absent.canadian

So it’s my birthday today, and that means I get to do whatever I want.

Well, almost.

Not having the resources to erect a replica of the Canadian Parliament Buildings in my backyard, I decided it would be fun to explore Eastern North Carolina.

Destination: Tarboro.

The tobacco farms in this part of the Carolinas were in full bloom, with most of the tobacco fields ready to prime.  As much of a staunch anti-tobacco provocateur as I’ve been in my life, I have to admit feeling a bit sad for the farmers who make their livelihood by growing this rather beautiful leaf.  And while I’m not condoning tobacco use in any way, I do wish there was a more productive use for this plant.  I hate the thought of so many farmers losing their livelihood.

Instead of doing the usual hike across 64, I decided to take the “back roads” – through little towns like New Hope, Bunn and Spring Hope.  These visits bring some complicated emotions to surface, not the least of which is a lonely feeling that these were once bustling towns, and are now struggling to ebb out an existence as bedroom communities for neighboring cities.  But there’s something else; something I’ve been struggling all afternoon to articulate.

In Spring Hope I stopped at an antique store.  The inside was part antique store, part flea market, part concert hall and part family-room.  This was clearly a congregation point for local families, and may had made themselves at home in the various chairs and picnic tables and were enjoying a post-church social with friends.  It was the sort of thing you would never see in a large city, and was made especially fun by the local musician that tapped out homespun gospel music on a little electronic keyboard.

Speaking of music, I’m also remembering a curious stop at another antique store near Saratoga.  In the parking lot, lonely and forgotten, was an old upright piano.  It’s almost as if someone had parked it there 20 years ago and forgotten to pick it up.  A curious thing indeed, and one that was unfortunately reminiscent of the derelict state of many of the small-town “downtowns” I drove through.

I netted no antiques today.  No curious crafts or intriguing local finds; not even a single snapshot with which to chronicle the adventure.  But it was worthwhile adventure nonetheless, and one I hope to repeat on a Saturday morning when more of the antique and curiosity shops are open.

So I was riding to work this morning, enjoying the beautiful late-summer Carolina wind in my hair.  (Actually, the wind wasn’t in my hair because of my helmet, but “wind in my hair” just sounds a lot more romantic).  The bike was running perfectly and traffic wasn’t all that heavy.

From the driver’s side window of the car in front of me–a blue late-model Nissan Altima–flew a cigarette butt.  It bounced off the visor of my helmet.

And it took some tremendous willpower to not let road-rage consume me and run the bastard right off the road.

Thankfully, the North Carolina Department of Transportation has the Swat-a-Litterbug program.  You can report a litterbug through their website; the DOT (through the auspices of the North Carolina State Highway Patrol) will send the violator a letter reminding them that littering is against the law.

Please – if you see someone littering, report ‘em!