The slow, steady march of Hurricane Irene predictably brought out a range of reactions in a wide array of people.
Folks such as Lt. Robert Long of the Winston-Salem chapter of the Salvation Army approached solemnly and with a sense of purpose.
Long drove a mobile kitchen capable of preparing 1,500 meals a day the four-plus hours from Forsyth County Friday for one reason and one reason only: to serve his fellow human beings who may be suffering after Irene tattoos the Emerald Coast today.
"The lady in the gas station asked me where we were going and when I told her (Beaufort), she said, 'Are you crazy?" Long said. "But we go where we're called."
Over at Atlantic Beach, the mood was decidedly less purposeful. Shortly after 7 p.m., three young Marines from nearby Cherry Point Air Station stripped down to their swim trunks and romped through the churning, 4-foot surf in winds gusting up to 30 mph.
Ah, youth. Completely wasted on three heavily tattooed kids.
"Boneheads," muttered Logan Fernandez, another Marine originally from southern California who came to peek at the sea from a relatively safe distance with a friend.
Dominant topic
Exuberant knotheads or not, hurricanes always dominate the conversation in this part of the state.
From the store clerk in Kinston who was trying to coax a relative who lives closer to the beach to come stay with her, to the owner of a small beachwear shop at Atlantic Beach whose plywood window coverings mark hurricanes all the way back to Bertha in 1996, Irene commanded the attention she so richly deserved.
"It's hard not to," said Capt. Rick Scoggins, the public affairs officer for the N.C. National Guard who came to Kinston to help the 57 soldiers sent to the local armory who will fan out once the storm passes later this afternoon. "Our soldiers will hunker down and stand ready for rescue missions, traffic control or public safety as the governor's office sees fit."
All the way down U.S. 70 into coastal areas Friday afternoon signs of the impending storm dominated. Traffic was heavy headed west all the way back to Interstate 40 in Raleigh; the number of boats being towed showed that at least some of the locals were taking evacuations seriously.
Along strips that would normally bustle with commerce on an average summer Friday, it was difficult to find a bite to eat. Even a few hearty chains such as Applebee's and Subway had shuttered early.
Driving toward, not away
If you've never made the counter-intuitive decision to drive toward an oncoming hurricane, certain things —other than the bands of rain that come and go with increasing strength and duration — tend to grab your attention.
Heavy-duty trucks from various companies such as Progress Energy, for example, dispatched to stand by should Irene topple power lines and trees. Things such as flashing traffic signs advising that an evacuation was under way and subtly suggesting you turn around before you can't.
The most jarring are the near-constant updates first aired on local radio, then passed from person to person that a mandatory curfew has been ordered. Nobody out on the streets after 8 p.m. other than essential public-safety personnel. Storm surges of 6 to 10 feet in places.
For Lt. Long of the Salvation Army, the seriousness of the situation set in when he received word that he needed to go ahead and drive the food truck to an emergency shelter being set up at Beaufort Elementary School Friday evening instead of waiting across the bridge at Morehead City as originally planned.
"They're going to close that bridge at 8," Long said via his cellphone. "The winds are supposed to pick up to near 100. You'd hate to get caught up on that bridge in that."
With that, Long — and the rest of us who went the wrong way toward Hurricane Irene for a host of reasons — hunkered down to see what the night would bring.
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