Escape Velocity

We got the word that our mail has arrived and we figured we ought to take a quick turn around Belfast before we leave. It’s been great parking overnight on the waterfront but we haven’t really explored the town. As Jack said, there’s not much to it.

We walked to Victoria Square which I thought would be a charming historic town plaza. It’s a mall. A nice one, granted, but not what we expected. It does have one unique feature, a very nice rooftop deck with a panoramic view of the town.

The historic market is small in scale but very nice in variety of produce, baked goods, fish, cheeses, fancy deli items, and prepared foods.

We were thrilled to see cheeses that aren’t cheddar and splurged on a good selection of old favorites and new-to-us local non-cheddars.

With some pastries, a loaf of sourdough, and a bag of cheeses we felt prepared to leave this mini-metropolis and hit the road heading south.

I’m not sure what I expected of Belfast. Any city with titanic ambitions you would naturally assume to be of olympic size. Belfast is not that. Don’t get me wrong, Belfast was always a go-getter when it came to things nautical. Major rope walks, massive linen industry and woodworking grew with its ship building dreams, but it is by no means titanic in size.

I have to be honest that when RV friends said they were going to something called the Titanic Experience I was a little dubious. Let’s just say there are no surprises in this “experience.” I mean, the ship sinks in an almost bizarre collection of human faux pas, killing most aboard. Nice that the band played on but really wouldn’t the short time left be better spent looking for something that floats? Anyway, we never go to anything that bills itself as an “experience.”

Marce was striking out at digging up long dead relatives at wherever she disappears to, so when it was suggested that we get experienced, always the team player, I acquiesced. Of course experience never comes cheap and this will be no exception. A cold but short walk later found us entering a modern building built in the shape of the White Star line logo, directly over the bones of the Harland and Wolff shipyard.

At least they didn’t insist that you enter via the gift shop.

Along with pricey admission we opted for the value added optional audio tour. A short walk on the second floor was like a dive into a rabbit hole Time Machine, emerging in early Belfast’s bustling past with old photos and film. It was well done and showed a skillset made to order for ship building. White Star was in competition with the Cunard Line for the biggest, fastest, most luxurious ships afloat. These ships were the Space X of the turn of the 20th century.

Things got fascinating in the drafting offices with thousands of engineers.

Before long we found ourselves in a line, waiting for what, we hadn’t a clue. Turns out it was a remarkably compact monorail fun ride that scissors your car up or down showing what it was like building the world’s largest ship.

It’s impossible not to be impressed with the massive size of these two vessels being built side by side, staked out in the slips where they were built. Titanic was in #3 to the left and Olympic to the right.

Next was the chilling timeline of the actual sinking and the dunderheaded foolish mistakes that were made that night. A great number of changes were instituted to safety regulations due to this tragic night. In fact SOLAS (Safety Of Life At Sea) regulations were adopted after the investigation. Next came the butchers bill.

There are artifacts from the Titanic in glass cases, including the famous violin found floating in the North Atlantic

in this last section, standing on these glass panels, underwater footage of the final resting place of the Titanic slowly passes beneath your feet as though you’re sailing over the wreck. Chilling.

Turns out we really did have a Titanic experience and we didn’t even get wet.

We’ve got an Amazon order coming to Belfast and mail arriving in Kilkeel and while we wait for delivery we’re spending a few days acclimating to a new environment and especially to a new language and culture. Right away we discovered that here in Northern Ireland people need only a smile and hello to launch into a wide-ranging conversation laced with humor, peppered with stories, and always including suggestions on places we must see and a litany of where they’ve been in America. We feel very welcome.

We’re reminded again how small this country is and a few miles hither or yon reveals a completely different view. Our ferry took us north of Belfast and we’re delaying driving south into the city until we get delivery confirmation from Amazon. A friendly fellow at our first randomly chosen parkup nominated a more scenic location two miles up the road and wouldn’t you know it, the next day he knocked on the door to say he was happy we found the new place. Do we feel stalked? Not a bit. We had another easy conversation before he and his dog meandered back down the beach. “See you next time,” he said.

It’s time for laundry and we need an ATM so we drove to Whitehead where we can park overlooking the sea, do the laundry, get some cash and pick up a few groceries. We couldn’t find the ATM and asked a passerby for directions. He didn’t know but instead of wishing us luck he enlisted others nearby and before long the committee sent us off in the right direction. I love it here.

We awoke to thick fog but after sitting in the van for a couple of days we need to stretch our legs. The Blackhead Lighthouse cliff walk will shake out the kinks and we set off as the fog started to lift.

If you search Google Maps for Blackhead Lighthouse in Whitehead, Northern Ireland, and activate Street View, you can take the same walk we did along the sea wall.

By the time we headed back to the van the fog had nearly burned off and we got to see the lighthouse in all its sunny glory.

We timed our arrival in Belfast to the delivery of our Amazon order but I have other reasons for spending time here. Like many Americans in the Mid-Atlantic region, I have a lot of ancestors from Northern Ireland. The relevant genealogical records available online are spotty and I’m hoping the archives in Belfast will help me break through a couple of family history brick walls. I warned Jack that I’d be spending some time in front of a microfilm reader and he’ll need to amuse himself for a while.

The archive is a beautiful building and I registered for a visitor pass — valid for ten years! — then settled in to the main research room with a notebook, my iPad and a pencil in a clear plastic bag. I love the rules and rituals of an archive. A few other researchers and a librarian helped me get oriented and I set to work. After plowing through the search-only catalogue and a dizzying six hours reading microfilm of handwritten 18th and 19th century parish records I came to the disappointing conclusion that I‘m not going to experience the joy of finding the exact records that bridge the gap between Philadelphia and Northern Ireland. I’m going to need a new strategy.

Back at the ranch, we found a fantastic parkup right on the water where we can watch the comings and goings of boats large and small and, of course, have lively conversations with anyone who passes by.

No one is ever 100% ready to embark on a sea journey. If our boat had any kind of a mechanical issue the first thing we’d always ask is, “Will it keep us from sailing?” The next question is, “How much will it cost and how long will it take?”

We have two irritating problems in our campervan that have followed us to Stranraer, Scotland, after chasing a tiny refrigeration temperature controller all the way to Carlisle, England, and back. We hung around in Dumfries for five days unaware that the Royal Post had refused delivery of our package even though they assured us to just have it sent to them to be held for pickup. Luckily the shipper called us to say the post office refused delivery and asked, “Do you want this thing?” I suggested cutting the Royal Post out of the equation and we drove to the depot to pick up our tiny package. It’s a small country.

The back story of the refrigerator temperature control is that even on its lowest setting everything stays extremely over chilled, but it seems to run continuously. We’re hoping to lower our very expensive LPG habit. There are no discernible leaks but we go through more than our share of gas. Time will tell if the new thermistor works.

Information about LPG fittings and accessibility in Ireland is scarce at best so we considered switching to a refillable system rather than a bottle exchange swap, which will have to be done before we travel to Europe, regardless. These details will be sorted on the fly as usual.

It’s time to shepherd Escape Velocity through our first MOT, the annual safety inspection. When and where is the question and until the refrigerator controller was sorted we weren’t sure where or when that might be best done. After a half dozen attempts to find an MOT service that wanted to or had the time to fit us in, or had a high enough garage door clearance or a low enough inspection pit, we found one in Stranraer, right near Cairnryan which is where our ferry departs from to the port of Larne, Northern Ireland. Escape Velocity passed the MOT so she’s good to go for another year. Sometimes the stars align.

We’re old hands at this ferry deal by now but this one had a new twist that had us creeping up an incredibly steep ramp to the second parking level in the ferry.

These things are remarkably capacious but still things can get a little cozy.

Bear in mind that we still haven’t a clue if we can get LPG into our van in Ireland.

We’re off without drama and as we pop out of the ferry, and like a line of circus elephants we slowly lumber down a steep ramp in Chaine Harbor.

Things tend to happen quickly at this moment but Marce navigated us to a hilltop overnight parkup with a view of the harbor and the Irish Sea.

We found a strange little grassy knoll on top of our eagle’s nest parkup surrounded with what can only be described as a fancy spiked ceremonial fence. Turns out it is a burial mound where Larne’s great benefactor, Mr. Chaine, is buried standing upright in his Full Monty yachting regalia.

Once again we find ourselves lollygagging, hanging around a new area waiting for packages to catchup to us here in Ireland. Now the plan is to shuffle our way towards Belfast using a Covid-inspired Amazon pickup point, cleverly circumventing the Royal Post. We’ll let you know.

We thought we’d be in Ireland by now but we’ve still got some items to check off the to-do list and we’re thwarted by a couple of bank holiday weekends and the usual frustrations of the nomad life. While we get it all sorted we’re just meandering around Dumfries and Galloway, the area of southwest Scotland that many of my ancestors came from. Even while I’m trying to get through our list I’m still enjoying being in this place and thinking about how different it might have been 250 years ago. Probably not much.

As always we have no itinerary and just stay overnight wherever it’s most convenient to what we need to accomplish. On ANZAC Day, we walked to a local village and found a beautiful manicured park.

I always read the names on memorials in this part of the world to see if any of our ancestral family names appear, but of course our people emigrated long before the 20th century wars.

We thought this bench was the perfect place to sit and have our own private ANZAC Day remembrance.

One day we drove to see the Milennium Cairn, one of the local works by nearby resident Andy Goldsworthy, one of our favorite artists. There are three other works close by but all of them require a significant hike and the weather isn’t dry enough for long enough to seek them out. The Milennium Cairn is easy to find and beautiful.

You can see more of Andy Goldsworthy’s land art here or find either Rivers and Tides or Leaning into the Wind on a streaming platform. It’s inspiring to watch him work.

We revisited Kirkcudbright, a small town on the river Dee that we’d come to last year for the castle. The castle was closed so we left but this time we stayed for a couple of days even though the castle is still closed.

The river is subject to a wide tidal range. At low tide the boats sit directly on the mud. Many of the boats have twin keels so they sit upright but those with a regular keel list onto their sides until the water rises again. We know this is common in the UK but it’s the first time we’ve seen boats stranded like this in wide mudflats in extreme tides.

Occasionally we find the perfect pit stop. A day before our appointment for the required annual safety inspection we drove to a tiny village by the sea that provides black and gray water disposal, freshwater fill up, and rubbish bins. It’s provided at no cost; I’d have made a donation for upkeep if there’d been an honesty box or QR code. There’s no overnight parking allowed but the view was beautiful so after we serviced the van we stayed for lunch and then some. The next couple of days will be busy and we intend to enjoy the rest of our time in Scotland.

It is an overcast and windy morning. I am back in Escape Velocity’s writers’ office, lost in quiet contemplation, attempting to describe for you thrillseekers how wonderful the experience of wandering through Stirling Castle was. So far I had, “It was a sunny day.” That’s when Marce said, “Holy sh*t it looks like Dumbarton Castle opened early!”

Now, Dear Escapees, we were nowhere near Dumbarton so we put £100 worth of BP’s finest in the tank and a few hours later we were backing into our familiar friendly parking spot in the tiny lot right under the Castle in the Clouds.

It’s our fourth visit and with excellent Bangin’ Pizza just two blocks away, why not? Tomorrow’s weather looks good but today’s is a nasty tempest and not at all conducive for a spot of mountaineering.

The morning dawned sunny and calm with a new EV record for early having already had, or in other words, fired up and ready to go. Just being able to walk through the outer gates for the first time was surprisingly thrilling but with 547 steps to go the order of the day is slow and steady.

Evidence of major rock wall stabilization is obvious as we start to climb the stairs. It’s another magical castle teetering on the top of another volcanic basalt plug. How do they do this?

Everything is functional and designed for defense but still integrated into the extreme topography. I wasn’t prepared for how beautiful the grounds and setting are.

You might wonder, how could anyone successfully attack this stronghold whose basalt walls rise vertically out of the swirling waters of the Clyde river? In 870 two Viking kings, Olaf the White, and Ivar the Boneless, with over 200 longboats, did just that. After a four month siege, and cutting off the water supply, things definitely got ugly in Dumbarton.

The Picts apparently took over for a couple of days, and notably in 1425 James the Fat tried but failed. Later medieval history seems to suggest that Dumbarton Castle was under near constant siege and squabbles. Even James IV, with the aid of the monster Mons Meg, the A-bomb of medieval times, subdued the castle. I can’t vouch for any of this but everyone agrees that Mary Queen of Scots definitely left for France from Dumbarton Castle.

It seemed prudent to stop in at the castle’s tiny museum to allow our quivering legs to settle down and it turns out they have great examples of carvings found in the terraced garden at the beginning of the stairs.

We’ve wanted to see this castle for a long time and you worry that it might disappoint but it turns out it’s even better than we could have imagined. The pizza’s still great too.

We get this a lot. We got it when we lived on a boat, too. I guess people think if you travel full time or long term, whether by boat, campervan, or with suitcases or backpack, you’re on perpetual vacation, busy touring every day. We’re not, and I think most of our traveler friends would agree. Even though we’re often on the move, we’re living life just like anyone else. We’re just living it in different places.

All the things you do to keep your household running we do too. We shop for groceries and household needs, we plan and cook meals, we maintain our home/boat/vehicle, we do our banking and other administrative chores, and so on.

Take laundry, for example. On the boat we had a washing machine — bliss! — but since our boat systems depended on solar charging, we planned laundry day based on the weather. On a sunny day I ran the watermaker to top up the tank. On the next sunny day I ran the washer, maybe two loads, and hung it to dry in the cockpit. On the third day I ran the watermaker to replace the water the washer used. And of course, wind and solar dried the clothes.

The campervan has no washer. Sometimes we find a reasonably priced drop-off service, and other times we use a self-service laundromat. Here in southern Scotland there are outdoor machines, usually located behind a filling station, where for a fair price we can do our laundry while we’re parked right alongside. The machines work great, laundry soap is included and they accept ApplePay.

When we traveled through Asia this year we paid someone to do our laundry. Most of the guesthouses we stayed in offer laundry service, which we prefer because there’s less chance of some article going missing.

All of this is to say that unlike going on vacation, where you do your laundry when you get home and unpack, we do laundry when it needs to be done, wherever we are and however we can.

Mail and online ordering are a challenge. I mentioned a few posts ago that we’re waiting for the arrival of my replacement credit card mailed from the States. At the same time we ordered a new thermostat for our refrigerator. These two deliveries would have been easier on the boat because we could use a marina address to receive mail or packages. Marinas are used to it. In the campervan, at least here in the UK, nobody seems to get that we don’t have a permanent address within a few hours drive, and even the post office has refused to accept an Amazon delivery. This kind of thing is a time-sucker and we’re always happy to stay in one place and get our ducks in a row for a couple of days.

We both have our own interests in addition to travel. I like to spend time researching family history, either online or at a library, archive or historical society. Jack keeps up with Formula 1 news and other interests. We both read. Every day, rain or shine, we get out and about to explore our temporary neighborhood and chat with anyone we happen upon, maybe visit a café.

The other day this gentleman arrived near our parkup with a basket of homing pidgeons. I was in the middle of cooking but I switched off the hob and jumped outside to have a chat.

In a thick accent I struggled to understand, he told me how long he’d been doing this, how old the birds are, how the club he belongs to is losing members, how far away he lives and how long it’ll take the birds to get home.

He checked his watch periodically, and at a predetermined time he opened the basket and the birds flew out.

We watched them circle a few times before heading off toward home. Then my new friend said goodbye, picked up the basket he told me had belonged to his father, and drove off. I love these encounters.

A few minutes later it started to rain and the schoolchildren that were down on the riverbank gathering specimens were herded out of the muck by their teachers and marched back toward town, undaunted by the downpour.

Almost every parkup brings surprises. A great bakery. Or a beach. Or a good sunset. We just take whatever every day brings and live our lives around it.

That’s what we do all day.

I was having a softly streaming sunny morning, kicked back, waiting for the day’s first cuppa to reach my frigid toes. It’s a cold April in Scotland.

There will be no taxi subterfuge on this one dear Escapees. The mountain does not come to Escape Velocity, we will climb to it. First, one has to navigate the modern municipal flats of Stirling, crossing over the railway tracks on a footbridge into the hills of old town Stirling.

It’s nothing but up from there. Unrelenting, steep hauling of one’s caboose up the mountain to Stirling Castle.

When I stopped to take a photo of an interesting building at what I hoped was at least halfway up, a local gentleman said, “That house is the oldest in Stirling.”

He added, “Do you know about the shortcut up the hill?” Of course we didn’t but I’m always up for a shortcut. What followed was five minutes of charming thick Scottish brogue, most of which I couldn’t understand but he seemed pleased so we gathered that we were to make a left then immediately jog right at the old pub that isn’t there anymore. What could go wrong?

Following the Escape Velocity paradigm we found ourselves on a walkway heading straight up the mountain. These people are made of stronger stuff.

The rest breaks were becoming so frequent that I wasn’t sure if we were spending more time climbing or resting. The merciless walkway suddenly ended at a two lane macadam road which seemed significant but left us without a clue as to where we might find a castle. Turns out a long staircase was hidden behind a copse of trees. Our shaky legs probably made the stairs seem longer than it ought, but we reached the arrival lot with just a handful of adventure seekers taking snaps of the view.

What a contrast to over-crowded Edinburgh. Still climbing toward the castle gates we could see the beginnings of ramparts when we came upon this familiar chap.

Have they ever seen a volcanic plug that they haven’t built a castle on? How fortunate that this one is near the lowest downstream ford of the Forth River.

Started in the late 11th century the castle has been the home of royalty and had more than 8 major sieges.

After our tour of the castle we think our local man in the know suggested we take the long circuitous way back down to see the historical sights missed while trekking up the shortcut. Sounds good to me.

It was a spent duo of escapees that staggered back to the van, tired but happy.

Both my parents were great readers and history buffs. My dad read any period of history, while my mom held a particular interest in the history of Britain. I wouldn’t be surprised if she could have recited the names of the kings and queens of England in order along with the dates of their rule. I say this because she could recite all the American presidents in order, the 50 state capitols alphabetically either by state or by capitol, and, in a dazzling triumph, all the names in our family (at the time numbering over 100) alphabetically either by first name or last name, or by birth date. I know. Incredible.

I didn’t inherit that talent but my sister did. But back to British history; it’s daunting. There’s just so damn much of it. When we first got to Scotland we bought a big fat book of Scottish History but except for making good use of the index to answer specific questions, neither of us has managed to wade through something both my parents would have gobbled up.

By now you’re familiar with our mode of travel: go somewhere, look around, figure out what you’re looking at. In this case we found ourselves near something on the map called the Antonine Wall. We know about Hadrian’s Wall of course, and Jack has that on his Must See List. But the Antonine Wall? Never heard of it.

While Jack took a personal day, I strode through the woods along John Muir Way toward something called Rough Castle Fort along the Antonine Wall. It had rained the night before and the trail was soft in parts.

After about a mile and a half I emerged from the forest to what looked like a big lumpy field. This, a placard informed me, was the fort and the wall.

Most of the ancient sites we’ve visited have been excavated and either preserved as is or reconstructed to varying degrees. This one, with no visible evidence of excavation, is a mystery. There are placards with artists’ renderings of the buildings but looking around you really need to use your imagination.

Unlike Hadrian’s Wall, constructed of stone, Antonine Wall, begun 20 years later, was earthworks on a stone foundation. Nearly 2000 years of natural forces have understandably had an effect. It’s difficult to capture what the eye can see while walking through the space. The photo below is about as good as I could get to show the remains of the wall.

The wall ran 39 miles, from the Firth of Clyde to the Firth of Forth and marked the northern frontier of the Roman Empire. It was 3 meters high and 5 meters wide at the base with a deep ditch on the north side. The ditch is how you can tell where the wall was.

An early 1900s excavation uncovered lines of defensive pits which would have had sharpened sticks at the bottom.

There were originally 19 forts along the Antonine Wall with smaller fortlets inbetween. Nevertheless, the Romans abandoned the wall only eight years after completion and retreated back to Hadrian’s Wall. It seems they couldn’t subdue the Caledonians.

Wikipedia tells me Rough Castle is the best preserved of the forts along the northern Roman frontier. Earlier excavations were covered up again and more recent research depends more on technology like LIDAR. Today it’s just a pretty place with a brief but significant history.

From the fort I followed the Union Canal, part of the Scottish canal system. The swans on this day were undisturbed by narrowboat traffic.

Until the 1930s the Union Canal was connected to the Forth and Clyde Canal by a system of 11 locks, dropping boats 115 feet and completing a continuous waterway from Glasgow to Edinburgh. It took almost a day to pass through the flight of locks. By the ‘30s the route fell into disuse, the locks were dismantled, and in the 1960s the Forth and Clyde Canal was closed.

Around the bend, the Union Canal goes through the Rough Castle Tunnel, illuminated for some reason with constantly changing colored lights.

On the other side of the tunnel the canal appears to end in mid-air, but this is where the story gets good.

In the 1990s the British Waterways Board and the Millenium Commission, along with other entities, sought a way to reestablish the link between the Union Canal and the Forth and Clyde Canal. The result is the Falkirk Wheel, a rotating boat lift that replaces 9 of the original 11 locks, raising boats 79 feet and making a continuous sea-to-sea passage along the two canals possible again.

The wheel not only benefits the narrowboaters navigating the Scottish canals, but also draws tourists from all over to see this one-of-a-kind feat of 21st century engineering and design. I recommend reading the whole story here. It’s fascinating. Tourists can ride on modified narrowboats, lifted from the Forth and Clyde Canal to the Union Canal, then along the canal to the first lock and back to the Wheel for the lift back down. Even on a chilly weekday when we were there it was busy.

Without a drone or a helicopter it’s difficult to photograph the entire structure, so I recommend googling for some better overall photos and videos. We enjoyed sitting in the café on a drizzly day watching the mechanism and the delighted visitors boarding the boats for the slow-motion watery elevator.

The best part for us is that for a small fee we could spend the night and enjoy the services from the marina. Once the tours were over for the day, we had the place to ourselves.

While I was out taking pictures a huge flock of geese flew by, loudly announcing their passage. I watched until they disappeared, then went inside our cozy home for dinner.

The United Kingdom is quite serious about diesel pollution. They are clamping down on population centers like London and, of immediate concern, Edinburgh. Escape Velocity is a 2009 Fiat Ducato-based chassis with a relatively clean burning class 4 diesel engine which, it turns out, precludes us entering many populated cities. It takes a minimum of a class 6 or better to get into Edinburgh proper but as luck would have it, we just found out the draconian exclusion hasn’t started yet. As a further hassle the more you travel south in the UK the fewer park-ups can be found, especially near cities, but we have a secret weapon, Marce the bloodhound. We decided to face the music and dance.

We rarely use a campground. All we need is a lot to park in and transportation into our city of interest. She found all of that for £2 a night at a park-and-ride, just two train stops outside of Edinburgh. No clue if that will be within the exclusion zone when they do in fact clamp down and we’ve been led to believe that the maps and signage are less than perfect elsewhere and it’s easy to inadvertently wander into an exclusion zone with a hefty ticket featuring a photo of your vehicle showing up in your morning Royal Mail. This country is blanketed with CCTV cameras and there are no less than 12 in our park-and-ride lot.

The ride part of the park is adjacent to our lot so it would be hard to be more convenient and it’s a cold but sunny day so we’re off to see Edinburgh. Train tickets are purchased online and within minutes we were disgorged at Edinburgh’s massive bewildering train station in the center of town. Ramping up to street level the first thing we saw was this.

It’s a memorial to Sir Walter Scott and for £8 pounds they’ll let you climb the 287 steps to the top. It’s that kind of town but as a consolation prize members of Historic Scotland get into Edinburgh Castle for free. Care to make a guess what we’re doing?

The Scots had every reason to be paranoid, what with nearly every castle changing hands typically about every ten years or so, but if there was a huge bulging volcanic plug in the vicinity they built a castle on it, which you’ve got to think ought to help with the defense of the place. Consequently you can imagine that to see Edinburgh Castle you’re going to have a wee climb. Sure enough, at the end of the bridge over the station you turn to the right and immediately start to climb. It does nothing but get steeper from there.

It takes a while but eventually you start to get a peek-a-boo view of the beginnings of the castle as the charming, but steep, street turns into castle instead of street buildings.

Of course, on your approach you have to negotiate a large, let’s agree to call it an arrival area filled with thrill seekers, photographers, YouTubers, fashion posers, ticket buyers, and at least two castle buffs in the mood for ice cream, balloons, and children crying over dropped ice cream cones.

We haven’t faced this much chaos since Kathmandu.

Heading through the ancient gates by necessity, it’s slightly less crowded.

Kitted-out with audio tour headphones we started climbing again.

I can’t remember ever being in a place so grand.

Correct to a T, even the paving blocks are perfectly laid.

The views are magnificent, all the better to see those trying to sneak up on you.

We decided to walk back down into town via the Royal Mile, dodging the crowds and pipe blowing buskers, to share a pint with our friend at a very fancy old pub on Princes street.

It took a while, mostly due to whimsical signage, to find the correct track to get back to our parking lot but find it we did.