In which Daisy and Jazzy Discover the Curse of the Island

So, have I mentioned that my car hates Assateague? Jazzy is a pretty ten-year old red civic with NSS bats on her butt. She had to be a J, because that was her first license plate. She's been my only car, and I'm pretty affectionate, especially since we cover a lot of miles together between all my homes dotted up and down the East Coast. And now I'm asking her to take me West. She's game, but wants new windshield wipers first. Driving her is like reading the wind on a sailboat; you can feel her roar when she wants a gear up, and groan when she'd rather go down. After all this time, I'm loath to even touch an automatic - they have no life, no opinions! Jazzy has plenty of opinions, especially when it comes to playing CD's when it's cold out.

She also has strong views on the visitors to Assateague Island National Seashore. Sorry, general public, but you drive like shit when you're on vacation.

I have worked two summers at this park, and been hit twice by clueless visitors reading maps instead of the road (at no fault of my own, I might add. I work here, so I'm not about to drive poorly). Last summer, I was coming to a stop in the center lane in front of the entrance booth, and the woman next to me decided to try pulling a U-turn directly through the side of my stopped car. I'm not sure why exactly that seemed like it might work, but let me assure you, it did not. I had just truly left home permanently on my own to an unknown place for the first time, and I had never been in any kind of car accident before, so I freaked. So, I'm bawling while attempting to remain calm and move the cars out of the road and make sure no one was injured, and then the Ranger, Brittany, needed my registration and I had no idea what piece of paper that is, and the lady gouged open my tire, and I had never changed one before (it's really straight-forward), and I basically felt like a five-year-old trying to live on her own. My sister came to visit from DC to help me sort out the mess of insurance and repairs, and Jazzy was finally back to her shiny, reliable self after much confusion and a ten-mile bike ride to pick her up at the shop. Needless to say, I learned from the experience, but wasn't hoping to repeat it.

But I came back anyway, and this island hates my car.

So, I'm driving back home from a night of camping on the beach, and a raccoon starts crossing the open road two hundred yards ahead of me. As far as I'm concerned, the park belongs to the wildlife, road or no road, and I have no desire to get raccoon guts on my tires, so I slowly start breaking, hit my hazard flashers, and come to a stop over nearly two hundred yards. All my precautions are in vain, however, because the car behind me has four teenage boys in it, and I guess something funny happened or whatever. Anyway, boom. I was pretty peeved for a few seconds, but I'm hardly a combative person, and shit happens (and it's not like they tried to drive through my car from a complete stop, as did the lovely lady from last year). They were nice kids, and came to see if I was alright and what was dripping out of my car, and I called down to the ranger station for help. The irony did not escape me: "hey it's daisy... again. I got hit by a visitor... again." Why am I the only ranger this happens to?

So Walt and Brittany came down to write up a report for me. Brittany came up to my window and asked "wasn't this you last year?" and then "maybe you should get a new job." No kidding.

This time, I didn't cry or fumble with the papers. It may not have been the ideal experience for the morning, but, honestly, I wasn't terribly bothered. I called the insurance company, and they just came today to do the estimate on my gal. She'll go into the shop at John's Auto Body in the next few days if everything goes as planned (I'll have to delay getting her fixed if they need three weeks... I'm leaving Maryland soon), and be good as new. And Walt told me the 17-year-old boy who was driving, clinched his official written testimony with a report that he had seen the raccoon cackling evilly as it walked away. That cracked me up.

I guess Jazz and I have grown up a bit in the past year. Confidence aside, though, she really doesn't want to come back next summer.

I might make her though. And cover her in entire perimeter with bumper buoys.

(Nearly all the Candleberry House cars are red!)

Ps: If you ever need car repairs on the Eastern Shore, John and Jackie at John's Auto Body in Berlin are fantastic and really talented. Go them.