kept following it and eventually, we were home.
Day trips are easily accessible destinations just outside the five boroughs of New York City.
Photo by Evilcabeza.