There was, uncharacteristically, little to say about the stretch of road on my way to North Carolina. I simply drove through the Carolinas, and that was that. That held until I reached Marine Corps Base Camp Lejeune, in North Carolina. I had been travelling along the highway as directed by GPS, and saw no suspicious turns or anything of the sort along the route. Eventually, however, I came upon a gated checkpoint on the highway. There, armed guards inquired as to what exactly I was doing, and where exactly I was headed. I explained that my destination was the outer banks, and that GPS had recommended this route. It was implied that I had not been the first to be in this situation. The guards convened to decide if I'd be let through. Eventually I was told that I would be allowed to go, as long as I obeyed the speed limit. Simple enough, I said, and proceeded through. I felt privileged as it was also implied that they were not necessarily supposed to let people do what I was doing.
Many interesting signs lined the road - tank crossing, watch for smoke, and other more cryptic numbers and acronyms. Fences and gates and buildings of unknown purpose were sometimes visible among the woodland that sometimes lined the roadway. I kept my promise and controlled my speed with precision. I emerged on the far side of the camp as dusk was beginning, and as I had become used to not making plans, searched until I found a comfortable rest stop at which to spend the night.
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