THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, July 7, 1996 TAG: 9607040234
SECTION: SUFFOLK SUN PAGE: 02 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: Linda McNatt
LENGTH: 70 lines
The James River Bridge and U.S. 17 are my usual routes on nightly trips from Newport News to home in northern Suffolk.
But this night, well, there were no stops to be made. I felt like cruising.
I'll take the interstate, I thought, as I left Oyster Point and headed north on J. Clyde Morris Boulevard. I'll zip right through the Monitor-Merrimac and be home in no time.
I turned off the air, rolled down the windows to enjoy the night air and turned up the jazz station on the radio. And I cruised along at a steady pace.
My first clue that everything wasn't as it should be was the amount of traffic as I entered the tube. Usually, late at night, the area's newest connector is almost traffic-free.
More traffic than usual, I mused, but I kept going. Once I got out of the tunnel and onto the bridge, there was something else different. They were doing roadwork on the bridge.
What could be wrong with the road already, I wondered. It's practically brand new.
Then - hey, what is that tall building to the right? I don't remember ever seeing that before. And what's this? Another bridge? Where did that parking lot come from?
I sat up and paid attention. Either I had entered the Twilight Zone or somehow directed the car into the wrong bridge/tunnel. The car continued to cruise along, oblivious to its driver's lack of direction.
Actually, I don't totally lack direction. I know forward and backward well. I wasn't about to go backward, for goodness' sake. I wanted to go home.
Signs just off the last bridge confirmed my fear that I was in - that's right, Ocean View, Norfolk. And the theory that I have harbored for years was borne out: interstates are designed by and built by men. Truckers are hired as consultants. How else would they get the money to buy those big rigs?
You see, I've never owned a Batman decoder ring or a Boy Scout compass.
North, south, east and west are meaningless to me. Virginia Beach is east. Suffolk is sort of west. New York is north, and Florida is South.
That's why interstate signs make no sense. Like most women, I'm a landmarks kind of person. I know cities, towns, shopping malls, museums, cathedrals. Did you ever see an interstate sign that says, ``Military Circle, this way,'' ``Turn here to get to Lynnhaven Mall?''
So I started reading those confusing signs. No, I didn't want Chesapeake Boulevard or Tidewater Drive. No, I wasn't heading for that street or this street or the Norfolk International Airport. Whoops! While I was reading one sign, another slipped by. What had I missed?
Finally, ``Chesapeake/Suffolk.'' It sounded likely. Then, ``Downtown Norfolk.'' I could get through one of the tunnels from there. Oh no, another Virginia Beach sign. How could that be when I just turned completely away from Virginia Beach?
By that time, I was determined to stay on the interstate, to beat the male system. And by the time I finally bolted out of the downtown Norfolk tunnel, I was in more familiar territory.
I passed Frederick, Portsmouth, Victory boulevards. I knew where I was going. I knew I had to take the Newport News/Hampton exit rather than the Suffolk/Petersburg (or whatever) exit to get home.
What would it hurt to tell people who just might want to go to northern Suffolk or Churchland or even some parts of Chesapeake that the key is Newport News/Hampton? Is there any mention of that on the interstate sign? No way.
As I searched for the Portsmouth Boulevard West sign I knew I needed, it occurred to me that I had traveled through almost every major city in Hampton Roads - Newport News, Hampton, Norfolk, Portsmouth, Chesapeake, Suffolk, with Virginia Beach ever-looming just ahead of me.
Finally, I understood the beltway concept. It really works.
And I arrived home - about four minutes later than I would have normally gotten there had I traveled Route 17.
Certainly, I deserve some kind of stamp on my driver's license.
Beltway master, maybe? by CNB