Vacation, All I Ever Wanted

You a Go-Gos fan? Oh, well.

So we were on the road this weekend along with all of the other vacationers – or as I like to call it: the parade of assholes, because no one else drives exactly like I do. I do a steady four miles-per-hour over the posted speed limit for several reasons: I get there a little faster; it tends to keep me in between the packs of Sunday drivers and NASCAR wannabes; I’m not going to get pulled over for doing 59 in a posted 55.

The more I travel, the more I realize that speed limits are completely subjective. I’ve been on highways with a posted speed limit of 70 that dropped to 45 for no other reason than it happened to intersect the border of some podunk little settlement out in the middle of nowhere. Just because we happen to tangentially enter your economic prosperity zone should not give you the power to arbitrarily cut the speed limit by almost a full half. Nothing else has changed, you morons! The road surface is the same, the sight lines are the same, and you have nothing so complicated as a cloverleaf intersection to negotiate. You have one exit with two ramps. Just extend the off-ramp a quarter mile towards oncoming traffic so those that are forced to visit your Town That Time Forgot can get over, slow down, and start plotting their getaway without inconveniencing those of us that have real destinations to get to. Similarly, you may want to install a steam catapult on the on-ramp so those lucky enough to find their way back out of your ‘burg don’t have to strain their cylinders in achieving escape velocity.

Similarly, the last time I lost the workplace lottery and had to visit Alabama, their Department of Transportation had just finished a beautiful six-lane highway between Birmingham, which we flew into, and Tuscaloosa, where our home office was. It was quite possibly the most perfect road I’ve ever driven on. Three outbound lanes with abundant lighting, clearly-marked lanes, comprehensive and helpful signage, plenty of merging leeway on exits, and nary a chuckhole in sight. What was the speed limit on this marvel of motoring? Fifty-fucking-five. It only added to the rankling that I had rented a brand-new Dodge Charger and couldn’t open ‘er up (I eschew my usual four-mile-over rule when I have an absurd amount of horsepower).

In other vacation news, we recently made our way over to Wilmington, NC so I could revisit the USS North Carolina. My grandfather served on that battleship in WW2, and was very instrumental in 1) saving her from the scrap-yard and establishing her in Wilmington as a Memorial, and 2) presiding over the group that organized the reunions of her veterans, so it’s very close to my family’s heart.

A few random military facts:

She is a fast battleship of the NORTH CAROLINA class, with nine 16-inch/45-caliber guns, and twenty 5-inch/ 38-caliber guns.

She participated in every major Pacific battle, earning 15 battle stars, and only lost ten men.

She stayed afloat even after a torpedo blew an 18x39 foot hole in her port side.

She was built at the Brooklyn Navy Yard, and often returned there for adjustments during her shakedown period. During this time, Walter Winchell gave her the nickname “The Showboat” after a ship in a popular Broadway musical. She was in port at the yard on December 7, 1941.

A few personal observations:

The most-heard comment from new visitors has got to be “I couldn’t have served on this ship; I’d always be lost!” No, you idiot…you wouldn’t. First of all, the tour has been laid out so you see as much as possible. That does not necessarily mean it’s the most direct or easiest route between any two areas. Two: you’re only going to be here for a few hours. If you’d lived on board, you’d’ve learned your way around in a hurry.

Battleships are no place to serve if you’re fat. The hatchways are small and mounted in the middle of the bulkhead, the access tubes are about the size of a bendy straw, and many of the work-spaces are the same dimensions as an old telephone booth. Most of the “lost” tourists could not have gotten around the ship at all if new doorways hadn’t been cut here and there.

The North Carolina was a floating city in that she was outfitted to spend months at sea. In addition to the expected magazines, crew spaces, and officer quarters, she had a laundry, tailor, cobbler, barber, dentist, and a full machine shop (among other duties, she acted as Destroyer support, and was expected to be able to make repairs to all but the biggest or most delicate equipment).

The tour has signs posted to let visitors know what they’re looking at, and these signs include official information along with relevant comments from former crew. As happens so frequently in large organizations, they are often at odds. For example, the sign at the Master At Arms’ station informed us that one of the duties of the MAA was to make sure there was no “brewing, selling, buying, or drinking of alcohol,” while the sign at the dentist office had an offhanded comment from a former dental assistant about how they had set up two stills to turn the dentist’s denatured alcohol into booze.

One concern that had been addressed (that hadn’t even occurred to me) was how to prevent these “floating cities” from leaving a trail of garbage wherever they went (not only unsightly, but easily spotted by enemy planes). To address this, the North Carolina had a giant grinder that mulched garbage into tiny bits, then shunted them out under the propellers to be dispersed. That impressed me. I expected the incinerator (though I pity the crew that had to bunk beside it!), but not some huge Dispose-all.

I enjoyed the visit, and was especially excited that they had at last made the CIC (Combat Information Center) a part of the tour. My grandfather was a radarman, so I finally got to see where he worked. The North Carolina was (and still is) an amazing ship.