I thought that, as a bit of exercise, I would do the Chesapeake Bay Bridge walk. The Chesapeake Bay Bridge links the easternmost quarter of Maryland (the eastern shore) with its western part near the state capital, Annapolis. It used to be that once a year, in May, one span of would be closed to all but pedestrian traffic. Large numbers of folks would come out for the hike which went from the eastern to the western bank. Apparently, after 9/11, the walk was discontinued for a couple of years, but it was scheduled to occur today. However, mother nature had other plans: the walk was cancelled due to high winds.
Since I still wanted to get out and breathe the fresh air, I decided I would go to Sandy Point State Park, which is at the foot of the Bay Bridge. The high winds made for a cool, picturesque walk.
I discovered that walking in sand is awfully slow and kills my back. However, I did walk along the beach in several places, and even scrambled part of the way down a rock jetty where fishermen were enjoying the Sunday. A down side was the $6 fee the State of Maryland charges non-residents for using the park on the weekend (residents are charged $5), and the fact that the concession was not open, so I could not replace the batteries in my camera (I put my spares in a bag i convieniently left back in my room.). All in all, though, it was a good outing.
Yesterday, I went to northern Virginia. My mother is buried in the area, and whenever I travel to the vicinity I like to visit. It rained during the time I was there, but I was prepared with a poncho. From the cemetary I traveled to Falls Church, where I attended vigil mass at St. Anthony of Padua. I attended middle school at St. Anthony's (when it was called St. Anthony's; the school has since been renamed), so the grounds and the church held memories for me. It can be fairly said that I recieved my first prolonged exposure to Roman Catholicism in that church and school. And while it took about 22 years after my last religion class there to convert, I eventually did. My eighth-grade religion teacher, who asked when I would convert, would be proud.